Outspoken Angel (15 page)

Still conscious but dazed, she heard the
squeak of the bedroom window. Determined to thwart his escape, she
screamed bloody murder and fumbled in the darkness for the
doorknob. Where was Max? She let loose a very unladylike adjective
as her hands, slick with sweat, slid from the brass.

The door opened and Max extended a hand.
“Where did you learn that word?”

Not amused and extremely pissed off, she
slapped his hand away and pushed herself to stand. “From you.”

He had the audacity to laugh. A deep, rich
... entirely too arousing laugh. “You okay?”

Still blinded by lust and the sunlight that
streaked through the open window, she managed to dismiss his
concern and scowl. “I am now. Where were you?”

“Outside.”

“You didn’t hear me scream?”

“Yeah, I opened the door, remember?”

“Not then! I screamed earlier!” She didn’t
bother to tell him about the hand clamped over her mouth.

“I only heard you the one time.”

“What about your supersonic hearing,
Superman?”

He gave a lazy grin. “Wrong super hero.
That’s Spiderman.”

“What about the bad guy?”

“What bad guy?”

“The one who dragged me into the closet.”

“I didn’t see him.” He motioned to the
closet. “You have him in there with you?”

Despite her desire to remain angry and
difficult, she couldn’t. Damn him for being so calm. He was too
smooth, too practiced in the art of molding her emotions to suit
himself. Not that she would ever concede that point.

She pointed at the window. “I didn’t open it.
He did.”

“He?”

She nodded.

“Stone?”

She thought for a minute and then a whole new
cold realization poked her. Her eyes widened.
Oh. God
. “Do
you think it was someone else?”

Rather than provide some much-needed
reassurance, he continued to grill her. “You didn’t see him?”

She shook her head. “He came from behind me
and when I finally managed to get loose, he shoved me into the
closet and shut the door. I heard the window squeak before you
opened the door.”

“How did you manage to get loose?”

Finally, a chance to nail him. “I used my
hooker heels. The ones you said wouldn’t work again.”

He still wouldn’t give. “Did he speak?”

“No, he was in too much pain. I bit him
too.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You bit him? Did he
wear gloves?”

Come to think of it, she had tasted leather.
“Yes. So much for fingerprints.”

“It was Stone.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Since he’s been watching, he knew I was
here. Once you screamed, he ran to avoid me.”

Of course. Somehow it all came back to Max.
Yet, his conclusion made her feel much better.

Max stepped in front of the closet and stuck
his head inside. “Damn.”

From behind him, Cameron bumped him to the
side with one hip. “What?”

He pointed upward. “There’s an attic crawl
space in the ceiling.”

She glanced up at the ceiling. “Where?”

He stepped inside, poked one of the tiles
loose with two fingers, and moved it to the side. “Here.”

“He was probably in there the whole time,”
she whispered.

Max picked up her sketchbook and handed it to
her. “Out.”

With her courage in time out, she shrugged
and headed to the front door. Not until she was out of the house
and inside Max’s truck with the doors locked, did she feel anywhere
near safe. She glanced at him sitting behind the steering wheel
with his fingers clenched and an expression of utter frustration
etched on his face.
He just might handcuff me.

Her stomach clenched as he leaned forward to
start the truck and turned his head her direction. “It’s time for
lunch.”

His suggestion filled her with powerful
relief. Both because she was starved and because bondage didn’t do
much for her.

“How about Mexican?” she offered. “I’m
craving tacos.”

* * *

CHAPTER TWELVE

Max inhaled spicy scents of cumin and chili
powder. He forced himself to relax once he and Cameron were inside
Guarida de Serpiente
and seated in a secluded corner booth.
His gaze wandered across the menu but he couldn’t concentrate.
The Serpent’s Den. Hell
. Instinct told him bringing her here
was a bad idea, but maybe Stone was halfway smart enough not to
challenge him in a public place. He glanced at a long, glass tank
positioned on the far wall of the restaurant. Besides, if Stone
showed up, he’d sic the mammoth boa constrictor inside on him.

As he changed positions and shifted his legs
under the table, he felt the soft flesh of Cameron’s right thigh
brush his. The slight tremor he encountered was the only thing that
tampered his arousal.

