Outspoken Angel (8 page)

She kicked him in the shin. “You scared me to
death!”

He ignored her assault. “What were you doing
down here in the dark?”

“I didn’t want the light to disturb you. I
was being courteous.”

“Can’t sleep, huh?”

She swallowed as her eyes traveled the length
of his incredible body and rested on his nicely-wrapped
package.

Not with you half naked in my
kitchen
.“No.”

“Stone?”

Sure, she could blame it on fear. “Yes.”
Liar
.

Max braced his palms behind him on the
counter. “He can’t get past me, Princess.”

She tossed her tousled curls over her
shoulder, a motion that caused the strap of her camisole to slide
halfway down her arm. She watched his eyes caress the creamy skin
of her breast exposed by the wayward strap.

She shrugged. “Would you please stop calling
me that?”

“What?”

“Princess.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like it.”

No sooner had the confession left her mouth,
she realized she made a mistake.

A smile of pure male satisfaction curved the
corners of his mouth. “No.”

Only because she refused to elaborate, she
dismissed any thought of argument about name calling. “Do you think
I’m paranoid?”

He stepped toward her and hooked one finger
through the strap. Her skin tingled as he repositioned it onto her
shoulder.

“You’re not paranoid. Fear keeps you
aware.”

She was aware all right. Aware of her body
screaming for him to keep touching her.

“He can’t catch me anyway,” she bragged,
turning the light back off and walking out of the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he agreed from behind her, “and even
if he did, he’d bring you back in a hurry.”

Cameron stopped in mid-step and glanced over
her shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smacked her backside as he sauntered past
her down the hallway. “You’d drive him crazy with your fashion
sense, brat.”

* * *

CHAPTER SIX

Cameron rolled over and looked at the alarm
clock for the hundredth time. Great. Five minutes later than the
last time she checked. She gave up on going back to sleep, threw
back the covers, and got out of bed.

Standing at the top of the stairs, she
listened for any sound of movement before going down. She chuckled
as the silence greeted her. Max was like the wind, invisible yet
overbearing.

Memories of their encounter last night
bombarded her as she entered the kitchen. At least it was daylight
this time. She sighed softly and remembered the security she felt
in his arms, tucked within the strength of his embrace. Goosebumps
tickled her arms as she imagined the sparks between them if they
made love.
If? More like when
. She reached to flip on the
ceiling fan.

“Do you always run around the house
naked?”

She jumped at the sound of Max’s deep, silky
voice and turned around to see him, fully dressed this time, enter
the kitchen.

“Do you always sneak up on people?” she
countered.

“I asked you first.”

“I’m dressed, Max.”

He snorted. “Barely.”

“Would you rather I sleep naked?”

He raised an eyebrow, raw desire evident in
his eyes.

“Never mind. I didn’t know you were awake or
I would’ve covered up.”

His eyes blazed as they raked her body from
top to bottom. “You don’t have to cover up on my account. I just
asked.”

She changed the subject. “I have an
appointment this morning.”

“With who?”

“Annabelle Vandiver. She’s one of my
regulars.”

“When?”

“10:00.”

He checked his watch. “You better get it in
gear.”

“Yes, Father Time.”

She grinned and sashayed out of the
kitchen.

Max exhaled loudly as he watched the tender
skin of her ass play peek-a-boo with him from beneath her shorts.
His trusty erection fought for freedom with her every move. He
braced his hands against the counter, his knuckles white from
restraint. Good God Almighty. He shook his head in frustration. She
was nothing but evil temptation. Now he understood why Adam was
such a wuss.

Thirty minutes later, she breezed down the
stairs.

“Let’s go, Max! I’m running late.”

“How many times did you change shoes?” he
asked, grinning to himself as he shuffled her out the door.

“Only twice.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder and
raised an eyebrow above his sunglasses.

“Okay, four times,” she admitted. “Set the
alarm so we can leave.”

He programmed the alarm, shut the door, then
paused to stare at her silver Lexus SC 430 parked in the garage. A
sweet car. For a woman.

