by Jill Shalvis
Frustration purled from deep within, and for once, he couldn't find his patience, his gentleness, his innate kindness. "Damn it, Haley. How can you let yourself go like this?" He gripped her shoulders tightly. "You shudder in fear when you think no one is watching and you jump if someone so much as walks up behind you. I know you're frightened and you won't let me help. Now, I've agreed not to push, even though you admit you're on the run, but you've been clutching at your stomach like you're going to die. I can't just stand by while you're in pain. Don't ask me to."
Since he still lay over her, he was well aware of the fact that she'd gone rigid with tension. Her eyes closed, and she inhaled deeply. He felt her slowly relax, then her eyes opened on his. "I'm sorry. I've not been very fair, have I?"
He shook his head, waiting. The day had fully disappeared into night, but he had no trouble reading the misgivings in her expression. "Do you need a doctor for the ulcer?"
"No, it's better." Her smile seemed bright—too bright, as if, once again, she associated her pain with weakness. "Much better."
He just looked at her.
"It is," she insisted. "I haven't had any trouble in days. You set your food down. I thought you were hungry."
"Now who's changing the subject?" He kissed her once because he couldn't help himself, then because she seemed so uncomfortable with him plastered to her, he sat and pulled her up next to him. Immediately he felt the loss of her soft, warm body. "Now tell me why you're mad at me."
She crossed her arms and gave him that sassy look he was so fond of. "I thought you said you already knew."
"I do. I just want to hear you admit it." Idly, he pushed his foot to the ground and set them into a gentle rocking motion. He tugged her hair. "I want to hear you admit you're mad because you can't stop thinking about me."
She sputtered with that, then finally tipped her head back and laughed. "You're something."
"I thought I was impossible."
"That, too." She tilted her head and studied him. "I've never known anyone like you, Cameron Reeves."
"I'm not sure that's a compliment."
Her smile had a touch of wistfulness in it. "It's not. Your ego's big enough without my help."
"A little confidence never hurt anyone."
She shook her head. "You've got more than a little confidence. All of you Reeveses do."
"And that's a bad thing?"
She looked at him and inhaled deeply. "No, actually. I find yours unsettlingly comforting sometimes."
He gave her a quick squeeze, touched. But she stiffened on him.
"I've got to go."
With his arm around her, the beautiful night making soft sounds all around them, and swinging in his favorite hammock. Cam was hard-pressed to think of anything more important to do. "Do you now? How come?"
"I've got—"
"Work." he finished for her, at the same time she said the word. "You always have work. Haven't you learned yet?" He was absolutely earnest about this, desperate for her to understand. "Work will wait. Life won't."
Before his eyes, her face changed. Her sorrow became a weight even he could feel burdened under.
"You're right," she said softly. "Life is precious. It won't wait and it should never be taken for granted." She rose. "Excuse me," she whispered. And then, without another word, she ran off.
He watched her go, wondering, worrying, at the glint of tears he'd seen.
* * *
He didn't wonder long. Early the next morning, rising before everyone else, Cam picked up the morning paper, needing a distraction from the woman he couldn't stop thinking about. He'd promised himself he'd stay clear of her, he'd get over whatever strange, unaccountable sense of lust he felt.
It hadn't happened. Even his suspicion of all her lies and secrets had dissipated in the face of her fear. He'd convinced himself—nearly—that Haley was fiercely protecting someone by keeping her troubles to herself, and he had the uneasy feeling that someone was him.
It got to him, as little else could have. He felt something for her, something deep and abiding, and he had come to the realization it wasn't going to go away. Hell, if he was going to be honest, he had to admit he'd never felt like this before.
Mentally skipping away from that thought, he skimmed his eyes over the paper. His heart stopped when he saw the headline. Fear and fury raced with equal strength through his veins but he forced himself to read the report, even though every word was like a knife to his chest.
When he was done, he folded the newspaper.
