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touch had been the night before, in the hot closet. "Why did you let me?" he asked gently, capturing
her eyes.
Her lips trembled. She couldn't get words past them.
"You were lucky," he said after a minute. "Damned lucky. Or hasn't it occurred to you that I wasn't
going to stop?"
Her lower jaw dropped slightly. "You...we couldn't have!" she whispered.
He laughed humorlessly. "Like hell we couldn't." He moved closer, looking down at her from a
disturbing proximity. "Didn't you know, my innocent, that people can do it standing up?"
She hated that mocking smile. She hated him, too, for making her vulnerable, for laughing at her. Her
face flamed, and she felt her fingers itching.
He seemed to sense that, because he reached down and caught her fingers in his. "He scarred you,
didn't he?" he asked suddenly. "You're as afraid of your own emotions as..." He didn't finish the
sentence, but she could have done it for him: ...as I am of mine. It was in his eyes, his face.
"I don't trust men anymore," she breathed.
"And I don't trust women." He looked down at her mouth and his breathing quickened.
"Not one bit." His fingers tightened on hers.
"Cameron," she protested in a faint whisper.
That seemed to make it worse. With a rough sound, he lifted her by the waist until she was on a level
with his hard, glittering eyes.
"I don't want you," he said coldly, desperately, as though he was trying to convince himself. "I don't
want your madcap humor or your quicksilver tongue or this body that makes me ache when I look at
it."
"Then let me go," she whispered. "And don't complicate things."
He drew her slowly against him, brushing her body over his. "Tell me you want to be put down," he
challenged. "Tell me you don't want my mouth as violently as I want yours."
"You're a... levelheaded businessman " She faltered.
His head bent. His open mouth bit softly at hers, his breath came fast and ragged.
"Open your mouth," he whispered gruffly.
"No..." It was more a moan than a protest. She tasted him, and felt the excitement all over again. His
hands slid around her, bruising hands that lifted and stroked and made her burn with a thousand fires.
With a wild little cry, her arms went up and around him and clung. They stood there, clinging,
breathing, tasting each other in a fever of need while the grandfather clock in the hall struck and
echoed in the silence.
When he finally lifted his dark head, her hands were tangled in his thick hair, her lips were red and
swollen from the ardent pressure of his mouth.
"If I let go of you, will you fall?" he asked, sounding shaken himself.
She made a small negative motion of her head and tugged halfheartedly at his hands on her shoulders.
He let her move away. His eyes glittered, his face was hard and strained. He laughed suddenly,
bitterly, and his eyes were frankly hostile. "My God, I'm shaking like a boy of sixteen with his first
woman," he said on a harsh sigh.
She fought to keep the tremor out of her own hands. "I think... I should leave,"
she ventured.
He shook his head. "Not yet," he said softly. "Not yet. Don't run from me."
''You've got Delle!'' she burst out.
"Why are you afraid?" he asked. His voice was casual, but his eyes weren't. "Is it because you think
I'm looking for a last fling before I settle down?"
She forced her voice to remain steady. "I'm not wealthy," she said with a trembling smile. "I have
nothing, except my income from jobs like this one. And you're after a brokerage firm, I believe? A
financially beneficial marriage?"
"How did we get on the subject of marriage?" he asked after a minute. "I don't remember proposing to
you."
Her eyes flashed with indignation. "God forbid," she said curtly. "I don't want to get married. Ever."
He studied her curiously. "Don't you want children eventually?"
The conversation was getting entirely out of hand. "Lila and Amanda should be down any minute," she
said.
"Talk to me!" he said shortly.
"About what?'' She moved away from him with her arms folded tight over her chest.
"Your life is mapped out, isn't it?"
He frowned as he watched her. "It was."
Her eyes sought his, and a wild kind of current linked them for an instant.
She whirled and rushed out the door into the hall just as Amanda and Lila came downstairs. She
smiled like a grateful refugee and herded them into the dining room before Cameron could get out of
the study.
It was an animated meal. Merlyn was livelier than usual, reminiscing about her college days and
drawing out Lila about hers, while Amanda giggled. Cameron sat and watched and listened, unusually
quiet. There was something in his eyes that frightened Merlyn. He watched her with an intensity that
was frankly disturbing. It didn't help one bit when he announced that he was extending his visit that
weekend, and wouldn't be leaving that night.
Chapter Seven
That evening, while Merlyn and Lila worked in the living room, Cameron and his daughter played
chess nearby. But, all the while, his black eyes wandered restlessly to Merlyn. She met that searching
gaze once, and it took her breath away. He smiled, secretively, and went back to his game.
The next morning he showed up in casual slacks and a black and tan shirt and proceeded, with
Amanda's help, to talk Merlyn into going for a walk with them. Lila was delighted to take a break, and
told her so, adding her coaxing voice to theirs.
Merlyn was herded out the door with Amanda in tow.
"You like to walk, don't you?" Cameron asked, as they started down a wooded path that led around
the lakeshore.
"Well, yes, but there's still a lot of research to do before the end of the week,"
she protested.
"Mother can use the break," he said.
Amanda was ecstatic. Apparently this was something her father didn't do often. The little girl walked
beside him with a shy smile, and he smiled down at her.
"Having fun?" he murmured.
She grinned. "Oh, yes, Daddy," she said. "It's been ages since we did anything together."
He ruffled her hair. "It's been ages since I took any time off."
"We used to go fishing when I was little," Amanda said. "Merlyn, did your mother and father take you
fishing when you were a kid?"
Merlyn sighed. "No, dear. My parents weren't the type. Dad was very much wrapped up in his work,
and Mother..." She smiled at the memory. "Mother was a butterfly. She wouldn't have known which
end of the pole to put in the water."
Cameron studied her curiously. "What did she do?"
"She was a housewife," she said, avoiding that hard look. "What did your father do?" she countered. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]