She ran outside in a short white shirt and silky striped pajama pants. Dropping my helmet to the ground, I swung my leg over the seat of my bike and caught her right as she crashed into me.
Her arms flew around my neck, her bare toes barely staying on the ground. I wrapped my arms around her, one hand splayed across her back, the other holding the back of her head. Relief poured through me as her body pressed against me. Thank god she was okay.
Cameron made no move to let go, so I didn’t either. The rain pelted us with fat drops, soaking her hair and her clothes. I was already wet through, but I didn’t care. I’d stand here in the storm until I got struck by lightning if it meant I could keep holding her like this.
The wind was picking up, whipping the vegetation and making the palm trees bend. I smoothed down her hair and she gradually pulled back. Her hands trailed down my chest.
“Sorry, I…”
“Don’t be.” I gently touched her face.
She wasn’t crying or hysterical. Her green eyes were clear, raindrops dancing across her freckled cheeks. Her wet shirt molded over her breasts, her lacy bra showing through the thin fabric. I’d seen her topless, but this tantalizing peek was so sexy.
“Thank you,” she said, keeping her hands on my chest. “That really fucking scared me.”
That reminded me why I was here. Without letting go of her, I did a quick visual sweep of the area. There wasn’t much to see, especially with all the rain.
“God, we’re soaking.” She dropped her hands and stepped back. “The Bluewater security guys are here. They’re checking everything.”
“Good.” I scanned the front of her house again and kept my eyes sharp as we jogged in out of the rain. Nothing looked amiss on her porch. No sign of forced entry here. I did a quick check of the electronic lock, but it seemed to be working fine.
We dripped water on the floor in the entryway. Cameron glanced down at herself and shook her hands, as if it would help. A big guy—although not as big as me—with a Bluewater Security logo on his shirt came down the stairs.
“I’ll go get towels,” Cameron said.
I shook hands with the security guard. He introduced himself as Dante.
“We’ve notified the police,” Dante said. “My guys are checking for how the perp got access, but there’s no obvious sign of a break-in.”
“I’ll check the security footage. Is the house clear?”
Dante nodded. “All clear. Whoever it was got in and got out.”
“Did they take anything?”
“Not that we’ve found so far. But they left something. You just need to see it for yourself.” He gestured toward the stairs.
Cameron came down with an armful of fluffy white towels. She’d slipped a silky pink robe over her wet shirt. I could see water spots starting to spread, but at least the Bluewater security guys weren’t getting an eyeful of Cameron’s amazing rack.
She handed me a towel and I toed off my boots, leaving them near the front door. I followed her upstairs, drying myself as best I could. She patted her long hair with her towel while we walked to her master suite.
Just outside her door, I noticed the faint odor of fish.
“It’s there, on the bed,” she said. “No one’s touched it.”
Her fluffy white comforter was slightly askew, the way it had been when I’d seen it on my first tour of her home. Right in the center of the bed was a red snapper, its reddish scales reflecting the light from the chandelier, its round black eye cold and dead.
She gestured toward the slimy fish. “I can’t decide if the fish is fitting or a total cliché.”
“What?”
She pointed to her hair. “It’s a ginger fish.”
I cracked a little grin. An intruder had been in her house and left a dead fish in her bed, and she could still make a joke about it. That was my girl.
I did a lap around the bed, checking it from every angle. On the far side was a typewritten note on a plain piece of paper, one corner tucked beneath the fish.
The boss but still vulnerable. You got lucky. Next time we won’t miss.
There was nothing funny about that note, nor the fact that whoever had done this had gotten in and out without tripping the alarm or forcing their way in. I checked the doors to her balcony, but they were secure. No sign someone had come in that way.
“You’re sure you locked the door when you went to Luna’s?” I asked.
“Positive,” she said.
Damn it, I should have taken more precautions with her home security. Had her camera feeds sync to my phone. Set up alerts so I’d know when someone unlocked her door. But that kind of coverage hadn’t seemed necessary.
It was now. Whoever did this was escalating.
This move reeked of ego. This wasn’t in a parking garage or on a public street. This wasn’t an email that could have come from anywhere. This was up close and personal. A message delivered not just inside her house, but in her bedroom. In one of her most personal, private spaces. I’d never even been inside this room before. Just looked in from the doorway on my first visit.
And it confirmed that none of this was random.
“Ms. Whitbury?” Dante’s voice came from the hall. “The police are here.”
I took pictures with my phone while Cameron talked to the police. Then she and I waited in the kitchen while they searched her house, including all the outside areas. The Bluewater security guards stayed to help, but none of them found any signs of entry, forced or otherwise.
The police cars in front of her house had drawn attention. Cameron’s friends burst inside in a flurry of fuzzy robes, yoga clothes, and velour tracksuits. They were dry—apparently the rainstorm had passed—and they attacked her with hugs and offers of comfort food and alcoholic beverages.
Nicholas and Inda returned from their date, shocked and worried. Emily offered them one of her guest houses for the night so they wouldn’t have to deal with the chaos.