Haley had told him the truth. She was a geologist, and undoubtedly on the run. But she had left out several critical little facts. Like her real last name. And the fact that the South American authorities wanted her for questioning in association with several bombings, the missing uranium and several murders.
She was a criminal.
God, she wasn't like Lorraine; she was far worse.
* * *
Cooking breakfast, Haley couldn't get the night before out of her head. The way Cam had looked at her with warmth, affection and hunger; the way his body had felt strong and hard over hers in the hammock. She crashed a pot down on the stove, taking pleasure in the loud, satisfying noise.
He had no right to remind her how wonderful life should be. How precious. She knew that. Just as she knew that she'd always feel partially to blame for the uncountable number of deaths her undersea system had caused.
But, dammit, it had been someone else who had killed and destroyed—not her. Someone had used her, and with the discovery of uranium, that person was going to be very wealthy.
She knew Cam's computer had on-line capabilities, but she didn't want to risk being caught or traced. She wondered about the library in town. Would it be updated regularly with newspapers? Trade magazines? Certainly, there would have been a story about Bob. Maybe it would have more info. She had to do something, take some action.
She yawned. It had been a long night. Even writing in her journal hadn't given her the release it had before. Now her words sounded pathetic and full of self-pity. She'd written about how she wanted to ease the strange, unbearable ache Cam caused, how she'd seduce him if necessary. But when she'd reread what she'd written, she'd had to burst out laughing. She couldn't do it. She'd thrown the tablet across the room into the trash, vowing to give up writing if she couldn't come up with something better than fantasizing about her boss.
Nellie popped her head into the kitchen, a big, warm smile on her face. "Hey, Haley. I dreamed about pancakes. Big, thick, mouthwatering, delicious pancakes. Do you think you could… Oh, never mind." She cut herself off, obviously glimpsing Haley's horrified expression. "It's too much trouble, I'm sure."
She looked so hungry, Haley thought, with rising compassion for anyone who had to waddle rather than walk. She managed a smile. "You want pancakes, you got pancakes. Just give me a few minutes, all right?"
"Really?"
"Really," Haley promised, wondering what in the hell pancakes were made of. "They're easy to make."
The second Nellie had disappeared, Haley whipped out the thick cookbook, opened it to the pancake page and started memorizing. Formulas, she reminded herself. It was all formulas.
"Whatcha doing?"
Haley jumped, then turned around and forced a smile for Zach. "Just looking something up."
"Nellie said something about pancakes." He looked around hopefully.
"They're not ready yet," she said between clenched teeth forced into a smile. "But I'll let you know as soon as they are."
"Well, since I'm here, I'll help." He looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. "Don't tell anyone, but I cook great pancakes."
"Why wouldn't you want anyone to know?" she asked desperately, with a last, longing look at her cookbook.
He grinned that bone-melting, Reeves smile. "Because then I'd have to make them. Nellie would hound me day and night."
"Oh," she said, torn between wanting his help and wanting him to leave so
he wouldn't guess how helpless she was. "Don't you have work to do? The horses—"
"Can wait a few minutes. It's early yet."
Great, she thought, beginning to panic. He took out a bowl, went to the cupboard and pulled out a container.
"What's that?"
He looked at her strangely. "The pancake mix." Then, because she didn't move or make any effort to stop him, he measured some out. "Am I stepping on your toes?"
She knew he was asking if she wanted him to leave. But if he could really come up with pancakes, she sure as hell didn't. "No. With bacon or sausage?"
Flashing that killer smile, he licked his lips. "Both."
Relieved, she left the pancakes to him and started the meat. She had it sizzling in the skillet when she realized Zach was staring at her.
"What?" she asked, self-conscious. She looked around. "Why are you staring at me?"
"It's nothing." He turned back to the pancakes, flipping them high into the air and catching them in the pan with an ease that surprised her.
"Okay." But before she'd turned back to her pan, he was looking at her again. She set down her fork and put her hands on her hips. "Zach. What?"
"You don't know how to cook, do you?"
