by Mia Dymond
He smiled with an air of pleasure. “Looks like you’re in a pickle, Princess. How are you going to get out of there without me seeing you naked?”
“Easy. I’ll crack the door and you can hand it to me.”
“Or you can come and get it.”
“Fine, I’m coming out.”
He swallowed hard and anticipated her next move. He quickly pushed off the door and grabbed the towel.
“Never mind, Lady Godiva, crack the door.”
She giggled and cracked the bathroom door enough to stick one arm through.
“Hurry.” She motioned him with a wave of her hand. “The heat is escaping.”
Max tossed the towel from one hand to another. No way would this cover her. He passed the towel to her anyway. “You did remember your clothes, right?”
“No.” She closed the door.
“Do you need me to get those too?” He said a silent prayer as he hardened. Jeans and t-shirt he could handle. Bra and panties, no. Hell, no. The thought of running his fingers through her soft, silky lingerie made him sweat. Damn, it’s hot in here.
“No thank you, Max. I think I’ll keep my lingerie a secret for now.”
His erection twitched.
“I’m going downstairs,” he mumbled, leaving the bedroom. And, take your time. He needed time, lots of it, to convince his body to behave.
Max descended the stairs in record time and stomped to the control panel to splice the alarm wires back together. He took a deep breath, removed the casing, and attempted to gather his thoughts about Cameron.
The little vixen. She had a way with words that completely unraveled his self control. Him. Maximilian Sterling, Navy SEAL. He cursed under his breath and twisted the green and orange wires together. He was in charge of top-secret, classified missions one hundred times more trying than Cameron. Yet, she could knock him over with one touch of her tiny pink fingernail. What the hell?
He snapped the panel back in place, satisfied when the armed light turned solid red. It wasn’t much of a barrier, but it would provide a decent stall tactic.
Max sat down on the sofa and rested his elbows on his knees. Yeah, the woman could take him down and he had a feeling he was getting ready to go down hard. He took a few deep, cleansing breaths, and hoped to put things in perspective.
Cameron was a beautiful woman from the top of her bright blonde head to her delicate polished toenails. True, she epitomized the meaning of feminine with her scheduled spa day on Wednesdays and her love for designer shoes, but those things drew him to her. Her hoity-toity manner, meant to discourage him, made him hard as a 2x4, proving the fire inside her was scalding hot.
Over the last few days, he witnessed the more vulnerable side of Cameron. Her fear of Vince showed how truly brave she was and how determined she could be. He smiled. His kind of woman. The type of woman who showed the real difference between men and women.
He sighed. Maybe things could change after Stone was caught. Pursuing her at this point in time would be shooting himself in the foot. He needed to concentrate on keeping her safe, not how insanely satisfying it would be to take her. To possess her. To love her. There was just one small problem.
He already loved her.
Admitting that to himself nearly sliced him in two. He prided himself in being in complete control of his emotions. Years of military training had shaped him into a well-oiled machine, acting without emotion, doing without thinking.
Women loved him and as callous as it seemed, he took advantage. He made time for each and every one, making sure they understood there was no room for them in his heart. Then along came Cameron with her hot body and smart mouth. Her outspoken demeanor had made her an angel of sorts. A golden angel sent to save him from himself. She had not only captured his heart, she provided the air he needed to breathe. But he couldn’t act now, not when she was in trouble. His feelings would have to wait.
Besides, he knew from personal experience the repercussions of sharing your heart. Not an option.
Hoping to distract himself, Max reached for a small photo album on the table in front of him and eased back against the pillows. He glanced at his watch. Knowing Cameron, he’d probably wait for another hour.
He flipped slowly through the pages of the album, amazed at the grandeur. The rooms were expertly designed and lavishly decorated, each photo illustrating a before and after scene. Cameron’s curly-Q signature occupied each corner.
As he flipped through the photos, a loose page slipped from the back of the book. He felt a grin split his lips as he interpreted the sketch. A dragon wearing black sunglasses. A knight with curls, wearing high heels.
Puff the Magic Dragon.
Max shook his head, slid the paper back in the book, and went back to the photos.
“Like what you see?” Cameron’s voice tickled his ear from behind him.
He closed the book and placed it back on the table. “You’re good.”
“I am,” she bragged, “but then again, you’re looking at my portfolio. They don’t always turn out so spectacular.”
“Why?”
She sat next to him. “Some people have no sense of color. Despite what many think, there is an actual art to decorating. And, even though they spend thousands of dollars to hire me, sometimes they don’t take my advice.” She grimaced. “I don’t keep those pictures.”
He nodded in understanding.
“This is one of the few times I’ve seen you without your sunglasses,” she said thoughtfully.
“Want me to put them on?”
“No, Hollywood, you just always wear them.”
“I’m scarier with them on.”
“Uh-huh.” She rolled her eyes. “Sure you are.”
“Are you going to cook?”
“No.”
“We had a deal.”
“I know, but I don’t cook.”
