by Ann Yost
Of course, he’d been wrong.
Cam cleared his throat, straightened his bow tie, tugged the black jacket of his tux and checked his Rolex. She was due in forty-five minutes. He’d make short work of this, then he’d return to his real life. And Molly Whitecloud could return to the mists of memory like the ghost she was.
****
Molly took a deep cleansing breath, the kind she instructed her patients to use during labor. She let it out slowly. It didn’t help. She made a face. No wonder her instructions always earned her that look of disbelief.
A moment later she stepped off the glass-enclosed elevator on the eleventh floor and smoothed her hands over her form-fitting black cocktail dress. The halter-top left most of her back bare and her borrowed push-up bra left most of her breasts exposed. She looked like a hooker. She felt like a hooker.
She had to remind herself that was okay.
For tonight, she was a hooker.
Dwight Winston, the tall, slick-looking hotel manager with dark hair rendered stiff by an overuse of products, and a shark-like smile that included more gum than teeth, had been happy to hire her. He’d barely listened to her trumped up resume. He’d offered her the job of masseuse and, as soon as she’d accepted it, he’d asked if she’d be willing to serve as a dinner companion for a male guest.
Even though she was expecting it, Molly was shocked. Was this what all the female employees faced? Was it possible she was supposed to be just a dinner companion? Or would she get the implicit proposition sometime during the evening?
She half hoped the guest would proposition her. After all, that’s why she was here. The other half of her hoped the intelligence was wrong, that Lenaya Dove was the exception that proved the rule or that the young girl had succumbed to her own hormones.
Molly shook her head. She knew she couldn’t count on that. She’d get the come-on, she’d turn him down and she’d make a note of everything that had happened. She didn’t kid herself that she’d get more than one chance. Word would get back to Dwight and she’d be canned. She planned to plead for a second chance, a second night, to give herself a chance to search the manager’s office for the laptop Daniel was so certain existed.
She hoped, too, to observe other staff members and find out what their patterns were.
All in all, she had a lot to accomplish in a small window of time and, in spite of Daniel’s warnings, she’d dismissed the idea of danger to herself. She was used to being on her own and she had Daniel’s number on speed dial. All she had to do was press a button and he’d show up in his war paint and the full authority of the BIA and the Eden County sheriff’s department. Still, she hoped there was no truth to the rumor of mob involvement. She could handle an amorous guest but she wasn’t in a big hurry to meet a hit man.
Molly reached her destination, room 806, and her lips twitched.
The Honeymoon Suite. Winston had neglected to mention that. She wondered, briefly, if the client waiting for her recognized the irony. She lifted her fist and knocked once and the door swung open.
Molly’s jaw dropped, her carefully planned introduction forgotten.
Cam. She’d seen him a number of times since he’d returned to Eden, but never at point blank range. She hadn’t been close enough to count his individual eyelashes or to inhale his masculine scent. Her insides twisted with longing.
With the memory of longing, she reminded herself. Cam was part of the past. She smoothed a palm over her abdomen and sucked in a breath as she gazed at the lean, powerful physique. He’d filled out some since high school. A pleated tuxedo shirt failed to conceal the hard muscles of his arms and chest. The black pants, with their crisp crease and perfect break did nothing to civilize the narrow hips and long legs. He should have looked like an executive in evening dress clothes. To Molly, he looked like a wolf on the scent.
For the gazillioneth time she wondered what it was about him that made every other man in the world fade to gray. He was striking rather than conventionally good looking, his carved nose slightly hooked, a Cary Grant dimple in his strong chin, the cheekbones high in his narrow face. His eyes, sky blue fringed with sinfully long lashes contrasted with the natural tan and the straight, black hair. Yes, he was good-looking enough and full of masculine energy but her fascination with Cam Outlaw lay in the inner intensity reflected in his piercing gaze. He had a fierce passion for everything he did—although he’d have hated the word. She felt her lips tilt into a faint smile until she remembered how it had felt to have that passion directed at her. Incandescent. All consuming.