Oh, God. What had she done to give herself away? "What— What do you mean?"
"Haley," he said in a gentle voice that made her want to cry. "You have to separate the bacon before you put it in the pan."
She glanced at the pan, then back at Zach. "Oh."
He raised his eyebrows, obviously expecting a better answer.
She sighed and busied herself separating the bacon. "So I don't know how to cook bacon. Maybe I don't like it."
"Maybe," he conceded. "But I think there's probably another reason."
What would she do if they demanded the truth? These people she'd grown to care about in such a short time would never stay idle if they knew the truth. They could never understand the danger—Zach and Cam would butt in and get hurt. Or killed.
"What other reason would there be?" she asked in a tone of defiance she didn't feel.
Zach's eyes were calm and quiet, as was his voice. There wasn't any accusation when he said, "Such as maybe you're not really a housekeeper."
"I thought you weren't a cop anymore. You sure sound like one."
"Do I?" he asked in that same mild voice. "Hmm. It's just natural to me, I guess. So … are you a housekeeper?"
She laughed weakly and rubbed her temples. "Did I mention your one-track mind?"
A corner of his mouth turned up. He deftly flipped the next batch of pancakes with a skill she could never have faked. "That goes along with the lawyer thing. It's a requirement. Are you, Haley? A housekeeper?"
"You doubt it. Have I done a poor job, then?"
"Of course not." With a small sound of dismay, he turned back to his pancakes and lifted an edge of one. Sighing with obvious relief that he hadn't burned them, he scooped them out and poured more batter. "But that's not the point."
She hated liars and she'd become one. The thought of what that would do to Cam killed her. "What is your point?"
"I think something's wrong."
"You've been talking to Cameron," she stated flatly. She should have guessed; they were family, after all.
"No," Zach said. "I haven't been talking to Cam about you." He searched through the cabinets, slamming things around until he found the syrup, which he plopped down on the table. "Listen, Haley, I care about him and his feelings. I also care about yours. All I'm trying to say is that if there's trouble, or you need something, maybe I can help."
The meat sizzled in the pans. So did her pride. "Maybe I don't need help."
Cam came in at that moment, and found them that way. His brother and the woman he couldn't decide whether to strangle or kiss, facing off with cooking utensils in their hands as though preparing to do battle. "Problem?"
"No," Haley said quickly.
"Yes," Zach said at the same time. Zach and Haley exchanged a stubborn look until Zach added, "I burned the pancakes."
Cam didn't know what the hell to think, but Zach shot him a glance that said, Don't ask, before saying carefully, "Haley told me I would. But that's what I get for showing off."
Haley's look of muted surprise had Cam wondering, but he was so churned up with emotion from the newspaper report, he couldn't think about it. "Zach thinks he's a man of all trades," he told her. "Truth is, we only keep him around because no one else will have him." Zach growled and Cam went on. "Now, Thea, that pretty librarian in town, she just doesn't know better. I'd go down there and tell her myself, but for some reason she doesn't have eyes for anyone but Zach, here."
"Oh, shut up." Zach scraped the pan clean and poured more batter into it.
Nellie and Jason came in, wrapped in each other's arms. "Oh, great, it's you two," Zach said. "I thought Cam told you to have that damn bed of yours moved away from the wall. You kept me up, again. Don't you people ever sleep?"
Cam watched Haley bite back a smile. God, he hurt. Don't believe it, a little part of his brain commanded. The report was wrong somehow. She's not a criminal. Be patient and she'll tell you the truth.
"I did move the bed," Jason claimed, after muffling Nellie's giggle against his chest. "I guess I didn't move it far enough."
"Build that couple a guesthouse," Zach said, with heartfelt disgust to the room in general. "Please."
Cam watched his family coax smiles and even a laugh out of Haley while they ate. As usual, she didn't prepare a plate for herself, so for some reason he couldn't have explained to save his life, he did it for her, even managing to cajole her into actually having a few bites.
