by Mia Dymond
“Make yourself comfortable,” Mrs. Vandiver said. “I’m terrible at making decisions.”
Cameron took her by the hand. “That’s why I’m here, Annabelle.”
Max breathed a sigh of relief, sat down on the sofa and draped his arms across the back. He felt safe for the moment. Whoever said dynamite came in small packages was exactly right. Cameron was definitely a small package of powerful explosives.
He scooted down and leaned his head back against the wall. Stone didn’t impress him much as a stalker. In fact, Max wasn’t sure if Stone had it out for him or Cameron. Hell, the longer Stone waited to make a move, the longer Max would suffer. If the son of a bitch would just get on with it, Max could break him in two and be free of the whole bodyguard role.
Max banged his head against the wall a couple of times. Somehow he didn’t think he’d ever be free of Cameron. Even if he managed to physically avoid her, he wouldn’t be able to get her out of his head. Desperate to escape the reality of that thought, Max shifted gears in his brain.
Obviously Stone was driven by revenge. Either that or mental illness. Surely by now he’d figured out Cameron’s connection to Rachel. Anybody with half a brain would realize that being associated that closely to the wife of a major celebrity afforded Cameron some sort of protection. In this case, a personal bodyguard. Then again, some people just had to see it to believe it, and Stone had cornered Cameron alone. All because she’d batted those baby blues, pooched those pouty lips, and convinced Max to leave her alone outside the dressing room.
He raised his head and bent to place his elbows on his knees. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough, he could convince himself he was having a nightmare. No one in their right mind would believe a story like this anyway.
A familiar click of high heels brought him to his feet as Cameron and Mrs. Vandiver returned to the parlor.
“We’re finished,” Cameron told him.
He nodded and followed her to the door, his eyes hypnotized by the sway of her ass once again. He recited the English alphabet all the way down the driveway, visualized the Egyptian alphabet as he put her in the car, and started on the Russian alphabet when she drove out the gate.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she said, maneuvering back onto the freeway.
He bit his lip as the sound of her soft, sexy voice broke his concentration.
“You don’t have any more appointments, do you?”
“No.” She grinned slyly. “But I do need to work at the office for awhile.”
He sighed in desperation. He needed a break. She’d be safe at the office.
“Take me to Hawke’s.”
He grabbed the dash as she swerved onto the shoulder.
“Sorry.” She straightened the wheel. “You’re not coming with me?”
Max took a second to think about the changes he’d made to security in the downtown office building since Hawke married Rachel. An armed security guard occupied each outside door and two others were positioned in the lobby and watched security cameras of all activity in the building. Before seven o’clock a.m. and after seven o’clock p.m. the building was protected by a maze of laser beams and highly sensitive monitors. No one entered or left the building without security clearance.
“The security in that building is sufficient. Just don’t stay after dark, and call me before you leave.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper.” She entered Rachel’s security code and drove through the gate.
He felt a ridiculous need to kiss her sweet lips as she parked in the driveway. Instead, he slammed the car door and stalked toward the house. Looking back briefly over his shoulder, he slowed as Cameron stuck her head out the top of her convertible.
“Don’t miss me too much,” she sang sweetly before bobbing back into the car.
Hell. If she only knew.
* * *
Hawke hung up the house phone for the fourth time in thirty minutes, convinced that these were not legitimate phone calls. No one except Rachel’s clients or charity contributors called the house anyway, and four dial tones proved they weren’t business calls. Caller ID didn’t help any either since the call registered only unknown caller. Time to change the number again.
He glanced out the window and watched Max saunter up the sidewalk, look over his shoulder before entering the security code, and enter the house. Good ole Max. There was no one in the world Hawke trusted like he trusted Max.
Hawke propped himself against the doorway and snickered as Max approached the den.
He motioned to Max’s green, knit shirt. “New?”
“The fashion police,” Max groused.
“You mean Cameron?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Man.” Hawke shook his head. “You are in so much trouble.”
Max snorted. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Do you want to hear my report or not?”
“Yes.” Hawke pursed his lips, respecting Max’s embarrassment.
“Stone tried to grab her at the mall.”
“Damn, he’s got balls with you around.”
Max cleared his throat. “I wasn’t right there with her.”
Casually amused, Hawke didn’t mention the phone calls and crossed his arms. “Where exactly were you?”
Max ran a hand across the top of his head. “In the blasted dressing room. Little Miss You need color, Max made me try on shirts. Meanwhile, she snuck over to the shoe display, Prada, Max, because they were on sale.” Max’s face reddened.
“I swear, Hawke,” he continued, “if Rachel wasn’t so concerned, there’s no way in hell I’d do this. She’s irritating the shit out of me!”
Max threw himself onto the sofa. Hawke watched Max’s tantrum with his eyes wide in amazement. Mr. Cool, Mr. Smooth, Mr. Never-Let-Them-See-You-Sweat was about to unravel.
“You want her.”
Max released a heavy breath. “Hell yes, I want her.”
“So?”
“So?” Max tossed his head back. “It’s not that easy, Hawke.”
“Why?”
