unwashed bodies, poverty, fear, but she also sensed optimism and hope and determination.
‘This building’s for abused teenagers and runaways,’ he said as they made their way through the high-ceilinged room towards a canteen. ‘Here they can get a meal, see a doctor, talk with professionals who care, and generally hang out.’
‘You did this.’ Didi looked up at him with new-found respect, but his eyes were an unforgiving navy steel. ‘You renovated this building. You financed it yourself.’
His shoulders tensed, he put his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and kept walking. ‘It doesn’t happen on its own.’
‘Stop.’ She caught his arm, felt the resistance beneath her fingers. He didn’t want to be touched, but she needed the contact. Needed to say, ‘Hang on a minute. I’m sorry I said what I said back at the apartment. I’m sorry for a lot of things I’ve said to you,’ she finished quietly.
The steel in his eyes didn’t soften. If it was possible, they hardened. ‘You couldn’t begin to understand the meaning of destitute. You chose the way you currently live your life. You chose to leave your family. These kids don’t have that luxury.’
She knew. It made her feel ashamed. But Cameron … ‘Why did you do it? Why are you involved?’
Shadows flitted over his gaze but he shook his head and kept walking.
They reached the restaurant-sized kitchen where a round woman with flyaway brown hair and two double chins was dishing greens and mash and some sort of spicy-smelling stew onto plates for the kids lined up at the counter.
‘Ah, Cameron, right on time.’ The woman smiled at them over her ladle. ‘And you’ve brought us a new assistant. Good, because we’re really busy tonight. Sandra couldn’t make it.’
‘Hello, Joan. This is Didi,’ he said, walking behind the counter. He tossed Didi an apron. ‘Let’s get started, then. Joan’ll fill you in on what needs to be done. I’ll be back in a few moments.’
‘Welcome, Didi.’ She smiled with genuine warmth, brown eyes twinkling. ‘I hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes.’ Joan glanced at Didi’s sneakers, filled another plate. ‘Cameron’s never brought a girlfriend here before.’
Didi felt her cheeks warm. ‘I’m not his girlfriend.’ Just his temporary mistress. ‘I’m working on an arts project for him.’
‘And supporting him in your free time, good for you. There’s not many willing to put in the effort on a Friday night.’ She pulled loaves of bread from the shelf behind them, set them in front of Didi. ‘You can start on the sandwiches. You’ll find everything you need in the fridge. You’ll need a knife.’ She handed her a key, gestured to a drawer. ‘We keep them locked away—one never knows …’
They worked side by side, ladling stew and cutting sandwiches.
‘You’re working here on a Friday night,’ Didi prompted after a few moments. ‘Do you help out often?’
‘Every week. Cameron looked out for my son when he turned up here lost and alone. Thanks to him, my abusive ex is locked up and I have my son back.’ She flicked hair off her face with the back of her hand. ‘I don’t know where these kids would be without him.’
Every so often Didi saw Cameron walk through the canteen, talking to kids. Holding a hand, squeezing a shoulder. Listening. Caring.
Who was this man? She’d mentally accused him of not wanting to soil his suit yet here he was, hands-on and involved. Again, why? In the short time they’d known each other he’d not spoken of family and she hadn’t asked. What was the point? It wasn’t as if he were going to introduce her, nor did she want to meet them. Their relationship wasn’t the kind that involved family.
Shaking off the hollow feeling, she plastered ham and tomato onto buttered bread. She didn’t want to dissect her emotions because right now they were too close to the surface and too vulnerable. If she let him, he could steal her heart and leave her dead inside.
No. Once was more than enough. But now, as he leaned over a table to speak with a couple of boys in their late teens she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him.
She tried observing him from a purely feminine viewpoint without the tug of emotion. Below the T-shirt’s short sleeves, the hard definition of his arms, olive-skinned and dusted with dark hair. The innate strength in that upper body. The way his jeans hugged his tight backside, the faded denim down the front of his thighs and where the zipper chafed …
I know what’s inside those jeans.
The recent memory of his body over hers—inside hers—speared through her and the knife she held slipped on the tomato she was holding. Which was okay, she told herself. It was a purely sexual zing—no emotions hence no vulnerability.
Until he glanced over as if he’d known she was watching and their gazes locked. Intense cobalt eyes studied her. Even from across the room she felt the heat all the way down to her toes. Sexual attraction, she assured herself. Tonight they’d act on that attraction. Again. Another zing hummed through her like an electrical jolt. Anticipation.
But the sound of voices, the smell of food and kids, faded. The whole scene blurred around the edges. Only Cameron remained in focus, as if she were looking through a tunnel. She saw his fingers tighten on the edge of the table. His jaw tightened infinitesimally. He didn’t straighten but she knew the muscles in his back had turned rigid.
She knew because it was happening to her.
His eyes relayed a message she didn’t want to read—emotion. She felt her own emotions flow to him on a tide of something perilously close to trust.
Vulnerability.
No. Dragging her eyes away, she concentrated on loosening her grip on the knife, rolled tension from her shoulders. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Wasn’t going to happen. Not even when she noticed he was making his way towards her, still watching her with those bluer-than-blue eyes.
‘Not your boyfriend, eh?’ Joan chuckled. ‘He’s been distracted all evening. And you too, I think.’
Didi glared at the sandwich as she sliced it into ruthless triangles, not being distracted by the man and her unwise reaction to him. ‘I don’t need a man in my life.’
‘Ah, but maybe he needs you,’ Joan murmured.
Didi’s laugh came too fast, sounded too brittle. She reached for more bread, more ham. Cameron’s ‘need’ for Didi wasn’t the kind Joan was referring to. It would never be anything else. Cameron had made it quite clear their three-week arrangement was all there was.
And she’d agreed.
So … maybe that made it okay to watch him as a purely sexual being … She lifted her eyes … He was talking to a boy with a baseball cap on backwards and dirt-stained hands.
A shout nearby had Didi turning sharply. A teenager had collapsed and was lying on the floor. Cameron was beside the girl in seconds. ‘Call an ambulance!’ he yelled as pandemonium broke out amongst the crowd gathering around the unconscious girl. ‘Everyone move back. Joey, go wait out the front for the ambos.’
