Hot Commodity (7 page)

 
Cameron realized Leah was still standing at his side. He looked up at her, hoping she’d step in and soothe the girl, or, you know, woman bond. But she looked about as taken aback as he felt.

"What’s wrong with her?" she asked.

Cameron shook his head. "How the hell should I know? I’ve never met her before in my life."

His sister set her hands on her hips and glowered. "Maybe you shouldn’t have married her then, you think?"

Cameron sent her a dirty look. "Oh, shut up." He whirled back to his bawling wife.

"Hey," he said softly and reached out for the lump in the sheet he suspected was a knee. He’d merely been attempting to offer some kind of comfort. But she skittered away from his hand, making him stop his pursuit. Her face was blotchy with tears.

"Maybe you’re not the Cameron Orville Banks I’m thinking of," she said and sent him a hopeful nod of encouragement. "Of course you can’t be," she added and wiped at the black mascara trail running down her cheek. "I mean, the man I’m thinking of must be a crusty old drunk, because he’s a mega rich businessman whose wife killed herself ten years ago. And if you had a wife ten years ago, you would’ve only been, like, fifteen when you got married."

Cameron yanked his hand off the mattress and away from her. His

mouth fell open.

What the hell? How did this complete stranger know about Sienna? His suspicious gaze bore a hole through her.

Finally, he swallowed. "I was nineteen."

The blonde gasped. "What?"

"I was nineteen when I got married," he repeated, his eyes still hard as they swept over her. "Twenty when she died. Now, how do you know about that? Who are you?"

Olivia shook her head and the tears started to fall faster. "Noooo," she moaned. "This is all wrong. You...you were supposed to be at a...a big conference dinner last night."

Cameron closed his eyes and muttered a curse. "Damn it. I knew I’d forgotten something."

Leah nudged him in the rib with her toe. "Isn’t that conference the only reason you came to town?"

"No. I went to a meeting yesterday morning too. But, God, I really should’ve made it to that dinner."

"It really is you, then," Olivia whispered and inched back even further as if she was certain he was the anti-Christ.

He’d thought she’d already started with the tears. But that little teaser was nothing compared to the sobs that wracked her next. Shoulders heaving, black tears flying, his wife of a few hours buried her face in her hands and wept, putting her entire body into it.

"I want a divorce," she bawled.

Four

Sobbing wives and nasty hangovers weren’t exactly an ideal way to start the day. Coffee would’ve been nice. But by the way his sister glared at him, he knew Leah certainly wasn’t going to offer Cameron a cup.

"Leah." He sighed. "Can you…?" He motioned toward the door with a hand, silently asking her to skedaddle.

His obstinate sister ignored the hint. She folded her arms over her chest and rooted her feet to the floor, staring at him as if waiting for an explanation. Since there was no way he could explain any of this, he frowned.

"Will you wait in the damn hall?" he snapped, noticing from the corner of his eye how his bed companion jerked at his tone of voice. She whipped her face up to watch him but he was too busy glaring at his sister to soothe the wife’s tender feelings.

"We need a minute to figure this out," he said. "And to put some clothes on. Unless you want to watch me change," he added and reached for the corner of the sheet, threatening to lift it.

Leah jumped back. "Eww, gross. Cameron, that’s sick."

"Then a minute, please," he said, lifting his eyebrows in warning. "Damn interfering older sister," he muttered as soon as she was gone. He sucked in a breath, but when his head continued to throb, he sighed and pushed the sheet off his lap.

His attention swerved to Olivia Donovan—at least, that’s who the slip of paper in his hand claimed her to be. Olivia Bette Donovan-Banks, his new wife.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair and let out another long breath. "So, uh, crazy night, huh?"

Hey, it sounded like a good icebreaker to him. Not that she responded.

She’d eased up on the tears, but remained huddled under the sheets with her face buried in her palms. A glitter of light caught the huge chunk of diamond clinging to a platinum band wrapped around the ring finger of her left hand. He wondered idly if he’d gotten the ring for her last night in his drunken state or if she’d been engaged to someone else before seeking him out.

And she
had
sought him. He knew that much for sure. He remembered her approaching him, remembered how she’d looked so desperate when she’d told him she needed a husband. He’d been only half wasted at that point. But from then on, everything turned blurry. He also remembered the sex. Vaguely. He recalled thinking he’d never wanted it so bad before. He remembered how good she’d felt when he first slid inside her. He remembered pounding into her and making her come, more than once.

But other than that…

"Look," he said, trying to sound gentle since she was obviously spooked. "I’m still having trouble remembering much. But if you want to help me clear up a few details, like why and how this happened, I’d be real willing to hear what you have to say so we can fix it as expediently as possible. And I’m not going to hurt you, so you don’t have to flinch away from me every time I speak."

She didn’t answer.

"Are you okay?" he tried. "Olivia?"

She didn’t even glance his way as she wiped at her eyes.

"Humph," he muttered to himself. "Not even married twenty-four hours and the wife’s already giving me the silent treatment."