“I can’t protect her while I sleep with her.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No. I have to stay focused. Believe me when I say it’s impossible to stay focused around Her Majesty Queen Seductress. Women just complicate things, anyway.”
Hawke bit his lip. Wait until Rachel heard this. Before he could respond, the phone rang again, right on time. Hawke shook his head and sighed as it continued to ring.
Max frowned and glanced from the phone to Hawke. “You gonna answer that?”
Hawke hesitated and tossed the decision to mention the hang-ups to Max back and forth in his mind. When the phone finally shut up, he decided changing the number would take care of the problem. No sense worrying Max, he obviously had enough on his mind.
“No.”
“Where’s Rachel?” Max asked.
“At the office.”
“You can fill her in.” Max stood and scrubbed his hand down his face. “I’ve alerted the police department. If Stone comes anywhere close, they’ll pick him up.”
“Thanks, Max.” Hawke grasped Max’s shoulder in support. “Relax. You’ll stay focused.”
* * *
Cameron fanned herself with her portfolio as she buzzed into the office and plopped down on the sofa in the reception area. “It’s scorching hot out today.”
“Are you sure it’s the weather?” Rachel murmured from her drafting table in the corner.
Cameron snorted. “Of course! What else would it be?”
She gave Rachel a sideways glance. She knew exactly what Rachel meant. And, no, the weather wasn’t what made her sweat. Memories of a certain, semi-naked caveman tickled her libido and escalated her blood pressure, but she had no intention of sharing them with Rachel. Sometimes it was just in her best interest to play the blonde card.
“How was your meeting with Mrs. Vandiver?”
Thankful Rachel wasn’t going to push, Cameron
grinned. “Fun.”
“Fun?”
“Max insisted on going with me. Annabelle ogled him the whole time.”
Rachel giggled. “Do you blame her?”
Cameron strangled her response and shrugged.
“Oh, come on, Cam,” Rachel prodded, “the man is extremely satisfying to look at.”
Confident she couldn’t argue with Rachel’s raging hormones, Cameron sighed. “Okay, he is.”
Rachel tossed her pencil to the table. “Where is Max?”
“Believe it or not, he dumped me for Hawke.”
Rachel stood and smiled. “This calls for a celebration.”
“Oh, please!” Cameron grinned. “You just want ice cream.”
“I do,” Rachel admitted. “I’ll go get it.”
“Take my car.” Cameron tossed her the keys. “I’m parked closer.”
“What flavor?”
“All of them,” Cameron mumbled.
Rachel giggled as she drove down the block. Cameron’s denial of her attraction to Max made her want to laugh out loud. Sooner or later, they would give in to their attraction. It was inevitable.
She gave herself a boost out of Cameron’s car and panted heavily as she stood. Maybe she should pass on the ice cream. She gave a half laugh as she waddled into the store. No way. Browsing the freezers, she knew Cameron wasn’t serious about buying all the flavors of ice cream, but she picked out four and headed for the checkout.
The clerk gave her an understanding smile and glanced at her stomach. “How much longer?”
Rachel wiped the moisture from her forehead. “Any day.”
The clerk winked. “We’ll keep the freezer stocked.”
“Thanks.” Rachel loaded her bags into her arms and pushed the door open with a shoulder.
Stepping out of the cool air into the suffocating heat, she felt the grocery bags slip as she approached Cameron’s car. The normally sleek, shiny carriage melted into the pavement, all four tires slashed mercilessly.
* * *
Hawke cursed as the phone sprang to life again with its screaming tones.
Max gestured at the noise. “What’s with the phone?”
“Damn thing’s been ringing all day,” Hawke said, as his cell phone added to the chorus.
Max lifted the house phone to his ear and then hung up.
Hawke’s nerves tightened even further when he heard Rachel on the other end of his cell phone. “Hawke! Thank God!” she wheezed.
“Rachel? Honey, what’s wrong?”
Rachel explained her dilemma. “And the ice cream is melting.”
Hawke bit his lip. “Have the clerk put it in the freezer, Baby. Max and I are on our way. Stay inside where it’s cool.”
Hawke disconnected and pocketed his phone. “C’mon, Max, we’ve gotta go,” he said, heading toward the door.
Max shook his head at Hawke’s impulsiveness as he followed behind. “Details, Hawke.”
“Cameron’s tires were slashed at the grocery store,” Hawke explained as they jumped in his Suburban.
Max drove down the driveway and signaled the guard at the gate.
“When I picked up the phone, I got a dial tone,” he told Hawke.
“All our calls for the past two days have been hang-ups.”
Rather than blast Hawke for his lack of communication, Max opted for damage control and dialed his cell phone. Within seconds, security at the Hawke compound was increased ten-fold.
“I told Cameron to stay at the office.”
“Cameron wasn’t driving, Max. Rachel wanted ice cream.”
Max pursed his lips. That wasn’t much better, but he knew from experience nothing came between Rachel and ice cream. He dialed his cell phone again and flipped the blinker as the light turned green.
“Do not leave the office,” he barked into the phone.
Hawke inhaled a sharp breath.
“Well hello, Max,” Cameron drawled.
“Rachel had a problem at the grocery store.”
“Is she okay?”
