Outspoken Angel

by Mia Dymond

  “Besides,” Hawke continued, “with the baby coming, I’m not going anywhere for a while anyway.”

  Max fought the urge to hurl when the word baby left Hawke’s lips. He quickly redirected the conversation. “I’ve just about got security wrapped up for the concert. Has Rachel scheduled you to volunteer on her new neighborhood project?”

  Max knew the answer before Hawke answered. And from experience, Max knew security would be a nightmare. Max had fallen for that once. Using Rachel as bait, Cameron managed to manipulate both Hawke and him to help rebuild a neighborhood destroyed by fire. Max hadn’t minded volunteering, but working with Cameron had been a true test of self-discipline.

  Hawke smirked. “Yes, and because you won’t let me go anywhere alone, so are you.”

  Max lifted an eyebrow. “You volunteered me too.”

  “Yes. Cameron said she needed more muscle and you’re the first one that came to mind.”

  Although Max respected Rachel’s dedication to her charity, he wasn’t quite so respectful of her decision to put Cameron in charge. Somehow, taking orders from a pint-sized piranha wasn’t entirely his idea of charitable contribution. Especially since he was the boss and she refused to acknowledge that well known fact.

  Max scrubbed a hand down his jaw. He and the rest of his SEAL team had managed to build a successful private security firm. Maybe he could convince Hawke to cut him some slack. “One of has to take care of business.”

  Hawke gave a shit-eating grin. “Nice try. If something comes up, I’ll make sure you’re covered.”

  Max prepared to release a big fat NO when he was distracted by the sound of footsteps running down the hall.

  Rachel slid to a stop next to the sofa. “Oh, Max,” she wheezed, “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Hawke dropped his feet and stood to push Rachel to the couch. “What’s wrong?”

  Rachel batted Hawke’s hands away. “I can’t find Cameron.”

  “So?”

  “She just left here not two hours ago and I can’t get her on her phone.”

  “So?” Hawke repeated.

  Max frowned at Rachel’s uncharacteristic panic.

  She took a few deep breaths before continuing. “You know as well as I do, that Cameron always answers her phone.”

  Hawke shrugged. “She’s probably just shoe shopping.”

  Max nodded. “Or at the spa.”

  Rachel ignored Max’s suggestion and gave her husband a pointed look. “I’m not joking. Something’s wrong. Holly was right. She told Cameron not to go alone.”

  Max frowned. “Holly?”

  “Rachel’s personal trainer.” Again, Hawke attempted to sit Rachel on the sofa, but she still wouldn’t budge.

  “Relax, honey. I’m sure she’s fine.”

  “Hawke!” Rachel all but screeched. “She’s not fine! She’s missing!”

  Realizing the panic in Rachel’s voice, Max stood and threw Hawke an irritated sneer before turning to Rachel. “I’ll find her. Where do you think I should start?”

  Rachel’s shoulders sagged and she eased herself onto the sofa while Hawke elevated her feet on the ottoman. “Try her house first. She had an appointment but I called and Mrs. Forrester said she didn’t show. Sometimes she’s late, but she always keeps her appointments.”

  Max reached for the door. “I’ll have her call as soon as I find her.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER THREE

  “M - a - a - x - x!”

  Max swung his head around at the sound of Cameron’s voice. Did she see him? No, she couldn’t. He was too smooth.

  “Max!” she hollered insistently. “How could you do this to me?”

  What the hell? He didn’t do anything to her. He was simply here out of duty.

  “I just wanted you to come to me.” Her voice wavered in mid-sentence. “Now look what’s happened.”

  Max eased his way through the gate, careful to let the bushes disguise him. As he moved closer, he heard the muffled ringtone of a cell phone echo off the fence.

  “Bring me the phone!” she demanded.

  He bit his lip as he entered the yard and spotted her sitting at the top of a large oak tree while a large, gray tabby cat lounged below. The cat swished its tail ready to pounce on the ringing phone.

