by Tory Cates
The blond pounded forward to return the volley, sending it spinning off of a side wall. Then he sagged back for the rest that was sure to come. There was no way Cam could reach the ball on the other side of the court.
Cam worked out the game’s impossible geometry quickly enough to position himself precisely where he needed to be to peel the killer shot off the side wall and send it slicing back up into the front right corner.
With a startled grunt, the blond lunged forward, diving for the corner where Cam had placed his shot. He stretched out his racket, but his arm was about two feet too short. He tottered, then went sprawling out on the court. The ball thunked to a dead halt. Cam had won the serve back. He’d bagged his prey.
Cam rushed up to give the blond a hand getting back onto his feet. Malou saw the bitterness of defeat sour the man’s handsome features, pinching them white beneath his tan. Cam had soundly romped him. Malou imagined that Cam was used to sound romps and uncomfortable with anything else.
“Supreme effort,” Cam said with a casual ease, his hand still clutching the other man’s. “I don’t think I would have even tried for that one.”
“I shouldn’t have given you the chance to make it,” the blond replied. “I should have put you away with my last shot.”
“And next time you will,” Cam said.
The tightness cracked and the man smiled, already savoring a future triumph.
That small exchange ran counter to the direction of Malou’s thoughts and stirred up yet another memory. “No losers, no tears.” It seemed to be Cam’s motto, and she’d just gotten a firsthand demonstration of how he made it work. He’d given the blond man back his dignity and reframed the entire game so that he wasn’t a loser; he was a man who was simply still working toward victory.
The collision of perceptions dizzied Malou. Which was the real Cameron Landell? The hunter who must win or go hungry? Or the man who believed there should be no losers?
Cam paced back to the service area, brushing the back of his hand across his forehead and bouncing the ball off of his racket. He took his position in the service box, leaned over, shook out his arms to loosen his shoulders, bounced the ball, reared back, and swatted it forward. The ball cracked off like a rifle shot, and as Cam followed through, Malou entered the edge of his vision.
“Malou! You’re here!”
The blond scrambled for the serve, slamming it off the front wall. The returned ball whizzed by Cam’s head as he stared up at his visitor.
Malou basked in his open delight.
Cam’s racket dangled forgotten off of his wrist, the ball dribbled unnoticed across his feet, and still he continued to stare.
“Yo, Cam, you want to play that point over?” the blond man asked.
Cam held up his hand, flagging surrender. “No, it’s yours. The whole game’s yours. I forfeit.”
“That doesn’t sound like you, Landell. You feeling all . . . ?” The blond man’s question went unasked as he followed Cam’s gaze up to the balcony above the court where Malou watched. “Oh. Listen, give me a call next time you want a game. You owe me a chance to clean your clock.”
“You got it, Jeff,” Cam promised the man as he left. Then he turned back to Malou. “My receptionist told me you were on your way. I didn’t expect you so soon. You make good time, woman.”
“When I have the proper motivation.” Malou could barely believe that she’d spoken such flirtatious words. Cam seemed capable of evoking all manner of uncharacteristic responses from her.
A large grin cut across Cam’s face at her saucy riposte. “Stay right where you are, Lou-Lou Belle.”
Lou-Lou Belle? Malou wondered as Cam disappeared out the court door. A few seconds later, a door opened and he was beside her. His presence was overwhelming. It surrounded and pressed against her, making her feel short of breath and mildly claustrophobic.
“Lou-Lou Belle, indeed,” she scolded, trying to hide how flustered she was behind mock ferocity.
“Would you prefer Malou the Monkey Girl?” Cam asked, moving closer. “Or perhaps Mary Louise?”
“Okay, Lou-Lou Belle wins over Mary Louise. But I’m still not wild about either one.”
He put a hand, still warm from the exertion of his sport, on her shoulder. “I’m happy to see you.” All jocularity was gone. His tone was intimate.
