Outspoken Angel

by Mia Dymond

  * * *

  Outspoken Angel

  By Mia Dymond

  Copyright 2011 Mia Dymond

  Published on Smashwords

  Cover photo: Roza|Dreamstime.com

  * * *

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to wherever you bought it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  EPILOGUE

  * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  “He’s out, Miss Tremaine.”

  With the phone nestled in the curve of her neck and plastered to her ear, Cameron balanced on one foot while cramming the other brand new silver Dior sandal on the other, and attempted not to fall flat on her face after hearing what she’d just heard.

  Unfortunately, ballet had never been her thing.

  The phone slipped from her grasp as she lost her balance and watched it smack the wall. Her rear end kissed the floor - hard. She groaned and inched the phone closer with two fingers before lifting it back to her ear.

  “Miss Tremaine?”

  “Sorry.” She tucked the phone back between her neck and shoulder. “Did you just say he’s been released?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “How did that happen, Warden?”

  “Exemplary behavior qualified him for early release. Rest assured, I’ve also notified Judge Tremaine.”

  Cameron winced. Fabulous. Not only had her ex-boyfriend-turned-stalker been released from prison, her over-bearing, by-the-book, proper-young-ladies-do-not-date-criminals father was now involved.

  “I see.”

  She loved her father dearly, she did. But he failed to realize it was his obsessive expectation of her to protect the family’s image that forced her into Vince’s arms. In her defense, she had no idea Senator Stone’s son would turn out to be such a thug. The Honorable Simon Tremaine should’ve taken that into consideration before issuing his last reprimand.

  “If it puts you at ease any,” the warden continued, “we have reason to believe he’s been reformed.”

  Cameron squeezed her eyes closed and throttled her urge to let loose an ear-piercing squeal. Reformed. Right. Miss Tisdale’s rules of etiquette stopped her in her tracks. A distinguished young lady does not raise her voice.

  “No worries,” she said instead. “Thank you for calling.”

  Cameron disconnected and reached to buckle her sandal while she digested the irritating newsflash. What now? Her whole purpose of relocating to Diablo, Arizona was to put much-needed space between herself and the suffocating environment in Phoenix. Out of her father’s overprotective arms and into a newfound, fierce independence. Where she could be herself, not prim, proper and reserved.

  Reserved. Hmmm. Not quite. She had been born with the one thing most of the women in her family were not. A brain of her own. That, and a willingness to express herself.

  All in all, things were going fairly well, except for a couple of speed bumps along the way. Like the zany idea she and her best friend, Rachel Newberry had to get backstage to see rock ‘n’ roll icon, Jaydon Hawke. Although Cameron’s goal had been to teach Rachel the art of spontaneity, the process backfired when Cameron had to teach by example. So much for bringing Rachel out of her shell. It was Cameron’s own desire to escape her stereotypical good-girl label that was challenged.

  Flashing the bodyguard at the backstage entrance was something old Cameron wouldn’t dream of doing - so new Cameron did.

  Do it, that is, not dream it.

  In true groupie form, she’d smiled a sexy smile and lifted her top. Within seconds both she and Rachel breezed backstage. And, although Cameron wasn’t exactly proud of herself, she and Rachel had both benefitted; Rachel married Hawke and Cameron had been dating Sean Pirelli, Hawke’s drummer, for the last three months.

  Cameron pushed herself off the floor and stood. So Vince was out of prison.

  Whoop-de-freakin’-doo.

  She threw her phone into her bag and slid her sunglasses onto her face. She was late, as usual. Late to meet the new man in her life; one who had far more important things on his mind than stalking.

  * * *

  “Not tonight, Sweetheart, I have a headache.”

  Max attempted to appear humored as he shot a busty blonde a slight grin and curled his fingers around her bare midsection. With zero effort, he lifted her back behind the thick, red ropes meant to discourage anyone from crossing. Obviously, she didn’t quite understand. Pooching her brightly colored lower lip and batting her eyelashes, the porcelain goddess shrugged and swung a shapely hip at him as she turned to leave. Max heaved a sigh of relief. At least she didn’t make him an offer. As wild as these women were tonight, he was just too damn tired.

  Distracted by a wave of hysterical screams, he turned his attention to a state-of-the-art, ten foot long catwalk, strategically placed off the main stage to divide the crowd in half, where rock-n-roll icon, Hawke, gyrated his hips and crooned to the women in front. Each pair of star-struck eyes followed his every move like a swinging pendulum. Max chuckled. He had to give the guy credit, Hawke knew how to make them behave. No one would ever guess that under all that rock-n-roll diva act lurked a hardcore Navy SEAL. A loyal, kick-ass soldier and computer guru who just happened to have God-given talent that made the ladies swoon.