Frightening. He’d never doubted they could make a life together in his world.
“Come in,” he said, jerking her back to the present. There was no smile in the blue eyes, neither was there a sense of surprise. He’d expected her. Was it possible she wasn’t at the resort at all? Was this just another of her dreams?
He read her mind just as he’d always done in the old days.
“You’re not asleep,” he said.
The low, gritty tone of his voice, so different from that of the enthusiastic teenager, so adult, so blatantly sensual, set her blood on fire. She wanted to touch his hard lips with her fingertips. Naturally she didn’t. She had to remember that things had changed. There was no connection between them anymore.
She felt a wave of sadness so profound that she trembled.
“Molly?”
The unwilling tenderness in his voice made her want to weep. With an effort she shook off the nostalgia. It was time to get down to business.
“What are you doing here?”
His unblinking stare sent her pulse racing and her heart pounding. His silence gave Molly her answer.
He was here to rescue her.
In spite of the past, the bitterness, the resentment.
Her throat ached with unshed tears.
“Come inside, Tiger Lily.”
The nickname was like a match to dynamite. It carried with it all the first flush of love, the anticipation of youth, and the misplaced belief in happy-ever-after. She couldn’t seem to move. Cam took her arm and led her into the suite. He touched her lightly, briefly, a white-hot sensation on her bare skin. And then he let her go.
“Grey Wolf sent me.”
Ah. This was not really about her after all. Daniel had, no doubt, appealed to Cam’s overdeveloped sense of responsibility, the same quality that had driven Cam to rescue her from the curious crowd on her first day at Eden Consolidated High. They’d wound up making an odd couple, Eden’s favorite son and the orphaned half-breed who belonged to no one. The acquaintance blossomed into a friendship and then so much more. With an effort Molly cut off the painful memories.
Cam indicated a sofa upholstered in a nubby fabric that reminded Molly of oatmeal and she sat. He handed her a drink full of clear bubbles. Champagne?
“It’s ginger ale.”
He’d remembered her preference. Amazing since he’d had no reason to think about it for the past dozen years during which time he’d graduated from college, started a career as a financier, married and become a father. And a widower. The recollection stung Molly into speech.
“I was sorry to hear about your wife.”
Even as she spoke she realized the hypocrisy of the words and she braced herself for a blistering set-down. He didn’t look at her, keeping his focus on the whiskey he was pouring into a glass, his long fingers, nimble and efficient. He crossed the room and sat opposite her with the easy coordination she remembered so well.
“Thank you.”
She marveled at his ability to block any discernible emotion while, at the same time, making it clear he had no intention of discussing his late spouse. It had to have been hard, Molly reflected, to have lost a wife, the mother of a much beloved daughter. She had the most absurd desire to go back several years to comfort him at the time of Elise’s death.
“This whole thing,” she said, surprising herself, “is my fault.”
He looked at her for a long minute. Did he think she was t
alking about this mess at the casino or the sins of the past? He shook his head and his reply indicated his only interest was in the present. Molly was conscious of a certain disappointment.
“I supported and promoted the casino and resort,” Cam said, oblivious of her thoughts. “There’s always a risk with investors. Normally I employ a healthy amount of distrust until all the returns are in. I bailed out on this too soon, let go of the reins.”
Because he was avoiding her? It seemed likely.
”This was a big, complicated project,” she pointed out, “with lots of people and varied interests involved. It wouldn’t have been possible to control everything.”
Cam’s eyes held hers for a long moment.
“I hear you’re planning to build a maternity clinic.”
She held very still until her rioting emotions settled. Maternity was not a topic she wanted to discuss with this man. “It’s really a general health clinic,” she said, eventually. “Most people on the rez don’t have insurance or regular healthcare.”
