Irish Eyes (Stolen Hearts Romance)

by Annie Jones

  The dark haired beauty had gotten under his skin. He just hoped that did not compromise his judgment. Too much was riding on him and he must not allow even Julia Reed to keep him from doing what he had to do.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Cameron took Julia back to the shelter then spent the afternoon trying to find where he was most needed in the scheme of things. Julia sent him here and there, mostly there, meaning any place away from her so she would be free to get some work done without the distraction of… him. She tried to tell herself, and sometimes Craig, that the man was nothing more than an irritation. Another temporary connection in her life brought on by her desire just to help. Craig didn’t buy that but Julia forced herself to pretend that she did.

  But every time she almost convinced herself she’d look up and find those eyes watching over her and her knees would go weak. Julia was not a weak-in-the-knees kind of girl so she used that to stoke her agitation at the man. The gorgeous, built like a Celtic warrior with lust in his heart and a twinkle in his eyes man.

  Yeah. He was a big distraction. When it was time for Julia to head home, he suggested he escort her.

  She soundly refused his offer.

  He followed her home just the same.

  “Now what do you think you’re doing?” Julia slammed her car door and the whole sad-assed chassis shuddered from the vibrations.

  “Can a man help it if he happens to take a drive along the self-same route that a lovely lady motorist is taking?” Cameron cut off the engine of his unremarkable sedan and climbed out, leaning his hip against the side of the car and folding his arms over his sweater while the late winter, yet hinting at the promise of spring to come, breeze ruffled through his hair.

  “Have you ever noticed, my fine Irish friend—” Julia jabbed the tip of her car key in his direction as she spoke, “—that you answer a lot of questions without ever giving an answer at all?”

  “Is that so, lass?” He stroked his chin, which she knew was a total put on because nobody really does that and acted far too thoughtful for the amount of mischief in his eyes. “Well, I’ll be.”

  “I just bet you’ll be. I bet you’ll be coming up with some fine rare excuse for why it is you’d be wandering down the very lane that winds past me most humble abode.” She slipped into the Irish brogue with ease after hearing so much of it recently.

  Cameron grinned, and approached her, his arms flung wide as if offering their very surroundings as evidence. “I was sightseeing.”

  “The sight being the back of my car?”

  “Your car, my Miss Reed, is not a sight. It’s an eyesore.” He rapped the trunk with one knuckle and Julia wondered if he was making a point or checking to see if she had a body in there that might knock back. “Your home, on the other hand—”

  “Is my home.” She held up her hand to still any notions he had of getting any closer to her or her house. “It’s where I escape for a while from the stress of my work. And I want it to stay that way. Private.”

  “You’re telling me you never invite, say, a friend, over to enjoy your private sanctuary?” He sank his backside against the fender, crossing his long legs at the ankle. Settled in but not aggressive.

  “Oh, sure, a friend.” She crossed her arms, hoping that would cement her resolve not to let the man wheedle his way into her home.

  She liked Cameron. Liked him more than she had any man in a very long while. But even if she had time for a romantic relationship, he could not be the man for her. He was an Interpol agent, a traveler, a man essentially without a home of his own. She needed more from a relationship than Cameron could give. And he deserved more than she could offer right now.

  “So, you’re sayin’ we can’t be friends?” He cocked his head.

  “No.” She was saying they could not be more than friends. If she spent too much time with the Irish charmer, she didn’t know how to keep that from happening. “I just, well, I just don’t want my home invaded.”

  “Invaded?” He raised an eyebrow. Another man might have huffed and puffed and strode up and down the drive acted injured at the implication. Cameron did it all with a look.

  She lightly touched the pin he’d given her. The breeze tossed a long coil of hair across the bridge of her nose, and she drew it away as she walked back the almost-accusation, saying quietly, “I don’t want my privacy invaded.”

  “I see.” He pushed off from the car but kept his hand resting on the roof.

