Outspoken Angel

by Mia Dymond

  “You don’t follow directions.”

  She gave him a hostile glare. “I refuse to play hide-and-seek. Vince is a blowhard. Once he gets it through his thick, empty skull I mean business, he’ll leave me alone.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “How do you know?” she replied curtly.

  “I know. These things get ugly fast. We have to be careful until he’s caught.”

  Her eyes flashed in amusement. “Why can’t you just beat the crap out of him?”

  “It’s not that easy. I need more proof.”

  “How about I bait him?”

  “No. Stilettos and pantyhose won’t hold him this time.”

  She shook her head as the doorbell rang.

  “Dinner’s ready,” she sang, rushing for the door.

  “Damn it!” He grabbed her arm.

  Her eyebrows shot to the top of her forehead. “You don’t want pizza?”

  His lips thinned with anger. “I don’t want you to answer the door.”

  “It’s just the pizza.”

  “How do you know?”

  “X-ray vision,” she answered flippantly.

  He cracked a grin, despite his frustration. “I’ll get the door.”

  She threw her hands in the air. “Whatever you say, Sergeant Slaughter. I’ll get plates and napkins.”

  He opened the door and inserted himself in the opening.

  “Leave the pizza on the porch,” he barked at the wide-eyed teenager standing there, “and step back five paces.”

  The baffled deliveryman slid the steaming pizza box toward Max and quickly stepped back.

  “You have ID?”

  The young man shook his head.

  “Oh for Pete’s sake, Max!” Cameron screeched from the doorway. “Pay him and get the pizza.”

  She gave an apologetic look to the startled deliveryman. “Sorry, Lonnie.”

  Max handed him several bills and carried the box into the house.

  “Do you need to taste it first?” she asked, teasing laughter shining in her eyes.

  Max chose non-response and followed her into the living room.

  “Seriously,” she said, sitting on the floor next to the coffee table, “Vince is not a psycho killer.”

  Max raised an eyebrow as he lowered himself to the sofa.

  “Psycho, yes,” she corrected, “killer, no.”

  She opened the top of the box and the spicy, mouth-watering aroma of sausage and pepperoni filled the air.

  “He’s determined to have you,” he reminded her with lethal calmness.

  She handed him a piece of pizza.

  “Yes,” she agreed before she wrapped her glossy lips around her own slice of pizza and took a bite. He watched in silent agony as she wound the stringy cheese around her tongue and then drew it into her mouth before she swallowed.

  “But,” she continued, “not enough to harm me. Besides, once I give him a taste of my poisonous tongue, he’ll give up.”

  He gave her a black-layered look. “What if he decides to shut you up permanently?”

  Her face paled and she dropped her slice of pizza to her plate. “I’m really not hungry.”

  Satisfaction patted him on the back. “Now we’re on the same page.”

  She gave him a critical squint. “You either really, really like me, Maxie, or you’re a major overachiever.”

  He pinned her in place with a burning stare. “Believe me, Princess, I’m an expert at everything I do.”

  Her eyes sparkled in return and she nodded at the pizza. “Are you finished?”

  I haven’t even started. Max pursed his lips before his challenge barreled through.

  “Yeah.” He stood and offered a hand to help her from the floor. “It’s late. I’ve got some phone calls to make.”

  He shivered at the warmth of personal contact in his hand as she accepted his offering.

  “I’m going to bed,” she said, extracting her hand. “Where it’s safe.”

  Cameron flung herself down on the bed with her arm over her eyes. How on Earth had Vince found her? She had too many better things to do than fool with Vince. And to top it all off, Max was all over her.

  She smiled and leaned up on her elbows. Max all over her. Maybe not a bad thing. She’d been fighting her attraction to him since she flashed him. His rugged, muscular body beckoned her and dared her to rub her body against his defined, chiseled muscles. Needles of pleasure tickled her just thinking about it.

  At six feet, four inches tall and an attitude twice as big, he towered over her, doing his best to intimidate her. But he was no match for her. She could meet him word for word, challenge him head-on, and stuff his cocky self in his place. So maybe it was time to stop fighting and see what happened. He might just see another side of her. One he couldn’t resist.

  Stubborn man. She swung her foot lazily over the edge of the bed. His attempt at keeping his cool was to be commended; however, she was bound and determined to unravel his restraint, string by tiny, little string. It would be fun to watch Mr. Cool come undone. And she wouldn’t mind going a couple of rounds with him between the sheets. She could drink her fill and send him on his merry way, both of them satisfied. After all, that arrangement appeased most men. And that suited her needs too. Not that she’d had that many men, but she valued her golden idol of independence too much to be tied down. Besides, artists required space to grow and flourish. Max would only get in the way with his big, burly, dominating self.

  This decision required ice cream. She stepped out of the bedroom into the dark hallway and adjusted the spaghetti straps of her camisole. A small shiver ran up her spine as she went downstairs, the cool air conditioning tickling her bare legs. Stupid phone calls.

  Cameron tiptoed across the living room to the kitchen while her heart beat furiously in her chest.

