The thought suddenly upset her. Thinking and gazing at nature indeed. She couldn’t imagine Hunter having a moment to do either with that Italian tigress purring and clawing her way into his bed. There was no way she would wear any of Divina’s clothes. Shaking her head and knowing she had no right to feel jealous, Evie grabbed an empty hanger and headed toward the connected bathroom.
She opened the door to the luxuriously appointed bathroom and felt instantly pampered. A massive rectangular mirror rose above the lustrous white marble countertops and black lacquer cabinets. When she closed the door, she found a dark blue robe hanging on the back of it. She shimmied out of the dress and slipped the spaghetti straps on the hanger, then hung it on the brass hook at the back of the door. She folded a monogramed hand towel on the countertop and laid the tasseled pearl necklace on it, carefully blotting the moisture from the pearls.
Enfolding herself in the thick robe, she breathed in Cameron’s clean scent of sandalwood and spice. She wrapped the sash twice around her waist and laughed when she saw the robe’s hem grazed the floor. She had to double the sleeves twice over her wrists to free her hands. She couldn’t go out there looking like Snow White’s Dopey.
Using the blow dryer in the lower cabinet, Evie stood before the mirror and dried the tips of her hair, tunneling her fingers through the layers of the pixie cut until it lay just right. When she was satisfied, she turned on the overhead heater. A glowing red light appeared above her head, instantly heating the interior of the room. Perfect. Her dress would be dry in no time.
She entered the living room and found Cameron standing before the large center picture window, gazing outside. Wearing jeans and a white shirt with an open collar and sleeves rolled up on his muscular forearms, he stood with legs spread and hands in his pockets.
“The storm has cleared.” He turned to face her with pensive eyes. “Come here.” His low baritone slid over her like warm oil.
On bare feet she reached his shoulder as she stood beside him at the window.
“See that mountain top?” His forefinger pointed to a craggy black peak. “It’s called Sgurr na Stri. It’s only 494 meters high, but for a ten-year-old afraid of heights it seemed insurmountable.”
“You’re afraid of heights?” That was a surprise. She never would have thought so with all the sports he did. Snow and water skiing, speedboat racing, hiking, horseback riding. The magazines always showed him in different exotic places excelling as a sportsman.
“I was until my father took me hiking one day, promising to show me the most stunning view of the Black Cuillins. Dad said, ‘Ye’ll be the closest to heaven,’ thinking that would make me eager to climb it.”
“Did it?”
His eyes glowed with faraway memories. “No. I only went along because I didn’t want Dad to think I was cowardly, but the moment we began to hike, I was so terrified my legs began to shake,” he said with a wry shake of his head.
“Why? Did something happen to trigger it?”
His brow knitted. “Aye. The year before I fell down a ski slope and broke my leg in two places. Since then I hadn’t wanted to go back to the mountains or to ski. Dad coaxed me all the way to the top, determined to cure me of my fear of heights.” He smiled. “He did it against Mum’s will. She didn’t talk to him for a week, but when I told her I was glad he’d taken me, she forgave him.”
“Sounds like your mom spoiled you.”
“Aye, she still does. Mum had me late in life and it was a difficult labor. She lost my twin brother in childbirth and she wasn’t able to have more bairns.”
“I’m sorry about your twin brother.” She tilted her head and gave him an assessing look. “So you’re an only child? That explains a lot,” she murmured. No wonder he was like Peter Pan, flying through life from one adventure to another without setting down roots.
Cameron’s mouth twitched at her jibe. “I admit she coddled me too much. Good thing Dad was strict or I would have been spoiled rotten.”
“Would have?” she challenged.
He ignored her barb and continued. “Dad wouldn’t hear of his only son being afraid of heights, so he took me to Sgurr na Stri and patiently worked the panic out of me.”
“How?” Working it out of him was an odd way to put it, but Cameron’s eyes glimmered with fond remembrance.
“Slowly and with a lot of patience. He stood beside me, a few feet from the edge of a cliff and put his arm around my shoulders, holding me snug against his side. We watched the sea otters, porpoises and dolphins. Dad talked about his childhood adventures hiking up the Black Cuillins with his sister. I was so distracted and entertained, I was no longer scared. I wanted to be brave like Dad.”