  “It’s not you. It’s me.” She didn’t owe him an explanation but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from giving one. “After working all day at the shelter, I need the solitude of being alone.”

  “Of course, lass.” He gave a gracious bow of his head. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

  “Fine.” She gave a wave, her wrist rigid and her fingers straight. Suddenly, she felt ridiculously like some royal personage stiffly shooing off a peasant. “In the morning then.”

  Her afterthought, which she intended to sound cheery, failed miserably and ended up completing the dour dismissal. She felt her cheeks warm at her silly behavior.

  Cameron gave a wincing smile.

  What was wrong with her? She curled her fingers over the edge of her cardigan. What could it hurt to invite the man in, maybe order a pizza or just sit and talk? Of course, she couldn’t afford to pay for that pizza so… she remembered the fish he’d told her he didn’t want and that she’d left it in the fridge at work. She didn’t even have that to offer him. Maybe it was all for the best if he went on his way after all.

  “Until we meet tomorrow” he said, and raised his hand in farewell.

  It still felt wrong. He had been nothing but kind to her today and even if she couldn’t feed him anything fancier than a sandwich she did have a bottle of wine she’d been saving since the holidays. She wet her lips, ready to renege on her whole stance and ask the man in.

  Before she could speak, he raised his wrist to aim one pointed finger at her. “But don’t you go thinkin’ you can chase me off this easy every time.”

  “What?” She hadn’t seen this shift coming. Surprise. That was what had her heart racing, not the comforting power of his physical presence, his masterful tone of voice, or his protective and proprietary attitude.

  “If I thought ’twas necessary, your foolish stubbornness wouldn't run me off.” He did not raise his voice. His words carried not even the hint of a threat. He spoke as matter-of-factly as if discussing the weather but as firmly as issuing a life and death warning. “I’d be over your doorstep, invasion of privacy or no.”

  Julia responded in kind with her tone, but not with her words. “Over my doorstep and then on your way, is what you’d be. Pow,” she added, stealing from the old Jackie Gleason routine, her loosely knotted fist raised for effect. “Straight to the moon.”

  “I’d ask you if that’s a threat or a joke but I have a feelin’ it’s wee bit of both.” He chuckled.

  She tried to glare at him but she didn’t have it in her, not with the music of his laughter warming her heart.

  “Thanks for the warning, lass, I’m shakin’ in me boots.” He let the comfortable lilt saturate his words,then dropped his voice to a serious growl. “In the morning, lass. Bright and early.”

  Julia watched him drive away, unable to find the breath to voice her anger at his parting command

  *

  “My, don’t you look chipper this morning?” Julia squinted into the bathroom mirror then dropped her gaze to the glob of creamy moisturizer in her cupped hand.

  The only way that thick pink goo was going to improve the image facing her was if she smeared the stuff directly onto the mirror. Nothing short of blurring the reflection would obscure the evidence of her restless night. This little unplanned treasure escapade would probably age her ten years, she decided. It had all seemed sort of exciting, romantic even yesterday. But after a night’s reflection?

  She rubbed her palms together briskly. The friction warmed the moisturizer and
released the delicate scent of vanilla into the air. Julia inhaled deeply then slathered the cream over her face. After that she grabbed her toothbrush and the tube of toothpaste.

  “In the morning, lass. Bright and early.” She mimicked Cameron’s words, making them sound more like the command she now realized they had been, as she applied the minty gel to the brush. “What presumption. What arrogance. What—on earth am I doing?”

  She glanced down at the huge blue blob quivering on the bristles, then at the tube, which had been crumpled into a ball by her hand. The biting scent of mint stung her nostrils. She sighed, then poked the whole mess into her mouth.

  Might as well look as rabid as I feel, she thought in good humor. She attacked the task with enthusiasm until a pale blue froth foamed out over her lips.

  She rinsed once and mindlessly started to go at it again, her thoughts focused on Cameron O’Dea and his assumption that she would allow him to run roughshod over her life.