  The darkness of the kitchen enveloped her as she made her way to the refrigerator. Relieved that the light would come on when she opened the door, she began to relax. Until someone grabbed her from behind and lifted her from the floor. With her heart hammering, she kicked and screamed hysterically.

  “Stop squirming, it’s just me.”

  She froze, both mad and relieved to hear Max’s husky voice.

  “Put. Me. Down,” she insisted through gritted teeth.

  He set her on the floor and chuckled under his breath as he flipped the light switch.

  She kicked him in the shin. “You scared me to death!”

  He ignored her assault. “What were you doing down here in the dark?”

  “I didn’t want the light to disturb you. I was being courteous.”

  “Can’t sleep, huh?”

  She swallowed as her eyes traveled the length of his incredible body and rested on his nicely-wrapped package.

  Not with you half naked in my kitchen.“No.”

  “Stone?”

  Sure, she could blame it on fear. “Yes.” Liar.

  Max braced his palms behind him on the counter. “He can’t get past me, Princess.”

  She tossed her tousled curls over her shoulder, a motion that caused the strap of her camisole to slide halfway down her arm. She watched his eyes caress the creamy skin of her breast exposed by the wayward strap.

  She shrugged. “Would you please stop calling me that?”

  “What?”

  “Princess.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t like it.”

  No sooner had the confession left her mouth, she realized she made a mistake.

  A smile of pure male satisfaction curved the corners of his mouth. “No.”

  Only because she refused to elaborate, she dismissed any thought of argument about name calling. “Do you think I’m paranoid?”

  He stepped toward her and hooked one finger through the strap. Her skin tingled as he repositioned it onto her shoulder.

  “You’re not paranoid. Fear keeps you aware.”

  She was aware all right. Aware of her body screaming
for him to keep touching her.

  “He can’t catch me anyway,” she bragged, turning the light back off and walking out of the kitchen.

  “Yeah,” he agreed from behind her, “and even if he did, he’d bring you back in a hurry.”

  Cameron stopped in mid-step and glanced over her shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He smacked her backside as he sauntered past her down the hallway. “You’d drive him crazy with your fashion sense, brat.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER SIX

  Cameron rolled over and looked at the alarm clock for the hundredth time. Great. Five minutes later than the last time she checked. She gave up on going back to sleep, threw back the covers, and got out of bed.

  Standing at the top of the stairs, she listened for any sound of movement before going down. She chuckled as the silence greeted her. Max was like the wind, invisible yet overbearing.

  Memories of their encounter last night bombarded her as she entered the kitchen. At least it was daylight this time. She sighed softly and remembered the security she felt in his arms, tucked within the strength of his embrace. Goosebumps tickled her arms as she imagined the sparks between them if they made love. If? More like when. She reached to flip on the ceiling fan.

  “Do you always run around the house naked?”

  She jumped at the sound of Max’s deep, silky voice and turned around to see him, fully dressed this time, enter the kitchen.

  “Do you always sneak up on people?” she countered.

  “I asked you first.”

  “I’m dressed, Max.”

  He snorted. “Barely.”

  “Would you rather I sleep naked?”

  He raised an eyebrow, raw desire evident in his eyes.

  “Never mind. I didn’t know you were awake or I would’ve covered up.”

  His eyes blazed as they raked her body from top to bottom. “You don’t have to cover up on my account. I just asked.”

  She changed the subject. “I have an appointment this morning.”

  “With who?”

  “Annabelle Vandiver. She’s one of my regulars.”

  “When?”

  “10:00.”

  He checked his watch. “You better get it in gear.”

  “Yes, Father Time.”

  She grinned and sashayed out of the kitchen.

  Max exhaled loudly as he watched the tender skin of her ass play peek-a-boo with him from beneath her shorts. His trusty erection fought for freedom with her every move. He braced his hands against the counter, his knuckles white from restraint. Good God Almighty. He shook his head in frustration. She was nothing but evil temptation. Now he understood why Adam was such a wuss.

  Thirty minutes later, she breezed down the stairs.

  “Let’s go, Max! I’m running late.”

  “How many times did you change shoes?” he asked, grinning to himself as he shuffled her out the door.

  “Only twice.”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow above his sunglasses.

  “Okay, four times,” she admitted. “Set the alarm so we can leave.”

  He programmed the alarm, shut the door, then paused to stare at her silver Lexus SC 430 parked in the garage. A sweet car. For a woman.

  “We’re not taking your car.”

  “Why not?”

  “My last experience in that car was not pleasant, Speed Racer.”

  “Come on, Maxie, I’ll scoot the seat all the way back.”

  He folded his arms across his chest.

  She winked. “And I’ll leave the top closed, so you won’t mess up your hair.”

  He felt the corner of his mouth curl and unfolded his arms. He walked to the driver’s side and opened the door. “Get in.”

  She slid behind the wheel and tossed him a smug smile.

  “Are you sure you have to come with me?” she asked as he squeezed into the passenger seat. “You don’t look much like an interior decorator.”

  He snickered. No way in hell would he ever consider looking like an interior decorator.

  “I’ll wait in the car.”

  She shrugged and backed out of the driveway. “If you insist.”