“Good motivation,” she said, enjoying the cozy moment as he opened up to her.
Cameron smiled. “Aye, he rewarded me with my first taste of whisky. It was the best gift he’d ever given me, and a rite of passage. When I sat at Dad’s funeral last year, all I could think of was how much that day had meant and how it shaped my future. I never allowed fear to rule my life again.”
“You’re lucky. Your parents sound wonderful,” she said softly. Her childhood had been far different. She’d grown up without a father. She’d been raised, if you could call it that, by a mom with a heart of gold, but no emotional maturity. By the time she was eight, Evie realized she would have to be the strong one and take Ivy, her newborn sister, under her wing. One of the strongest traits that Evie and Kate shared was they were both innate nurturers. Kate had all but raised her two younger brothers.
Evie stood beside Cameron and silently watched a golden eagle soar above the sea, the wingspan magnificently outlined by the indigo sky. She tilted her head and studied him. He must have shared his childhood memory for a reason. “Is there a lesson in this for me?”
His eyes met hers. “There is. We’re going to defeat your fear of fire once and for all.”
“Right now?” she asked wondering at the deliberate way he was watching her.
He nodded.
She cast her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head. “You make it sound so simple, Hunter. Don’t you think I’ve tried before?”
He remained silent.
“Well, I did,” she said, chin jutting forward. “And I didn’t do it alone. My sister and I were rescued from the car crash by Michael. He later married me and helped raise Ivy, who was only ten at the time. He not only took us in, but he made sure we got therapy.” She drew in a deep breath and exhaled it, remembering how she used to dread the sessions, but knew they were necessary for healing. “Because of that therapy, I can cook with a gas range and I can light candles, but I still panic when I’m around a larger fire. I can’t help it,” she said tightly.
He rubbed her back gently and nodded as if he understood her pain. How could he though? He’d had parents to help him work through a childhood fear. At eighteen, she had felt powerlessly alone as she witnessed the fiery car crash that killed her mom, leaving Evie and Ivy traumatized and infinitely sad.
“Come. We’ll have a dram.” He led her to the sofa and took a seat beside her when she sat down. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he uncapped the bottle of Hunter Whisky on the marble coffee table. Cameron’s tanned, manly hands drew her full attention. He held the bottle and glass with smooth assurance as he poured two inches of amber liquid into a tulip shaped crystal snifter.
She took the proffered glass from his hands and hesitated. “When it comes to whisky, I’m a novice. I don’t know a thing about it. I usually drink wine or a margarita to relax.”
Cameron’s eyes lit up. “Ah, a virgin. Perfect. I’m more than happy to enlighten you.” He leaned so close, his warm breath tickled her ear. “This is single malt whisky. Swirl the snifter by your nose and open your mouth as you sniff. That way you get the most enjoyment of the smell. Now take a sip. Keep it in your mouth for a few seconds to savor the taste, then swallow.”
His instructions, imparted in that rough velvet voice, sounded t
hrilling and her mouth couldn’t help watering. She took a sip, but the moment the whisky entered her mouth, she could barely hold it in long enough to savor, let alone breathe. She swallowed and boom, the whisky forged a fiery path down her throat and esophagus. Gasping for air, she licked her burning lips and waited a few seconds before speaking. “Wow,” she breathed. “Hunter, your whisky might have made a convert of me.”
He nodded approvingly. “Aye. There’s no finer whisky.” His gaze flicked over her wet mouth before taking a long draw. “You look charming in my robe, by the way.”
Her cheeks heated, and she wondered if it was the whisky or the gleam of male approval in his eyes. “Thanks. I left my dress in the bathroom. Shouldn’t take too long to dry with that great overhead heater in there.” She glanced at the V of tanned skin below the smooth column of his neck and the dusting of fine dark chest hair peeking through. She took another sip and this time drank it neat. It still burned going down, but the pulsating afterglow was worth it.
Cameron filled her glass again. “What was she like?”
