Quite the opposite. Every conversation he’d had with Camilla D’ Angelo had been punctuated by a directness that’d left him feeling as if he’d just breathed in a lungful of fresh air and simultaneously suffered a massive myocardial infarction.
The latter was a direct result of him liking her. Like,likingher, liking her.
He hadn’tlikeliked a woman since Lily.
Lily…
His wife’s name echoed inside the confines of his skull and caused the chasm inside his chest to fill with a familiar ache.
It would’ve been one thing if he’d simply lusted after Cami. Lusting after her was a given since the woman had the kind of beauty that slammed into a guy like a herd of stampeding buffalo. Her face?Pow!A combination of Kim Kardashian and Nina Dobrev. Her body?Wham!She was the definition of a brick shithouse, with curves so killer it was hard to imagine they were real.
It was amazing his right forearm wasn’t twice the size of his left; he’d been giving it quite the workout since he’d met her.
But as sexy as she was, it was hermindthat really held him in thrall. Her quick sense of humor and snappy comebacks that riveted him and had him coming back for more.
And. That. Right. There. Was why he couldn’t take her up on her offer of how things could progress once she was no longer employed by Deep Six Salvage. Because if hedidtake her up on it, if he allowed his fantasies to become reality, thenlikingher andlustingafter her might grow into something more.
He wasn’t ready for something more.
He’d convinced himself he never would be.
Of course, that wasn’t to say he’d been a monk in the years since his wife had been taken from him. Au contraire. He’d gone about as far in theotherdirection as a man could go. Burying his grief in a long line of charming, sympathetic women whose names, he was sorry to say, he hadn’t bothered to add to the ol’ memory banks.
And even though he hadn’t been happy—how didanyonefind happiness after suffering such a loss?—he’d been resigned. Resigned to the idea of being alone. Reconciled with the knowledge he’d never become a father. Accepting of the fact that the sweetest part of his life was behind him even though his newfound windfall meant he’d be able to purchase the ranch he’d been dreaming about since he was a kid. Because, really, what was a thousand acres of pristine cattle country in the coveted Ninemile Valley without the love of his life by his side to share it?
And then Cami had arrived on the scene and things had started to change.Hehad started to change. He’d started to wonderwhat if?
What if all the dreams he’d had as a kid still had a chance to come true? What if there was more of the good life left to live?
But all those what-ifs felt wrong in a million different ways. Which was why he did his best to ignore them. And by association, ignore any possibility of exploring anything more with Cami.
“Anyone mind if I have this last bit of coffee?” she asked, and he finally chanced a glance in her direction.
There wasn’t a question in her eyes like he’d thought there’d be. Or if there was, it was camouflaged by weariness. The poor woman looked wrung out.
They’d all been living off adrenaline since they started hauling up the treasure. And with the addition of the approaching hurricane, it was no wonder her limbic system was trying to shut down and encourage her to sleep through the chaos that was to come.
And it was going to be chaos. There was no doubt of that. As unconcerned as he was acting, that’s all it was. Anact.
Maybe it was growing up in Montana, where a spring rain could bring down the side of a mountain or a winter storm could bury you in four feet of snow in a matter of hours, but he had a singular respect for Mother Nature. And there was no question that she was at her most impressive, and certainly her most volatile, when she’d gone and conjured up a hurricane.
Probably should’ve voiced anayinstead of ayayearlier, he thought regretfully. Then he winced when it occurred to him Cami had been the only one left out of the decision-making process on Uncle John’s catamaran.
When it’d become clear they either had to abandon the last two loads of treasure to beat the hurricane out of Dodge or haul up what was left of the loot and ride out the storm in the beach house, those aboard had taken a vote. But with the clock ticking, they hadn’t thought to radio in and invite Cami to join their impromptu assemblage.
It was a glaring oversight. He tried to make it up to her now by saying, “It’s all yours. As long as you don’t mind that it’s cold.”
“As stuffy as it is in here”—she pulled out the collar of her stained T-shirt—“I’d love if it were iced.”
When she opened the freezer door, it burped out a puff of cold air despite the power to the house having been shut off. Finding an icetray still full, she shot a triumphant fist in the air.
“Score!” She dumped the cubes into a Mason jar and poured the last of the coffee over the ice. Then she took a long, luxurious drink and Doc found himself distracted by the hollow at the base of her throat. He had a sudden and nearly overwhelming urge to flick his tongue inside. “Ahh,” she sighed happily, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth. “That’s good coffee.”
Her New York accent slipped through on that last word, turning coffee intocaw-fee. He’d noticed that only happened when she was well and truly beat.
“Must not have been made by Uncle John, then,” he told her.
John preferred chicory coffee. Which, in Doc’s opinion, tasted like dirt. Literal dirt. As if he’d walked outside and taken a bite out of the compost pile John kept on hand to fertilize his marijuana plants.
