Wolfe Wedding. Joan HohlЧитать онлайн книгу.
and an immediate drawback. Cameron was at once hard, hot and ready. Appearing cool, calm and in command required all the considerable control he possessed.
“I can’t help wondering what you are thinking about.” Amused suspicion colored Sandra’s voice. “You have a decidedly devilish look about you.”
Go for it.
“I was just thinking,” he said, acting on the prompt that flashed through his head. “What are your plans? Anything definite in mind?”
“Yes.” Sandra smiled; he swallowed a groan. “I’m going to run away, hide out for a while.”
“Any particular destination?”
She nodded, setting her hair—and his insides-to rippling. “I’ve been given the use of a small cabin in the mountains for as long as it takes.”
Cameron frowned. “For as long as it takes to do what, exactly?”
Sandra laughed. “In the words of my boss, For as long as it takes to get my head back on straight. She’s convinced I simply need some breathing space.”
“And it’s more than that?” Cameron asked, with sudden and shrewd insight.
She hesitated, then released a deep sigh. “I honestly don’t know, Cameron. I was prepared to chuck it all. I had even typed up my letter of resignation.” Her lips quirked into a wry smile. “Barbara refused to accept it. In fact, she tore it in two the instant she finished reading it. That’s when she handed me the keys and directions to her retreat in the mountains.”
Hmm. A mountain retreat. Springtime in the Rockies. Wildflowers blooming. Birds singing. Butterflies fluttering. The alluring Sandra, and perhaps, Cameron mused, a male companionnamely him. Nature taking its course. Interesting. Exciting.
But would she?
Find out.
“Ah, when are you leaving?” he asked, in as casual a tone as he could muster.
She gave him an arch look. “The firm or the city?”
“Well.” Cameron shrugged. “Both.”
“I’ve already left the firm.” Her lips twitched in amusement. “On granted leave. I wanted to clean out my desk, just in case I decided to stick to my original plan not to return. Janice nearly went into a decline.” She chuckled. “And Barbara wouldn’t even talk about it.”
“Uh-huh,” he murmured, prudently keeping his opinion of the mother-daughter team to himself. After all, he cautioned himself, being brutally honest at this particular moment could hardly advance his cause.
From all indications, Sandra liked and respected both the mother and daughter of the team.
And, though he would willingly concede that they were excellent lawyers, Cameron privately considered both women, Barbara, the senior member, and her daughter, Janice, to be feminists in the extreme. Although he agreed with the concept of equality of the sexes, he did find the extremist element of the movement a bit tiring.
“Okay,” he went on, “when are you planning to leave for the mountains?”
“Day after tomorrow,” Sandra answered, readily enough, while fixing him with a probing stare. “Why?”
Here goes.
Cameron grabbed a quick breath.
“Want some company?”
His soft query was met by stillness. The room was still. The air was still. Sandra was the most still of all. for about ten seconds. Then she blinked, and frowned, and blurted out a choked laugh.
“You?” She stared at him in patent disbelief. “The legendary Lone Wolfe?”
“Me,” he admitted. “And can the Lone Wolfe bull.”
“Are you serious?” Her velvety voice had grown a little ragged around the edges.
“Quite serious,” he assured her, tamping down the urge to elaborate.
“But.” She shook her head, as if trying to clear her mind, and gave another abortive laugh. “Why?”
Cameron arched a brow in chiding. “A little R and R. Fun and games. Unadulterated pleasure.”
“In other words,” she murmured, the ragged edges in her velvety voice smoothed out, “Sex, sex, and more sex?”
“A sensual sabbatical.” Even he could hear the enticement in his soft voice. “If you will.”
She would!
Sandra stood beside her bed, a bemused smile curving her lips, a filmy flame red nightgown dangling from her nerveless fingertips.
Had she actually agreed to Cameron’s outrageous proposal to have him stay with her in Barbara’s cabin? she asked herself for perhaps the hundredth time since leaving his office a few hours ago.
In a shot!
Some folks might have accused Sandra of being aloof, but no astute person had ever accused her of being stupid—and she wasn’t about to start now.
Her smile evolved into a soft, excited laugh.
It was spring. And how did the old saying go? In the spring, a young man’s fancy, and all that. Well, didn’t the same apply to young women, as well?
An anticipatory thrill moved through her. The filmy gown undulated through her fingers, bringing awareness of the sexy garment. Laughter again tickled the back of her throat. Contemplating the possible—hopeful?—ranifications of wearing the revealing scrap of nothing for him, she folded the nightie and tucked it into the suitcase lying open on her bed.
Imagine, she mused, the legendary Lone Wolfe expressing a desire to spend time in seclusion for an unspecified time. with her!
Wild.
How long had she been secretly lusting for the oh-so-cool-and-self-contained Cameron Wolfe?
Sandra laughed once more, low and sultry. She knew full well how long it had been. She had wanted Cameron from the very first day she met him, six long years ago. And wanting him had ruined her chances of forming a deep romantic relationship with any other man.
From the very beginning, it had had to be Cameron, or no one. And the passage of time had not diminished her desire for him. On the contrary, getting to know him, learning about some of the facets of his character—his honesty, his high personal moral code, his dedication to duty—had only deepened the attraction she felt for him.
She wanted him, and it was as simple as that. Foolish, maybe, but that was the way it was.
And now. and now.
Anticipation expanded into an effervescent sensation inside her, rushing through her bloodstream, intoxicating her mind and senses. Reacting to the stimulant, she turned and two-stepped across the room to her dresser, pulling open the drawer containing her mostly ultrafeminine lingerie.
Humming an old and very suggestive love ballad, she moved around the room, from the dresser to the closet to the bed, with side trips into the bathroom, filling the suitcase and a large nylon carryon with the things she wanted to take to the cabin.
Originally thinking to do nothing more strenuous than take short, brisk hikes in the foothills surrounding the cabin, Sandra had planned on packing only what she thought of as loafing-around clothes—jeans, sweatshirts, sweaters, parka, boots and such. But at one point, while she was removing an old cotton shirt, soft from many washings, from the closet, her glance had touched, then settled on, a new, more alluring outfit.
Sandra had never worn the two-piece ensemble. It bore a Paris