He studied her silently for a moment. “I hauled your frou-frou junk up the driveway and stood holding it while Mrs. Vandiver ogled me, Benedict Arnold.”
“Relax, I ordered in.”
She went to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with five odd-shaped cartons. She handed him a pair of chopsticks. “You like Chinese, right?”
He raised his eyebrow at the chopsticks. “Yeah.”
She grinned and exchanged the chopsticks for a fork before opening the cartons. “You’re no fun, Max.”
The steamy aroma escaped from its cardboard cage, filling the air with the sweet smell of ginger and almonds.
“Have you had any more phone calls?” He avoided the green and orange inside his carton.
She speared a pepper and thrust it at his mouth. “Here, try this.”
He reluctantly put the pepper in his mouth and ignored the bitterness while he chewed. “Phone calls,” he prompted.
“None. I guess you scared him away. My hero.”
“Not likely,” he grunted.
“Max, you can’t stand guard forever.”
“It won’t be forever, just long enough to put him back in jail.”
A shadow of annoyance crossed her face. “I can’t believe they ever let him out.”
“How did they finally catch him?”
“They didn’t. I did. But he was charged with stalking. Luckily it was his third strike.”
“How’d you ever hook up with Stone anyway?”
“My father introduced us. He seemed perfectly boring -“ She giggled. “I mean, harmless at first. The relationship went nowhere fast and when I broke it off, he wasn’t happy.”
Max grimaced in good humor. “How often did he follow you after that?”
“Constantly, but that wasn’t what freaked me out.”
He narrowed his eyes at her confession. “What else?”
“I came home to a path of rose petals leading to my bedroom.”
He twisted one corner of his mouth upward. “Most women would eat that up.”
“Vince was very controlling, Max,” she said. “Obses
sed. I couldn’t be out of his sight for more than five minutes. Believe me, my creativity was pushed to the limit. I could only come up with so many ways to avoid him.”
“Like trying to harness the wind,” he muttered.
She shrugged and dropped her chopsticks on the table.
“Tell me something.” She climbed back onto the sofa next to him and ran her fingers across the top of his head. “How do you have such a smooth head?”
He coughed and swallowed quickly to avoid choking. The head on top of your body, dumb ass. His heart beat double time from her seductive caress.
“I’ve been bald a long time.”
“Do you shave it?”
“Once a week.”
“It doesn’t grow back?”
“Not much. I’ve spent too much time in a wetsuit.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Can I shave it next time?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think I want the combination of you and a razor anywhere near my head.”
She gave a soft laugh and the sound of it stroked his libido once again. She traced the bulging muscles of his forearms with her slender fingers. “Tell me about yourself, Max.”
“I don’t talk much.”
“Duh.” She snorted. “Come on, if you insist on holding me hostage, at least throw me a few scraps of personal information.”
Uncomfortable with her ability to wiggle past his restraint, he considered her request. How much of himself was he willing to reveal?
“Have you ever been married?” she persisted.
“Yeah,” he grunted, “to the Navy.”
“Be serious!” She huffed and lightly punched his left biceps.
A muscle quivered at his jaw. “You hit like a girl. Maybe I should take you to the gym.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I am a girl,” she said dryly.
He shifted uneasily. The creature sitting beside him was no girl. She was a full-blown woman, beautiful, sexy and off limits.
He reluctantly dragged his thoughts from her body. “Okay, I give. No, I’ve never been married.”
“Ever come close?”
Holy hell. “No. You?”
Her eyes sparkled as if she were playing a game. “I thought you knew everything about me.”
“Maybe I just want to hear it from you.”
Although he knew she baited him, he couldn’t resist. The only thing better was teasing her body, caressing her baby soft skin, nipping her tempting lips, nuzzling the hollow of her neck.
Her eyes widened as if she had read his mind.
She cleared her throat. “I’ve never been married or engaged, and I don’t plan to either.”
He winked. “Because no one will put up with you?”
“I’m not as difficult as you.” She trailed her index finger down the steps of his chest. “I’m just not willing to give up my life as a self-reliant, independent woman. I have yet to find a man worthy of that sacrifice.”
“We have that in common,” he agreed. “I don’t need a ball and chain either.”
She gave him another smooth, silky laugh. “You love women, Max.”
“How do you know?”
He watched her grow openly amused at his unease.
“I’ve seen you in action, Don Juan. Believe me, you appreciate everything female.” She gazed mischievously at him with the devil dancing in her eyes. “So, I can’t help but wonder why you’re so opposed to a permanent relationship.”
He wiped the emotion from his face. Wouldn’t little Miss Hell-on-Wheels like to know? One tremor of weakness tossed in her direction would be a mortal wound. And if she knew how insecure he was in love, she’d personally drive the nails right through his coffin.
“I guess we’re both die hard free spirits,” he said finally.
“I wouldn’t exactly call you a free spirit,” she scoffed. “However, since neither of us wants a commitment, we could at least have some fun.”