“We’re not taking your car.”

“Why not?”

“My last experience in that car was not
pleasant, Speed Racer.”

“Come on, Maxie, I’ll scoot the seat all the
way back.”

He folded his arms across his chest.

She winked. “And I’ll leave the top closed,
so you won’t mess up your hair.”

He felt the corner of his mouth curl and
unfolded his arms. He walked to the driver’s side and opened the
door. “Get in.”

She slid behind the wheel and tossed him a
smug smile.

“Are you sure you have to come with me?” she
asked as he squeezed into the passenger seat. “You don’t look much
like an interior decorator.”

He snickered. No way in hell would he ever
consider looking like an interior decorator.

“I’ll wait in the car.”

She shrugged and backed out of the driveway.
“If you insist.”

As they drove through town, Max kept one eye
on the traffic behind them through the side view mirror, and the
other on Cameron. Although he understood her need to maintain her
normal routine, he wasn’t entirely comfortable with her being a
moving target. He grabbed the handle over the door to keep from
being slung all over the car. Then again, Vince would have to be
crazy to try to share the road with her.

She parked the car in the driveway of the
Vandiver estate and gathered her tote bag and portfolio.

She gazed up at the sunny sky. “I shouldn’t
be too long. Do you want me to open the top?”

“No.”

“Oh, right,” she agreed, “you might burn the
top of your head.” She dug through her bag. “Do you need
sunscreen?”

“No,” he insisted through gritted teeth.
“Go.”

He watched behind his sunglasses as she
swayed to the front door of the house, rang the doorbell and
disappeared inside the house. He breathed a sigh of relief, opened
the car door, and crawled out.

He chuckled as he propped himself against
Cameron’s car. She was such a spitfire, a mouthy, opinionated piece
of work. No man in his right mind would even come near someone like
her. He was certifiably insane. She stimulated him on a daily basis
with her playful teasing, taunted his desire, and more or less
dared him to stay away. And he was running out of distractions. A
muscle quivered at his jaw. He could take some time and enjoy
Cameron. A few months would probably do. He’d never had the option
before, moving from place to place in the Navy and traveling with
Hawke. He shifted as an unexpected thought crossed his mind. Now
that Hawke was settling down, having Cameron may be a possibility.
If he wanted. Damn, would he actually consider it? Never before had
he wanted to get to know a woman and keep her around. Until
Cameron.

He reached between his legs to make an
adjustment. Thoughts about her made matters worse. Keeping his
hands to himself was torture, a true test of his expert self
control. He shifted again, thankful when his cell phone pulsed
against his hip.

He grinned when he read Cameron’s number on
the caller ID. “Miss me?”

“I need you.”

His erection jumped. “Why?”

“I forgot my swatches in the car. Can you
bring them inside?”

“What the hell are swatches?”

“Pieces of fabric,” she explained, “behind my
seat.”

He glanced inside the car at the outrageous
patterns that rested on the seat. “No.”

“Please, Max. I really need them.”

“Come out here and get them.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I’m covered in pillows. Please bring them to
me.”

“How badly do you want them?”

“What’s the big deal?” she scoffed.

“You want me to bring you these so called
swatches with pink feathers, purple do-dads and yellow beads all
over them. With an audience.”

“Yeah so?”

“Not my style.”

“It’s just fabric!”

“I repeat, how bad do you want them?”

“Desperately.”

“Enough to cook dinner for me tonight?”

He waited patiently with smug delight.
Cameron cook? She’d never go for it. And he wouldn’t have to fondle
that frou-frou junk.

“Sure,” she answered evenly.

Shit
. She really wanted those
swatches. Now he had to haul that mess up the driveway.

“I’ll be right there,” he told her, his voice
gruff, as he disconnected.

Max stomped up the driveway, feathers flying
up his nose and beads hitchhiking on his t-shirt. Only for Cameron,
and only this once. He punched the doorbell twice and waited
impatiently for her to answer. Irritated even more by the wait, he
tossed the feathers over his shoulder.

