Shameless (The Contemporary Collection) by Jennifer Blake Read Free Book Online Page B

intuition. It was frightening, yet exhilarating at the same time. Perhaps it was like the dangerous instincts Reid had been trying to describe to her. There was something seductive in the thought of being controlled by something other than pure reason.
    It was possible, of course, that she was making too much of the situation, Cammie told herself. What had she done, after all, except invite a man into her house, then ask for his protective presence for the night? Surely there was nothing so unusual in that.
    Except that it wasn't just any man. It was Reid Sayers.
    So she was attracted to him, so what? She wasn't some teenager with more hormones than self-control. That Reid was in the house, if he decided to stay, would make no difference in how well she slept.
    And even if it did, the problem would not be insurmountable. She would stay in her bed, and he would stay in his. The male body held few mysteries for her, and no great enchantment. How much difference could there be between two men?
    How much indeed? Exactly?
    She would not think of it. Whatever happened, would happen.
    They cleared away the dishes, leaving them in the dishwasher for the housekeeper to deal with in the morning. Afterward, Cammie left Reid drinking coffee in what had been the front parlor, now known as the living room, while she excused herself for a few minutes.
    Upstairs, she quickly put fresh sheets on the bed in the blue bedroom that was usually used for guests, and checked the towels and the soap situation in the connecting bath. There was no guarantee that Reid would use any of it, but she had found that Keith would sometimes accept a fait accompli if it was sprung on him.
    She paused as she was taking a new toothbrush still in the package from the closet. She thought she had heard a door close, the back door. The sound was quiet, but she was used to every creak and click in the old house.
    Had Reid left? She could not imagine that he would without a word of good-bye. Then again, he was still a stranger to her, in spite of everything.
    Cammie found Reid in the sun room, a cozy place with tall windows and a southern exposure. Furnished with wicker cushioned in a pink-and-gray-striped material, with a huge cut-leaf philodendron in a tall terracotta pot and African violets on the windowsills, it was her favorite room. She spent most of her free time there, reading, stitching, crocheting, or working on her watercolor paintings of flowers.
    He was standing in front of the gray-veined, marble fireplace that centered one wall. With his hands jammed into the back pockets of his jeans, he was staring up at the portrait of her that was centered above the mantel.
    Cammie paused in the doorway, watching the look of absorbed contemplation on his face, before she came forward. Her tone neutral, she said, “It was done from a photograph; Keith commissioned it for our fifth anniversary. A bit too lady-of-the-manor, don't you think?”
    “Maybe,” he said, his face relaxing in a smile as he turned, “but it still suits you.”
    She refused to acknowledge the pleasure his comment gave her. She said instead, “Your room is ready when you are.”
    He didn't move, though his face hardened to the same texture as the polished marble behind him. In the soft tones of a man issuing a warning, he said, “I haven't agreed to stay.”
    “I know.” She added baldly, “Will you?”
    Appreciation for her frankness, and something more, glinted in the blue of his eyes. It was possible that the saving grace, if there was to be one, would be his sense of humor.
    He turned back to the mantel, taking something from the shelf above it. When he faced her again, her magnum pistol was in his hand. “I meant to give this to you earlier, but it — slipped my mind.”
    She accepted it, weighing it in her hand as she looked up at him. His shirt was splattered at the shoulders with damp spots of rain, and droplets sparkled on the gold-brown hair of his forearms below the rolled