“Who?”
“Your mum.”
“Oh,” she said, caught by surprise. “She was…beautiful. She had long strawberry blond hair and blue eyes she inherited from her Irish parents.” Evie paused as a rush of memories flooded her. Swallowing hard, she began anew. “She was fun and wildly creative. Undisciplined and disorganized, but the most loving mom I could have had. During the school year she worked as a seamstress in a dry cleaning shop, but every summer we’d take a road trip to sell her colorful dresses and scarves at the regional fairs.” Her eyes watered at the bittersweet memories. “Mom drove a VW bus with bright, psychedelic flowers she’d painted on it, just like the ones from the 60s. She was an original flower child and called herself Starshine.”
“What about your dad? What was he like?”
“He was Italian. I got my dark hair from him. That’s all I know because I never met him. My sister and I had different fathers and neither one married my mom,” she said with a twinge of awkwardness.
“Nice combination. Irish and Italian.” Cameron curled one hand on her hip and slid her closer. His fingers toyed with her pearl earring, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. The rough pad of his fingers on her delicate earlobe stoked sweet heat deep in her belly. His warm hand moved to her nape and a bold finger slid under the collar of the robe. “Where’s the pearl necklace? Took it off, did you?”
She nodded and held her breath, wondering what he’d do next. His lips grazed her cheek, as warm and soft as she’d imagined. Evie closed her eyes as his lips trailed from her cheek to the side of her neck. Cameron’s virile magnetism electrified the air and she wondered if he felt it too. She got her answer when his penetrating gaze locked with hers.
He tilted her chin and peered into her eyes. “It’s time.”
Time for what? Her decision about their “erotic weeks” together? He’d said she had until tonight to decide. Self-preservation and wariness crept in along with her rational voice. Was Heartbreak Hunter planning to seduce her under the pretext of helping her conquer her fear of fire? She pressed her knees together and straightened her spine. Anchoring her hands on the sofa, she scooted forward.
His hands closed around her waist and settled her on his lap. The feel of Cameron’s hard arousal and muscular thighs cradling her clenched buttocks made her legs turn to jelly. She grappled with the temptation to stay put and the levelheaded urge to bolt.
“You said it was time. Time for what?” she asked, searching his eyes.
“This.” He reached for a remote control on the table.
“A remote control?” Confusion muddled her senses and she blinked to clear her head as she scanned the room. “I don’t see a TV in here.”
“It’s for the gas fireplace. Relax and trust me,” he said smoothly.
“How can I? We just met,” she pointed out, exasperated by his high-handedness. Typical male. Cameron thought he knew what was best for her. He wasn’t dismissing her fear; he was set on fixing it.
“Hush.” He placed a finger over her lips, which she promptly bit. He snatched his hand back and wagged the finger at her. “Ah, ah, ah. No biting, Angel.” He gave a wicked chuckle. “We’ll save the fun stuff for later. Now we’re going to sit before the fire and…”
“Says you. I don’t want you to light it,” she said mutinously.
His hand lightly stroked her hair from crown to nape. Quivers of awakening desire rolled through her and her pulse went wild. “The gas fireplace has air channels that maximize the warmth. Those are incombustible logs covering the gas vents. The flames will burn behind the glass doors.” His hand slid down from her nape to her waist in firm strokes, and then across the swell of her hips.
“I don’t want to see the flames,” she murmured weakly. His deliberate, tender strokes and the whisky she’d consumed were making her lightheaded.
“Then don’t look,” he countered in an agreeable tone.
The minute he clicked the remote, Evie turned her face to the crook of his neck. All that warm, smooth skin made her inhale deeply. Big mistake. He smelled heavenly… and manly – a tantalizing combination of sandalwood and spice.
Cameron stroked her arms. “Do you feel the heat?”
“Yes,” she said swallowing a pleasurable sigh. She felt the heat all right, and it wasn’t coming from the fire. His muscular thighs under her ignited a sexual blaze that left her squirming, and she could barely sit still.
“Don’t wiggle,” he said with a groan. His hands settled on her waist and turned her toward the blazing fireplace. “Time to face the heat,” he said in a low, controlled voice.
