Outspoken Angel

by Mia Dymond

  “How about Mexican?” she offered. “I’m craving tacos.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Max inhaled spicy scents of cumin and chili powder. He forced himself to relax once he and Cameron were inside Guarida de Serpiente and seated in a secluded corner booth. His gaze wandered across the menu but he couldn’t concentrate. The Serpent’s Den. Hell. Instinct told him bringing her here was a bad idea, but maybe Stone was halfway smart enough not to challenge him in a public place. He glanced at a long, glass tank positioned on the far wall of the restaurant. Besides, if Stone showed up, he’d sic the mammoth boa constrictor inside on him.

  As he changed positions and shifted his legs under the table, he felt the soft flesh of Cameron’s right thigh brush his. The slight tremor he encountered was the only thing that tampered his arousal.

  He cleared his throat and moved half an inch away from her. “Drink?”

  As if waiting for his offer, she shoved her menu to the edge of the table and folded her hands. “Margarita, please. Frozen.”

  Max signaled their young, raven-haired waitress, who all but ran to the table. After batting her eyelashes several times, she took his order and returned in record time with Cameron’s drink.

  Cameron took a long draw from the straw and tilted her head to the side. “One of yours?”

  He cocked an eyebrow, intrigued by her question. “One of my what?”

  “Groupies.”

  Not fooled by her attempt to distract herself from the morning’s excitement, he played along. “Maybe. I don’t remember.”

  Her eyes rounded. “You don’t remember?”

  He nodded. “Too many women, too little time.”

  Her mouth fell open and she stared, obviously not expecting that particular answer.

  He snickered and pushed her drink closer to her. “Relax, Princess, I don’t have groupies.”

  She took another pull from the straw before speaking. “What about the women at the concerts?”

  He shrugged. “Those are Hawke’s groupies. I’m just the gate keeper.”

  “Ever slept with one?”

  Through the darkened lenses of his sunglasses, Max considered his response. Truth or dare? He opted for truth.

  “Yes.”

  In the unfamiliar baited silence, he could’ve sworn her eyes faded from pale blue to bright green, but then again, his own eyes were shaded. He waited for her usual abundance of sass. Instead, she grinned and took another drink. He glanced at her glass, now half empty. She needed food. ASAP.

  Max scanned the crowded dining area for their waitress and finally spotted her at the front, flipping her hair and batting her eyelashes at someone familiar. Greg Huntington. Max watched, anticipating Huntington’s next move. True to his expectations, Huntington slid a business card across the counter and gave the giggling groupie a sly smile. Max shook his head. Being Hawke’s manager had its perks. The clerk finally pointed Max’s direction and soon Huntington sauntered over and slid into the opposite side of the booth.

  “Hey, guys.” Huntington grabbed a chip and dipped it into the hot sauce.

  Max eyed him suspiciously. “Hungry?”

  “Nah.” Huntington smirked. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your date.”

  “It’s not a date,” Cameron hissed.

  Huntington looked pointedly at the restaurant’s glowing neon sign. “The Serpent’s Den? Sounds like a date to me.”

  Max scooted the hot sauce away. “What are you doing here, Huntington?”

  “Picking up dinner for Hawke and Rachel. Rachel’s craving empanadas and sopapias.”

  Max nudged Cameron’s knee with his. “More like picking up the brunette at the front.”

  Cameron quirked an eyebrow and then smiled in understanding. “I know her, Greg. Want me to talk to her?”

  Huntington winced and dropped his tortilla chip.

  “Be nice, Cameron, I sent you a client.”

  Max raised his head. “You sent her a client? Who?”

  Huntington rubbed his forehead. “Let me think. His name started with an R. No, I think it was a T … Thompson.. no, Thomas! Calvin Thomas. That’s him.” He reached for the cheese dip. “Did he call you?”

  “As a matter of fact, he did,” Cameron said. “We had an appointment but it didn’t turn out quite like I planned.”

  Max took the cheese dip away from Huntington. “Is this guy a friend of yours?”

