by Jill Shalvis
She fiddled with her purse, put on her seat belt, and looked everywhere but at him. "I thought someone was following me, but I was wrong. I panicked over nothing."
One of his hands was on the headrest above her. He touched her cheek softly with his other until she looked at him. God, those eyes, he thought. So clear, so absolutely full of mysteries. "Is someone following you?"
Her mouth tightened. "I don't think so. No. No one's following me."
"But it's a possibility?" he prompted.
She dragged her lip across her teeth and dropped her gaze. "Okay, look. I had trouble on my last job. One of my … coworkers sort of lost it."
"Lost it?"
"You know … went crazy."
His throat closed. His anger drained instantly to be replaced with concern. "Did he hurt you, Haley?"
"N-n-no." Again she bit her lip. "And it's a she. But either way, I don't think that's a problem because no one knows where I am. I just panicked there for a second. I'm sorry."
"Didn't you tell your boss? What kind of job was this?"
"My boss … couldn't do anything about it. Complicated policies, I guess."
Could she be more vague? "You can't be too safe. Let's call the cops."
"No!" She lowered her voice instantly. "It's not necessary. Really. She can't find me here."
He wished she'd look at him, because every instinct he had was screaming. Another damn lie. And yet … he still wanted her. Her hand rested on her thigh. He reached for it, frowning at its iciness. Bringing it up to his mouth, he ran his lips over her knuckles.
"You shouldn't do that." Her voice sounded light, whispery. And he knew how she felt because his own throat had gone dry.
"I shouldn't do a lot of things," he said, unhooking her seat belt and drawing her stiff body close. His fingers slid into her short, silky hair. "You have a way, darlin', of knotting me up inside." He bent to kiss her cheek, her jaw. And then because she smelled so good, tasted so delicious, he kissed her ear, her neck, then her jaw again.
She shivered when he skimmed his lips over hers, but kept her hands at her sides. "You really shouldn't … do that."
He smiled against her neck. "Why? You like it." Her hands moved then, to his shoulders, and he expected to be pushed away.
"I think we should go now," she whispered instead, still holding him.
"You think too much." But he gave her one last quick hug. "You'd feel better if you talked about it. Maybe your head and stomach wouldn't hurt so much."
She ducked her face as if the pain was a weakness to be embarrassed about.
"I don't like to think of you in pain."
"I'm—"
"I know," he said with a little laugh directed at himself. Idiot. "You're fine." He wanted to kiss her, had to kiss her. Watching her, being this close, he felt the urgency grow inside him until he was tense with the need of it. He wanted to plunder, dive in until neither of them knew their name, but the gentleness so deeply ingrained in him wouldn't allow it. So he glided his arms around her again and started with her chin, nipping it between his teeth, gradually moving along her face, leisurely drawing out their pleasure. He was rewarded when her body softened and leaned against his.
Her first sigh, the glorious feeling of her arms slipping around him in feminine surrender, stirred his blood. Taming the need was worth it, he decided in hazy delight, and with tormenting slowness he brought his lips back to hers. This time they parted immediately beneath his. Her shy tongue met his, and his last coherent thought was that this kiss wasn't going to be enough. He felt her clinging to him, heard her helpless moan … and he craved more.
A kiss wasn't supposed to devastate, he thought in confusion; it was supposed to satisfy. A kiss wasn't supposed to make the blood roar in his ears, or make his head swim; it should bring simple pleasure. But there was nothing simple about this. Oh, the pleasure seeped through him, but he sure as hell wasn't supposed to tremble just because she sighed his name in that low, sexy voice.
Being with a woman should be easy. Not rip a hole through his heart and leave him bleeding, helpless and needy. Carefully, purposefully, he drew away and stared at her, his world rocked by that one "simple" kiss.
Haley's eyes fluttered open, glazed and cloudy. "I think," she said on a very shaky breath, scooting back a little, "it would be best if we didn't do that often."
"I was thinking the opposite." Her lips were wet and swollen and he wanted to taste them again.
