by Mia Dymond
“That makes things much more exciting, Max.”
It took him a minute to realize she’d responded to his earlier impossible comment - without an argument. “Exciting doesn’t quite describe it,” he mumbled.
Another light-hearted giggle floated across his ear. “Let me clean those scratches.”
“Wait, there’s one more thing.” He squeezed her shoulder again. “You have a gift.”
“What kind of gift?”
“There’s a box on the porch.”
In usual act-before-think tradition, Cameron pushed herself off the step and started toward the door.
He managed to grab her forearm before she could flee. “Hold up, Speedy Gonzalez. Don’t touch anything. There might be fingerprints.”
By a pleasant stroke of luck, she stopped and propped herself up against the banister. Satisfied she understood his warning, he ran his hand over his head and limped to the telephone to call the police.
As he pushed numbers, another thought crossed his mind. Why didn’t the alarm company call when the sirens sounded? No way had Cameron turned them off in time.
Max lifted the phone to his ear. Dead air. It was a long shot, but maybe he could keep this new development from her. He disconnected and made his first attempt. “Don’t you need some ice cream after all this?”
Cameron raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “What’s wrong, Max?”
One more time. “Nothing, I just know you like chocolate ice cream.”
“I like many different kinds of ice cream, but that doesn’t answer my question.”
He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “No dial tone. The phone line’s been cut.”
“How do you know?”
“Want me to leave you here and go check?”
She dropped her arms and pushed off the banister. “No. I’m going to get the ice cream.”
While she rummaged in the kitchen for ice cream, he ran upstairs, grabbed his cell phone and called the police. By the time he arrived back downstairs, she was seated on the bottom step and licked chocolate ice cream from a silver scoop.
“No spoon?” he drawled.
“This works better. Wanna lick?”
He shifted. Oh man, did he want a lick.
“Go get dressed,” he told her as he pushed his phone back into his pocket. “The police are on their way.”
“What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”
He cleared his throat. “Nothing, as far as I’m concerned, but the officers won’t investigate much if you wiggle your ass in those short shorts.”
Cameron stood and dropped the scoop back into the bucket of ice cream before handing it to him. “Like this?” She swung her hips as she turned and climbed the stairs.
His eyes caressed her as she walked, the motion of her shapely hips whetting his already ravenous appetite. She paused on the top stair and peeked over her shoulder.
“Oh, Max,” she chided while she batted her eyelashes, “you can unwrap your gift later.”
Max clenched his fists, both irritated and excited, and almost lost control. In his current state of arousal, it would only take a minute to take the edge off. They probably had at least ten minutes. He swore under his breath. Who was he kidding? Ten minutes wouldn’t be near enough. Hell, ten days might not cut it. Succumbing once again to self torture, he sat back down on the stairs, crammed the scoop into the ice cream and then lifted it to his mouth.
* * *
After what seemed like hours of questioning, Max crowned the situation fully investigated and ushered the policemen to the door. And after several more minutes of persuasive conversation, he sent a surprisingly docile Cameron off to bed. He brandished his cell phone and dialed for back-up. There was only one option. He’d assemble his team. First up, Brett Steele.
A SEAL once under Max’s command and now a member of SEALs, Inc., Steele possessed the unique skill of surprise attack. Labeling himself a surfer dude, Steele used his laid-back, what-the-hell attitude to charm his way through an investigation and gather Intel from even the most hardened sources. Steele’s theory was that even the bad guy had his balls squeezed by the warm, willing noose of his woman’s fist, and his standard m.o. was to seduce information from her. Even with a couple of close calls, Steele managed to complete his mission.
“Yeah?” Steele croaked over the line.
“Steele.” Max noted the rustling of bed sheets in the background. “Are you alone?”
“Unfortunately,” Steele groused. “What’s goin’ on, Captain?”
“We have a new case.” He winced from the sting of his battle wounds. “Target with a stalker.”
“Male or female target?”
“Female.”
“24-hour surveillance?”
“Yes.” Max ignored Steele’s jab. “He’s a determined lunatic. So far, he’s tried to kidnap her at the mall and tonight, he tried to break in the house.”
Steele whistled under his breath. “Man, he’s an idiot to take you on. What’s your strategy?”
“Sticking to Cameron doesn’t give me much time for strategy.”
A tense silence vibrated the phone line before Steele cleared his throat. “Did you say Cameron?”
Max pinched the bridge of his nose. Here it comes. “Yeah, why?”
“The same Cameron who packaged her last stalker with high heels and pantyhose?”
“Yes, and the same stalker. He manipulated an early release and tracked her down. I’m not sure if he’s stupid enough to think she would go back to him, or if he’s out for revenge.”
“Crazy bastard,” Steele muttered.
“The police can’t do much. They issued an APB and assigned a patrol to the house. He’ll slide right by. I need you to tail him.”
“I’m on it. I take it you don’t want her to know.”
“Absolutely not.” Max rubbed his aching temples. “And don’t let her bust you this time.”
“I’ll be invisible. Want me to call Shadow?”
Max chewed that over. Shadow was the best tracker he’d ever trained, and his marksmanship was second only to Steele. Maybe next time. “No. He’s working the Ellison case.”