  “No. I met him at the gym. Said he was new in town, had just bought a house, and didn’t know anything about decorating. So, I gave him Cameron’s name and told him she was the best.”

  Cameron smiled, obviously flattered by Huntington’s compliment. “You think I’m the best?”

  Then Huntington burst her bubble. “I can sell anything to anybody.”

  Cameron’s lips thinned and she narrowed her eyes. Sensing her impending hissy fit, Max intervened.

  “What did this guy look like?”

  Huntington shrugged. “I spent more time looking at all the hot women.”

  “Was he tall? Short?”

  “I don’t know. We were on the exercise bikes. He had dark hair and a moustache. That’s all I remember.”

  Max spotted the sultry clerk signal him with the crook of a finger. “Your order’s ready, Huntington.”

  Dunking one last chip, Huntington stood and grinned. “I’ll see you two later.”

  Max watched Huntington amble back to the front counter, pick up his order, and slide a piece of paper into his shirt pocket before finally leaving the restaurant.

  “Dinner and dessert,” Cameron mumbled.

  Before he could comment on Huntington’s technique, the waiter arrived with their dinner and another Margarita for Cameron.

  Max raised an eyebrow when the young, buff guy placed it in front of Cameron. “Are you sure you can handle that?”

  “Of course.” She glanced at the waiter and winked. “There’s not much alcohol in here anyway is there, Roberto?”

  The smitten waiter gave her a smile that showcased a mouthful of straight white teeth. “No, Miss Cameron.” He set the remaining plates on the table. “Will you be needing anything else?”

  “No, thank you,” she answered.

  Another predatory smile from Roberto. “You’re welcome.”

  Max waited for her to take a sip of courage then picked up his fork. “One of yours?”

  She swallowed and pursed her lips. “Touche’.” She scooted her glass back and placed her napkin in her lap. “Why were you grilling Greg about Mr. Thomas?”

  “I wasn’t grilling him, I was just curious.” He took a bite of his enchilada to buy some time.

  Curious? No, now he was suspicious. Maybe Stone had help. Who was this Calvin Thomas? Better yet, what normal guy worried about interior decorating? In a gym full of women? Unless he was … Nah. He stuck a chip in his mouth. He’d put Steele on it.

  Cameron nudged him with her knee. “You’re too quiet over there, Mad Max. What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

  He speared another piece of his enchilada. “I’m eating and it’s not polite to talk with your mouth full.”

  From the corner of his eye, he watched her shrug and then pick up a taco. Too easy. She hadn’t given up, she’d just taken a breather. In fact, Miss Fix-It probably thought she had him all figured out. He laid his fork on his plate and waited to hear her next brilliant suggestion.

  Cameron hiccupped and he shifted his eyes in her direction. She giggled and took another drink. He rubbed his brow with both hands. Hell.

  He pushed the lemon-lime tranquilizer out of her reach. “Enough alcohol, Half Pint.”

  “I’m not finished!”

  He pulled her to her feet and led her from the restaurant. “Yes, you are.”

  “Thanks for lunch, Maxie,” she said. “I’m much more relaxed now.”

  “I’m sure you are,” he grumbled.

  He boosted her into the truck and watched as her eyelids thr
eatened to stick to her cheeks. Once he was behind the wheel, she scooted close to him and rested her head on his shoulder. He tensed at her violation of his personal space.

  “What’s your favorite color?” she asked.

  Damn. A chatty drunk. “Black,” he answered shortly.

  “Figures,” she muttered. “You don’t like any other color besides black?”

  Blue. Pale, innocent blue, like the color of your eyes. “No.”

  “I like red,” she said thoughtfully.

  “Why?”

  “Red is a sexy color,” she explained. “Take my shoes for example.”

  He made the fatal mistake of looking down at her shoes, flashing a neon red invitation. She might as well hang a sign on them: For Hire.

  This he had to hear. “What about them?”

  “They draw more attention than my brown ones or my black ones.”

  Hell, yeah. The red ones had a way of snapping his control on the spot. He struggled to breathe.