So far so good. “She’s fine, but there’s another problem.” He took a deep breath. “Promise you won’t make my ears bleed when I tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
Here goes. “Someone slashed your tires.”
“Slashed my tires?!” she screeched. “I’m on my way.”
He bit back a long, colorful string of expletives. “No! Do you ever do what you’re told? Stay put. Hawke and I are on our way to the store. I’ll have your car towed. I’m sending Huntington to take you home.”
“Greg?” Cameron and Hawke asked in unison.
“Uh, Max, Greg’s my manager, not my chauffeur,” Hawke mumbled.
“Yeah, so what the hell is the problem?” Max scoffed.
“He’s not exactly comfortable being alone with her.”
Max’s irritation vanished. As screwed up as it sounded, he understood Huntington’s position. More than anyone would ever know.
“I could take someone off the house, but it might not be a good idea with those phone calls.”
“Hello!” Cameron shrieked. “I’m still here. Send Greg. I’ll deal with him myself.”
Max glanced at Hawke. “She wants Huntington.”
Hawke nodded and dialed his cell phone.
“Behave,” Max said into his phone.
“Don’t worry, Maxie, I’ll kill him with kindness.”
As soon as Max pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store next to Cameron’s car, Hawke jumped out of the Suburban without bothering to close the door, or wait for Max.
Max scanned the area for reporters or nosy onlookers before he followed. They probably had a good ten minutes before anyone figured out what was going on. Luckily, Diablo had become accustomed to Hawke’s notoriety and now extended both him and Rachel a quiet respect for their privacy. Even so, this development was newsworthy.
Once inside the store, Max asked the clerk to call the police while he shuffled Hawke and Rachel back outside and into the Suburban, behind the smoked windows.
“Take her home,” he told Hawke. “Security has everything under control.”
Max watched in relief as Hawke followed instructions and wheeled the Suburban out of the parking lot.
He stooped to examine Cameron’s tires. Tracing the gash on one tire with his finger, he noted that there was nothing peculiar about the cut. As best he could tell, an everyday pocketknife probably invaded the tire.
He stood and glanced around the parking lot. Other than mothers with whiny children or people who pushed shopping carts of groceries, no one seemed out of place. Stone must have been desperate. He couldn’t have been watching or he would’ve known Rachel was driving, not Cameron.
He ran a hand across the back of his neck and attempted to piece together the day’s events. What about Hawke’s phone calls? Although non-threatening, they were strange. Especially since Cameron had also received calls of the same nature.
Frustrated, Max crossed his arms over his chest and waited for the police. All he could do was wait Stone out. In the meantime, dodging Cameron’s barbs would keep him busy.
* * *
CHAPTER SEVEN
Max stepped to the front door of Cameron’s house, twisted the doorknob, and hoped to hell she’d followed his orders. Relieved when he found the door locked, he glanced over his shoulder and slid a pick from his pocket. In a matter of seconds, he entered the house and closed the door behind him. He shook his head at the faint beeping of her poor excuse for an alarm.
With little attention to detail, he removed his pocket knife from his pocket, pried the cover from the unit, and cut the wires to silence the alarm. Once the room was bathed in silence, he climbed the stairs.
The strong scent of cotton candy filled the air as he approached the first bedroom at the top of the stairs with the door open wide. Once he stepped inside, the sickeningly sweet sugary smell invaded his senses and taunted his libido. Hell, he always did have an overactive
sweet tooth.
He paused outside the bathroom door and heard the sound of swishing water. There were a couple of ways to work this. He could use his method of choice, the element of surprise, and beat on the door until the hinges rattled to make sure she knew he was here. Except that she would just laugh in his face, dunk her wet, naked body deeper into those candy scented bubbles, and stay in there until she was good and ready to come out.
He opted for Plan B. He braced one hip against the outside of the door and knocked lightly with two knuckles. “Shortcake?”
He heard a loud splash behind the door.
“Hey, Hot Stuff, are you in there?”
Cameron coughed. “Max?”
“What are you doing in there?”
“Soaking. How did you get in the house?”
“I used your code.”
“I didn’t tell you my code.”
Her reaction amused him. Her security system was no match for him. Screw the code.
“You shouldn’t use your birthday.”
“You know my birthday?”
“There’s not a whole lot I don’t know about you.”
She cleared her throat. “I didn’t use that combination.”
“Forget numbers. I cut the wires.”
Another splash. “You cut the wires?”
“See how easy it is to sneak up on you?”
He managed to catch the last two words of her mumbled rant. Smart ass.
“Are you planning on coming in here?”
His grin widened. “You didn’t lock the door?” Not that the lock could keep him out.
She gave a half laugh. “No, the alarm was set and I was pretty confident I was the only one here.”
“Hurry up; I’m hungry.”
“Okay.” He heard gurgling water as she opened the drain. “Um, Max? Are you still out there?”
“Yes.”
“I need some help.”
He frowned. He hadn’t heard her fall. “What kind of help?”
“I left my towel on the bed.”
He swung his gaze to the bed. There lay a folded, yellow towel, flashing like a warning beacon. Well, hell. If she didn’t have a towel in there, one of two things were going to have to happen.