He had no idea why he cared. "I know this isn't the junk food you seem to prefer," he told her as they cleared the dishes a little while later, after everyone else had left. "But you've got to eat more." Please, tell me, he nearly demanded. Tell me everything.
She stopped at the sink and looked at him, her hands on her hips. There was a hint of amusement in her eyes when she asked, "Why? So I could look more like Nellie?"
He managed a laugh and came close to where she'd turned to start washing dishes. Moving up behind her, he grabbed her hips, then slid his hand over her flat stomach. He closed his eyes, every inch of him yearning, aching. "There's only one way you're going to look like Nellie, darlin'," he said with a lightness he didn't feel. "In fact, I have some interesting ideas on that."
She rolled her eyes. "You need help, Cam. Serious help."
He hugged her from behind, closing his eyes at the way her body fit to his. "Just an offer." His voice sounded husky, even to his own ears. God, he was pathetic. "I'd certainly be willing to oblige you in any way I can."
"Now why doesn't that surprise me?" She shouldered him away, then sent him a saucy look over her shoulder, soapsuds flying.
He'd never thought the mundane chore of dishwashing as particularly sexy before. But there was something about the way her hips wiggled slightly, the quick, precise movements of her arms… It became incredibly seductive. She reached for more dishes, stretching, and he lost track of what she said next.
"Well?" she asked, giving him another one of her smart-ass looks she had no idea made his blood hum.
"I'm sorry. I didn't hear you." He encircled her hips with his hands again, letting out his breath in one loud whoosh as she planted her elbow firmly in his stomach.
"I warned you not to crowd me."
He backed up, alert, hopeful. "Did you have something else in mind?" Would she tell him now?
"Actually, yes." She reached and flipped off the water before turning to look at him. "You have a library in town. How current is it?"
Her earnest expression wiped away his joke about Thea-the-Librarian. That busy mind of hers was whirling. "Hard to answer a question when you only asked half of it," he said carefully.
"Can't you just answer the part I asked?"
He reached for a large green apple from the fruit basket on the counter, bit
ing into it to play for time. "It's current," he said finally. "What're you looking for?"
"Nothing important." She reached for a towel to dry her hands, but he put his apple down and captured her hands in his. Eyes narrowed, he studied her, ignoring her struggle to pull back from him.
"It's important enough," he guessed. And he wasn't going to miss it. "I'll drive you."
"You don't have to—"
"Yes, I do. Especially if it has anything to do with what's keeping you up at night." Short of coming right out with the newspaper he'd read, he couldn't have given her a better opening.
"I'm sleeping fine."
He touched the faint, purple shadow beneath one eye. "Another lie."
With a disparaging sound, she looked away, biting her lip. "Fine," she ground out. "I'm having a little trouble sleeping. Okay?"
"Not okay." Before she could evade him, he took her shoulders. "My guess is that you know damn well you're lying. You even know what it's doing to me. And you hate it. You also don't want me to know that, so you'll tell the truth wherever you can to ease your conscience."
"I'm not—"
"It only gets worse, Haley, I promise. You'll drown beneath the weight of them one of these days. Believe me, I know."
"I can't do this. I can't keep reminding you of Lorraine, having you wonder what kind of jerk I am that I can't tell you the truth." She sighed. "I want to look something up. Something in the newspaper."
"Something to do with what you're running from?"
"Yes," she whispered, resting fisted hands against his chest and bowing her head. "Yes."
"You'll let me in this time," he insisted, gently running his hands down her arms, massaging gently.
"No. No."
He studied her quietly, then murmured, "Let me put this another way." Tightening his hands on her, he pulled her closer. His mouth found hers.
Heaven. Hot, wet, deep heaven.
More shaken than he cared to admit, he slid his hands up to cup her face, pouring his fear for her, all his longing, into that kiss; and when she trembled and pushed closer to hold him tight, it only aroused him all the more. Her flavor, her scent, the feel of her beneath his fingertips—it wasn't enough. He wanted more, needed more.