“What are you, the fire whisperer?” She choked on the words when she saw the fire. Her stomach did a panicky somersault and she clutched the fabric of his jeans in her fists.
Cameron leaned her back so her spine rested against his chest. “Relax, baby,” he coaxed soothingly. His steely arms held her loosely, but there was no question of the strength in those powerful arms. He spoke in a throaty tone, his warm breath flickering against the sensitive hollow of her ear. Goosebumps spread over her skin. She felt hot and cold and quivery all over. “The power is yours, Angel. If you want to extinguish the fire, push this button.”
He handed her the remote and when she took it, he kissed the back of her nape distracting her from the fire. His mouth moved up to the sensitive hollow behind her ear and he nuzzled it before flicking her earlobe with his wicked tongue. Evie’s breath came in shallow pants as sensual haze more potent than the fire overwhelmed her, blurring her senses and seeping into her throbbing veins. She was on fire and in torment, her body inundated with passionate longing, but her mind warring with it.
Cameron turned her toward him and tilted her face up with a thumb under her chin. Holding her flushed cheeks steady between his hands, he slanted his mouth over hers. “I want to taste you. Open for me, Angel” he whispered in her mouth.
Open for me. His words sent a hot gush of desire pooling between her legs.
Evie’s mouth blossomed under the pressure of his lips and she allowed him to explore and taste her until she was breathless and writhing on his lap. Her robe parted and she gasped when her taut nipples rubbed against his shirt front.
Cameron looked at her breasts and whispered, “Exquisite.” He continued to kiss her as his hands slid into her robe and gently cupped her breasts. His velvety rough thumbs rubbed the tips of her tender nipples. Searing desire spread through her body like brushfire, creating a restless yearning. She wanted, needed…but she shouldn’t go further. It was too soon. They had just met, but ohhh he was making her sizzle. Trapped in a vortex of sensual overload, her body was primed for release, but her heart was wary.
Cameron suddenly stopped caressing her breasts and closed the robe lapels. “Turn it off.” His strangled words landed as sharp as a slap, jolting her from her delirium.
Evie drew back. Turn it off? Was he turned off? Hadn’t he
enjoyed kissing her? She stared at him, wondering what had gone wrong. He looked slightly irked and she couldn’t figure out why.
“Turn it off?” she repeated dully.
“Aye. You have the control. Use it,” he said in a measured tone.
Evie’s face burned as uncertainty dawned. She wasn’t sure if he meant use the remote to turn off the fire, or use her control to turn off her response to him. Whatever his intent, the mood was broken. She flicked off the remote and collapsed against the sofa back.
“You don’t play fair.” She glowered at him from beneath lowered lashes. He tilted her chin and kissed her, his mouth harder and firmer than the tender exploration of lips and tongue he’d used to distract her from the fire. When he released her, her lips felt puffy and swollen and she’d forgotten about everything but his kiss. She touched her lips and watched him, shaken by her intense reaction to him. The passionate flare in his slate green eyes held her mesmerized. And just like that, her willpower was decimated. She was reduced to a quivery, aching jumble of unfulfilled longing. Damn him. She wanted more kissing… more everything!
So much for resisting Heartbreak Hunter. She broke eye contact and willed her galloping heart to slow down.
“When you see fire, I hope you’ll remember this day from now on,” he said gruffly.
There was no way she’d ever forget this day. She was touched, yet bemused, by the irony of his tactics. He’d used what he did best to help her conquer her fears—his expert seduction. The same expert seduction that had dubbed him a notorious heartbreaker. Oh, he was good, she acknowledged privately, too good. He was more dangerous than fire, more addictive than chocolate, and more tempting than she cared to admit. With carnal kisses and knee-melting caresses, he had already left his indelible stamp on her.
Cameron lifted her chin and held her gaze with piercing eyes. “No more dwelling in the past over things you couldn’t control. Stop limiting yourself with fears and rules. It’s time to enjoy life, Angel.”
Lucky 7 Brazen Bachelors Contemporary Romance Boxed Set Page 10