Malou turned from the power of his touch to grip the railing and look down into the now empty racquetball court. Her thoughts were ricocheting just as wildly as any ball ever hit in that court. She fought to steady them, just barely managing to recall the purported reason for her visit.
“Yes, well, I . . . I came because Dr. Darden wants you to call him immediately.”
“Dr. Darden, the Father of American Primatology?” Cam’s hand slid down her arm, then back up, the pads of his fingertips lightly raking a pattern. “Is that the only reason you rushed up here? I certainly hope not. Not after yesterday.”
No, yesterday had changed things. Irrevocably. Malou felt that in her bones. But now that she was here, with Cam beside her, the implications of those changes loomed very large. She chased them away and tried to concentrate on her mission. “Dr. Darden sent me a text. He has a plan he’d like to discuss with you. You were out of the office when I called, so I drove up.”
“And now that you’ve delivered your message you’ll simply turn around and rush back home?” Cam teased.
“That’s probably not a bad idea,” Malou conceded.
“Are you kidding? That’s a wretched idea. Why don’t you go on into my office and give me ten minutes to shower and call Darden. Then I want to take you out for the best dinner San Antonio can produce. Now, scoot. It’s at the far end of the hall. I have magazines, television, and liquor in there. That should be enough to keep you occupied for the two minutes I’m in the shower. After that, I intend to keep you fully occupied for as long as you’ll allow.”
Malou stood listening to the brisk tattoo of his steps as they faded down the stairwell. Cam’s office was a true entrepreneur’s lair, right down to a desk large enough to roller-skate on. She’d barely completed a perfunctory inventory when Cam burst in still toweling beads of water from his hair and wearing a casual outfit of charcoal gray slacks and a black polo shirt.
“Did you find the liquor cabinet?” he joked.
“I managed to restrain myself from cleaning it out.”
“How about some juice? A beer? Bloody Mary? You name it,” Cam offered, walking to a rosewood cabinet. Malou opted for orange juice. Cam popped the top on an imported beer and sank into a high-backed swivel chair.
The cold juice cut through the dust in Malou’s throat from the drive up.
“Do you always play racquetball that way?” she asked.
“And what way might that be?” Cam answered, gulping down a long draught.
“Oh, I don’t know. To win, I guess.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” Cam queried back.
“After their own fashion. I suppose it’s just that most people’s fashions aren’t as openly ferocious as yours.”
“You’d better get the stars out of your eyes,” Cam teased. “Ferocity is the name of the game in my business. Although, you’re right, most people do put bigger smiles on their games than I do.”
Malou put a hand to her hair, wondering how many kinds of a fright she looked.
Cam watched the small gesture, wishing that it were his hand touching those sun-streaked waves, those sun-browned legs, those lips. Before he knew it, his heart was raging again within his chest, stirred by the wanting that had deviled him from the first moment he’d set eyes on this puzzling and provoking woman. They had been so close last night, ready to share all a man and a woman could share. And now, today, she seemed like a timid doe ready to flee if he breathed too loudly. He wasn’t used to shyness, to reserve. To someone like Malou, whose world couldn’t be summed up in three lines in a society column describing the new gown she’d worn to the latest gala along with the name of t
he powerful man escorting her.
His money, the position he had scrambled to attain, meant nothing to her. Her work was and always would be foremost. She would never be content to be that woman in the new gown on his arm at the gala. That knowledge acted upon him like the most potent of aphrodisiacs. What there was between them came from a more powerfully primitive place than any attraction he had known before. And there was something between them. He felt the chemistry even now, sitting in his office, and, cast as many downward glances as she might, Cam would bet his soul that she was feeling it too.
He drained his glass. There were hurdles, far too many hurdles, to be gotten over—her reluctance, that infernal troop of monkeys, his own financial entanglements. But get over them he would. He put the glass down.
“Shall we find out what the Father of American Primatology’s plan is?”