  Buzzz-buzzz.Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

  The sharp electric hum of someone leaning on her doorbell startled her back to the moment.

  “Well, speak o’ the devil,” she told her image, pirating Cameron’s soft brogue despite the toothbrush stuffed inside her cheek. Her first instinct was to rinse again and tidy her appearance before answering the door. She resisted it.

  Yes, she knew she looked a fright. But that man deserved the fright of his life for showing up on her doorstep so early in the morning. The doorbell sounded again, and she padded toward the door in her fuzzy slippers. She felt no reservation about appearing in her huge flannel robe belted over a pair of jogging pants and a long T-shirt. Still, she glanced down to make sure all was decent.

  Her eyes paused on the pin Cameron had given her with the instruction to wear it at all times. That man, she decided as she jerked her robe over the tracking device, had somehow started to wriggle his way into every aspect of her life. And she didn’t like it one bit.

  Time to teach that big buttinski a lesson, she thought. An instant before she lunged forward to nab the doorknob, she bent at the waist and shook her head furiously to ensure her hair looked properly wild and woolly. She chomped down tight on her toothbrush, set her face in a groggy scowl and yanked open the front door. “What is it?”

  “That’s what I’m asking myself." Cameron reached out to push aside the mass of black hair curtaining her face. “What is it?”

  She swatted his hand away. “It’s someone who has been disturbed far too early in the morning.”

  “She speaks and the words fall like pearls from her rosy lips.” He placed one open hand over his heart.

  She rolled her eyes at his attempt to tease her into a better mood.

  “You certainly have a glow about you this morning, Miss Reed.” He stepped inside the house like an honest-to-goodness invited guest. “I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. You’re doing your hair differently, aren’t you?”

  Julia let the front door fall shut with a window-rattling thud. She pulled the toothbrush from her mouth and folded her arms over her chest. As if taking up residence in her head and in her dreams had not been enough, now Cameron O’Dea was in her home. And no matter how much she didn’t like that, there didn’t seem to be much she could do about any of it.

  That didn’t mean she had to accept it. No, when Julia didn’t like something she fought it, fought it with whatever was at her disposal. This morning, fresh out of bed, the tool of the moment was snarkiness. “Sorry if I’m not what you expected when you barged into my life but it’s a little bit early in the day for me to be apologizing for my looks, friend.”

  “Oh?” He tipped his head to the right and smiled, revealing just the hint of a dimple. “At what time of day do you usually start apologizing for your looks?”

  Apparently he’d missed the hint that she refused to be cajoled out of her sour mood. She eyed him from the top of his tousled hair to his gray wool sweater to the baggy wrinkles around the knees of his jeans. “Very clever remark coming from someone wearing the same outfit he had on yesterday”

  “I say if a look works for a fellow, then go with it.” He adjusted his thick green parka over one shoulder. “It’s a fashion statement.”

  “And it’s screaming ‘I sleep in my clothes.’” She shoved the toothbrush back into her mouth and began to scrub with vigor. Gray sweater? Slept in his clothes? Same outfit? If her morning became any more cartoonish than it already was, a great big lightbulb would appear over her head.

  She pulled the toothbrush out again and used it to point at Cameron in accusation. “You did sleep in your clothes, didn’t you? Where were you? Parked in your car outside my house or some such nonsense?”

  “Careful with that thing, it’s loaded!” Cameron whisked the back of his hand down his sweater to flick away the spray of tiny white bubbles that had been flung from her toothbrush.

  “Give me a straight answer for once, Cameron, or I may just use that fine woolen sweater for a face towel.” She swiped the sleeve of her robe along one side of her mouth. “Did you or did you not spend the night on a stakeout outside my house?”

  He placed his hands on his hips. “Well, someone has to look out for you.”

  “I’ve managed to take care of myself just fine without the intervention of Interpol up till now, thank you.” She tucked her toothbrush in her robe pocket and gathered her thick hair back in one hand. “I venture to say I can bumble along a bit longer on my own.”