  “Max!” she shrieked.

  Irritated by the thought of being discovered, he stepped from behind the bushes. “What?”

  She teetered on the branch. “Max!”

  “What?!”

  “Not you, Godzilla,” she spat. “I didn’t even know you were here.”

  “Then who were you talking to?”

  “Max.”

  He took a deep breath and then released it slowly before he spoke. “Barbie, you are trying my patience.”

  Her panicked tone became one of amusement. “My cat’s name is Maxwell. What are you doing here?”

  “Rachel sent me.”

  “Why?”

  “You aren’t answering your phone.”

  The cell phone jingled, enticing the large, fat cat once again. Chopping the air with his tail, Maxwell batted the musical nuisance with his paws.

  Cameron twisted her lips. “That phone? Down there?”

  “How long have you been in that tree?”

  “Most of the day.”

  “Why are you in the tree?”

  “I followed Maxwell.”

  Max folded his arms and braced one hip against the tree trunk. “Can you get down?”

  She lifted her chin. “Of course.”

  He held his tongue and lowered his head to peer over the top of his sunglasses.

  “Okay no,” she said.

  “Why didn’t you call for help?”

  She threw him a menacing glare.

  “I told you to keep your phone close.” He pushed himself off the tree trunk.

  “That was ages ago. I didn’t plan on getting stuck up here.”

  Cameron narrowed her eyes as he braced both hands against the lowest branch of the tree and pulled himself up to straddle it with zero effort.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Coming to get you.”

  “Thanks anyway, Tarzan, but that’s more scary than being stuck up here. Call the fire department. They have a bucket.”

  “You don’t weigh more than ten pounds.” Max chuckled as he continued to climb. “I can carry you down under one arm.”

  He dodged branch after branch and reached her within seconds. Face to face with her, he saw her carefully-disguised fear hidden behind her scowl.

  “Put your arms around my neck.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you want out of this tree?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then put your arms around my neck.”

  Without further argument, she draped her slender arms around his thick neck, an act that elevated his body temperature at least ten degrees.

  “No monkey business, Ape Man.”

  Ignoring her jab, he reached around her and planted his hands firmly on her waist to lift her against him. Pausing for just a moment, he attempted to analyze a taunting, muffled chime. Bells? Again?

  “Now, wrap your legs around my waist.”

  Her eyebrows climbed her forehead. “I said no monkey business.”

  “Just do it!” he spat impatiently. “I need my arms and legs to climb down.”

  As if by force, she wrapped her long, slender legs around his waist and pressed her body flush against his. He grimaced at the heat generated between them and willed himself not to react. He had to get her down the tree and off him. Fast.

  Reaching between them, Max grabbed her above her ribcage, attempted to shift her weight, and absently grazed the underside of her breast. She gasped, wiggled free of his hold, and grabbed a branch for support. Too late he realized he didn’t have anything to grab. He cursed as he slid from one branch to another and landed smack dab on his back on the ground below. Maxwell gave a feral growl and pulled his tail from underne
ath Max’s legs.

  “Max!” Cameron squealed. “Are you okay?”

  He lay silent on the grass. Arms. Legs. Neck. Sunglasses. I’m good.

  “Max!” she repeated.

  He stood and shook the dirt from his clothing. “Are you talking to me or the cat?”

  “You!”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good.” She exhaled. “Now get me down.”

  “I’m not climbing back up there.” He turned and walked back toward the gate.

  “You can’t leave me up here!”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  Without turning around, he held up a hand to silence her. “Relax, Princess. I’m going to get a rope.”

  Max left her dangling her legs from the branch and tried not to hobble as he left the backyard. Sure as hell, she’d pushed him out of that tree. He had half a mind to leave her up there, except there was no telling what she’d tell Rachel.

  He exhaled a long breath as he remembered the silky softness of her breast and the intense satisfaction of holding her against him. Realistically, he probably deserved to be thrown out of that tree.

