Irish Eyes (Stolen Hearts Romance) (7 page)

Julia scowled at the tracking device, her full lips pursed in a pout.

Cameron had to laugh. “Don’t be such a skeptic. It will work.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, that you’ll have cause to use it.”

“It’s a precaution.”

“So are locks and bolts and all manner of self-defense devices. That doesn’t mean I have to be happy that we live in a world where they’re necessary” She crossed her arms.

“Well, if you can’t be happy, could you at least be hungry? Because I’m ready for lunch.” He jerked his thumb toward the double doors of the pub.

Julia ducked her head to check out the place, moving her folded arms lower to cover her flat stomach. “I think I’ll just sit and drink a glass of water while you eat.”

Cameron didn’t know if he should be insulted or concerned that she didn’t want to share a meal with him. “Oh, but you have to try the food here. It’s excellent.”

“No, really All the excitement today and waiting to hear the rest of your plan about how to catch Shaughnessy, it’s kind of squashed my appetite. I couldn’t eat a bite.”
A low, growling complaint from the depths of her belly contradicted her claim.

“Oh, you couldn’t?” he asked, pretending not to hear the grumblings. “You’re sure, not even a bite? They make an above fair fish and chips here, a hearty stew or if you’re not feeling the Irish this fine day, they’ll make you up a hamburger that will—”

“I said I couldn’t eat a thing.”
Her slightly longing gaze, the delicate way her tongue danced over the part in her lips—as though she could taste the delicious fare already—said otherwise. And if that weren’t enough, her stomach chimed in again.

‘You can’t eat or you
won’t
?” He might as well have called her a liar to her pretty face and his attempt to try to ease his way out of it did not help matters at all. “You’re not on some crazy diet, are you?”

“No!” She narrowed her eyes and arched her back, pulling her shoulder up like a cornered she-cat’s. “Though I could certainly stand to lose a few—”

“Don’t you dare.” He swept his gaze over her foot to chin and didn’t give a damn if the gesture came off sexist or even a little proprietary. “You’re a fine, healthy girl. You look perfect just as you are. And I won’t be sitting at a table with you, me tucking in to a full plate and you sippin’ on water.”

“Then perhaps we should move this little executive planning meeting of yours elsewhere because I’m not ordering one bite of food.” She gave a calculated but cute as could be shrug, flipped her hair over her shoulder then turned her profile to him to let him know she considered it ‘case closed’.

“We can’t go somewhere else. I’ve already arranged for Devin’s mother to meet us here,” he said low and steady so as to not sound like an ogre as he shoved the tracking receiver into the inner pocket of his parka. What was it about this willful, wonderful woman the pushed his usually even tempered nature to the brink of frustration with little more than a flash of defiance? He raked his fingers back through the shaggy hair curling against his temple. “You’re eating and I’ll say no more about it.”

“I am not and I’ll listen to no more of it.” Her long legs angled in his direction. She wriggled in her seat, cocking her head to one side and giving him the slow study meant to keep him off his game. “I agreed to work with you, Mr. O’Dea, not to take orders from you without question.”

Defiance over lunch was one thing but this little illusion of her had to be nipped in the bud. He lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper. “There’ll be times, lass, when you’ll for sure take an order from me without question. The success of this mission may well depend on it, do you understand that?”

“I do, but I also understand this is
not
one of those times.” She poked one finger into her cupped palm. “The success of your precious mission, my friend, hardly rests on my scarfing down a big ol’ shepherd’s lunch here when I have a perfectly good peanut butter sandwich back at the shelter.”

He rolled his eyes. He admired frugality as much as the next good steward, but she took it a bit too far. “Pity you didn’t bring your little lunch pail with you then, lass.’’

“Well, I would have if I had known you planned a meeting in a pub. A pub where I can’t even afford to go halfsies on an appetizer, which, by the way, would be any pub or restaurant.”

Boom.
The revelation dropped like a frozen hailstone in the heated discussion.

“Oh.” He nodded. “So that’s how it is, is it?”

A blush blossomed on her cheeks.

He hated seeing her humbled so but he didn’t mind getting a glimpse of her in a vulnerable moment. It gave him some insight into the woman, which he needed in order to work with her, of course. Working with her was his primary concern, he reminded himself even as he touched her hand slightly and smiled, “Well, don’t you be worrying about that, lass. I can well afford—”

“No.” She jerked her hand away from him and up. “I can’t let you pay for my lunch.”

His smile grew into a soft chuckle. “And why not?”

“Because you’re a man and I’m a woman. It might look… like a…” her eyes darted to the people passing on the sidewalk and even though they were secluded in the quiet of the car, she lowered her voice and finished, “…like a
date
or something.”

It took all he could muster not to bust into a hard, quick laugh at that. Instead, he shifted in his seat, angling his shoulders to the window to up the sense of privacy between them. He laid one forearm over the steering wheel. He studied her intently. “And that would be the worst horror in the world? For you and I to go on a date?”

She opened her mouth and drew a breath. A hesitation. She pressed her lips together.

Under other circumstance, another time, another road ahead of them he would have leaned over and kissed those lips right now. They wanted kissing, he told himself, and he wanted to slip his hand beneath her hair, cradle the back of her head and kiss those lips so thoroughly they would both feel the heat of it long into the night.

Julia clearing her throat broke the spell of the moment. She looked away then at him, her gaze cooled. “We have a working relationship, Mr. O’Dea.”

“Cameron,” he murmured.

“Mr. O’Dea,” she emphasized.

Her gaze locked to his like iron to a magnet. Their wills were more like iron to iron. He couldn’t help thinking of the saying ‘iron sharpens iron’.