  Max watched as a shapely brunette boosted herself onto the edge of the stage and glued her body to Hawke’s leg. Never missing a beat, Hawke sent her a sexy wink and pried her from his body. The bouncer working the area approached her and gave her what Max assumed to be the no more touching warning. Either that, or he slipped her a backstage pass for one of the band. If neither were the case, Max was next on the list. He always dealt with the ones who couldn’t take no for an answer.

  Max folded his arms across his chest and counted to ten as he watched the determined temptress leave the stage and sway his direction.

  “Hello, Handsome,” she purred, molding her barely-covered hips to his groin and draping her arms around his neck.

  Max snickered as his body harden
ed.

  He unbuckled her arms while his body protested. “Sorry, doll, the animals have already been fed.” In one smooth, practiced move, he set her behind the ropes. Obviously not interested in pressing her luck, she turned and headed back to the stage.

  Convinced everything was under control for the moment, Max glanced at the front entrance. A ripple of awareness climbed his spine as he saw trouble headed straight for him. Trouble in the form of one small, incredibly tempting woman. Cameron Tremaine.

  Max licked his lips as Cameron boosted her cleavage to the top of a sparkly blue top with thin straps and stepped into the auditorium. He allowed himself a secret smile. He would buy anything she advertised.

  Her naturally bright blonde curls bounced over her bare shoulders as she swam through the sea of spandex and skin and finally managed to squeeze to the front, just as the band exited the stage.

  She gave him a sexy smile and flashed her badge. “Hey, Maxie.”

  “You remembered your thingie,” he drawled from behind his trademark-tinted lenses.

  She glared, apparently put out by his teasing. Amused, he ignored her uneasiness. Little did she know he had the memory of an elephant and he wasn’t going to ever let her off the hook. The last time she’d demanded access backstage, she’d forgotten her thingie. Max issued an ultimatum: either the pass or her goodies. She’d nearly knocked him over when she negotiated with a head rub. He’d never been so glad to be bald in his life.

  Her impatient sigh dragged him back to their current discussion.

  “It’s a lanyard, Max.” She put one hand on her hip. “And, yes, I remembered.”

  “You’re not going to show me the goods this time?”

  “You’ve already seen those.”

  A mischievous grin rolled across his lips. Yeah, he had seen those. He’d become a religious man when she flashed him her rack the very first time they met, again for access backstage. One hundred percent pure, natural, creamy flesh. He drug his tongue across his lower lip. She wouldn’t appreciate it if she knew he’d do almost anything to see them again. Almost anything.

  He gestured behind him with his head. “Is Pirelli expecting you?”

  Probably not, he answered silently for her. Although Cameron had been seeing Pirelli for the last three months, Max had a feeling she had no idea she was just another number in the drummer’s book.

  “No, it’s a surprise,” she answered over her shoulder as she attempted to breeze past him.

  Max stepped abruptly in front of her, blocking her path with his massive, muscled body and causing her delicately-carved chin to bounce off the hard surface of his chest as they connected. Reaching to steady her, he paused at the muffled sound of jingling bells.

  “What now?” She rubbed her jaw.

  “Maybe you should call first.” What were those bells about? He decided to ignore it and focused on the woman in front of him.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “He likes my surprises.”

  He peered over the top of his shades again. “Has he ever surprised you?”

  “None of your business.” With one last glare, she stepped around him.

  Max sighed and watched Cameron stomp down the hallway with her sexy stilettos piercing the floor as she swayed. She didn’t know it, but good ole Pirelli was full of surprises. Cameron would yell something when she opened that dressing room door and it wouldn’t be surprise. Especially when she discovered the nearly-naked, bottle-blonde bombshell he escorted back three hours ago, before the show. The same one Pirelli was saving for after the show. Max actually felt kind of sorry for Pirelli. An angry Cameron was a force to be reckoned with, he was sure.

  Not my problem. Max leaned casually against the metal gate. He wasn’t paid to organize the band’s romantic interludes, just to break up the catfights when they were double booked.

  He folded his arms over his chest and watched women apply lipstick and shift clothing as they prepared for a wishful chance meeting with Hawke. After ten years’ experience in this business, Max knew all about the scantily-dressed women in the front. Most were empty-headed bimbos in tight clothing, interested in one thing: sex. And it didn’t matter with whom, as long as it was someone from the band. He always ended up peeling several of them off the stage during each show.