The front door finally opened a few seconds
later, only Cameron wasn’t there. Unfortunately, someone else
answered the door to witness his new fashion statement. Although,
she didn’t have much room to talk. Standing in the doorway dressed
in a bright orange floral mu-mu, she reminded him of a tourist
poster for Florida.

“Hello, you must be Max.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“I’m Annabelle Vandiver. Come in. We’ve been
waiting for you.”

He stepped through the open door, aware of
Mrs. Vandiver’s appreciative glances.

“Cameron is in the parlor,” she explained,
leading the way.

Max followed Mrs. Vandiver and took stock of
the gaudy interior along the way. No wonder she hired Cameron, the
place reeked of foolish overspending.

Approaching the parlor, he began to relax
when he saw Cameron perched in the middle of the floor, surrounded
by multi-colored pillows.

“Love your boa.” She sent him a serene smile
as her eyes twinkled. “Help me up.”

He extended a hand and effortlessly pulled
her off the floor.

“Thanks for bringing these in.” She unwound
the feathers from around his neck and unhooked the beads from his
shirt.

He stood silently while she unwrapped him and
imagined a whole different kind of unwrapping as her hands absently
caressed him. Her eyes met his as she slid the boa from around his
waist and over the bulge between his legs. Flames pierced the
darkness of his sunglasses. His Adam’s apple jumped. If she kept
her warm, soft hands on his quivering body much longer, Annabelle
Vandiver would witness some very creative interior decorating.

“You’re welcome.” His voice was hoarse, as he
tried to get control of the situation. “Surely you wanted Mrs.
Vandiver to see these.”

She quickly shook the glaze from her eyes and
cleared her throat.

“Oh, yes.” She turned to Mrs. Vandiver. “I
think these will look great in your granddaughter’s bedroom. Let’s
go see.”

“Will you join us, Max?” Mrs. Vandiver asked
with sparkling eyes.

He grimaced. He felt like he was in a den of
very hungry lions. Wearing nothing but a very large t-bone.
Something told him being alone in a bedroom with either of these
women would be very dangerous.

“I’ll wait here.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” Mrs. Vandiver
said. “I’m terrible at making decisions.”

Cameron took her by the hand. “That’s why I’m
here, Annabelle.”

Max breathed a sigh of relief, sat down on
the sofa and draped his arms across the back. He felt safe for the
moment. Whoever said dynamite came in small packages was exactly
right. Cameron was definitely a small package of powerful
explosives.

He scooted down and leaned his head back
against the wall. Stone didn’t impress him much as a stalker. In
fact, Max wasn’t sure if Stone had it out for him or Cameron. Hell,
the longer Stone waited to make a move, the longer Max would
suffer. If the son of a bitch would just get on with it, Max could
break him in two and be free of the whole bodyguard role.

Max banged his head against the wall a couple
of times. Somehow he didn’t think he’d ever be free of Cameron.
Even if he managed to physically avoid her, he wouldn’t be able to
get her out of his head. Desperate to escape the reality of that
thought, Max shifted gears in his brain.

Obviously Stone was driven by revenge. Either
that or mental illness. Surely by now he’d figured out Cameron’s
connection to Rachel. Anybody with half a brain would realize that
being associated that closely to the wife of a major celebrity
afforded Cameron some sort of protection. In this case, a personal
bodyguard. Then again, some people just had to see it to believe
it, and Stone had cornered Cameron alone. All because she’d batted
those baby blues, pooched those pouty lips, and convinced Max to
leave her alone outside the dressing room.

He raised his head and bent to place his
elbows on his knees. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough, he could
convince himself he was having a nightmare. No one in their right
mind would believe a story like this anyway.

A familiar click of high heels brought him to
his feet as Cameron and Mrs. Vandiver returned to the parlor.

“We’re finished,” Cameron told him.

He nodded and followed her to the door, his
eyes hypnotized by the sway of her ass once again. He recited the
English alphabet all the way down the driveway, visualized the
Egyptian alphabet as he put her in the car, and started on the
Russian alphabet when she drove out the gate.