Читать книгу Another Side Of Midnight - Mia Zachary - Страница 17

Wet and Out of Breath

CAMERON SAW THE DESIRE beneath her anger and knew he had only to reach for her. If he drew his fingers along the slick-wet surface of her skin she would heat to his touch. He smiled. In half a moment he’d have her in his arms and out of that bit of a bikini. Stella knew it as well.

Which was precisely why he kept his hands at his sides. They’d come together so damned fast before, and though the red-hot impulses were obviously still present, he intended to proceed with caution this time.

“I asked what you’re doing here.” She swept past him, snatching up a towel from a pile on one of the chairs.

“You called me. I came.”

Stella sent him an odd look, a brief furrowing of her brow, then her mouth thinned in disbelief. “So, that’s how it works. Wish I’d known sooner.”

“From now on—”

“I left a message, Stone, not an invitation.” She turned her back to him and picked up the water bottle from the table.

“You left part of a message.” He tipped his head, correcting her. “I’ll need the rest of it, since we’re going to work together.”

“I never said I’d partner with you.” She set the water down with a bang.

“I don’t recall hearing you refuse, either.”

Her nostrils flared in a way that shouldn’t have been sexy, but was. She glared at him in silence. He could almost hear the synapses firing as she struggled between accepting his offer and throwing him out on his arse. He knew his backside was safe when she rolled her shoulders in a kind of shrug.

“Wait here while I change.”

“Don’t bother on my account. I rather prefer you wet and out of breath.”

He only just managed to keep a grin from his face as spots of color appeared on her cheeks. When he dropped his gaze, he noticed the very feminine, pale pink lacquer on her toes. He looked up to see Stella glaring at him, daring him to comment. She stalked toward him and he quite wisely stepped aside. The French door slammed behind her, rattling the glass.

Cameron bent over to rub the ache in his right knee. Hurtling the low brick wall into her back garden had set it to throbbing. Straightening, he helped himself to her water and glanced at the door. It would be much more pleasant inside. He stepped through to the living room.

Only it didn’t look as if she did much living in it. There was a single ratty armchair with a wee folding table beside it, near the fireplace. A few cheap bookcases filled with videos and DVDs stood next to a large-screen plasma telly that sat directly on the floor.

He took the four stairs past a decorative rail to the next level. Peering about, Cameron noted that while the open kitchen boasted professional-looking cookware hanging from a copper rack and an impressive display of food-prep gadgets on the counters, there was no table in the dining area.

Eating alone, was she? Or simply eating elsewhere?

As he set the empty water bottle on the counter, he frowned at the butcher’s block. It held an expensive-looking chef’s knife set. He lifted one from its slot, hefting the weight of the professional carbon steel blade, then slid it back in place. All of the slots along the bottom row were empty. Odd, that.

He wandered into the bare foyer, listening for Stella, then moved along the hallway. The first room on the right was her bedroom, had to be. A queen-size mattress stood against one white wall with a plain wooden night table at the left-hand side; a single dresser sat near the closet. A quick glance into the lav revealed a lone toothbrush in the holder.

It would appear she slept alone as well. Cameron smiled briefly. Even as he acknowledged a sense of relief, he recognized that Stella’s life seemed to be as empty as his own. All the more reason they should give their relationship a try.

He moved toward the armoire, his curiosity piqued by the glass orbs and picture frames arranged on top. They were the only personal touches he’d seen in the house so far.

A black-and-white photo showed an attractive couple— must be her mum and dad—standing at a bar with Frank Sinatra. The second picture was of Stella with two other girls, a redhead and a brunette, on a beach somewhere. The third showed her standing in front of her office beside a brassy looking older woman, however the sign read Diamond Detective Agency.

The last photograph intrigued him enough that he picked it up for a closer look.

Stella posed up front, clutching an American football, with her three brothers standing round her. She looked quite disheveled, young and carefree and grinning like mad. The younger two lads looked annoyed and mischievous while the oldest’s eyes were focused on something other than the camera. His halfhearted smile failed to mask the aggressive intensity of his gaze. The photo must have been taken before.

“Give me that.”

Stella reached for the photo and tore it from his grasp. Her attitude up ‘til now had been prickly. At the moment she seemed genuinely furious…or was she merely defensive? As she set it back on the armoire, he caught a flash of sadness in her eyes before she turned on him.

“You don’t follow directions worth a damn.”

“Never have done, actually. It’s saved my life a time or two.” He wasn’t supposed to know about her brother and so kept his sympathy to himself.

She shoved at his upper back, pushing him toward the door. “It won’t save you from me if I catch you in here again.”

He swept his gaze over the snug jeans and damp cotton top she’d put on and grinned. “I promise not to go near your bed without a proper invite.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” As they approached the foyer, she thrust a sheet of paper at him. “Here. This is Cavanaugh’s work schedule for the next couple of days. He’s got the graveyard shift tonight, the same tomorrow and Wednesday.”

“Thanks.” He folded the note and tucked it into his hip pocket. “Nice place you’ve got. Bit sparse on furnishings, though, eh?”

“I don’t want you to feel welcome.”

The look on her face was dead serious. He hadn’t expected her to forgive and forget after the way they’d parted, but the fact of the matter was he’d come back for her. And if that meant a proper courtship, so be it. He sighed and slid his hands over her waist, gently tugging her toward him.

She tensed, resisting his touch, but didn’t struggle away. She challenged him with her gaze, rejection darkening her eyes. And yet he saw the flush of color on her cheeks, felt the sudden catch of her breath. Stella had a tough shell but underneath, he knew, was a molten core.

Not that she was soft, far from it. She’d like as not thump him for saying so. It wouldn’t be easy to win her over, but he’d have a go at it all the same. She was more than worth the having.

He reached up to free her hair and then stroked his fingers along the side of her neck. “I’m no damned good at this, Stella. But, I’m willing to try. Now that I’ve returned, I want to pick up where we left off.”