“Affirmative,” Steele said over a snicker. “I can’t wait to see Cameron in action.”
* * *
CHAPTER NINE
Cameron wasn’t sure which had awoken her, the morning sunlight streaming through the opening in the curtains or all the racket coming from downstairs. She poked her head further under the covers and turned over. It’s too early for this. She hadn’t slept much last night, and when she had slept she dreamt of Max. Then she woke up hot, sweaty, and achy.
Maybe coffee will help. She threw on a pair of shorts and a tank top as she went out the bedroom door, padding barefoot down the stairs. Shaking the sleep from her eyes, she stopped in the middle of her descent.
Her house was a wreck. Men drilled holes and hammered nails in her walls, electronic gizzmos and gadgets decorated the carpet, and wires wiggled out of the walls and hung from the ceiling. And standing right in the middle of all that chaos, barking orders at everyone, was Max, the invincible mountain of a man who vowed to protect her with his life. Maxwell meowed, rubbed against him, and zig-zagged back and forth between the tree trunks Max called legs. Max reached down and scooped the big grey cat into his arms, scratched him under the chin, and cradled him against his beefy chest. Her breath hitched. What she wouldn’t give to trade places with her cat.
It was at that exact moment she knew she was in love with Maximilian Sterling.
She propped herself against the wall and digested that realization. Max was one fine specimen of male, rock hard and steel-plated from the tips of his toes to the top of his shiny, smooth head. But her interest only began there.
Past his impressive exterior lay his compassionate heart and tender thoughts, both of which she had witnessed firsthand. Bound and determined to single-handedly protect her from Vince, Max portrayed the ultimate warrior, complete w
ith a brash, bad-ass attitude. Yet when he felt her fear, he was a mushy, cuddly teddy bear and opened his arms to surround her with comfort.
Her mind spun with bewilderment. Did he feel the same? Or was she just an assignment? She knew his loyalty to Hawke and Rachel would never be broken, but was this more than loyalty? She pushed herself off the wall and tabled her uncertainties. Only one way to find out.
At the sound of her footsteps, Max glanced up and gave her a heated look that accused her of being naked. Her lip curled. At least she was dressed this time.
“Looks like you two made up,” she said.
He shrugged and released the cat. “The noise makes him nervous and I’m familiar to him.” Obviously unhappy, Maxwell braced his two front legs against Max’s leg and poked his claws into the black denim, intent on climbing back into Max’s bulky grip. Max shook him loose and nudged him out of the way with the toe of his boot. Maxwell meowed his objection before strutting out of the room.
Cameron stood mesmerized by the unmistakable power and energy that oozed from Max. Even her stubborn, alpha male cat felt it.
Max turned and offered his hand. “Careful where you step.”
She didn’t think twice before she slid her hand into his. The strength of his gentle grip sent a warming shiver through her as he guided her around the mess and into the kitchen.
He dropped her hand. “I’m hungry.”
Disappointed by the loss of contact, she rolled her eyes. “You’re always hungry. Cereal or frozen waffles?”
“You’re not going to cook breakfast? You owe me, remember?”
Cameron opened her mouth to argue, but words escaped her as she glanced into his flickering eyes. The intense heat she found there forced her to reconsider her response. She could think of several ways to repay her debt, all of which involved hand-to-hand combat. Or sweaty-naked-body to sweaty-naked-body.
Shaking those thoughts from her brain, she grabbed a skillet and went to the fridge. Once she opened the door, she stood there a minute and begged the cool air to soothe her heated skin. She definitely needed the freezer, but that would be too obvious.
“Are you gonna just stand there and stare at the food, or are you gonna cook it?” she heard him say from behind her.
As she spun around, she felt her backside graze the bulge behind his zipper. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and fought to keep from pressing herself against the enticing discovery. As if reading her mind, he inhaled sharply and stepped away.
“Ha, ha, Smartass.” She grabbed a carton of eggs, a package of bacon, and a roll of sausage and attempted to distract herself. “I’m going to cook it, if you’ll get out of my way.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay. I’ll go check on the progress of your new security system.”
“The house is a mess,” she fussed. “Don’t you think you’ve gone a little overboard?”
“No. Your security system sucked. This one is top of the line. You should consider getting a big dog.”
“A dog?” She whipped the eggs in a bowl. “I don’t need a dog. I have a cat. Who, by the way, scared away the intruder last night.”
“Only because I stepped on him on my way to intercept the bad guy,” he mumbled as he stalked out of the kitchen.
Her mouth curved into a smile. It was fun to push his buttons. He would never let a fat, lazy cat take the credit for protecting her.
She had just finished up the sausage and bacon when Max stuck his head inside the door.
“Come in here for a minute so I can explain how to set the alarm.”
She turned off the stove and followed him to the control panel.
“You have two panels, one here and another in your bedroom. This red button is the panic button. Push it if you need the police.”
Her head spun as he rattled off colors, buttons, sensors and all kinds of other electronic-genius-speak she didn’t quite understand.
“Wait.” She laid a hand on his forearm. “You had cameras installed? And motion sensors? What about Maxwell? He’ll set it off all the time.”