Bring it on, he thought. It had been a long time since a woman had tempted him so. Longer still since one had challenged him as Julia did. They only had a short time together but had a feeling that by the time they parted way, he and this amazing Julia Reed would both be as keen-edged as any saber.

CHAPTER FOUR

Cameron Brennan William O’Dea! How can you, in good conscience, sit at this table, two meals before you and Miss Reed with only a wee bit o’ water to stave her hunger off?” Fiona O’Dea picked up her fork and pretended to jab him.

Julia started to say she was fine, to assure Cameron’s perky, petite sister-in-law (again) that she really didn’t
want
anything to eat but Cameron responded first.

“What can I say, Fiona, my darling?” He spread his arms as wide as the curved booth would allow, grinned and tipped his head up, those eyes practically sparkling with the mischief of the moment. “I’m a glutton.”

“A glutton for punishment, you are, for carrying on so in front of me.” If she had been in the US for anytime at all, Fiona’s accent had not lost a note of its lyrical Irish charm. The folks at the table next to them must have thought so, too, by the way they smiled and nodded as Cameron’s sister-in-law shook her pixie-short red hair back from her freckled face. “If I were you, Miss Reed, that man…” another job with her fork, this time almost actually poking him in the ribcage, though Cameron did not so much as flinch, “…would be wearing a second helping of fish and chips for a hat!”

“I’m telling you, Fiona, when I ordered, I didn’t realize the servings would be so—” He waved his hand back and forth over the plate piled with golden fried fish.

The delicious aroma wafted over Julia. The gnawing ache in her belly deepened.

“Bountiful,” Cameron concluded. “I suppose I just got carried away.”

“And you’ll be
carrying away
one of those orders, I’m supposin’, as well, since you certainly can’t eat them both now.” Fiona folded her arms over her chest and huffed.

He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “You know fish and chips doesn’t keep well. Does not keep well at all.”

“You should eat it, Miss Reed,” Fiona suggested, pushing the plate toward Julia.

“Now, why didn’t I think of that?” Cameron slapped the heel of his hand against his forehead.

Julia rolled her eyes and shook her head, directing her gaze heavenward. “How on earth does a man who is such a lousy actor make a living as a secret agent?”

“I’m not a secret agent.”

Her lips twitched, fighting against the urge to break into a grin. “But you
are
a lousy actor.”

He picked up the fork beside his plate and offered it.

She placed her hand on his wrist. “But I want to make it crystal clear that I’m only accepting this meal because you’ve already paid for it.”

“I understand,” he murmured.

“And it would be wrong to let it go to waste out of a sense of foolish pride,” she said firmly.

“I understand,” he repeated.

“And because, Mr. Cameron Brennan William O’Dea—” She moved in closer, so close she could see the golden-tipped fringe of his lashes around his emerald eyes. “In regard to your comment earlier today, I do always tell the truth.”

He blinked. “I don’t understand.”

She lifted her hand from his. Giving a quick salute with the shiny fork, she cocked her head and answered, “I have to admit it, I’m hungry. And that’s the truth.”

The conversation veered from one topic to another as they ate. Fiona kept chatting at a lively pace that surprised Julia. Just putting up a good front or was her trust in Cameron just that unshakable? Occasionally the tension around the woman’s sometimes wincing smile hinted that fear and pain lay beneath the calm exterior. Each time that happened Cameron took subtle but immediate action. A squeeze of her arm. A hand on her back. A quick joke to lighten the mood of the moment.

Watching him practically anticipate the ebb and flow of the anxious mom’s emotions left Julia more in awe of him than before and more certain that she needed to keep herself from reading too much into any interaction the two of them had. Because he was either a well-travelled agent able to focus so fiercely on his task that you couldn’t tell scrutiny from kindness or a good loving man who had a full, busy life that could never do more than simply cross paths with hers.

*

“I guess we can’t put it off any longer, Fiona,” Cameron finally said, tossing his napkin on the table next to his meal, which he’d hardly touched. He’d hoped no one else would pick up on that evidence that he was more worried than he let on. He did not let it come through in his voice as he added, calmly, almost soothingly, “We need to talk about Michael and Devin and what we need to do next.”

“Whatever it is, Cam, tell me it will bring Devin home safely—and soon.” Fiona drummed her short nails on the tablecloth. “I promised him he wouldn’t be gone long when we spoke today.”

“I need to ask you about that,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I need to know everything that was said. Did Devin give any indication where he might be?”

“None.” She lowered her gaze.

“What about the rest of the conversation?” He prodded gently, aware of her fragile state, but not wanting to miss anything that might aid his search for the boy.

“There isn’t much to tell.” She raised her shoulders then let them fall in heavy resignation. “We spoke a moment about missin’ one another and about how soon we’d be together. He told me his Uncle Mike was looking fine well after him.”

“And fishing?” Cameron wet his lips and narrowed one eye at her. “Did he mention anything about fishing?"

Her red-brown eyebrows angled downward over her perplexed gaze. “Fishing?”

“You don’t think Shaughnessy has taken your nephew fishing, do you?” Julia asked.

Cameron lifted his shoulders, feeling the tenseness in his muscles beneath the coarse wool of his sweater. “It’s just something Devin said to me, that it was like going on a fishing trip with his Uncle Mike.”

“True enough,” Fiona added as she squinted thoughtfully toward the restaurant door. “They did go off fishing plenty o’ times. Sometimes in the summer for a week or more.”

Her gaze moved to Cameron’s face. “Now that you mention it, Devin told me, ‘Just pretend, Mom, that I’m off early on spring break with Uncle Mike, just like we planned.’”

“He had a trip planned with Michael for spring break?" Cameron asked.

Fiona nodded. “He talked about it almost to the point of obsession. Was the only thing I’ve seen Michael excited about except that blasted treasure in a long time. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought there was some connection.”