the words come back tomorrow?
The monitor flickered in warning and she shut the laptop down and closed the lid. Suddenly, with the light gone, the storm turned from her ally to her enemy, as every sound became someone scratching at the door to get in.
She almost called for Cam, then heard the running water and realized he was showering.
Instead, she reached for her BlackBerry and noted that she had a few bars of service. Spotty, but enough, and so she quickly dialed her father’s number, and got his voice mail message. Again. “Hey, it’s me. I just wanted to let you know that Cameron Moore is here—he told me you sent him. Can you please call me, though? I need to speak to—”
Dead air. Well, at least hopefully the message had gotten through.
Cameron Moore is here. And he seems to get me .
Holding a lantern, she walked along the hallway in the suddenly too dark townhouse until she reached the bathroom.
He’d left the door open. With his own lantern on the countertop, she could look at the half-steamed mirror and see him through the clear-glass shower door.
She wanted to look away but couldn’t. Soap slid between his shoulder blades, over the ridge of his lower back, coursing down thighs, which were solid ridges of muscles, as were his calves, and his feet … yes, they were large.
Stupid wives’ tale, she told herself, even as he turned around—and no, this was definitely not an old wives’ tale.
It was only then she realized he could see her watching him if he turned his face toward the mirror. And still she didn’t move, running her gaze up his body toward his face when he turned the water off.
She moved to leave the doorway and her ankle caught on the doorjamb and twisted—she cried out and went down hard.
Cam was by her side in seconds, still dripping wet, towel around his waist. “You okay?”
He’d shaved his face clean, making his blue eyes stand out in stark relief, his chiseled cheekbones striking. His hair was wet, slicked back, and he was seriously, devastatingly handsome.
Her face flushed hot. If he knew she’d been spying, he didn’t say … but something about the look in his eyes told her he guessed.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, and then, in the next breath, she corrected herself. “No, I’m not fine. I haven’t been fine for a long time.”
He remained on his knees, next to her, listening.
“But here with you, I feel like I can be fine. I want to be fine.” She reached up tentatively, slid her hands over his shoulders, feeling the slick, damp skin that was hot under her fingers.
“Sky …” His tone held a warning, letting her know she was about to push things too far with her soft touch, but she couldn’t stop now. Wanted to play with fire.
She trailed her hands down his chest, stopping midway, tracing the cuts on his abs with a finger.
When she looked up at him, he nearly lost it. He’d been hard from the second he’d caught her looking at him, but now, watching her studying his body … wanting him, his blood surged.
“We can’t do this,” he heard himself say—the voice of reason.
“I want you, Cam. Please, don’t turn me down.”
Jesus H. Christ. He didn’t say anything, and her hand moved down farther, until it rested where the ends of his towel tucked into each other.
Her next words were halting. “I haven’t … not for a long time. A couple of years.”
“Years?”
“I know—hard for a man to understand, I’m sure.” She shrugged to hide her embarrassment, but her cheeks betrayed her by flushing hot. “It’s not that I haven’t thought about it, wanted it …”
She swallowed hard and moved her hand. “I can’t believe I asked you. I’m sorry.”
She made a move to rise, but he stopped her. “It’s okay that you asked,” he said, because sleeping with her was all part of the plan.
Sleeping with her would be the worst thing he could possibly do. But right now, it was the only thing he wanted.
With that, he
The monitor flickered in warning and she shut the laptop down and closed the lid. Suddenly, with the light gone, the storm turned from her ally to her enemy, as every sound became someone scratching at the door to get in.
She almost called for Cam, then heard the running water and realized he was showering.
Instead, she reached for her BlackBerry and noted that she had a few bars of service. Spotty, but enough, and so she quickly dialed her father’s number, and got his voice mail message. Again. “Hey, it’s me. I just wanted to let you know that Cameron Moore is here—he told me you sent him. Can you please call me, though? I need to speak to—”
Dead air. Well, at least hopefully the message had gotten through.
Cameron Moore is here. And he seems to get me .
Holding a lantern, she walked along the hallway in the suddenly too dark townhouse until she reached the bathroom.
He’d left the door open. With his own lantern on the countertop, she could look at the half-steamed mirror and see him through the clear-glass shower door.
She wanted to look away but couldn’t. Soap slid between his shoulder blades, over the ridge of his lower back, coursing down thighs, which were solid ridges of muscles, as were his calves, and his feet … yes, they were large.
Stupid wives’ tale, she told herself, even as he turned around—and no, this was definitely not an old wives’ tale.
It was only then she realized he could see her watching him if he turned his face toward the mirror. And still she didn’t move, running her gaze up his body toward his face when he turned the water off.
She moved to leave the doorway and her ankle caught on the doorjamb and twisted—she cried out and went down hard.
Cam was by her side in seconds, still dripping wet, towel around his waist. “You okay?”
He’d shaved his face clean, making his blue eyes stand out in stark relief, his chiseled cheekbones striking. His hair was wet, slicked back, and he was seriously, devastatingly handsome.
Her face flushed hot. If he knew she’d been spying, he didn’t say … but something about the look in his eyes told her he guessed.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, and then, in the next breath, she corrected herself. “No, I’m not fine. I haven’t been fine for a long time.”
He remained on his knees, next to her, listening.
“But here with you, I feel like I can be fine. I want to be fine.” She reached up tentatively, slid her hands over his shoulders, feeling the slick, damp skin that was hot under her fingers.
“Sky …” His tone held a warning, letting her know she was about to push things too far with her soft touch, but she couldn’t stop now. Wanted to play with fire.
She trailed her hands down his chest, stopping midway, tracing the cuts on his abs with a finger.
When she looked up at him, he nearly lost it. He’d been hard from the second he’d caught her looking at him, but now, watching her studying his body … wanting him, his blood surged.
“We can’t do this,” he heard himself say—the voice of reason.
“I want you, Cam. Please, don’t turn me down.”
Jesus H. Christ. He didn’t say anything, and her hand moved down farther, until it rested where the ends of his towel tucked into each other.
Her next words were halting. “I haven’t … not for a long time. A couple of years.”
“Years?”
“I know—hard for a man to understand, I’m sure.” She shrugged to hide her embarrassment, but her cheeks betrayed her by flushing hot. “It’s not that I haven’t thought about it, wanted it …”
She swallowed hard and moved her hand. “I can’t believe I asked you. I’m sorry.”
She made a move to rise, but he stopped her. “It’s okay that you asked,” he said, because sleeping with her was all part of the plan.
Sleeping with her would be the worst thing he could possibly do. But right now, it was the only thing he wanted.
With that, he
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