“No, he won’t. Anything under fifty pounds won’t trigger the alarm.”
Skeptical, she raised an eyebrow. “The alarm can judge weight?”
He inclined his head. “I designed it. Trust me, it will work.”
“How?”
He twisted his lips. “It’s a secret.”
Amused by his cockiness, she studied him intently for a moment and admired his intelligence. Although Max issued orders and did his best to bury any spark of emotion, day by day he gave her more and more reasons to love him. And love him, she would.
As if startled by her newfound epiphany, he turned and headed back to the kitchen.
“Is breakfast ready?”
She shook her head and followed. Silly man. Did he really think he could avoid the obvious?
She nudged him to the table set for two with a bowl of scrambled eggs, a plate of sausage and bacon, and a plate of biscuits waiting for him.
“I’ve got milk, orange juice, and I can put on a pot of coffee.” She placed butter and jelly on the table.
“Milk sounds great. You sit and I’ll get it.”
He poured them each a glass of milk and sat down.
After several mouthfuls, he said, “This is great.”
She smiled and picked up her fork. “You didn’t realize I was such a domestic goddess?”
“I thought you couldn’t cook.”
“No, I told you I don’t cook. It’s too much trouble to cook for just me.”
“These eggs are delicious. What’s in them?”
She winked. “It’s a secret.”
Max took a deep breath to steady his pulse. That one small eye movement tempted him to snatch her from her chair, flatten her on top of the table, and take her right there, smack dab in the middle of the scrambled eggs.
He cleared his throat and attempted to maintain distance. “Do you want to know what was in the box last night?”
“Do I?” she countered.
He shrugged. “Your call.”
She laid her fork next to her plate and met his eyes over the table. “Tell me.”
He paused for a brief moment as his brain weighed the consequences of telling her.
“Tell me, Max.”
“A blue slinky thing.”
“Lingerie?”
He nodded.
“What kind?”
“Huh?”
“What kind of lingerie?”
“Like I said, blue, slinky and transparent.” He shifted at the thought of the soft silk as it flowed over her slender hips, caressed her smooth thighs and tickled the rounded edges of her creamy ass.
“Oh, God.” Her shoulders shook and she dropped her head into her hands.
He threw his napkin on the table as he scooted his chair back and walked around to her side. Removing her hands, he pushed her head down between her legs. “Breathe.”
He watched her slender shoulders rise in her attempt to fill her lungs. Several seconds later, she raised her head and sat up. “This is getting creepy, Max, why would he send me lingerie?”
His fingers worked the muscles at the base of her neck. “You’re just so irresistible, Sex Kitten.”
“What did you do with it?”
“Kept it as a souvenir.” He grinned, making a mental note of the designer label.
Her eyes widened and she began to hyperventilate all over again.
“Sonuva-” He growled and pushed her head back between her legs. “I was just kidding. I gave it to the police.”
“Max,” she murmured breathlessly. “I really need to go to the spa.”
He shifted impatiently as she lifted her head and looked over her shoulder with her anguished eyes pleading for him to understand. His restraint broke. Anything to make her eyes sparkle.
“I’m driving.”
She dismissed his ultimatum with a wave of her hand as she shot out of her chair and left the kitchen. “What
ever,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Give me three minutes.”
Caught completely off guard by her agreement, Max pushed her chair back to the table and loaded dishes into his arms. No sense coming home to a mess. Maxwell meowed from the doorway and Max turned to watch him lick his lips.
Max threw a cautious glance out the doorway toward the stairs to satisfy himself Cameron was occupied, then placed the bowl with the remainder of the eggs on the floor. Maxwell stood and flicked his tail before he sauntered to the bowl and began nibbling the eggs. Max snickered and finished clearing the table.
He had just stacked the last plate into the sink when Cameron blew back into the kitchen and stopped beside the table.
“You did this?”
He nodded.
Maxwell meowed and she glanced at him. “You fed Maxwell.”
Max nodded again.
A smile spread her shiny pink lips and her eyes sparkled with their usual luster. Hellcat Cameron was back.
She braced one hand on her shapely hip. “If you can get me to the spa in five minutes, Prince Charming, you just might be worth keeping.”
An hour later, crammed into something resembling a plastic lawn chair and forced to listen to some sort of high-pitched music through the overhead speakers, Max heard Cameron sigh as she lay on her stomach, almost comatose after her massage. At least she was relaxed.
Sitting through her massage, watching another man caress her baby smooth skin had been pure torture, not to mention listening to her soft moans of pleasure. Hell. They’d been almost orgasmic.
She claimed Spa Day was her favorite day of the week, and as much as he hated to admit it, when she was happy, he was happy. Damn happy since she was stark naked under the thin white sheet over her, a fact he knew to be true since her clothing occupied the chair beside him.
“Mmmm. You really should try this, Maxie,” she murmured. “You need to relax, and this is the ticket.”
An easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. He could think of a way that was a million times better: her hot, writhing body pinned under his while he bucked and branded her as his own. His now-erect cock twitched. Fortunately, it would take several repeat performances to relax him.
