she was—carelessly casual. That was the type of woman he preferred now, wasn’t it? So the fact that it had rocked him more than it had her was disturbing in the extreme and best forgotten.
He needed to keep his distance, put some perspective on the situation, he assured his muted reflection in the impersonal elevator’s mirrored walls. No way was he going to jeopardise this commission; it was too important. He was taking a risk on an unknown, probably paying her far more than he should. He didn’t even know if she was up for the task at such short notice.
He’d been naïve to trust a woman he barely knew in his apartment with a load of cash. Which was why he’d decided to return a day earlier.
Not for any burning desire to see her again.
The elevator doors swished open, heightening that sense of anticipation. He forced himself to concentrate on important matters. If she was asleep, he could view her work at leisure without her looking over his shoulder and distracting him.
Light from the hallway beckoned. She wasn’t in bed yet, then. His blood pumped that little bit faster. He turned into the hall—and saw a tall, dark-haired woman in a slim-fitting blue nightgown strolling out of the guest bathroom as if she had every right to be there.
He stilled, every hair on his body rising as a fierce disappointment stabbed through him. He’d been right to come home early. The moment his back was turned Didi was entertaining guests. He supposed he should be relieved it wasn’t a male. But she’d abused his trust, something he couldn’t, wouldn’t tolerate.
The woman came to an abrupt halt, clutching a bag of toiletries to her breasts, dark eyes wary. ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’
‘I live here,’ he said grimly. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘Dymphna’s sister.’
‘Dim … who?’
‘Didi,’ she clarified. Her disparaging gaze swept over him despite the fact he wore well-pressed trousers and a sky-blue business shirt. ‘She didn’t say anything about a boarder.’
‘Boarder.’ The word exploded from his mouth. ‘She said that?’
She shook her head. ‘I already told you, she didn’t mention anyone else living here, so, no, she didn’t say that.’
‘No, I don’t suppose she did.’ A red haze shimmered before his eyes. She wouldn’t. Not if she wanted to play lady of the manor, or whatever her game was, in his apartment.
The woman moved swiftly towards Didi’s room, keeping close to the wall. ‘I’m calling Security if you don’t identify yourself.’
‘Go ahead. In fact, I’ll call them for you.’ Keeping his eye on her, he backed up to the security panel in the wall, hit the button. ‘Davis, Cam Black here. There’s a woman in my apartment calling herself—what’s your name?’
‘Veronica Davenport.’
Cam listened while Davis explained that Miss O’Flanagan had a guest staying overnight and enquired was everything all right.
‘Fine,’ Cam clipped, and disconnected.
‘Not Veronica O’Flanagan, then.’ He studied her from the top of her shiny dark hair to the tips of her manicured toenails, saw her register the fact that he knew Didi’s surname.
The woman reeked of wealth. The kind of inherited wealth Cam despised. It didn’t fit. Didi was nothing like this model of sophistication in any way, shape or form.
‘Davenport’s my married name.’ She tilted her head so that she looked down her nose at him, but he didn’t miss the appreciative way she cast her eyes over his body. ‘You haven’t explained yet who you are.’
No, I haven’t, have I? ‘Where’s Didi now?’ he demanded. He strolled to the entrance to Didi’s room, blocking the other woman’s path and casting a quick glance inside. The bed was empty and he could see an open Louis Vuitton suitcase on the floor by the window.
‘She’s gone to bed.’ She indicated behind him with a stiff tilt of her head.
His room.
His whole body stiffened. Didi was sleeping in his room? In his bed, between his sheets. Heat and anger warred within him but desire snaked through the mix like a restless serpent in a stormy sea. He moved away from the door, gestured her inside. ‘Then I suggest you do the same, since you’re obviously spending the night.’
‘Not until you identify yourself to my satisfaction. How do I know you’re not here to do my sister harm?’
He pulled out his driver’s licence, flashed it at her. ‘I told you—I live here. You want to speak to Security yourself, be my guest. Otherwise do as I ask. Leave Didi to me. I assure you, she’s perfectly safe.’ If he didn’t throttle her first.
But the woman must have read something in his expression because a small smile twitched at the edge of her mouth, as if she’d just discovered a delicious secret. ‘Didi didn’t tell me she had a man in her life.’
His jaw clenched at that but he aimed an imperious finger at the door and spoke through stiff lips. ‘Goodnight, Veronica.’
Still clutching her toiletry bag and her innate poise—and the smile—she slipped inside with a murmured, ‘Goodnight,’ and closed the door.
Cameron let out the breath he hadn’t realised had backed up in his lungs. Steeling himself for the sight of Didi’s tartan pyjama-clad body in his bed, he strode to his room, his traitorous palms tingling in anticipation of waking her.
He didn’t knock, shoving at the door with an open-handed thwack. The scent of his soap and Melbourne’s glimmering skyline through the windows greeted him. He was halfway across the room, arm outstretched to wake her, before he realised that she wasn’t in bed. That the sound he could hear wasn’t his blood pounding through his ears, it was running water, and that the fragrance billowed from steam clouds through the door of the en-suite.
The partially open door.
Too late to deny what he’d seen. Somehow he dragged his gaze away from the outline of her body in his shower stall, but it was indelibly printed behind his retinas. Her creamy flesh in a pose that rivalled anything in a men’s magazine. The swell of her buttocks, the way she’d tipped back her head against the tiles so that her throat arched wantonly. As if waiting for a lover to take a bite. His mouth turned dry, his body hardened.
The water stopped and he heard her open the shower door. He stood rooted to the floor as possible scenarios flashed through his mind in that split second. Stranger. Stalker. She’d scream. Veronica and the cops would join the party.
He took the best option he could think of, given the circumstances. Diving into the bathroom, he grabbed a towel from the rail and held it in front of her with one hand. He did not see the tight rosy nipples, the cute little belly button, the erotic patch at the juncture of her thighs.
Her eyes widened and predictably she opened her mouth but his free hand got there first, clamping on damp, petal-soft skin. ‘Didi. It’s Cameron. Don’t scream.’
Her