She straightened and tucked her legs beneath her in a defensive gesture that stopped him from reaching for her. "Things are mixed up enough. Cam. I…" She looked out the window and sighed. "Too mixed up to add this complication."
He wondered if she realized it was the first time she'd used his nickname. "That was some kiss, Haley. You should know. It left me wanting more."
"I can't give you more." Desperation crept into her voice.
He struggled with the patience that usually came so naturally, and didn't find it. "Why? Dammit, why?"
"Because I'm trouble, Cam. With a capital T."
* * *
For two days, Haley cringed at the memory of that day. She'd never forget the almost-comic, stunned surprise on Cam's face as she'd plowed him to the ground. She'd never tackled a boss before. Nor, she thought a little ruefully, had she ever kissed one.
She'd avoided him, but he'd done the same right back, even as he made sure that someone was always near enough that she never felt alone. She knew her lies and innate wariness had gotten to him, but she didn't know what to do. She couldn't tell him the truth—could she?
Sometimes she thought she should; then she remembered how many had died and decided against it.
She stood in the large living room of the ranch house, dusting. She'd discovered the Crock-Pot the day before, and the large recipe book inside it, so dinner should be a snap.
She hoped.
She'd dropped potatoes and carrots into it exactly according to the recipe. Then a large roast. She expected to need a miracle, but to her utter surprise, when she'd checked the pot an hour ago, a delicious aroma had arisen. And it actually looked good, though personally, she'd prefer a greasy burger and fries.
Cameron had left strict instructions. She could cook breakfast and dinner, but everyone had to fix their own lunch. Yet something strange had happened to Haley—something unexpected. She found she enjoyed the kitchen activities so much, she'd actually connived to be in there when everyone wandered in around noon. So it became natural for her to make the sandwiches—which even she could do well.
Haley didn't like to think about how attached to everyone she'd become. Or how much Nellie seemed to enjoy having her. Or how much she enjoyed bantering like old friends with Zach and Jason.
Then there was Cameron.
She'd never danced in the rain before. She'd never shared a laugh over a cow. And she'd certainly never been kissed by a man the way he'd kissed her.
Well aware that such a thing could go nowhere, she couldn't keep her heart from giving a little leap whenever she saw him. For two long nights now, she'd lain awake, torn between fear for her uncertain future, and a longing so fierce she couldn't ease the ache.
She longed—oh, how she longed—yet she couldn't put a name to it. Her life had been pathetically short on romance, and most of that was by choice. Men didn't understand her, and most seemed intimidated by her. It would be laughable if she'd had a friend to laugh with. But she'd been pathetic in that department, too. Maybe because she'd always been around people much older than herself, maybe because while her brain was overly developed, she'd ignored her social skills… She didn't know.
But she'd read plenty, and her deepest, most secret fantasy was to have a romance. A real, true romance, just like in the books she loved. Last night, with nothing to read, she'd actually started a journal. She'd kept a record of her life before, plenty of times. But those had always been careful notes of her studies or projects, never anything personal. This time, and for the f
irst time, she'd outlined her feelings in detail, purposely steering away from anything technical. Just feelings. And she'd been shocked by what she'd discovered.
She was infatuated with her new boss.
Confused and a little frightened by the depth of her unexpected feelings, she put a little too much "oomph" into dusting the top of the mantel, and two picture frames slid down. Reaching for the first one, she slid her rag over the dusty top of it, then went still.
The snapshot showed Cameron, maybe several years ago, dressed in a suit and tie. But the surprising elegance of his dress wasn't what shocked her, or even how good he looked—it was the possessive way his arm was wrapped around a tall, beautiful and very pregnant woman.
"That was my wife," he said quietly, from behind her.
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
At Cam's softly spoken words, Haley's rag fell to the floor. Dismay came first, then embarrassment, as she stooped down, but Cam gently took her wrist and pulled her up.