  “Bumble being the operative word, I assume. ”

  “If that’s supposed to make me laugh—”

  “It’s supposed to make you think." He tapped the side of his head trying to remind her of the importance of keeping sharp.

  All Julia could see were those eyes. “Oh, I’m thinking all right. I’m a veritable frenzy of thought right now.”

  She stumbled over the last two words as the deeper truth of what she had said sank in.

  If Cameron caught her hesitation, he didn’t let it show as he stepped in close to her and all sense of joking around fell away. “In the past forty-eight hours, you’ve witnessed a kidnapping, unearthed a secret cache of stolen coins, agreed to work with an Interpol agent to solve a serious crime, and have been made to understand that all this may place you in physical danger. Yet this very morning comes a knock on your door and what do you do?”

  She tossed her hair back, ready with a sassy comeback about how she’d known it was him because he didn’t knock. She would have known his pushy buzz anywhere. But the look on his face made her press her lips together.

  “I’ll tell you what you did. Opened the door, pretty as you please. No peeking out to see what might be waiting, not even so much as a ‘Who is it?’ from Miss I-can-take-care-of-myself.” Though his voice stayed calm, anger burned red in the hollows of his cheeks.

  Julia wondered what had fueled the reaction in him. A response to her foolhardiness in perhaps jeopardizing his plan? Or something more personal? She wound her fingers into her robe’s lapels and clutched them over her throat. The rubber sole of her slipper scuffed over the hardwood floor when she spun around, placing her back to him, saying quietly, “I knew it was you at the door this morning.”

  “How?” he challenged.

  Was this where she admitted she only assumed it had been him—because she had been thinking of him? Julia shook her head, as if that would throw the notion clear of her mind and therefore keep it off her lips. She marched forward, her gaze sweeping the cozy – her landlord’s code word for teeny tiny—living room in her quaint –another code word, meaning grandmotherly -- cottage for something to distract her.

  Cameron followed on her heels, heated persistence in his tone. “How? How did you know it was me outside your door this morning?”

  “I—” She grabbed the hairbrush poking up from her purse on the coffee table and began to snag the bristles through her rumpled hair. “I just knew, okay?”

  “No, it’s not okay.” He raised his voice
in a way that said he was holding his ground not trying to grind her down.

  She slashed the hairbrush through a nasty snarl and even though it hurt like heck, she didn’t make a sound. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he rattled her – in more ways than one. Fear and confusion welled up within her. Another yank of the brush brought a well of tears to her eyes.

  Cameron used one hand to turn her toward him.

  The brush suddenly felt as if it were made of lead. Her hand dropped to hang limply at her side. She blinked back the tears of pain and frustration that bathed her eyes.

  “No. No tears. That is an absolute, unbreakable rule of mine.” He tossed his parka onto the couch and held his arms out to her.

  Something dark and heavy against the gray of sweater caught her eye. Cameron was wearing a shoulder holster and gun! A cold weight sank into the pit of her stomach and she shrank back.

  His gaze followed hers to the menacing weapon strapped to his body. “Julia--”

  “You’re really afraid for me, aren’t you?” she whispered, the words crackling in the back of her throat.

  With one look she demanded more of him than his typical evasive answer.

  “No, I’m not afraid for you. But I won’t take any chances. The Michael Shaughnessy I knew and loved would bring no harm to you.” His green eyes grew dark, his jaw taut. “But that’s not the man I spoke to on the phone yesterday.”

  She nodded. Or did her whole rigid body simply sway under the staggering weight of this new information?

  “I’m not afraid, Julia, I’m just being cautious.” He slipped the hairbrush from her hand and used it to sweep the dark tangles back from her face.

  “Cautious,” she echoed, looking up at him as he moved around her, brushing her hair then bunching it into one large hand. When he stood behind her she cocked her head, forcing him to stop and step back a little. “Does this mean you plan to spend your nights camping in your car outside my house?”