Hiding Out At The Circle C Read online

  She fiddled with her purse, put on her seat belt, and looked everywhere but at him. "I thought someone was following me, but I was wrong. I panicked over nothing."

  One of his hands was on the headrest above her. He touched her cheek softly with his other until she looked at him. God, those eyes, he thought. So clear, so absolutely full of mysteries. "Is someone following you?"

  Her mouth tightened. "I don't think so. No. No one's following me."

  "But it's a possibility?" he prompted.

  She dragged her lip across her teeth and dropped her gaze. "Okay, look. I had trouble on my last job. One of my … coworkers sort of lost it."

  "Lost it?"

  "You know … went crazy."

  His throat closed. His anger drained instantly to be replaced with concern. "Did he hurt you, Haley?"

  "N-n-no." Again she bit her lip. "And it's a she. But either way, I don't think that's a problem because no one knows where I am. I just panicked there for a second. I'm sorry."

  "Didn't you tell your boss? What kind of job was this?"

  "My boss … couldn't do anything about it. Complicated policies, I guess."

  Could she be more vague? "You can't be too safe. Let's call the cops."

  "No!" She lowered her voice instantly. "It's not necessary. Really. She can't find me here."

  He wished she'd look at him, because every instinct he had was screaming. Another damn lie. And yet … he still wanted her. Her hand rested on her thigh. He reached for it, frowning at its iciness. Bringing it up to his mouth, he ran his lips over her knuckles.

  "You shouldn't do that." Her voice sounded light, whispery. And he knew how she felt because his own throat had gone dry.

  "I shouldn't do a lot of things," he said, unhooking her seat belt and drawing her stiff body close. His fingers slid into her short, silky hair. "You have a way, darlin', of knotting me up inside." He bent to kiss her cheek, her jaw. And then because she smelled so good, tasted so delicious, he kissed her ear, her neck, then her jaw again.

  She shivered when he skimmed his lips over hers, but kept her hands at her sides. "You really shouldn't … do that."

  He smiled against her neck. "Why? You like it." Her hands moved then, to his shoulders, and he expected to be pushed away.

  "I think we should go now," she whispered instead, still holding him.

  "You think too much." But he gave her one last quick hug. "You'd feel better if you talked about it. Maybe your head and stomach wouldn't hurt so much."

  She ducked her face as if the pain was a weakness to be embarrassed about.

  "I don't like to think of you in pain."

  "I'm—"

  "I know," he said with a little laugh directed at himself. Idiot. "You're fine." He wanted to kiss her, had to kiss her. Watching her, being this close, he felt the urgency grow inside him until he was tense with the need of it. He wanted to plunder, dive in until neither of them knew their name, but the gentleness so deeply ingrained in him wouldn't allow it. So he glided his arms around her again and started with her chin, nipping it between his teeth, gradually moving along her face, leisurely drawing out their pleasure. He was rewarded when her body softened and leaned against his.

  Her first sigh, the glorious feeling of her arms slipping around him in feminine surrender, stirred his blood. Taming the need was worth it, he decided in hazy delight, and with tormenting slowness he brought his lips back to hers. This time they parted immediately beneath his. Her shy tongue met his, and his last coherent thought was that this kiss wasn't going to be enough. He felt her clinging to him, heard her helpless moan … and he craved more.

  A kiss wasn't supposed to devastate, he thought in confusion; it was supposed to satisfy. A kiss wasn't supposed to make the blood roar in his ears, or make his head swim; it should bring simple pleasure. But there was nothing simple about this. Oh, the pleasure seeped through him, but he sure as hell wasn't supposed to tremble just because she sighed his name in that low, sexy voice.

  Being with a woman should be easy. Not rip a hole through his heart and leave him bleeding, helpless and needy. Carefully, purposefully, he drew away and stared at her, his world rocked by that one "simple" kiss.

  Haley's eyes fluttered open, glazed and cloudy. "I think," she said on a very shaky breath, scooting back a little, "it would be best if we didn't do that often."

  "I was thinking the opposite." Her lips were wet and swollen and he wanted to taste them again.

  She straightened and tucked her legs beneath her in a defensive gesture that stopped him from reaching for her. "Things are mixed up enough. Cam. I…" She looked out the window and sighed. "Too mixed up to add this complication."

  He wondered if she realized it was the first time she'd used his nickname. "That was some kiss, Haley. You should know. It left me wanting more."

  "I can't give you more." Desperation crept into her voice.

  He struggled with the patience that usually came so naturally, and didn't find it. "Why? Dammit, why?"

  "Because I'm trouble, Cam. With a capital T."

  * * *

  For two days, Haley cringed at the memory of that day. She'd never forget the almost-comic, stunned surprise on Cam's face as she'd plowed him to the ground. She'd never tackled a boss before. Nor, she thought a little ruefully, had she ever kissed one.

  She'd avoided him, but he'd done the same right back, even as he made sure that someone was always near enough that she never felt alone. She knew her lies and innate wariness had gotten to him, but she didn't know what to do. She couldn't tell him the truth—could she?

  Sometimes she thought she should; then she remembered how many had died and decided against it.

  She stood in the large living room of the ranch house, dusting. She'd discovered the Crock-Pot the day before, and the large recipe book inside it, so dinner should be a snap.

  She hoped.

  She'd dropped potatoes and carrots into it exactly according to the recipe. Then a large roast. She expected to need a miracle, but to her utter surprise, when she'd checked the pot an hour ago, a delicious aroma had arisen. And it actually looked good, though personally, she'd prefer a greasy burger and fries.

  Cameron had left strict instructions. She could cook breakfast and dinner, but everyone had to fix their own lunch. Yet something strange had happened to Haley—something unexpected. She found she enjoyed the kitchen activities so much, she'd actually connived to be in there when everyone wandered in around noon. So it became natural for her to make the sandwiches—which even she could do well.

  Haley didn't like to think about how attached to everyone she'd become. Or how much Nellie seemed to enjoy having her. Or how much she enjoyed bantering like old friends with Zach and Jason.

  Then there was Cameron.

  She'd never danced in the rain before. She'd never shared a laugh over a cow. And she'd certainly never been kissed by a man the way he'd kissed her.

  Well aware that such a thing could go nowhere, she couldn't keep her heart from giving a little leap whenever she saw him. For two long nights now, she'd lain awake, torn between fear for her uncertain future, and a longing so fierce she couldn't ease the ache.

  She longed—oh, how she longed—yet she couldn't put a name to it. Her life had been pathetically short on romance, and most of that was by choice. Men didn't understand her, and most seemed intimidated by her. It would be laughable if she'd had a friend to laugh with. But she'd been pathetic in that department, too. Maybe because she'd always been around people much older than herself, maybe because while her brain was overly developed, she'd ignored her social skills… She didn't know.

  But she'd read plenty, and her deepest, most secret fantasy was to have a romance. A real, true romance, just like in the books she loved. Last night, with nothing to read, she'd actually started a journal. She'd kept a record of her life before, plenty of times. But those had always been careful notes of her studies or projects, never anything personal. This time, and for the f