  As they drove through town, Max kept one eye on the traffic behind them through the side view mirror, and the other on Cameron. Although he understood her need to maintain her normal routine, he wasn’t entirely comfortable with her being a moving target. He grabbed the handle over the door to keep from being slung all over the car. Then again, Vince would have to be crazy to try to share the road with her.

  She parked the car in the driveway of the Vandiver estate and gathered her tote bag and portfolio.

  She gazed up at the sunny sky. “I shouldn’t be too long. Do you want me to open the top?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, right,” she agreed, “you might burn the top of your head.” She dug through her bag. “Do you need sunscreen?”

  “No,” he insisted through gritted teeth. “Go.”

  He watched behind his sunglasses as she swayed to the front door of the house, rang the doorbell and disappeared inside the house. He breathed a sigh of relief, opened the car door, and crawled out.

  He chuckled as he propped himself against Cameron’s car. She was such a spitfire, a mouthy, opinionated piece of work. No man in his right mind would even come near someone like her. He was certifiably insane. She stimulated him on a daily basis with her playful teasing, taunted his desire, and more or less dared him to stay away. And he was running out of distractions. A muscle quivered at his jaw. He could take some time and enjoy Cameron. A few months would probably do. He’d never had the option before, moving from place to place in the Navy and traveling with Hawke. He shifted as an unexpected thought crossed his mind. Now that Hawke was settling down, having Cameron may be a possibility. If he wanted. Damn, would he actually consider it? Never before had he wanted to get to know a woman and keep her around. Until Cameron.

  He reached between his legs to make an adjustment. Thoughts about her made matters worse. Keeping his hands to himself was torture, a true test of his expert self control. He shifted again, thankful when his cell phone pulsed against his hip.

  He grinned when he read Cameron’s number on the caller ID. “Miss me?”

  “I need you.”

  His erection jumped. “Why?”

  “I forgot my swatches in the car. Can you bring them inside?”

  “What the hell are swatches?”

  “Pieces of fabric,” she explained, “behind my seat.”

  He glanced inside the car at the outrageous patterns that rested on the seat. “No.”

  “Please, Max. I really need them.”

  “Come out here and get them.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m covered in pillows. Please bring them to me.”

  “How badly do you want them?”

  “What’s the big deal?” she scoffed.

  “You want me to bring you these so called swatches with pink feathers, purple do-dads and yellow beads all over them. With an audience.”

  “Yeah so?”

  “Not my style.”

  “It’s just fabric!”

  “I repeat, how bad do you want them?”

  “Desperately.”

  “Enough to cook dinner for me tonight?”

  He waited patiently with smug delight. Cameron cook? She’d never go for it. And he wouldn’t have to fondle that frou-frou junk.

  “Sure,” she answered evenly.

  Shit. She really wanted those swatches. Now he had to haul that mess up the driveway.

  “I’ll be right there,” he told her, his voice gruff, as he disconnected.

  Max stomped up the driveway, feathers flying up his nose and beads hitchhiking on his t-shirt. Only for Cameron, and only this once. He punched the doorbell twice and waited impatiently for her to answer. Irritated even more by the wait, he tossed the feathers over his s
houlder.

  The front door finally opened a few seconds later, only Cameron wasn’t there. Unfortunately, someone else answered the door to witness his new fashion statement. Although, she didn’t have much room to talk. Standing in the doorway dressed in a bright orange floral mu-mu, she reminded him of a tourist poster for Florida.

  “Hello, you must be Max.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “I’m Annabelle Vandiver. Come in. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  He stepped through the open door, aware of Mrs. Vandiver’s appreciative glances.

  “Cameron is in the parlor,” she explained, leading the way.

  Max followed Mrs. Vandiver and took stock of the gaudy interior along the way. No wonder she hired Cameron, the place reeked of foolish overspending.

  Approaching the parlor, he began to relax when he saw Cameron perched in the middle of the floor, surrounded by multi-colored pillows.

  “Love your boa.” She sent him a serene smile as her eyes twinkled. “Help me up.”

  He extended a hand and effortlessly pulled her off the floor.

  “Thanks for bringing these in.” She unwound the feathers from around his neck and unhooked the beads from his shirt.

  He stood silently while she unwrapped him and imagined a whole different kind of unwrapping as her hands absently caressed him. Her eyes met his as she slid the boa from around his waist and over the bulge between his legs. Flames pierced the darkness of his sunglasses. His Adam’s apple jumped. If she kept her warm, soft hands on his quivering body much longer, Annabelle Vandiver would witness some very creative interior decorating.

  “You’re welcome.” His voice was hoarse, as he tried to get control of the situation. “Surely you wanted Mrs. Vandiver to see these.”

  She quickly shook the glaze from her eyes and cleared her throat.

  “Oh, yes.” She turned to Mrs. Vandiver. “I think these will look great in your granddaughter’s bedroom. Let’s go see.”

  “Will you join us, Max?” Mrs. Vandiver asked with sparkling eyes.

  He grimaced. He felt like he was in a den of very hungry lions. Wearing nothing but a very large t-bone. Something told him being alone in a bedroom with either of these women would be very dangerous.

  “I’ll wait here.”