Taboo (14 page)

"Then it's no longer a secret, which suits me fine. I doubt we'll rate a headline on your broadcast, so I suggest you simply tell them it's none of their business, or better yet, tell them the truth. They can like it or lump it, and let it go at that."

"Easy for you to say. The only person you have to work around is yourself."

"You're right," he said as the Porsche came to an abrupt halt in her driveway. He turned to her and pinned her with a steely gaze. "It is easy for me to say.
Cammie Walker is the only woman in my life and in no way is she my sister.
Nothing would give me more pleasure than to announce that to the whole world. I'm proud to be with you, Cammie. It hurts me to think that you're ashamed to be with me."

"I'm not ashamed of you, Grant!"

"No? You could've fooled me."

She held his unwavering gaze for several seconds before she was compelled to look away. Grant was right. She had implied by her words, her actions, that she was ashamed of their relationship.

Now she felt ashamed of herself.

Staring at her clasped hands, she said quietly, "I'm still struggling to come to terms with all the changes we've gone through. I don't know where we're headed yet, Grant. Until I do, I think it's best to be discreet."

"I know," he said slowly, and just like that they were through arguing. She had extended the olive branch first; he would extend one in turn. That's how they worked. "I keep reminding myself I've had a lot longer to think about this than you have. It's not easy, but I promise to try to be more patient."

He hooked a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face into the dappled moonlight. His smile was tender.

"I'll call you the next time I need a ride." She knew her simple statement was yet another step forward.

"You'd better. Otherwise I'm apt to throw another jealous fit."

They laughed quietly together, and oh, it felt so good. To laugh with Grant was a part of life she needed. Especially now.

He kissed her good night, and it was rich.

She fell asleep with the memory, a smile of happiness still clinging to her lips.

* * *

Cammie laid an extra pair of jeans into the suitcase, next to a few sweaters and T-shirts. The weather was still too uncertain to know if the cold spell would hold or give way to a final blast of heat.

Going to her dresser, she debated over lingerie. Usually she slept in an oversized dorm shirt Grant had given her several Christmases ago, and she'd packed that. What she was staring at now was a sheer red nightgown she'd bought for a honeymoon that had never come to pass.

To take it was to admit she intended to sleep with him.

Not to take it was to salve her conscience and feed herself a line of tripe that she was going to control the escalating desire.

"Ready, Cammie?"

She jumped and spun around to face him. Grant framed the doorway of her bedroom. He hadn't been in since that fateful morning.

"I didn't hear you knock."

"Obviously. I let myself in. But as agreed, I'm waiting for an invitation before I come any farther."

He chuckled and grinned seductively, his gaze trailing to the bed.

Her heart pounded. She nervously wet her lips.

"Some groceries are in the kitchen," she said. "You get those while I finish packing."

"Done," he said agreeably before pushing away from the door frame. Just as she turned back to the dresser, he poked his head around the corner. "Don't forget your red nightie, Cammie."

She snatched back the hand that hovered over the nightgown and whirled to face him, but saw only his retreating back. His laughter echoed in the hallway.

"Ohhh, that
man,"
she grumbled, even as an unbidden smiled tugged at her lips.

Before she let herself think too hard, she grabbed the nightgown and added it to the suitcase. The silk was appropriately scarlet, she thought. With her cheeks competing in color scheme, she quickly stuffed the gown beneath more respectable attire.

It wasn't that she was going to bed with him, she told herself as she clicked the latches shut. It was just that she'd paid an arm and a leg for the thing and she might as well get some use out of it.

Right.

Outside, she set her bag next to his car and waited while he put aside the groceries and opened the trunk.

"I could have gotten that for you, Cammie."

"So you could take a peek?" She shifted, still uneasy about her dubious motives.

He chuckled while he hoisted the suitcase into the trunk.

When he was through loading up, she turned toward the passenger door, but he stopped her with a firm grip on both arms.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing. Just... nothing."

"Is it Russ? Is it still strained at work?"

"No. He's fine. He told us to have a good time. Work's almost normal again."

"But you're nervous. How come?"

"I'm not nervous. I'm just ready to hit the road."

"Is that why you've hardly looked at me since I got here?" He tilted his head until she couldn't avoid meeting his questioning gaze. "We're not hitting the road until you spill it."

"Okay," she sighed in exasperation. "I'm nervous. Now can we go?"

"What do you think I've got planned, Cammie? An attack the minute we get there?"

"I—I—" She stuttered to a halt. For heaven's sake, she was a grown woman, she thought. She should start acting like one. "I honestly don't know what to expect, Grant," she admitted, relieved to get her doubts into the open. "And I'm afraid I'm making a big mistake by going through with this."

"By
this,
you mean taking a vacation together?"

"You know that's not what I mean."

"You're right. I know that's not what you mean. Look, Cammie, we both realize there's a possibility we'll sleep together. I pray that we do. But that's not going to happen unless you want it as much as I do. So relax. We'll take it one day at a time. Okay?"

He gave her an encouraging smile, then tweaked her nose in a familiar, affectionate gesture. Cammie felt the tenseness in her shoulders ebb away, along with her guard.