He cleared his throat and moved half an inch
away from her. “Drink?”

As if waiting for his offer, she shoved her
menu to the edge of the table and folded her hands. “Margarita,
please. Frozen.”

Max signaled their young, raven-haired
waitress, who all but ran to the table. After batting her eyelashes
several times, she took his order and returned in record time with
Cameron’s drink.

Cameron took a long draw from the straw and
tilted her head to the side. “One of yours?”

He cocked an eyebrow, intrigued by her
question. “One of my what?”

“Groupies.”

Not fooled by her attempt to distract herself
from the morning’s excitement, he played along. “Maybe. I don’t
remember.”

Her eyes rounded. “You don’t remember?”

He nodded. “Too many women, too little
time.”

Her mouth fell open and she stared, obviously
not expecting that particular answer.

He snickered and pushed her drink closer to
her. “Relax, Princess, I don’t have groupies.”

She took another pull from the straw before
speaking. “What about the women at the concerts?”

He shrugged. “Those are Hawke’s groupies. I’m
just the gate keeper.”

“Ever slept with one?”

Through the darkened lenses of his
sunglasses, Max considered his response. Truth or dare? He opted
for truth.

“Yes.”

In the unfamiliar baited silence, he could’ve
sworn her eyes faded from pale blue to bright green, but then
again, his own eyes were shaded. He waited for her usual abundance
of sass. Instead, she grinned and took another drink. He glanced at
her glass, now half empty. She needed food. ASAP.

Max scanned the crowded dining area for their
waitress and finally spotted her at the front, flipping her hair
and batting her eyelashes at someone familiar. Greg Huntington. Max
watched, anticipating Huntington’s next move. True to his
expectations, Huntington slid a business card across the counter
and gave the giggling groupie a sly smile. Max shook his head.
Being Hawke’s manager had its perks. The clerk finally pointed
Max’s direction and soon Huntington sauntered over and slid into
the opposite side of the booth.

“Hey, guys.” Huntington grabbed a chip and
dipped it into the hot sauce.

Max eyed him suspiciously. “Hungry?”

“Nah.” Huntington smirked. “I wouldn’t want
to intrude on your date.”

“It’s not a date,” Cameron hissed.

Huntington looked pointedly at the
restaurant’s glowing neon sign. “The Serpent’s Den? Sounds like a
date to me.”

Max scooted the hot sauce away. “What are you
doing here, Huntington?”

“Picking up dinner for Hawke and Rachel.
Rachel’s craving empanadas and sopapias.”

Max nudged Cameron’s knee with his. “More
like picking up the brunette at the front.”

Cameron quirked an eyebrow and then smiled in
understanding. “I know her, Greg. Want me to talk to her?”

Huntington winced and dropped his tortilla
chip.

“Be nice, Cameron, I sent you a client.”

Max raised his head. “You sent her a client?
Who?”

Huntington rubbed his forehead. “Let me
think. His name started with an R. No, I think it was a T ...
Thompson.. no, Thomas! Calvin Thomas. That’s him.” He reached for
the cheese dip. “Did he call you?”

“As a matter of fact, he did,” Cameron said.
“We had an appointment but it didn’t turn out quite like I
planned.”

Max took the cheese dip away from Huntington.
“Is this guy a friend of yours?”

“No. I met him at the gym. Said he was new in
town, had just bought a house, and didn’t know anything about
decorating. So, I gave him Cameron’s name and told him she was the
best.”

Cameron smiled, obviously flattered by
Huntington’s compliment. “You think I’m the best?”

Then Huntington burst her bubble. “I can sell
anything to anybody.”

Cameron’s lips thinned and she narrowed her
eyes. Sensing her impending hissy fit, Max intervened.

“What did this guy look like?”

Huntington shrugged. “I spent more time
looking at all the hot women.”

“Was he tall? Short?”

“I don’t know. We were on the exercise bikes.
He had dark hair and a moustache. That’s all I remember.”

Max spotted the sultry clerk signal him with
the crook of a finger. “Your order’s ready, Huntington.”

Dunking one last chip, Huntington stood and
grinned. “I’ll see you two later.”