And still, he got nothing.

Cameron rolled his eyes. "All righty then," he said, deciding it was time to put some clothes on.

He pushed himself to his feet, and finally she responded with an outraged gasp. Wondering what her problem was now, he glanced over. She’d turned her attention to him. Her blue eyes had gone wide, her hand covered her mouth while she ogled his crotch. He looked down to discover his raging erection was immodestly swaying her way. It almost surprised him he could get it up. After the workout she’d given the little guy last night, Cameron figured junior wouldn’t want to come out of hibernation again for a while.

But nope, there he was, straining at the sight of the blond goddess as if seeking an introduction.
Wife, this is my hard-on. Hard-on, meet the wife
. Hmm, however could the two shake and properly get to know each other?

Cameron grinned. "What? You want to go another round?"

Olivia sputtered. Her narrowed eyes zipped from his erection to his face. She glared long enough to get her point across with a lethal glare before abruptly whirling away to put her back to him.

"Guess that’s a no," he answered and then winced when he realized what an ass he sounded like. "Sorry."

When she only sniffed, he sighed and made his way to his suitcase, where he hauled out something to wear.

The Mrs. kept her back to him, wrapping the sheets more firmly around herself while he slipped into a fresh pair of underwear and some comfortable jeans. He tugged on a shirt and was reaching for his shoes when he stubbed his bare toe on a knife-like object.

"Son of a—" The string of curses that followed had Olivia spinning around and hovering against the bed’s headboard, her eyes wide and frightened. Hopping on one foot as he held the injured toe in his hand, he glared at her, hoping she caught on that his crappy morning was her fault.

When she merely eyed him as if he was Freddy Krueger, he muttered under his breath and bent down to retrieve the high heel that had caused his outburst. Scooping up the fishnet hose and thong underwear as well, he dumped the contents on the bed. "Yours, I presume?"

She quickly reached out and gathered her things close, cradling them to her chest.

"Right now might be a good time to, you know, put your clothes on, too," he suggested when she made no move to do so but only stared up at him with wide blue eyes. He shrugged. "Not that I mind you being all warm and naked in my bed, but—"

"Could I have a little privacy, please?" she cut in.

Ah, she speaks
. Yet what she said left him clueless.

"What for?" he asked, frowning.

Her jaw dropped. "I don’t want you to see me," she said, her face heating with color.

He laughed. "Okay, let me get this straight. Last night, you picked me out of a bar full of complete strangers, kissed me like there’s no tomorrow, somehow talked me into marrying you, and then screwed my brains out. But this morning, you’re too modest to let me see you naked?"

"Could you just…" she grumbled as she motioned frantically toward the door.

Cameron folded his arms over his chest and sent her an amused smile. "Sorry. No." When she let out a small growl, he threw his hand into the air, calling defeat. "Hey, if I go out there, my sister’s going to rip a strip from my hide. And I’d like to figure out what the hell happened here before I try to defend myself."

"We got married," she explained from between clenched teeth. "That’s what happened."

"Yeah, I caught that much. Now, I’d like to know why. How?"

He watched her face shut down. Her features turned blank, an expression revealing nothing. Cameron sighed and scrubbed at his face with both hands. "Look, all I want are a few answers."

"I was just as drunk as you were," she said defensively.

"But this was your idea," he pressed. "That’s one thing I do remember. You approached me. You asked me, first thing. I have no idea how you talked me into it, or why, but that’s my own drunken stupidity. You, however, were the little instigator of this whole mess. And I do know that for sure."

When she refused to talk, Cameron became mesmerized by a stray tendril of blonde hair that slipped over her shoulder. No bikini line marred the smooth surface of her very bare skin; he couldn’t help but wonder if she sunbathed in the nude—nude like she was under that sheet.

He shuddered and wanted.

"Honestly," he said, wincing at the pinching constriction in his pants. "Can you put some clothes on already? I can’t concentrate when you’re all…" He waved his hand toward the sheet.

She lifted her eyebrows. "And me dropping this sheet to reach for my clothes is going to help that—how?"

He rolled his eyes. "Gotcha," he muttered and turned away so his back was to her. "Better?"

She didn’t answer, but he heard bed springs shift and squeak as she hopped off the mattress. He was tempted to swing around and say, 'boo', just to irritate her. But he figured he’d gotten on her nerves enough in the past five minutes.

Yes, the honeymoon was definitely over.

When he heard a muttered curse behind him, he chanced a glance over his shoulder. What he saw had him stopping dead. "Whoa." He paused and shook his head to clear the nasty thoughts.

Olivia had dressed. Well, she’d dressed as much as she could. She no longer wore the fishnet hose but stood in a skirt—a very leather, very tight, very short black skirt—and a top, which consisted of a black bit of leather that barely covered her tits. She held the gaping middle together with both hands.

After letting out a low, appreciative whistle, Cameron mused, "Now I see how you coaxed me into marriage."