“Derek and I are going to see what we can do about keeping this out of the media,” Emily said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Cameron’s hair was bedraggled, curling haphazardly as it dried. Her clothes were still damp, her wet shirt having long since soaked through her robe. I was surprised she wasn’t shivering. But she still gave her friend a calm smile.
“I’m sure.”
Emily squeezed her arm. Her eyes darted to me, then back to Cameron. “Let us know if you need anything.”
“I will. Thanks, Em.”
Take care of her, Emily mouthed at me silently, then left with Nicholas and Inda.
A woman in her late sixties with a bob of sleek silver hair and dark-rimmed glasses wandered in. She was dressed in a peach tracksuit and what looked like a fortune in diamonds glittered on her ears, around her neck, and on most of her fingers.
“Oh no,” Cameron muttered.
“What’s the matter, sweetie?” Luna asked.
“It’s Mrs. Vanderveld,” Cameron said. “If she’s poking around, the rest of the WWs won’t be far behind.”
“We’re on it,” Luna said. “Hey Daisy, we need to do some crowd control.”
Luna and Daisy moved to intercept the woman, their arms out as if they were either going to hug her or attempt to corral her. I had a feeling it was both.
I leaned closer to Cameron. “What does WWs mean?”
“The WWs are the Wealthy Widows. It’s a group of women who live in Bluewater’s condo building. They’re lovely, but very nosy. I just can’t deal with them tonight.”
Dante rushed past, grumbling about the growing number of golf carts showing up outside.
The police finished their search and asked Cameron a few more questions. I told them I’d get them a copy of the security footage. They said they’d be in touch if they found anything.
The Bluewater security guards successfully shooed away the residents who’d started congregating outside. Finally, all was quiet.
Cameron lowered herself onto the
step at the bottom of her wide staircase. The entryway fountain trickled, the water meandering around the palm trees that grew through the specially-cut holes in the floor. I sat down next to her and she plucked my shirt.
“You’re still damp.”
“So are you.”
She let out a long breath. “Did someone really leave a fish on my bed?”
“Yes.”
“What the fuck.” She rubbed her hands up and down her face. “Who does that?”
Questions and next steps ran through my mind. The police would investigate, but I wasn’t going to leave this to them. I was going to find out who did this so I could make damn sure they never did anything to Cameron again.
“Jude?” she asked, her voice soft.
“Yeah?”
She hesitated for a few seconds. “Can I go home with you tonight?”
Putting my arm around her, I drew her in close. I didn’t care if it wasn’t professional. And when she melted against me, I stopped worrying about whether she wanted this from me.
“Of course.” I kissed the top of her still-damp head. “Come stay at my place.”
“Thank you.”
I just squeezed her. Anything for you, Cameron. Anything.
19
Cameron
Jude’s muscular arm encircled me, and I rested my head against his thick chest. Closing my eyes, I breathed him in. His scent and the heat of his body were more relaxing than a glass of wine. I indulged in the comfort for a long moment before shifting away.
“Do you want to grab some of your things?” he asked.
I shook my head. My clothes were still damp from the rain, but I didn’t care. I needed to get out of here. “No. Let’s just go.”
He smoothed my hair down and nodded. “Okay.”
I kept several pairs of sandals in a closet off the entry, so I slipped my feet into a pair while Jude put on his boots. He did a quick check of the doors and windows, making sure everything was secure before we left.
Most of the runoff from the rainstorm had found its way into the canal, leaving the ground glistening wet but not flooded. The humidity would be intense when the sun came up and all the moisture left overnight evaporated. For now, the breeze coming off the water cooled the air and a bird called in the distance. Thankfully it wasn’t Frank. That asshole parrot had a knack for ruining a quiet evening.
Jude insisted I wear his helmet, since he didn’t have an extra one with him. I dutifully put it on and climbed on the bike behind him. I must have looked ridiculous, dressed in nothing but a thin pajama set and a hastily thrown-on robe.
The engine roared to life and I wrapped my arms around his waist. He drove us slowly down my driveway and through the enclave, pausing at the entrance gate.
As soon as we pulled out onto the main road, he opened it up. I felt the speed in my chest, in the way we sliced through the warm night air. The vibration of the engine hummed through my body as the scenery flew by. With a motorcycle between my legs and my arms around this gentle beast of a man, it was easy to forget the chaos I’d left behind. Lose myself in the freedom of speed.
We came to a stop in what looked like an industrial area, next to a building with tall garage doors on one end. A set of stairs on the adjacent wall led to a door on the second floor. It was hard to see much in the dim light of the single streetlight. But as soon as we climbed off the bike, another light blazed to life.
“It’s on a motion detector,” Jude said.
I pulled off the helmet and handed it to him, feeling suddenly guilty. When I’d asked Jude to take me home, I hadn’t thought about whether or not he’d want me to invade his private space like this.
“I’m sorry for springing this on you. Are you sure this is okay?”
“It’s fine. I don’t have company very often, but it shouldn’t be too embarrassing.”
He took my hand and led me up the metal staircase, his boots making surprisingly little noise. He glanced around—it was like a reflex, I saw him do it everywhere—before unlocking the nondescript door.
And just like that, I stepped into Jude’s world.