  Convinced the half-naked mob behaved for now, Max shifted his thoughts back to Cameron. None of these women compared to her. No, she was different. Sure, she was blonde and beautiful. And he knew firsthand she was stacked. But she had personality. Depth. The ability to hold her own with any man. He snickered as the interested creature between his legs hardened. Just the thought of her sassy little mouth aroused him. And her obsession with his bald head only made him harder. Claiming she needed to rub it for luck each time she saw him, Cameron stimulated every nerve in his body with her smooth, seductive touch. He shuddered at the thought.

  Since Cameron was responsible for Hawke’s marriage to his architect wife, Rachel Newberry, Max saw her a lot. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Cameron’s association with Rachel, Max wouldn’t have been forced to know Cameron so intimately. Intimate, as in conducting a thorough background search which revealed a few very interesting facts about the sexy little witch.

  Federal judge Simon Tremaine wouldn’t have been too proud when she’d exposed herself, but he should’ve given her a slap on the back for having the balls to do it.

  Max shook his head and glanced at his watch. Any minute his cell phone would ring and he’d head backstage to put out the fire. That’s the way it always happened with Pirelli.

  Several more minutes passed before he checked his watch again. His brow furrowed. Something was wrong. Since he was positive Cameron would not appreciate a new tigress in her jungle, someone should’ve called by now. He reached down and checked the screen on his cell phone. No missed calls. He decided to go backstage anyway and signaled another security guard to take his place. He closed the distance between the gate and Pirelli’s dressing room with precise, long steps.

  Rounding the corner, he stopped short when Cameron’s small frame once again collided with him. Her limp body melted into him this time rather than bouncing off; her red, watery eyes relayed her defeat. He stood silently for a brief moment, wondering what the hell to do.

  “Wanna rub my head for luck?” he asked, breaking the awkward silence.

  “No thanks, Max,” she whispered, tucking her head under his chin. “I’m just not feeling lucky right now.”

  He very gently laid his hand on her shoulder and brushed her curls to the side. “Was he surprised?”

  “Yeah.” She quickly backed away from his touch and squared her shoulders.

  I tried to warn you rolled across his tongue. “What happened?” he asked instead.

  “I told him just exactly where to cram his drumsticks.”

  Impressed by her restraint, Max snickered under his breath as he watched her sway back down the hallway. Strike three, Pirelli. Grinning confidently, he dialed his cell phone.

  * * *

  Cameron flew through her front door and slammed it for good measure. Who the hell did Pirelli think he was, playing her like that? She tossed her purse on the coffee table and kicked her shoes off before sinking into the soft leather cushions of the sofa and throwing an arm over her eyes.

  Actually, she brought the whole thing on herself. Had she not learned anything from past experience? She snorted in the silence at her stupidity. She learned something from her last relationship, all right. Not only had she been schooled in the controlling nature of most hot-blooded males, she also learned that they couldn’t be trusted. And with that newfound knowledge, she even managed to package Vince with pantyhose and deliver him to the police. Through her funk, she grinned at the memory.

  She stood on the corner of Fifth and Elm in Phoenix, Arizona, wearing her Gucci tortoise shell sunglasses and her four inch Louis Vuitton stilettos, with him subdued by a pair of nylons around his neck and tie
d to a stop sign. The responding officer - when he finished laughing - had carted him to jail.

  On that note, she sat up and brushed her hair from her forehead. Sean Pirelli was not worth her disappointment. Considering his notoriety for breaking dates with her at the last minute, she should have known better. Wait a minute. Someone else should have known better too. She rewound her conversation with Max. Is he expecting you? Has he ever surprised you? Cameron groaned. Why didn’t he just spit it out?

  And what about all that touchy-feely stuff? She remembered the comforting feeling of his big body so close to hers and the quiet sympathy she felt in his touch. She gave herself a hard shake. She wasn’t impressed. Come to think of it, all her trouble started with flashing Max. It hadn’t been for his personal entertainment, just an easy pass backstage. But as soon as she lifted her top and saw Max’s hungry expression, she knew she’d made a grave mistake. Everything had gone downhill from there. He was just as hot-blooded as the rest of them and quite frankly, he annoyed her with his cockiness. In fact, they did have something in common: they annoyed each other.

  She stood and headed for the kitchen to find a tub of ice cream. It didn’t matter who knew what. She was taking a vacation. A long vacation. From the male species.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWO

  With the drama of last night behind her, Cameron hauled her sketchbook, colored pencils and fabric samples up the driveway to Rachel’s house and stopped every six steps to adjust the weight. The large, proud, two-story house stood in the corner of an elegant, gated neighborhood and welcomed visitors with a combination of both wealth and modesty that took rare talent to pull off. Or genuine warmth. Cameron glanced at the periwinkles planted in the flowerbed along the walkway. No one would ever guess a rock star lived here.