She concentrated on her soda hoping the soft effervescent crackle of the bubbles would create enough of a zen effect to distract her from Cam’s nearness and the danger of the situation. She’d never expected to be alone with him again. She hadn’t hardened her heart against him and she felt frighteningly vulnerable. Why, she wondered, not for the first time, was it like this with only him? Was there something to the myth about the one true mate? Were people like timber wolves and ducks and loons?
If they had met a few years later would they have made it? At seventeen she’d been afraid to leave the rez and she’d known Cam was too young to assume the responsibility of fatherhood. Should she have told him about the baby? She looked at his harsh face. No. She’d made the right decision there.
”What?”
Molly flinched, inwardly. As had been the case all too often, she’d been lost in the past and the past was dead. Unless one of those sperm was successful. She curled her fingers into fists and told herself to get a grip. They were here on a mission.
”Cam,” she said, “I need for you to leave. I can’t play the role of a companion with you hovering over me like a big brother.”
His sculpted lips twitched.
“I’m playing a role, too. Your official escort.”
Suddenly she understood.
“Oh, no. You’re the guest who’s hired me?”
“You don’t have to sound so horrified. I wouldn’t ravish you if you were the last woman on the planet.”
The words stung but she didn’t let him see that.
“Of course not. But I don’t need you. I can do this better alone.”
He squinted, his eyes cat-like slits.
“Grey Wolf said you’re planning to break into DiMarco’s office to search for a laptop. You think Winston will roll over because you’re a beautiful woman? This operation’s a cash cow. They’ll protect it with their lives. And they won’t hesitate to sacrifice your life, Lily.”
She didn’t hear anything after the word “beautiful.” He still thought she was beautiful?
“By the way, I had to bribe Winston to get your services for tonight. He’d already booked you with someone else.”
“Who?”
“Himself.”
“Oh.” It was a sobering piece of intelligence. Apparently she did need a protector. She’d never get the information she needed if she had to spend her time fighting off a lecherous Dwight Winston.
“DiMarco’s office is isolated,” Cam continued. “It’s at the end of a corridor behind the casino. He’s in and out most of the night except between two and four a.m. when he takes a break.”
“How do you know all that?”
His blue eyes leveled her. “I did my homework.”
She didn’t miss the implied criticism, which was, unfortunately, deserved. He was right. She hadn’t thought this through. She’d been preoccupied with her other secret. For a long time now she’d thought of little else than her quest for a child. His child. But she wasn’t about to try to explain that. Her best bet was to accept his help. If they could find evidence indicating there’d been fraud it wouldn’t matter whether the girls were being used. The whole place would be shut down and before it reopened Molly would make sure the staff was protected.
She nodded. “We should be able to do this tonight.”
“If everything goes like clockwork.”
Her gaze locked on his beautiful eyes. The color was familiar and not just because of the past. She’d used it on her living room walls. Morning-glory blue.
“What if we hit a glitch?”
He shrugged. “We’ll take another shot at it tomorrow night.”
Molly’s heart nearly stopped. “You don’t expect me to spend the night here.”
He emptied his glass. “Like I said,” his tone was dry, “you’ll be safe with me.”
Her body, maybe, but what about her heart?
“If necessary, you can have that monstrosity,” he nodded toward the heart-shaped bed. “I’ll bunk out here.”
“Fine.”
His indifference hurt but she was expert at masking pain. But Cam had always been able to see through her. It was one of the reasons she shouldn’t be here with him now. He moved close to her and she could feel his warmth, his strength and his reluctant tenderness.
“We’re here to do a job, Lily. Let the past rest.”
She nodded. He was right.
“We’ll clean up the mob and get rid of that maggot Winston, too. Kill two birds with one stone.”
He made it sound so easy.
“I’m surprised Grey Wolf left you alone to handle this.”
“He didn’t leave me alone. He called you.”
His eyes seemed to harden for an instant before they were once more impassive. “We’ll look less suspicious if we fake being lovers. Think you can handle that?”