From the outside, the building didn’t look like a residence. But inside was a sprawling loft. Exposed conduit and bare brick walls had been coupled with comfortable furnishings. A long section of wall had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, stuffed with books. The kitchen was open with a bar-height island separating it from the rest of the space. Another area had a couch and two chairs facing a flat screen TV mounted on the wall. His bed—king size and neatly made—was in a shadowy corner at the far end.
“It’s not much,” he said, hanging his keys on a hook by the door. “But it’s home.”
“I like it,” I said, taking slow steps and absorbing every detail. The deck of cards on a side table. The large desk with six monitors. The set of golf clubs in the corner.
“Thanks. I keep saying it’s temporary until I find something else. I guess I’ve been saying that for five years, so maybe I should just accept that I live here. Anyway, you could probably use some dry clothes.”
I glanced down at my bedraggled pajamas. Leaving without changing into something else—or grabbing a change of clothes—had been a stupid thing to do. I wasn’t a wilting flower who could be scared out of her own home by some assface who thought he could fuck with me.
Except tonight, I was. And it was by choice. And maybe that was what made it okay to be standing in damp silk pajamas and sandals that, now that I looked down at my feet, probably weren’t even mine. Inda’s maybe? Or something Luna had left behind?
I was tired, an aching exhaustion that I felt deep in my bones. I’d been holding myself together—all by myself—ever since the hit and run. No, ever since the parking garage. I’d been keeping my fear bottled up, hidden behind a wall of sarcasm and flippancy. I was fine. It hadn’t been a big deal. I could handle things myself.
But I didn’t want to handle things myself. Not tonight. I wanted to take off the mantle of high-powered CEO. Woman in a man’s world. Badass engineer and literal rocket scientist who could do anything. Face anything. Be anything.
If I could be anything, tonight all I wanted was to be held. For someone else to do the heavy lifting.
I looked Jude up and down, doubting he owned a single item of clothing that wouldn’t fit three of me. “Maybe just a robe while they dry?”
“I actually have something that might fit you,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
A doorway near his bed proved to be a small walk-in closet. He disappeared inside and I chewed my lip while I waited. Clothes that fit me? Did he mean women’s clothes? I didn’t like the idea of wearing something one of his exes had left behind.
He came out with a folded set of clothes and handed them to me. “Bathroom’s through there.”
“Thanks.” I took the clothes—they were soft and smelled fresh—and went through the door.
The small bathroom was sparkling clean. One bath towel, folded precisely in half, hung from a towel rack next to a clawfoot tub encircled by a white shower curtain. A mirrored medicine cabinet hung over the vanity and the toilet lid was closed. A single toothbrush sat in a chrome holder designed for two, the second slot empty.
I set the dry clothes on the counter and peeled off my pajamas. The fabric stuck to my skin and a shiver ran down my spine. I shook everything out and hung it up on the shower curtain rod to finish drying. My bra and panties were damp, too, so I took those off and laid them on the edge of the tub.
Jude had brought me a pair of cotton boxer briefs and a faded green t-shirt. The underwear certainly hadn’t belonged to a woman. They were loose on me, so I folded down the waistband once to make them a little more secure.
I picked up the neatly folded shirt and let it fall open. It said USMC in cracked lettering, like it had been worn and washed many times. I slipped it on and pulled it down, smoothing it over my bare skin. It was big on me, but I wasn’t swimming in it. There was no way it would fit Jude.
> US Marine Corps. Was this his? Who had he been when he’d worn this?
Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I winced. My hair was flat and stringy. My mascara had held up—even in the rain—so that was something. But overall, I looked like hell.
Well, it wasn’t like Jude hadn’t seen me in all my hot-mess glory already.
I came out to find Jude in dry clothes—a plain white t-shirt and light gray sweats. He looked up from the sink where he was filling a tea kettle with water.
“Hey.” His eyes traced from my head down to my toes, then back again. He cleared his throat. “More comfortable?”
“This is great.” I smoothed the shirt down again. “Is this yours?”
“Yeah, it’s mine.”
“How did it ever fit you?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “I wasn’t always this big. Eighteen-year-old me sure wasn’t.”
“You’ve had this shirt since you were eighteen?” I asked, jerking my hands away, suddenly afraid I’d damage it.
“Eighteen or nineteen,” he said, and set the tea kettle on the stove. “I don’t really know what I’m doing, it just seemed like offering you tea was the right thing to do.”
As sweet as it was, I didn’t want tea. I wanted this man’s arms around me, cocooning me in safety. I wanted to feel like I didn’t have to be brave for a few hours. I wanted to let him be my courage. My protection. My shield.
I met his eyes, searching for a sign that he wanted me, too. For something that was more than a hint. More than a quickly smoothed-over glimmer of desire. Had we both been circling around the truth? Or was I alone in this infatuation?
As if he already knew me from the inside out—knew exactly what I needed—his expression turned hungry. No bodyguard mask hiding his feelings. His eyes swept over me, lingering on my chest where my nipples brushed against the thin cotton of his t-shirt. Down to the boxer briefs that were so loose they were in danger of falling off. Over my legs, bare from my upper thighs down to my toes.
The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy Page 14