Max watched Huntington amble back to the
front counter, pick up his order, and slide a piece of paper into
his shirt pocket before finally leaving the restaurant.

“Dinner and dessert,” Cameron mumbled.

Before he could comment on Huntington’s
technique, the waiter arrived with their dinner and another
Margarita for Cameron.

Max raised an eyebrow when the young, buff
guy placed it in front of Cameron. “Are you sure you can handle
that?”

“Of course.” She glanced at the waiter and
winked. “There’s not much alcohol in here anyway is there,
Roberto?”

The smitten waiter gave her a smile that
showcased a mouthful of straight white teeth. “No, Miss Cameron.”
He set the remaining plates on the table. “Will you be needing
anything else?”

“No, thank you,” she answered.

Another predatory smile from Roberto. “You’re
welcome.”

Max waited for her to take a sip of courage
then picked up his fork. “One of yours?”

She swallowed and pursed her lips. “Touche’.”
She scooted her glass back and placed her napkin in her lap. “Why
were you grilling Greg about Mr. Thomas?”

“I wasn’t grilling him, I was just curious.”
He took a bite of his enchilada to buy some time.

Curious? No, now he was suspicious. Maybe
Stone had help. Who was this Calvin Thomas? Better yet, what normal
guy worried about interior decorating? In a gym full of women?
Unless he was ... Nah. He stuck a chip in his mouth. He’d put
Steele on it.

Cameron nudged him with her knee. “You’re too
quiet over there, Mad Max. What’s going on in that brain of
yours?”

He speared another piece of his enchilada.
“I’m eating and it’s not polite to talk with your mouth full.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched her
shrug and then pick up a taco. Too easy. She hadn’t given up, she’d
just taken a breather. In fact, Miss Fix-It probably thought she
had him all figured out. He laid his fork on his plate and waited
to hear her next brilliant suggestion.

Cameron hiccupped and he shifted his eyes in
her direction. She giggled and took another drink. He rubbed his
brow with both hands.
Hell.

He pushed the lemon-lime tranquilizer out of
her reach. “Enough alcohol, Half Pint.”

“I’m not finished!”

He pulled her to her feet and led her from
the restaurant. “Yes, you are.”

“Thanks for lunch, Maxie,” she said. “I’m
much more relaxed now.”

“I’m sure you are,” he grumbled.

He boosted her into the truck and watched as
her eyelids threatened to stick to her cheeks. Once he was behind
the wheel, she scooted close to him and rested her head on his
shoulder. He tensed at her violation of his personal space.

“What’s your favorite color?” she asked.

Damn. A chatty drunk.
“Black,” he
answered shortly.

“Figures,” she muttered. “You don’t like any
other color besides black?”

Blue. Pale, innocent blue, like the color
of your eyes.
“No.”

“I like red,” she said thoughtfully.

“Why?”

“Red is a sexy color,” she explained. “Take
my shoes for example.”

He made the fatal mistake of looking down at
her shoes, flashing a neon red invitation. She might as well hang a
sign on them:
For Hire.

This he had to hear. “What about them?”

“They draw more attention than my brown ones
or my black ones.”

Hell, yeah
. The red ones had a way of
snapping his control on the spot. He struggled to breathe.

“And my red lingerie,” she continued,
oblivious to his shallow breathing, “is encouraging.”

He squeezed the steering wheel with both
hands as he drove. “Encouraging?”

“Yeah,” she said, “I feel much more
courageous in red.”

He began to sweat. More courageous?

“Most people are afraid of red.” She sat up
straight.

He gave her a curious look.

“They think red represents danger.”

It does. Pure, unadulterated danger.
“We’re home,” he said behind his relief. “Can you get out?”

She gave him a practiced eye-flutter. “Not
without flashing you a warning.”

He grinned. “Didn’t think so.”

Max counted to ten before he slid out of the
truck and walked around to help her out. She would have to get
blasted. Probably just to irritate the hell out of him. He opened
the passenger door, circled her waist with his hands and lifted her
from the truck. Trapping her in his solid grip, he couldn’t escape
the sexual magnetism between them. He wondered if she wore
something red and lacy now.