  He grabbed a rope from the back of his truck and headed back. No way was he going to tell her he was monumentally aroused by the red panties underneath her skirt.

  “Okay, Wiggle Worm,” he barked, “one more chance is all you get.”

  “Just get me down.”

  He threw one end of the rope to her. “Tie that end around your waist.”

  She ducked her head under a branch and frowned. “You want to tie me up?”

  He tilted his head to the side and considered her question. That was definitely one way to get her down. “Do you want me to tie you up?”

  “No! I want out of this tree!”

  Hell. She would have to do things the hard way. “Then tie the rope around your waist and loop it twice around the branch before tossing it back to me.”

  “If you’d just call Rick at the fire department, he’ll come and get me down,” she groused as she manipulated the rope.

  Oh, hell no. He’d had enough of Fireman Rick the last time they met when Cameron managed to use her baby blues to convince Rick and his fellow firemen to pose for a calendar. When she volunteered as the hot oil girl, Max decided then and there Rick would steer clear of her. Or else.

  He snarled. “Just tie the damn rope!”

  “I am! There, it’s done.”

  Max tugged on the rope and watched it slither down the tree.

  “Your bright idea blew a bulb,” she taunted.

  Cursing under his breath, he tossed it back to her. “Try again.”

  “I tied the best bow I could.”

  He took a deep breath. “It’s not a Christmas package, Mrs. Claus. Try a square knot.”

  “You didn’t specify what kind of knot the first time, Popeye.” She retied the rope. “There.”

  Max yanked again, pleasantly surprised when it hugged the branch. Now, if he could just convince her to gag herself, they’d be in business.

  “Push yourself off the branch and I’ll lower you to the ground.”

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing? Rick-“

  ”Off the branch, Sassafrass!”

  Without further incident, Cameron eased herself off the branch and he lowered her from the tree. As soon as her feet touched solid ground, she grabbed her massive, lazy feline and squeezed him fiercely.

  Max shook his head as he rolled the rope around his shoulder. All this trouble for one small, pesky thorn in his ass and a finicky feline.

  She lowered the cat to the ground. “C’mon inside, Stretch Armstrong.”

  Said the spider to the fly. Max piled the rope on the patio then followed Cameron through the back door.

  She gestured at the kitchen table before opening the refrigerator door and removing a bottle of water. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Max squeezed himself into a chair, crossed his feet under the table, and waited for the pierce of her poisonous fangs.

  Cameron placed the chilled bottle in front of Max and attempted to analyze his silence. Anger? Relief? Amusement? Nothing. His face remained handsomely blank.

  She leaned back against the refrigerator, cleared her throat and swallowed her pride. “Thank you for getting me out of the tree.”

  She swallowed again and prepared herself to endure his unmerciful teasing.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Before she could question his response, he lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long draw. Several small droplets fell from the bottle and danced across the bare skin of his chest exposed by his open collar.

  Mesmerized, she could only think of one thing to say. “Take off your shirt.”

  He choked on the water and coughed. “You wish.”

  Good one, Cameron. “Max.” She huffed to hide her unintentional slip. “Just take off your shirt so I can clean your scratches.”

  “I’m fine, Florence Nightingale. Stop nagging.”

  “I’m not nagging. You fell out of a tree. A tall one. And you scraped three branches on the way down. You probably have scratches on your -“

  ”Wanna see?” His voice thickened with amusement.

  “Okay, fine.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Die from infection.”

  His lips quivered as he placed the water bottle on the table. He found this humorous, did he? Fine, time to pull out the big gun. Sickeningly sweet honey.

  “Honestly, Max,” she purred, “we need to clean the scratches.”

  She actually witnessed his restraint break into a thousand pieces as he attempted to hide behind his shaded lenses.

  She snapped her fingers and held out her hand. “Sunglasses.”