Chapter 7
Malou watched Cam as he spoke with Edward Darden. He clearly felt none of the awe that afflicted her. She doubted if there were many people in the world who could awe Cameron Landell. Her thoughts kept drifting away from the conversation she should have been paying attention to, fixing instead on details like the way his fingernails wrapped clean and square around the sturdy tips of his fingers. Or the way sandy brown hair tufted at his bottom knuckle. Or how he kept raking her with his gaze when she least expected it.
And then she thought of those strong, capable hands on her, doing the wondrous things they had done last night. A flush of heat swept through her, and she looked down as if something fascinating were happening amid the ice cubes in her orange juice. Bits of Cam’s responses filtered through her discomfiture, enough so that she caught the drift of the conversation. Darden’s plan was an exciting one, so exciting that her eyes were gleaming by the time Cam hung up.
Malou eagerly recapped her understanding of the discussion. “He wants you to turn Los Monos into a tourist park?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“What a fantastic idea! It works in Japan. They restrict visitors to one area that doesn’t interfere with normal troop interaction. We could do the same thing at Los Monos. That way you could generate revenue and we could still keep the troop together.”
“A very nifty plan except for one detail: time. We don’t have nearly enough of it. My note is still going to come due at the end of May. The Japanese got their start-up capital in the form of government grants. I don’t see Uncle Sam offering to back us on this one, Malou, and there’s no way I can currently finance it. So, essentially, we’re in the same position we started in—you still need to drum up some grant money.”
Malou nodded, her enthusiasm leaking away. She stood stiffly, putting her glass down. “Well, I guess I’d better go start calling again.”
Cam came around to her side of the desk. “I guess you’d better not.” He twisted his wrist around so that his watch faced Malou. “See, way past five. Wouldn’t be anyone in. What you’d better do is come to dinner with me.”
Malou smiled at his goofy tactics, her nameless fears subsiding in the wake of Cam’s easy joviality. “I can’t, Cam. I’m not dressed.”
“And you think I am?” he asked, indicating his casual outfit. “I don’t patronize restaurants that don’t allow women with beautiful legs to show them off in khaki shorts.”
“A wise policy.” Malou smiled in spite of herself and took the arm that Cam held out to her. The receptionist and Cam’s other employees had already left for the day, and Cam locked up as they stepped out into the balmy spring evening freshened by a light breeze.
The drive into downtown San Antonio was a short one. They parked near a famous landmark that Malou had been meaning to see but had never quite gotten around to—the Alamo. Its curved outline looked like something out of a myth cutting across the dusky Texas sky. The old mission’s grandeur was crowded and reduced, though, by the skyscrapers pressing down upon it. Cam led her to an entrance to the Riverwalk that wound through the city’s heart. It was a surprisingly peaceful and lovely refuge. Cam took her hand and they walked in silence beneath the sheltering palms and past riotous displays of flowers at the peak of their springtime splendor. The river flowed past beside them with a sinuous elegance. Both looked around them, commenting on the charm of San Antonio’s sights, but both really aware of little beyond the rapturous feel of each other’s flesh.
The restaurant Cam took her to was right on the water’s edge. The maitre d’ greeted Cam with a warm familiarity that ignored trifles like a pair of khaki shorts or the absence of a tie. He led them past high-heeled and jacketed diners to a secluded table on the patio with the river lapping only inches away. A mimosa tree spread a cloud of pink blossoms over their heads that drenched the air with an unearthly fragrance.
“This is lovely,” Malou said, breathing in the pastel scent.
“I was hoping you’d like it.” Cam caught her gaze, and she sank into the drowning warmth of those melting brown eyes.
Cam slid his hand over hers. “So, we’re finally together for the first time today.”
She didn’t have to ask what he meant. She’d been holding herself aloof from him, from the tumult of her feelings all day. She could no longer deny them. “I guess I’ve just spent too many years around the lower primates,” she admitted. “I’m not very good at dealing with all the complications of human involvements. My usual reaction is to run away from them.” She gave a dry chuckle, attempting to lighten her confession.
Cam’s hand tightened over hers. “Don’t do that.”
