Read Online Different Dreams by Tory Cates - Free Book Online Page B

those silly people you read about every year who are swept away when they try to cross a creek in a flash flood.”
    â€œYou’re right. I guess I was just worried about Bambi and . . .” Her voice and explanation trailed off weakly. In the awkward silence that followed her fib, the sound of the rain drumming on the car roof seemed to be amplified.
    â€œMalou, you were worried about spending the night with me.” Cam’s voice was gentle as he stated the obvious truth.
    A withering shame flushed through Malou. Was she really that transparent?
    â€œYou can put your mind at ease,” he continued. “I’m not in the habit of compromising the honor of prim primatologists.”
    â€œWhat a boon to the profession,” Malou answered with a mocking gaiety, trying to disguise her abashment as Cam put the SUV into reverse.
    Dashing back into the stone house left them drenched again by the cold rain. Cam went for his third fully clothed shower of the day by running out to the woodshed for an armload of logs. After dealing expertly with a temperamental damper, he sparked a blazing fire that restored the room, gloomy and darkened by the storm, to its former cheeriness. Malou stood before it trying to bake out the chill that had seeped into her bones.
    â€œThis will not do,” Cam announced, watching her shiver. He pulled a quilt off a chair and wrapped it around her shoulders, then lit a kerosene lantern and set out to explore the rest of the house. A few minutes later he returned with several thick terry towels slung over his shoulder, dragging a steamer trunk behind him. He tossed a towel to Malou and opened the trunk. Inside was a complete wardrobe, male’s and female’s, circa 1935. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just slip into something a little bit drier.” Without any further preamble, Cam stripped off his sodden shirt, used it to rub away the beads of moisture trickling down his back, and dug into the pile of clothes.
    Malou was mesmerized by the display. His back, bathed in the golden light of the fire, was magnificent. It was the leanly muscled back of the modern dancer he had reminded Malou of at their first meeting. His body, spare and strong and limber, suited him and thoroughly unsettled her.
    He fished out a shirt of unbleached muslin, soft and pale from many washings and dryings in the sun, and slipped it on. As it fell to just below the tops of his legs, he stood and unceremoniously unbuckled his jeans. They dropped away to reveal a dancer’s long, muscled thighs and calves. His grace and ease of movement confirmed the impression. They also signaled to Malou that Cameron Landell was a man who had long ago lost any self-consciousness he might ever have had around women.
    Before tugging on the dry jeans, he turned to her. “Do pardon me,” he asked again. “But modesty will have to goeth before I getteth pneumonia.”
    â€œPlease, carry on,” Malou replied as if the sight of such a gloriously sculptured male body were one she was treated to every day. Cam, hopping from one foot to the other, quickly slipped into the slightly baggy jeans.
    â€œAll I need now is a blade of hay sticking out of my mouth,” Cam said, appraising his countrified outfit. Malou silently disagreed. The soft, loose clothes flowed around his torso, emphasizing its grace and subdued power. “Now you,” he commanded.
    Malou shook her head. “No. Thanks. I’m fine.” She bit off the words as she pulled the quilt a bit more tightly around herself. Unlike him, she had an ample supply of self-consciousness to deal with.
    â€œPlease, I’ve already told you that you have no reason to play the prim primatologist with me. Off with thosesoaking clothes.” He turned back to the trunk. “Surely we can find something in here for you too. Why should I be the only one dressed like a hayseed?” He ripped into the trunk, pulling