  “And my red lingerie,” she continued, oblivious to his shallow breathing, “is encouraging.”

  He squeezed the steering wheel with both hands as he drove. “Encouraging?”

  “Yeah,” she said, “I feel much more courageous in red.”

  He began to sweat. More courageous?

  “Most people are afraid of red.” She sat up straight.

  He gave her a curious look.

  “They think red represents danger.”

  It does. Pure, unadulterated danger. “We’re home,” he said behind his relief. “Can you get out?”

  She gave him a practiced eye-flutter. “Not without flashing you a warning.”

  He grinned. “Didn’t think so.”

  Max counted to ten before he slid out of the truck and walked around to help her out. She would have to get blasted. Probably just to irritate the hell out of him. He opened the passenger door, circled her waist with his hands and lifted her from the truck. Trapping her in his solid grip, he couldn’t escape the sexual magnetism between them. He wondered if she wore something red and lacy now.

  Once on solid ground and left to her own devices, she gave him a lazy smile and swayed treacherously to the left. Her freefall halted when he closed his hand around her upper arm.

  “You can’t hold your liquor, can you?”

  Her eyes widened with false innocence. “I’m not drunk, I just don’t usually drink, and if I do, one is my limit. I deserved more today.”

  He twisted his mouth in exasperation as he punched in the alarm code and guided her into the house.

  She was using every last drop of her bravery to ignore her fear, but he felt it. She was scared to death and he was helpless to comfort her. Helpless was not in his vocabulary. He would find Stone and Thomas and when he did, nothing would stop him from obliterating both of them.

  She marched past him into the living room. “That was a total waste of time.”

  He bit the insides of his cheeks and demanded his cool facade stay put. He’d acted like a cocky son-of-a-bitch at the house earlier, but teasing her seemed to keep her panic at bay. She probably had no idea she provided as much information as she had; she had been too busy insulting him. Acid burnt his gut. He should’ve never taken her there in the first place and leaving her alone was almost a fatal error. What was it about her that made him battle his own instinct?

  She kicked her two red light specials against the couch. “Do I even want to know what you’re thinking?”

  He felt a familiar twitch between his legs. Damn shoes. Damn Cameron. “I’m not thinking.”

  She regarded him skeptically as he fidgeted.

  “I’m gonna go shower and change. Would you feed Maxwell for me?”

  More like sober up. “This time. But you owe me. I’m not here to feed your cat.”

  She waggled her eyebrows. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Before he could protest, she gave one last goofy giggle and ran up the stairs.

  * * *

  Brett Steele tucked himself between two branches high in the massive oak tree in the backyard next to Cameron’s and settled back to enjoy the scenery. He focused on the perimeter around Cameron’s two-story colonial. Sterling’s truck was parked in the driveway. A dog barked from somewhere down the block. Nothing unusual.

  Confident no one was watching Cameron’s house, Steele shifted to scan the rest of the neighborhood. Other than a few neighbors coming and going, there was little activity in the area. The warm, dry Arizona afternoon promised to be a lazy one until a squeak from below captured his attention.

  Lifting his binoculars, he focused in on the doorway of a sliding glass door and the most captivating, golden-haired goddess he’d ever seen. He shook his head to clear his vision. Was she naked?

  The sexy siren spread a towel over her lounge chair, sprawled out on top, and sighed softly as the bright afternoon sunlight caressed her bare skin. She misted her creamy breasts with her water bottle, her nipples tightening at the touch of the water.

  Oh yeah, she’s naked. From the tips of her pink-polished toenails to the tousle of sunkissed hair piled high on her head.

  Thank You, Cpt. Sterling.

  He focused the binoculars again, perusing her body from top to bottom and back again and appreciated every inch of her bronzed curves. His erection nudged him at the same time his conscience kicked in.

  Shifting to make an adjustment, he stilled as he felt the sensation of being watched. He squeezed his eyes closed. Please, not a snake. Very slowly, he opened his eyes and turned to see Cameron standing in her upstairs window, her angry eyes shooting laser beams at him.