“I don’t want to, Cam. It’s just that I’m not used to having my emotions in such a snarl.”
“Mine are pretty snarled up too, Malou. You’re not in this alone. We’re not on opposite sides. It’s like with the monkey troop. I want you to have what you need.”
“But it might not be in your power to give me what I need.”
“I don’t know what that is, Malou, but I’d like to learn.”
Malou felt her hand grow hot beneath Cam’s.
A waiter appeared carrying a tray laden with the specialties Cam had ordered. Malou snaked her hand out from under Cam’s as the waiter slid artfully arranged plates in front of them.
They both toyed with their meals in silence for a few minutes before Cam spoke again. “I don’t want to crowd you, Malou. To frighten you away. Would it help if we took things very slow and easy?”
Malou looked up, the light from the guttering candles catching in her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “That would help a lot.”
Cam sighed and let his fork drop onto his plate, abandoning the pretense of eating. “In that case I’d better see you back to your car while I have a shred of willpower left. If I wait too long, I might not be able to resist trying to convince you to continue where we left off last night.”
Malou nodded, and Cam rose to help her with her chair. “Damn Alexander Graham Bell,” he hissed, referring to the phone call that had interrupted them the evening before.
Full darkness cloaked the city by the time they reached Malou’s jeep back at Cam’s office. For a moment they both sat, staring silently through the windshield of Cam’s Escalade.
“Those things aren’t particularly safe, you know,” Cam finally commented, pointing toward the open jeep.
Malou laughed, evincing a quizzical look from Cam. “I’m sorry, it’s just hard to take highway safety tips from someone who chronically drives as fast as you do.”
“I’ll have you know that it’s been nearly three months since I’ve gotten a speeding ticket.”
“Such restraint.”
“Such restraint, indeed,” Cam echoed, leaning toward Malou. “It’s superhuman.” His last words puffed softly against Malou’s lips before Cam’s covered them. His kiss set Malou’s blood to singing as his hand reached out to gently stroke her cheek.
“Restraint. Restraint.” Cam whispered the words, then, with a great effort, obeyed them. He leaned back into his seat, sucked in a deep breath, then hurled hims
elf out his door and came around to open Malou’s.
Malou grabbed the few seconds to steady herself, astounded at how one glancing kiss could so rock her equilibrium. She had to get back to Los Monos. Quickly. Had to get away from Cam, from the uncontrollable power of her attraction to him.
“Your coach, m’lady.” Cam took her arm and handed her back into the dusty jeep. She smiled tightly. Fighting the urge to wrap her arms around his strong shoulders, to feel the caress of his hair against her palms, she gripped the jeep’s steering wheel. She fished the key out of her purse, jammed it into the ignition, and turned. All her movements felt wooden and awkward beneath Cam’s unwavering gaze. A dull grind issued from somewhere under the hood. Cam cocked his head toward the abnormal sound. She clicked the key off and her smile tightened even further.
“The battery’s just cold,” she explained, something like panic pushing up her pulse. She knew she had to get away from Cameron Landell tonight or surrender to the power he exerted over her.
“Cold battery,” he repeated with a sage nod.
She made sure the lights and windshield wipers were off, then tried again. Again the dull grind answered her effort. She pumped the accelerator pedal.
“Bum alternator.” Cam pronounced his diagnosis just as the engine sputtered resentfully to life.
Malou smiled with relief.
“You won’t make it out of the driveway,” Cam predicted.
“And just what crystal ball is giving you this great insight into auto mechanics?” Malou asked teasingly, relieved now that the jeep was running and her escape was secure.
“No crystal ball. I just know a bit about cars. Another symptom of my misspent youth. As soon as you turn on your headlights, the engine’ll die.”
Malou smiled at his jest, flipped the headlight switch, and heard the engine rumble twice, then die. Malou whacked her palm against the steering wheel. “You did that, didn’t you?” she shot at Cam, who was looking impossibly innocent.