With a small smile that didn't quite mask the sorrow in his eyes, he touched the frame. Running a finger over the dusty edge, he remained silent.
Haley watched as with exaggerated care, he returned the picture to the mantel.
"This was taken a little over five years ago," he finally said. "We met in high school—"
"Don't," Haley said quickly, lifting a hand to stop him. "You don't have to."
"I know. I want to." He stared at the photo. "I've not spoken about it except to my family in all his time…" His gaze met hers then. "But I want you to know."
She knew what he was doing. He was going to open up, share himself, in the hope she'd do the same. But she'd done nothing to deserve him or his friendship—nothing but lie. She couldn't possibly feel worse. "Cam."
Taking the rag from her hands, he ran it over the glass in the frame. "Lorraine was gorgeous, smart. Funny. Everything I could have asked for, except one thing." His eyes pierced hers. "She couldn't he honest to save her life."
Haley's mouth opened. Then closed.
"She lied indiscriminately, about anything. Everything. Where she'd been, what she'd done. Strangely enough, not about other men, but about everything else… I know now she couldn't help it. She was sick. But it drove me crazy." He stared at the picture. "By the time I finished college, we'd been on and off so many times I'd lost count, but I wanted her. No matter how many times she hurt me, I wanted her." He sighed, then slipped his hands into his pockets, and she knew his hands were fisted. "She kept lying, and I kept wanting. We had no business getting married, but I… Well, I was stubborn."
He let out a little laugh. "The way I went through women during our off times before our wedding drove Lorraine mad. She came after me one night, I think to skin my hide, but we ended up taking it out in passion instead."
God, she didn't want to hear this, but she couldn't tear herself away. And the pain and regret on Cam's face squeezed her heart.
"She got pregnant." His melancholy smile disappeared and Haley's stomach tightened.
"I worked as a stockbroker then—fourteen, maybe fifteen hours a day." He broke off at her look of surprise and nodded grimly. "Yeah, believe it or not."
Something ached inside Haley at the look of pure torture on his face. She dreaded whatever was coming next. "Cam—"
"I worked hard and long," he said harshly, ignoring her. "No matter what, regardless of what Lorraine wanted. I don't know why, really. I hated the work, but I was driven. And I hated the lies. Always, more lies. But I wanted that baby." He shook his head. "I was working the night she went into labor, and because she'd been paging me nightly for no particular reason except she was lonely, I didn't call back right away. Didn't want to stop working."
He closed his eyes and Haley reached for him, unable to stop herself from offering comfort she knew wouldn't help. She touched his shoulder and he opened his eyes to look at her, his deep, dark brown eyes shiny and full with emotion.
"She died ten minutes after my son did. I wasn't there."
"Oh, Cam," she said softly, "I'm so sorry." The words were hopelessly inadequate. Awkwardly, because she had never become accustomed to giving any part of herself, she stepped closer. He might resent her sympathy, or reject any offer of comfort, but she found she had to try because watching him suffer hurt. So, for the first time in her life, she reached out to another human being by choice and gave what she had.
He went unhesitatingly into her arms, making her understand how actions could soothe more than words. This was what life was really about, she thought, awed. The intermingling of lives, love … death. Her own life had been so sorely lacking in these experiences, so sheltered, she could only hold him, and hope it was enough.
Silently they stood there, locked together, grieving; him for what had been; her, for what never had been.
Max came upon them that way, and his joy at finding two of the people he cared most about in the entire world proved too much. Yipping and jumping at their feet, he peed everywhere.
Haley leaped back, hopelessly flustered and a little embarrassed. The puppy just sat in the puddle, wagging his tail and panting happily.
Cam gave a hoarse little laugh as he studied the wet dog, who didn't look in the least bit humiliated by his faux pas. "The least you could do is pretend to be humbled." And when, amazingly, the puppy did, bowing his little head, Cam bent to rub his neck, murmuring sympathetically, "I've told you, buddy, you can't show your eagerness so quickly. Make them come to you." Cam obligingly hunkered down when Max rolled over to offer his belly for scratching. Then Cam rose, shaking his head at the puddle. "All right, Max. We've put this off long enough because I understood how you felt about such things, but we can't delay this another minute. Bath time."