He peered at her as he processed her bold invitation. Another jab. Did he hear her correctly? Every man’s dream: sex with no strings. He flinched at the unexpected poke of that double-edged sword. Sex with her would bind him with chains, not strings. Even iron chains could subdue Hercules.
“I’ve got some work to do.” He stood and took the cartons from the table. “Yell if you get scared.”
“Don’t worry, Flash,” she chided. “You’ll be the first to know if I see the boogeyman.”
* * *
Under the cover of darkness, he crept to the front door of the house, careful not to bang his gift against the door as he laid it on the welcome mat. He chose this token of his admiration carefully, remembering Cameron’s love of pretty things. He smiled confidently. She’d be so surprised when she discovered his generosity.
He opened the lid of the box and ran his fingers over his offering. Satisfied he’d chosen wisely, he tucked a small white envelope inside and replaced the lid.
Glancing over his shoulder, he reached for the doorknob and hoped to find it unlocked. He frowned as the knob twisted in his grip and easily moved from left to right and back again. Bracing his shoulder against the door, he pushed to no avail. Cameron never locked her doors; she trusted the security system to do its job.
He paused, puzzled at this unexpected obstacle. Shrugging away his concern, he pulled a pick from his pocket, inserted it into the lock, and jiggled it from side to side.
* * *
Max sat straight up in bed, awakened by an unfamiliar noise downstairs. Accustomed to Cameron’s late night adventures to the kitchen, he was fairly sure it wasn’t her. Pulling on his jeans, he crept out of the bedroom into the hall. He paused at her bedroom door, satisfied when he heard her light breathing float through the air. As he descended the stairs, his expert night vision allowed him to see the doorknob twist from side to side.
He inched closer to the door to look through the peephole, startled when his left foot brushed against something solid in his path. Shifting his weight from his left foot to his right, he cursed as a blood-curdling howl shook the walls.
* * *
CHAPTER EIGHT
Excruciating pain in his left foot caused Max to glance down at his feet, only to find Maxwell pinned to the floor, with his paws flailing in the air and howling at the top of his lungs. Max took another look at the doorknob just as the security sensors registered his sudden movement. The sirens wailed. The doorknob stilled and the security light flashed to reveal the empty porch, except for a long, white box lying next to the door. The angry cat took one more swipe at Max’s foot before it fled to the safety of another room.
Max hobbled to the bottom step, stretched his legs in front of him, and folded his arms behind his head.
“Max!” Cameron raced down the stairs two at a time, her blonde curls tousled from sleep. “Are you okay?”
He reclined on the stairway as his foot throbbed and watched her punch her code into the security pad. As soon as the sirens quieted, she knelt beside him and ran her hand down the side of his face. Her sweet candy smell invaded his senses and wrapped him in another round of heat.
“Max?!” She slapped his cheek. “Answer me!”
“I thought you were talking to the cat.”
“The cat?” She turned to look around the room. “Maxwell isn’t here.”
“I stepped on him.”
“You stepped on Maxwell?” Her eyes widened. “My poor baby! He’s probably hiding.”
“I’m bleeding,” he said through gritted teeth.
Her features softened as she leaned down to look at his foot.
“He must’ve really been mad at you.” She traced the edges of the raw scratches with one finger. “These are ugly.”
He sat motionless while she made her analysis.
“What were you doing down here, anyway?”
He studied her for a moment and wondered if she really wanted the truth. “Someone was trying to g
et in the house.”
Her rosy cheeks turned ash white. “Who?” she whispered.
“Don’t know,” he muttered. “Your crazy feline scared them away.”
When her shoulders slumped and she tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, he thought she might actually fall apart - until she pinned him with a fiery gaze.
“If it weren’t for my cat, you and I both would’ve been toast.”
Max wasn’t quite sure exactly what prompted his next move, the jagged, bloody scratches on his foot or the smug expression on her face, but his anger and frustration refused to be restrained any longer.
“Look here, Princess, I heard the noise. I stood in front of the door when the doorknob moved. If your cat had been asleep instead of on the prowl, I could’ve had the intruder by the scruff of the neck and all this would be over.” He paused for moment to re-fuel. “Why can you not see how serious this is? Someone intended to enter the house, while you were asleep, and I can guaran-damn-tee you it wasn’t a booty call.”
She blinked several times, almost as if she used her long eyelashes to snuff the fire in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Max.”
Finally. Except, now that his anger had worked itself free, Max felt a slight nudge of guilt. “Don’t be sorry, be careful.”
She gave him a half smile. “I have a bodyguard to protect me, remember?”
Her light teasing knocked the fight right out of him and he squeezed the top of her shoulder. “He can’t get past me, but you’re making my job almost impossible.”
Max fully expected another argument. Damn his big mouth. Just when he seemed to have pounded the danger of her situation into her thick skull, he let his ego barrel through. Did it really matter that she made him look like an amateur? From the very first insult she’d slung at him, he’d learned it was best to let her believe she was in control. And that would continue to be his strategy. Even if it made him look like an idiot.
