Cam decided he might never be the same again. "I think I'm crazy about you."
"No, you're not." She laughed and handed him his coffee. "You're intrigued, you're attracted, you've got a good healthy case of lust, but those are entirely different matters. And you don't even know me."
"I want to." He let out a short laugh. "And that's a big surprise to me. I don't usually care one way or the other."
"I'm flattered. I'm not sure if that's a tribute to your charm or my own stupidity, but I'm flattered. But—"
"Damn, I knew that was coming."
"But," she repeated and set her cup in the sink. "Seth is my priority. He has to be." The warmth that was both compassion and understanding came into her eyes, and it touched something in him that was buried under that healthy lust. "And he should be yours. I hope I'm around if and when that happens."
"I'm doing everything I can think of."
"I know you are. And you're doing more than most would." She touched his arm briefly, then moved away. "I have a feeling you've got more inside you yet. But…"
"There it is again."
"You'd better go now."
He wanted to stay, even if it was just to stand there and talk to her, to be. "I haven't finished my coffee."
"It's cold. And it's getting late." She glanced toward the window where raindrops ran like tears. "And the rain makes me wonder about things I shouldn't be wondering about."
He winced. "I don't suppose you said that to make me suffer."
"Sure I did." She laughed again and moved to the door, opened it wide to make her point. "If I'm going to, why shouldn't you?"
"Oh, I like you, Anna Spinelli. You're a woman after my own heart."
"You're not interested in a woman going for your heart," she said as he crossed the room. "You want one who's after your body."
"See, we're getting to know each other already."
"Good night." She didn't evade when he pulled her in for another kiss as he walked out the door. Evading would have been a pretense, and she wasn't one to delude herself.
So she met the kiss with teasing heat and honest enthusiasm. Then she shut the door in his face. And then she leaned back against it weakly.
Potent? That wasn't the half of it. Her pulse was likely to stay on overdrive for hours. Maybe days. She wished she didn't feel so damn happy about it.
Chapter Seven
Cam was scowling ata basket full of pink socks and Jockey shorts when the phone rang. He knew damn well the socks and underwear had been white—or close to it—when he'd dumped them in the machine. Now they were Easter-egg pink.
Maybe they just looked that way because they were wet.
He pulled them out to stuff them in the dryer, saw the red sock hiding among the pink. And bared his teeth.
Phillip, he vowed, was a dead man.
"Fuck it." He dumped them inside, slapped the dryer on what he hoped was broil and went to answer the phone.
He remembered, just in time, to turn down the little portable TV tucked in the corner of the counter. It wasn't as if he was actually watching it, it certainly wasn't that he was paying any attention at all to the passion and betrayals of the late-morning soap opera.
He'd just switched it on for the noise.
"Quinn. What?"
"Hey, Cam. Took some doing to track you down, hoss. Tod Bardette here." Cam reached into an open bag of Oreos on the counter and took out a handful. "How's it going, Tod?"
"Well, I have to tell you it's going pretty damn good. I've been spending some time anchored off the Great Barrier Reef."
"Nice spot," Cam muttered over a cookie. Then his brows shot up as an impossibly gorgeous woman tumbled into bed with a ridiculously handsome man on the tiny screen across the kitchen. Maybe there was something to this daytime TV after all.
"It'll do. Heard you kicked ass in the Med a few weeks ago."
A few weeks? Cam thought while he munched on a second cookie. Surely it had been a few years ago that he'd flown across the finish line in his hydrofoil. Blue water, speed, cheering crowds, and money to burn.
Now he was lucky if he found enough milk in the fridge to wash down a stale Oreo.
"Yeah, that's what I heard too."
Tod gave a rich chuckle. "Well, the offer to buy that toy from you still holds. But I got another proposition coming at you."
Tod Bardette always had another proposition coming at you. He was the rich son of a rich father from East Texas who used the world as his playground. And he was boat happy. He raced them, sponsored races, bought and sold them. And collected wives, trophies, and his share of the purse with smooth regularity.
Cam had always felt Tod's luck had run hot since conception. Since it never hurt to listen—and the bedroom scene had just been displaced by a commercial featuring a giant toilet brush, he switched off the set.
"I'm always ready to hear one."
"I'm setting up a crew for La Coupe Internationale."
"The One-Ton Cup?" Cam felt his juices begin to flow, and he lost all interest in cookies and milk. The international race was a giant in the sailing world. Five legs, he thought, the final one an ocean race of three hundred grueling miles.
"You got it. You know the Aussies took the cup last year, so it's being held down here in Australia. I want to whip their butts, and I've got a honey of a boat. She's fast, hoss. With the right crew she'll bring the cup back to the U S of A. I need a skipper. I want the best. I want you. How soon can you get Down Under?"
Give me five minutes. That's what he wanted to say. He could have a bag packed in one, hop a plane and be on his way. For men who raced, it was one of life's golden opportunities. Even as he opened his mouth, his gaze landed on the rocker outside the kitchen window.
So he closed his eyes, listened resentfully to the hum of the pink socks drying in the utility room behind him.
"I have to pass, Tod. I can't get away now."
"Lookie here, I'm willing to give you some time to put your affairs—pun intended," he said with a snorting laugh, "in order. Take a couple weeks. If you've got another offer, I'll beat it."
"I can't do it. I've got—" Laundry to do? A kid to raise? Damn if he was going to humiliate himself with that piece of information. "My brothers and I started a business," he said on impulse. "I've got a commitment here."