  His brow flickered as if he might remind her it was he who issued orders. Instead, he placed the glasses in her palm and his electric blue eyes dazzled in the sunlight. A smile teased the corners of her mouth. The dark knight had blue eyes. Hypnotic, deeply sensual blue eyes.

  She rolled the sunglasses between her fingers. “Armani.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed.”

  He reached over his shoulder for the edge of his shirt. “I have good taste.”

  Cameron smiled and stepped to the cabinet for a bottle of antiseptic. She moved several bottles around and frowned. Everything except antiseptic.

  “It’s going to have to be alcohol,” she told him over her shoulder. “Can you take it, Big Guy?”

  Cameron heard him snicker under his breath in response. She grabbed the alcohol and a couple cotton balls and turned around just in time to catch a glimpse of bare skin as Max pulled his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. Licking her lips, she redirected her concentration to his bulky arms, mesmerized as his fingers grasped the hem. His signature black shirt traveled the length of his steel-plated abs, scraped his muscled chest, and slid over his smooth, bare head.

  She gasped when he turned to the side and each individually-carved muscle rippled as it worked to swivel his body. Her eyes caressed him from top to bottom, until they rested on the tattoo that spanned the smooth surface of skin between his shoulder blades. The colorful art highlighted a Navy SEAL insignia with an inscription beneath.

  A mischievous smile creased her lips. “Maximillion.”

  He grinned. “What did you expect? Mom?”

  “No, not Mom,” she said thoughtfully, “maybe Stud or something.”

  He bit his lip.

  “I’ve never seen it spelled like that, though,” she murmured.

  “I changed the spelling for the tattoo.”

  “Why?”

  “I had it inked after I made my first million.”

  She stared, speechless for one of the few times in her life.

  He shrugged. “I know a little something about electronics.”

  “You’re a millionaire and you spend your time flicking groupies off Hawke.”

  “I need something to do all day.”

  Cameron
grinned. Max could play off being Hawke’s security manager as something to do all he wanted, but she knew better. The friendship and respect between the two men was blatantly obvious.

  She stepped behind him and traced the logo with her fingernail. “How long were you a SEAL?”

  He grunted and shivered from her touch. “A long time.”

  “Why’d you quit?”

  “I didn’t quit. I retired.”

  “Retired?” Her brow wrinkled. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “I’m only forty-two.”

  “Forty-two,” she clucked, “you’re a classic, Max.”

  Secretly, she tingled. Age had only ripened him, sharpened his edges and packed him tightly into one scorching hot package.

  “What does a SEAL do, anyway?”

  She didn’t expect a complicated answer. His standard m.o. was to give limited, necessary information. This was personal information. Not necessary. At least it was conversation.

  True to her prediction, he gave her a look of faint amusement over his shoulder. “Classified information.”

  “Oh come on, Max,” she taunted, “this is the first actual conversation we’ve had and you’re going to clam up? Did you ever kill anybody?”

  “Yes.”

  Cameron paused momentarily at his admission. Of course he’d killed somebody.

  She stroked the tattoo once more before garnishing a cotton ball and dabbing his scratches.

  He flinched as the alcohol met his raw skin. “Easy there, Tiger.”

  “Sorry, but if you hadn’t insisted on climbing up after me, you wouldn’t be hurt.”

  “If I would’ve known you were going to throw me out of the tree, I wouldn’t have climbed up after you.”

  “I didn’t throw you out. You tickled me and I reacted.”

  “Good excuse.”

  “It’s true.” He hissed when she squeezed the cotton and doused his wound with the stinging liquid. Somewhat satisfied with his reaction, she tossed the cotton ball into the trash can. “There. All better.”

  “Not quite.”

  Concerned, she moved to stand in front of him. “You’re still in pain?”

  He slid his sunglasses back on his face. “You didn’t kiss it better.”

  Cameron paused, never one to back down from a challenge. With a slow, seductive grin she braced both palms against his biceps and leaned over his broad chest. Holding his shaded eyes hostage, she gently placed her lips to his.