  * * *

  Max swallowed tightly as he went into the kitchen, unable to ignore Cameron’s last comment. I’ll make it worth your while. Yeah, she would, if he’d let her. His erection jumped at the visual of her naked and soaking wet with her soft, smooth hands smearing bubble gum scented body wash over the length of her body.

  Cat food, cat food. Digging through the cabinets, he finally found a can of Seafood Delight, snapped it onto the can opener and concentrated on its circular motion. He frowned as the can smacked the countertop. The whirring noise usually brought the fat cat running to the kitchen.

  He listened carefully, expecting to hear a familiar howl at any moment. Instead, his supersonic hearing tuned in on the sound of running water and all he could think about were the droplets sliding across Cameron’s shoulders, down her neck, and racing to the finish between her legs. He didn’t have to look to see he had the mother of all hard-ons. Hell, the grandmother of all hard-ons. He should just put himself out of his misery. Two minutes tops, that’s all it would take. He’d bend her over the…

  “Max!” Cameron bounded down the stairs and headed for the front door.

  “What?” he hissed, shaking his wet dream to follow her. The minuscule piece of red fabric looped over her shoulders and across her midsection paralyzed his thoughts and slowed his footsteps.

  “How long has the doorbell been ringing?”

  He peeled his eyes from her body. “I didn’t hear it.”

  “Oh, never mind.” She waved her hand at him and opened the door.

  Max felt the air chill when he saw that Steele stood on the welcome mat with Maxwell tucked under one arm.

  “Maxwell!” Cameron took the purring furball from Steele and motioned him inside. “Where’d you find him?”

  Steele glanced at Max. “He was watching the fish in the Koi pond next door.”

  “And how exactly do you know about the Koi pond next door?”

  Max felt his stomach drop to his knees. He rubbed his hand across his jaw and backed up against the stairway railing. Way to go, Steele.

  Steele shifted from foot to foot. “I was canvassing the neighborhood.”

  In the several seconds of silence that followed, Maxwell’s green eyes glowed an eerie warning as Cameron stroked his back.

  Cameron tilted her head to the side and eyed Steele with the same wa
rning. “You know I saw you in the tree.”

  Steele cut his eyes at Max as if he expected to be bailed out. Max cocked an eyebrow and shook his head. Steele was on his own.

  Cameron pursed her lips and lowered the cat to the floor. Maxwell swished his tail to dismiss all three of them and pranced away.

  “Come on in the kitchen, Brett. Let’s chat over coffee.”

  Max caught the tone of her voice and it wasn’t a friendly invitation. She was on a head-hunting mission. Cursing Steele again, he followed.

  Motioning for both men to sit, Cameron fed the cat and filled the coffee maker with coffee.

  “Besides the fact my neighbor sunbathes naked, why are you interested in my neighborhood?” She grabbed three coffee mugs from the cabinet.

  Steele stretched his legs under the table and propped his hands behind his head. “Captain Sterling asked me to make sure your house wasn’t under surveillance.”

  Max winced. Of course Steele would blame him.

  Cameron jerked and dropped one of the mugs on the counter. “And,” she said, chasing the mug as it slid down the length of the marble surface, “he suggested you conduct your investigation in the middle of the afternoon.”

  “Uh, not exactly.”

  Steele dropped his hands and cleared his throat as the coffee maker began to perk. “Captain Sterling called me to help, Cameron, that’s all.”

  Max watched in silence while Cameron processed Steele’s explanation. Finally, she raised her eyes and sent him a telepathic message. One he received. Loud and clear.

  “I guess telling me you were here slipped Captain Sterling’s mind.”

  “Enough.” Max grabbed a mug and sat next to Steele. “There’s a lunatic on the loose. Do I need to remind you that he even left you a gift?”

  “Gift?” Steele asked.

  Max nodded. “Lingerie.”

  “What color?”

  Max frowned. “The color is not important, Steele.”

  Cameron gave a smug smile. “Blue.”