"Okay," she agreed. "Ready to go fishin', partner?"

"Partner," he repeated, pleased he'd derailed her early retreat. It was important to keep her defenses down so he could solidify his hold. "I like the sound of that," he added in a deceptively benign voice, meant to lure her deeper into a sense of security.

"Bet I can catch more than you," she challenged.

"You always catch more than me." He laughed easily and studied her in the early-morning light, imagining what she'd look like at daybreak snuggled up to him in one of the cottage beds. "Of course, if I didn't spend so much time baiting your hook, I might give you a run for your money."

"Worms." She made a face, as she slipped into her seat. "Yech. Slimy little suckers. They give me the creeps."

Grant leaned into her side of the car as she looked down to fasten her seat belt.

"What say we trade jobs this year? I'll fry the fish if you'll gut them."

"What!" Cammie swung around, her face instantly a breath away from his.

Her eyes widened; her breath caught sharp and fast.

Grant smiled, elated by her response. He lingered, holding the closeness until he was sure she expected a kiss.

Straightening back up, he winked mischievously.

"Okay," he said, "I'll gut and scale. But we both do the dishes and split the chores."

He strode around to the driver's side, whistling. Judging from Cammie's expression, she was eager for that kiss. Good thing, because within two weeks he intended to add making up the same bed to their domestic routine.

Chapter 9

Grant stared up at the ceiling, fighting the urge to storm into the next room, where he could hear Cammie tossing in bed.

One day at a time, he'd said. The first day had been easy enough, airing out the small cedar cottage, putting up groceries, wandering down to the lake. He'd kept his hands in check, determined to woo Cammie slowly, purposefully.

After all, they had two weeks, and she seemed to be happy with the lack of pressure. He'd promised patience, knowing she deserved it... but, hell, he was only human.

By the time day two rolled into day three, he was taking cold swims. Being this close with no one around was too tempting, straining his passions to the breaking point. He felt like he deserved a gold medal for self-restraint.

Holding hands, taking walks, having long conversations, sharing silences and lingering gazes were wonderful, needed. But they weren't nearly enough. He'd taken great pains to guide them on a path meant to lead to the altar. Apparently, in all his good thinking, he'd miscalculated somewhere.

He'd abstained from pushing Cammie into intimacy, hoping she would become impatient and take some initiative. She hadn't. Neither had their heart-to-heart talks led to any confessions about the unbroached subject that pulsed between them. The subject that pulsed even now between his legs and that she had yet to touch.

Today was day seven and his patience was out. He was starved for kisses—hot and wet. Keeping them almost chaste had been self-induced torture, but he knew he couldn't trust himself to stop there forever.

He was driving himself crazy just thinking about it. Since it was too late to go for a swim, he dropped to the floor and began a brisk set of push-ups.

"Eighty... ninety... one hundred."

He groaned and lay flat on the floor, letting the cool wood cushion his cheek. But all he could think of was her skin, just as smooth, only soft and warm.

A lot of good the push-ups had done. He was so hard he was hurting. Every time he'd pressed down he'd imagined entering her with the same rhythmic thrust.

Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow he would take the reins and guide them in a more intimate direction. In the meantime he wasn't getting any sleep.

He reached for a pair of jeans. Not bothering to zip them up, he padded toward the kitchen. He stopped at Cammie's bedroom door, which was cracked open.

An invitation? Not likely. He took it as a sign of the trust he had built over the past week. All was quiet and he assumed Cammie had found the sleep that eluded him.

For several moments he stood there, debating. Could he look and not touch? She wouldn't know, and what would be the harm in watching her a few minutes, filling his senses with the sight of her in the bed he longed to be in?

He quietly pushed the door open, then slowly, soundlessly, walked to the bed. Moonlight spilled over her, and a cool breeze filtered into the room from the open window.

Cammie was breathing evenly, her eyes were shut. His gaze roved over her hungrily, lovingly. Unexpectedly, she raised her lids and stared straight at him.

For a moment, neither spoke, but both felt the sudden tug-of-war tension, a pull between them that filled up the room.

"I couldn't sleep," he whispered.

Cammie swallowed hard. She couldn't move. She couldn't keep her eyes from following the path of his bare chest down to the deep, open V of his unfastened jeans. She could see the dark wiry gathering of his pubic hair, and it stirred an answering sensuality in the depths of her femininity.

For days—that had seemed like years—she had been struggling with the gathering need to touch Grant, to feel his hands in her hair, gliding sure and unhindered over her body. He'd been so damnably careful in his affections, she had been fighting the urge to scream in frustration.

"Neither could I," she finally answered. Forcing her clenched hands from beneath the sheet, she lay one atop it. Her movements felt stiff, apprehensive—and compelled. She reached for his hand.

He hesitated a moment, then sat on the edge of the bed. It creaked with his weight. He laid her palm against his thigh, pressing down lightly. She couldn't control the quickening of her heart. The feel of him was so good, so wanted, it was all she could do not to pull him down beside her.