"No, you're not." She laughed and handed him his coffee. "You're intrigued, you're attracted, you've got a good healthy case of lust, but those are entirely different matters. And you don't even know me."
"I want to." He let out a short laugh. "And that's a big surprise to me. I don't usually care one way or the other."
"I'm flattered. I'm not sure if that's a tribute to your charm or my own stupidity, but I'm flattered. But—"
"Damn, I knew that was coming."
"But," she repeated and set her cup in the sink. "Seth is my priority. He has to be." The warmth that was both compassion and understanding came into her eyes, and it touched something in him that was buried under that healthy lust. "And he should be yours. I hope I'm around if and when that happens."
"I'm doing everything I can think of."
"I know you are. And you're doing more than most would." She touched his arm briefly, then moved away. "I have a feeling you've got more inside you yet. But…"
"There it is again."
"You'd better go now."
He wanted to stay, even if it was just to stand there and talk to her, to be. "I haven't finished my coffee."
"It's cold. And it's getting late." She glanced toward the window where raindrops ran like tears. "And the rain makes me wonder about things I shouldn't be wondering about."
He winced. "I don't suppose you said that to make me suffer."
"Sure I did." She laughed again and moved to the door, opened it wide to make her point. "If I'm going to, why shouldn't you?"
"Oh, I like you, Anna Spinelli. You're a woman after my own heart."
"You're not interested in a woman going for your heart," she said as he crossed the room. "You want one who's after your body."
"See, we're getting to know each other already."
"Good night." She didn't evade when he pulled her in for another kiss as he walked out the door. Evading would have been a pretense, and she wasn't one to delude herself.
So she met the kiss with teasing heat and honest enthusiasm. Then she shut the door in his face. And then she leaned back against it weakly.
Potent? That wasn't the half of it. Her pulse was likely to stay on overdrive for hours. Maybe days. She wished she didn't feel so damn happy about it.
Chapter Seven
Cam was scowling ata basket full of pink socks and Jockey shorts when the phone rang. He knew damn well the socks and underwear had been white—or close to it—when he'd dumped them in the machine. Now they were Easter-egg pink.
Maybe they just looked that way because they were wet.
He pulled them out to stuff them in the dryer, saw the red sock hiding among the pink. And bared his teeth.
Phillip, he vowed, was a dead man.
"Fuck it." He dumped them inside, slapped the dryer on what he hoped was broil and went to answer the phone.
He remembered, just in time, to turn down the little portable TV tucked in the corner of the counter. It wasn't as if he was actually watching it, it certainly wasn't that he was paying any attention at all to the passion and betrayals of the late-morning soap opera.
He'd just switched it on for the noise.
"Quinn. What?"
"Hey, Cam. Took some doing to track you down, hoss. Tod Bardette here." Cam reached into an open bag of Oreos on the counter and took out a handful. "How's it going, Tod?"
"Well, I have to tell you it's going pretty damn good. I've been spending some time anchored off the Great Barrier Reef."
"Nice spot," Cam muttered over a cookie. Then his brows shot up as an impossibly gorgeous woman tumbled into bed with a ridiculously handsome man on the tiny screen across the kitchen. Maybe there was something to this daytime TV after all.
"It'll do. Heard you kicked ass in the Med a few weeks ago."
A few weeks? Cam thought while he munched on a second cookie. Surely it had been a few years ago that he'd flown across the finish line in his hydrofoil. Blue water, speed, cheering crowds, and money to burn.
Now he was lucky if he found enough milk in the fridge to wash down a stale Oreo.
"Yeah, that's what I heard too."
Tod gave a rich chuckle. "Well, the offer to buy that toy from you still holds. But I got another proposition coming at you."
Tod Bardette always had another proposition coming at you. He was the rich son of a rich father from East Texas who used the world as his playground. And he was boat happy. He raced them, sponsored races, bought and sold them. And collected wives, trophies, and his share of the purse with smooth regularity.
Cam had always felt Tod's luck had run hot since conception. Since it never hurt to listen—and the bedroom scene had just been displaced by a commercial featuring a giant toilet brush, he switched off the set.
"I'm always ready to hear one."
"I'm setting up a crew for La Coupe Internationale."
"The One-Ton Cup?" Cam felt his juices begin to flow, and he lost all interest in cookies and milk. The international race was a giant in the sailing world. Five legs, he thought, the final one an ocean race of three hundred grueling miles.
"You got it. You know the Aussies took the cup last year, so it's being held down here in Australia. I want to whip their butts, and I've got a honey of a boat. She's fast, hoss. With the right crew she'll bring the cup back to the U S of A. I need a skipper. I want the best. I want you. How soon can you get Down Under?"
Give me five minutes. That's what he wanted to say. He could have a bag packed in one, hop a plane and be on his way. For men who raced, it was one of life's golden opportunities. Even as he opened his mouth, his gaze landed on the rocker outside the kitchen window.
So he closed his eyes, listened resentfully to the hum of the pink socks drying in the utility room behind him.
"I have to pass, Tod. I can't get away now."
"Lookie here, I'm willing to give you some time to put your affairs—pun intended," he said with a snorting laugh, "in order. Take a couple weeks. If you've got another offer, I'll beat it."
"I can't do it. I've got—" Laundry to do? A kid to raise? Damn if he was going to humiliate himself with that piece of information. "My brothers and I started a business," he said on impulse. "I've got a commitment here."
