himself, but what the hell?
Red high heels? It had to be a joke. Something like this was right up his brother Brandon’s alley. And if Cameron hadn’t already been annoyed at having his quiet evening interrupted, he might’ve managed to laugh about it.
He moved cautiously past the bar into the kitchen. No, Brandon wasn’t hiding there, waiting to jump out and yell that Cameron had been Punk’d. But that didn’t mean his brother wasn’t around somewhere. Cameron grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, twisted the cap off, took a long, slow drink, then stared at the row of empty baby bottles lined up next to the sink.
Baby bottles?
“Okay, that’s enough,” he said, then shouted, “Brandon? Where are you?” There was no answer.
“I know you’re in here somewhere,” he said as he walked through the double doors and down the wide hall toward the master bedroom.
That’s when he heard the singing.
He froze. A woman’s voice, slightly off key, singing some old song about piña coladas and getting caught in the rain. Some woman was singing in the shower. His shower. In his bathroom.
He glanced at his navy polo shirt neatly tossed over the back of the chair in the corner. Those were his running shoes tucked under the chair, too.
Good. He was in the right suite. Which meant that some woman was definitely in the wrong one. Cameron swore under his breath. This had to be Brandon’s work. It would be just like his brother to hire a woman as a “surprise.” It was the only explanation, because without the approval of a family member, there was no way the front desk would ever allow a strange woman into his room.
He stood listening to the soft singing and wondered what his next step ought to be. He should probably be a gentleman and wait for whomever it was to finish her shower, dry off and put some clothes on before he kicked her out. But then, he’d never claimed to be a gentleman.
Besides, he wasn’t the one guilty of breaking and entering. And showering. So he stood at the entrance to the bathroom and waited as the water was turned off and the shower door opened.
One incredibly shapely, bare, wet leg emerged at the same time as a well-toned, lightly freckled arm reached to grab a towel. Cameron pulled one off the rack and handed it to her. “Allow me.”
Her scream was shrill enough to peel the paint off the bathroom wall.
“Get out!” she cried, then dropped the towel in her anxious rush to cover herself up.
“Funny, that’s just what I was about to say to you,” he told her.
Cameron wasn’t normally a voyeur. He should’ve moved away from the door immediately and given her some privacy, but he couldn’t. All he could do was gawk like a school kid at her wet-dream-inducing breasts. High, round orbs with tight pink nipples that he imagined would fit perfectly in his hands. And his mouth. His imagination didn’t stop there. He wanted to reach out and touch the smooth skin of her stomach, then let his fingers wander down to the delicious patch of dark blond hair at the apex of her curvaceous thighs.
A spark of light drew his gaze back to her navel, where a small diamond twinkled. She had a pierced belly button. For some reason, that made him smile.
“Will you stop staring and get out of here?” she shrieked as she grappled with the towel, finally covering up those spectacular breasts of hers.
Show’s over, his rampant libido thought mournfully, and he brought his gaze back up to her face. Whoa. He would know those flashing dark blue eyes anywhere. They belonged to the one woman he’d never quite been able to get out of his mind.
“Hello, Julia,” he said.
“What do you think you’re doing here, Cameron?”
He leaned back against the doorjamb. “Well, since I live here, I was thinking I’d throw some shorts on, have another beer and watch the football game.” He folded his arms across his chest. “A better question might be, what are you doing here?”
She huffed out a breath as she stepped fully out of the shower, the towel wrapped around her like a terry-cloth shield. “I was told this suite would be unoccupied for the next two weeks.”
“I seriously doubt anyone on my staff told you that.”
“Well, it’s true,” she grumbled, then walked into the bedroom and over to a small open suitcase on the luggage rack near the window.
He took a sip of beer as he watched her pull out some clothes. “Maybe when you’re dressed, we should have a little talk about boundaries.”
“Oh, stuff it,” she said irately, but her hands shook as she pushed her wet, wavy hair back off her face. “Why are you here, anyway?”
“Me?” He probably shouldn’t be smiling still, but after all, he was just a man, and she was gorgeous. “Last time I checked, this was my suite.”
“But you’re not supposed to be here!”
“Honey, I own the place.”
Gripping her towel together with one hand, she pushed past him to the walk-in closet to dress quickly. She emerged less than a minute later, dressed in loose shorts and a T-shirt.
Cameron swore under his breath. If she thought putting on clothes would decrease his desire to stare at her, she was wrong. The small, thin shirt outlined her breasts vividly and Cameron was even more intrigued now than before.
“So, you ready to explain what you’re doing here?” he asked, wondering if it was getting hotter in here.
Fluffing her hair with her fingers to dry it, she began in a calm voice, “Look, Cameron, Sally said that—”
“What?” Every nerve ending in Cameron’s body began to twitch and not in a good way. “Wait a minute.”
Hearing her invoke his mother’s name was not a good thing. Sally Duke, the incredible woman who had adopted him when he was eight years old, was a force of nature. Cameron was well aware of her mission to get her three sons married off and knew she wouldn’t be satisfied until the deed was done. Damn it, if Sally had something to do with Julia being here, Cameron was in for nothing but trouble.
“Exactly what does my mother have to do with you being wet and naked in my bathroom?”
Julia gazed at him warily, seeming to gauge his temper. “Um, absolutely nothing. I misspoke.”
“You misspoke?” he drawled. “About my mother? You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not kidding,” she said, and straightened her spine in righteous anger. Which caused her breasts to thrust forward. Her wet hair had dampened the T-shirt enough that it molded even more firmly to her skin. But she didn’t seem to notice as she persisted. “You’re not supposed to be here. And since I was given a key by your hotel management, I think it’s only right that you should leave.”
“Trust me, that’s not going to happen.” He prowled toward her, studying her every move. “Now exactly what did my mother tell you? “