Max stood, too, looking unusually alert and wary.
"I'll clean this up," Haley said quickly, needing to escape the unfamiliar closeness. She moved to get a mop.
"Don't, I'll get it." Cam lifted his head from the dog long enough to give her a smile, though sadness lingered in his eyes. His voice sounded husky, intimate. "I don't expect you to clean up this kind of stuff."
At a loss for words, Haley picked up the forgotten rag, then stuffed it awkwardly into her bucket of supplies. Cam was still looking at her in a way that made thinking difficult. She moved toward the door, then stopped. He'd given her something new. Closeness. She felt she had to give something back. "Cam?"
"Yes?" Their eyes met, clung.
She felt something pass between them, some sort of silent awareness. "I'm … in trouble." She braced for the barrage of questions she knew was coming.
But he said nothing; just waited, his expression so open and unexpectedly patient, her eyes suddenly stung. "I am—was—in charge of a team of geologists. And I'm on the run."
"From the co-worker you told me about?"
"Yes."
"Are you safe here?
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
Now her vision wavered behind her unshed tears. She'd lied to him, hurt him, and what he cared about most was her safety. Well, she cared about his, too. "I'm sure."
He didn't move, as if he knew she was on the very edge and would fall apart if he so much as took a step toward her. "How come you're telling me now?"
"You— You're not like anyone I've ever met."
His gaze heated and her body reacted similarly.
"Why, Haley, I do believe that was a compliment."
"It was."
"Thanks for listening to me before," he said softly. "I didn't realize how much I needed to talk."
"I'm glad I was here." But she winced at the breathy sound of her voice. She gripped the doorjamb, feeling as though his gaze pinned her to the spot.
"Maybe I could return the favor," he suggested. "You could tell me more. About you."
"Cam—"
He just shook his head at the warning in her voice. "I'm not trying to push, Haley." Grimacing, he shoved a hand through his
hair in an unusual show of frustration and said, "Okay, maybe I am. I want to know more."
And after what she'd just found out about him, she could understand why. She certainly understood his edginess at how she refused to be honest. It hurt him, and made her feel ashamed.
"It's the first time in a long time for me," he said. "I want to know everything."
What was he saying? That despite it all, he was still attracted to her? It was hard to believe that he felt anything more than a passing fancy. Or perhaps she didn't want to believe, because the thought was more than a little terrifying.
"Do you understand?" he asked, gingerly holding the wet, squirming puppy. "I want to know more about you. You're a geologist, for God's sake. Tell me more."
"Why?"
"Because I care about you."
Oh, Lord. Her stomach went all fluttery. Had anyone ever said that to her before? "It's only been a couple of days."
"My caring is not a death sentence," Cam said, a little smile playing about his lips. Only his eyes showed the lingering hurt from what he'd told her about his wife. Or had she caused that?
"Letting me get to know you won't hurt all that much."
She laughed nervously. "Don't be too sure."
* * *
She'd called her old apartment. The knowledge caused a smile. After searching for her for days—days—waiting for her to make a move, she had.
Now there was proof that Dr. Haley Whitfield was indeed alive.
That little fact would have to be remedied. Soon. As soon as her location was pinpointed.
* * *
Sleep was impossible. Haley gave it up at dawn. She showered, dressed and opened her front door to admire the gorgeous fall morning. Dark still prevailed, but to the east she could see the sharp outline of the mountains as the sky above them lightened perceptibly. The trees rustled noisily in the early wind. Somewhere a rooster crowed. Another minute passed. The sky turned purple, then red, then a glorious yellow as the sun appeared over the tops of the peaks.
Taking a deep breath of the crisp, clear air, Haley found herself smiling at the glory of it. How often in her life had she taken time for sunrises? Never.
