baking in the Nevada sun all day, the concrete was hot under my feet. I tiptoed over to set my water down in the shade of the patio roof. Then I took a few steps and made a shallow dive into the crystalline water. The pool was warm but still cooler than the air. It felt wonderful.
I stroked down to the far end, rolled and swam back. After the first five laps, I hit my stride, pushing myself to cut through the water and beat the timer in my head. I’d just about completed my personal race when I noticed a dark blur at the edge of the pool. Startled, I almost swallowed a chlorinated mouthful.
Only a human being casts that large a shadow.
Had my creepy caller decided to show up in person? My heart tap-danced in my chest. My arms and legs began to tremble. Anxiety burned in my gut. Treading slowly beneath the surface, I felt like an idiot for staying underwater and I couldn’t stay under much longer—I was running out of air.
To hell with it. If I was going to die, it wouldn’t be from drowning. I leaped up, dragging breath into my lungs and loose hairs off my face. I swiped the water from my eyes so I could identify my assailant—
One totally aggravating Scotsman.
He squatted down, offering his hand to pull me out. I ignored it and headed for the ladder. Stone followed me to the top end of the pool and waited. I couldn’t believe this. I don’t see the guy for almost three months, then suddenly he shows up twice in one day. I climbed out and stood facing him, amazed that any water dripped onto the patio. It should have evaporated right off my skin.
“What the hell are you doing at my house?”
“Here’s a fine welcome, then.” His blue eyes slowly roamed my body with exacting attention to detail.
I fought the urge to squirm. My body remembered the way his hands had once followed the path his eyes now traveled. It took a lot of willpower for me not to put out signs saying, Thank You For Visiting. Please Come Again.
Then his mouth widened into a mischievous grin as he admired my chest. I glanced down. The transparent nature of my white cotton swimsuit was my undoing. Guess those signs were visible after all. I raised my chin and met Stone’s gaze head-on. Let him look; it wasn’t like he’d never seen my breasts before. But damned if he’d get to touch.
That’s what I told myself. Repeatedly. However, the soft light of evening emphasized his golden good looks and I could feel his innate sensuality drawing me like a lodestone. Standing half-naked and yearning before him, he had me at a disadvantage. But, as much as my mind protested, my body didn’t seem to mind at all.
CHAPTER TEN
Wet and Out of Breath
CAMERON SAW THE DESIRE beneath her anger and knew he had only to reach for her. If he drew his fingers along the slick-wet surface of her skin she would heat to his touch. He smiled. In half a moment he’d have her in his arms and out of that bit of a bikini. Stella knew it as well.
Which was precisely why he kept his hands at his sides. They’d come together so damned fast before, and though the red-hot impulses were obviously still present, he intended to proceed with caution this time.
“I asked what you’re doing here.” She swept past him, snatching up a towel from a pile on one of the chairs.
“You called me. I came.”
Stella sent him an odd look, a brief furrowing of her brow, then her mouth thinned in disbelief. “So, that’s how it works. Wish I’d known sooner.”
“From now on—”
“I left a message, Stone, not an invitation.” She turned her back to him and picked up the water bottle from the table.
“You left part of a message.” He tipped his head, correcting her. “I’ll need the rest of it, since we’re going to work together.”
“I never said I’d partner with you.” She set the water down with a bang.
“I don’t recall hearing you refuse, either.”
Her nostrils flared in a way that shouldn’t have been sexy, but was. She glared at him in silence. He could almost hear the synapses firing as she struggled between accepting his offer and throwing him out on his arse. He knew his backside was safe when she rolled her shoulders in a kind of shrug.
“Wait here while I change.”
“Don’t bother on my account. I rather prefer you wet and out of breath.”
He only just managed to keep a grin from his face as spots of color appeared on her cheeks. When he dropped his gaze, he noticed the very feminine, pale pink lacquer on her toes. He looked up to see Stella glaring at him, daring him to comment. She stalked toward him and he quite wisely stepped aside. The French door slammed behind her, rattling the glass.
Cameron bent over to rub the ache in his right knee. Hurtling the low brick wall into her back garden had set it to throbbing. Straightening, he helped himself to her water and glanced at the door. It would be much more pleasant inside. He stepped through to the living room.
Only it didn’t look as if she did much living in it. There was a single ratty armchair with a wee folding table beside it, near the fireplace. A few cheap bookcases filled with videos and DVDs stood next to a large-screen plasma telly that sat directly on the floor.
He took the four stairs past a decorative rail to the next level. Peering about, Cameron noted that while the open kitchen boasted professional-looking cookware hanging from a copper rack and an impressive display of food-prep gadgets on the counters, there was no table in the dining area.
Eating alone, was she? Or simply eating elsewhere?
As he set the empty water bottle on the counter, he frowned at the butcher’s block. It held an expensive-looking chef’s knife set. He lifted one from its slot, hefting the weight of the professional carbon steel blade, then slid it back in place. All of the slots along the bottom row were empty. Odd, that.
He wandered into the bare foyer, listening for Stella, then moved along the hallway. The first room on the right was her bedroom, had to be. A queen-size mattress stood against one white wall with a plain wooden night table at the left-hand side; a single dresser sat near the closet. A quick glance into the lav revealed a lone toothbrush in the holder.
It would appear she slept alone as well. Cameron smiled briefly. Even as he acknowledged a sense of relief, he recognized that Stella’s life seemed to be as empty as his own. All the more reason they should give their relationship a try.
He moved toward the armoire, his curiosity piqued by the glass orbs and picture frames arranged on top. They were the only personal touches he’d seen in the house so far.
A black-and-white photo showed an attractive couple— must be her mum and dad—standing at a bar with Frank Sinatra. The second picture was of Stella with two other girls, a redhead and a brunette, on a beach somewhere. The third showed her standing in front of her office beside a brassy looking older woman, however the sign read Diamond Detective Agency.
The last photograph intrigued him enough that he picked it up for a closer look.
Stella posed up front, clutching an American football, with her three brothers standing round her. She looked quite disheveled, young and carefree and grinning like mad. The younger two lads looked annoyed and mischievous while the oldest’s eyes were focused on something other than the camera. His halfhearted smile failed to mask the aggressive intensity of his gaze. The photo must have been taken before.
“Give me that.”
Stella reached for the photo and tore it from his grasp. Her attitude up ‘til now had been prickly. At the moment she seemed genuinely furious…or was she merely defensive? As she set it back on the armoire, he caught a flash of sadness in her eyes before she turned on him.
“You don’t follow directions worth a damn.”
“Never