Her heart jerked.
“Of course. What about you?”
“Piece of cake,” he said. “I’m a hell of an actor.”
Was that a dig at her?
“That wasn’t personal,” he answered her silent question. “Just a joke. What happened to your sense of humor, Molly?”
She wasn’t going to tell him that nothing much had seemed funny in the past twelve years. Thirteen.
“Have you got a plan for getting into Eddie’s office?”
His lips tilted in a familiar grin and she felt her heart kick hard. He pulled a ring of headless keys out of his pocket.
“Pick locks.”
“Very James Bond.”
He made a face at her. “Yeah.”
At least they could still laugh together. This would be okay. She watched him gather the glasses and deposit them on the bar. I can handle this. I can do it. At least I can do it if I get stinking drunk.
But she couldn’t get drunk.
She might be pregnant.
****
Pretending Molly was a generic female wasn’t working
Cam’s imagination wasn’t that good.
Even after twelve years and the sexual encounters he’d experienced with other women, her body seemed so familiar. When her small, high breasts pressed against his chest, Cam remembered exactly how they’d felt. That sensation alone had been enough to drive him wild in the old days.
Things hadn’t improved.
Cam fought to restore a few molecules of air between them. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. He was hot and hard and pissed off at himself. He shouldn’t have insisted on dancing.
He tried, again, to pretend she was someone else. His ex-wife. His future fiancée. Nicole Kidman. Anybody.
It was no good. He breathed in her unique scent, a combination of herbal soap and sunshine. Tiger Lily. She still fit under his chin the way she had all those years ago, as if she’d been molded just for him. Tonight she’d worn her long, thick braid coiled around her head. Cam itched to tear out the pins, to spread the black silk over her graceful shoulders, to
bury his hands in it while he kissed her full lips. He’d forgotten her special gift, her ability to make him feel as though he was her universe. Every drop of his blood rivered south.
It’s just chemistry. He chanted the reminder. This wasn’t the past, when he’d wanted her heart as well as her body. This is just chemistry.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to keep his desire secret.
Each time she swayed against him she had to feel the hard length beneath his fly and to hear the sharp intake of breath. And she did feel it. Her slight form stiffened again and again and she flattened her small hand against his shirt front as she tried to create some distance between them.
The movement enraged him and he hauled her against his rigid body, pressing his own palm against her butt.
Jesus.
“Cam.”
“Sorry,” he muttered. He waited for a lecture that didn’t come. Instead, she slid her slim fingers behind his neck and up into his hair and he shuddered.
“Don’t,” he hissed.
He felt her shift against him, a move that created an unbearable friction.
“It’s just an act,” she said, lightly. “We’re supposed to be lovers, remember?”
He arched back and narrowed his eyes at her. Was she taunting him? The damn woman was asking for it. He ground himself against her.
“This ‘act’ is about to turn embarrassingly real,” he warned.
Two spots of bright color lit her cheeks and tiny beads of sweat embroidered her delicate upper lip. The soft sound her breath made went right to his groin and her next words practically sent him into a coma.
“You feel good to me, too.”
He wasn’t going to make it. He struggled against the almost unbearable need to push her up against a wall and shock the hell out of the rest of the room. He fought to ignore the rush of sensation and emotion. He fought to withstand her heat. He found a shield in the hurts of the past.
“A likely story. I know you, Molly. I know your passion’s as false as your loyalty.”
She said nothing. Just returned his glare with a level look of her own. He knew he’d hurt her. He wanted to lose himself in her indigo eyes. He wanted to apologize. Instead, he buried the flare of remorse in an avalanche of memories. She’d promised to wait forever and the minute his back was turned she’d married someone else. One of her own. It scarcely mattered that the marriage hadn’t lasted. She hadn’t just rejected him, she’d protected herself against any future advances. She couldn’t have made her feelings more plain if she’d taken out an ad in the Eden Excelsior.