Part 9 (1/2)

Drew turned back to her, his expression that of a defense lawyer resting his case. ”Told ya. Nate's like Superman, he can fight battles and stop Daddy ever hurting you again.”

Her core body temperature plummeted, the heat staining her cheeks moments ago draining to icy sludge.

”That's right, kid. No one'll hurt your mum while I'm around.” Nate stood, his chair skidding backward.

The men exchanged glances, and then Nate's gaze collided with hers.

”I'm going back to work,” he said.

”But your coffee-” She held out the mug, tongue glued to the roof of her mouth, because honestly, what could she say to make herself look less of a coward?

”I'll take it with me.”

As she transferred the mug into his hand, Lauren's fingertips brushed his, and the little jolt that zipped along her nerve endings made a liar out of her just-friends plan.

”Invoice me for a week's board, and I'll transfer the funds into your account tonight.” His brusque tone doused the tingles running up her arm.

”Daylight's wasting,” he said to Todd.

With a nod in her direction and a quick ruffle of Drew's hair, Nate strode out her back door.

Had she been railroaded into having an unwanted houseguest? A sneaked glance at Todd's speculative stare stiffened her spine. Of course not. n.o.body made her do anything she didn't want to do.

At least, not anymore.

The next day, the devil on Nate's shoulder suggested, ”Why don't you take a break? Grab your camera.”

He and Todd had worked their b.u.t.ts off that morning, nailing down waterproof lining in preparation for the new roofing iron. Lauren arrived to finish clearing the driveway, as Todd drove off to buy more supplies. And after the second time he'd narrowly avoided flattening his thumb while trying to catch a glimpse of her chain-sawing, taking a short break seemed wise.

He jogged to his car, where his battered camera remained hidden under the seat. His fingers itched to slide over its smooth, curved sides. Other than a couple of quick, work-in-progress shots, he hadn't taken any photos since his arrival.

So, he'd take fifteen minutes, twenty, max. He flipped the case open, lifted the camera out and slipped the strap over his head. More familiar, more intimate than a lover's arms, the weight settled around his neck. ”Come on baby, let's see what's out here in nowhere land.”

The chainsaw's buzz ratcheted down, and Lauren, surrounded by bright yellow blooms of gorse, pulled off her safety goggles. The sight extracted every last molecule of air from his lungs. He instinctively lifted the camera to his eye, framed and shot two close-ups before she'd time to wipe her brow. His body reacted as his gaze dropped from the long line of her neck, to the graceful arc of her back as she stretched.

Quit it, you voyeur.

He shouldn't look or even think about her that way. No matter how attractive she was, he didn't have the time or inclination to unravel all of Lauren's hidden complications.

Nate strode away, concentrating on the abundance of flora and fauna around his property. After ten minutes spent in fascination with the spiral of an unfurled fern and the zigzagging flight of a plump kerer, he circled back to his car, where Lauren still attacked the scrub. The sight of her framed in his viewfinder was an addictive lure he couldn't resist.

Portrait. Lauren's full lips pressed together in concentration, the curve of her cheekbone below the protective goggles. He swiveled the camera. Landscape. Lauren with the chainsaw raised, blade biting into a sapling. Zoom. Lauren's face front on, her gaze hurling daggers through the lens.

s.h.i.+t and h.e.l.lfire. Busted.

He lowered the camera as the chainsaw motor died. She stalked over with murder written in every furious pulse of her body. She stopped right in front of him, hauled off her goggles and ear protectors and dropped them.

”Why are you taking photos of me?”

His shoulder tipped forward. ”You're beautiful.” Especially when you're angry. But he'd enough wisdom to keep that opinion to himself.

She ignored the compliment and bared her teeth. ”You've no right to take my picture without permission.”

”Once a camera's in my hand, I've every right to capture what's in front of me.”

She made a noise low in her throat, which sounded suspiciously like a growl, and jabbed a finger into his chest. ”The h.e.l.l you have.”

Under the flush of temper, a smattering of freckles stood in stark relief against her skin, and the worry lines on her forehead were more p.r.o.nounced. Curious. Did the scar make her camera shy? Nothing about her face, scar or otherwise, detracted from her natural loveliness. She ought to have a gallery of photographs dedicated to her.

A hummingbird flicker in his memory banks whispered then streaked away as she touched his camera.

”Delete them.”

He jerked it out of her grasp. ”Hey, expensive equipment here; hands off.”

Lauren's glare was keener than the chainsaw's blade. ”Delete, those, photos.”

Holding out a warning finger, he showed her the small camera screen and pressed play. The last image he'd shot appeared.

She glowered. ”Delete.”

He pressed a b.u.t.ton and the image disappeared, then he did the same with the second and third photo. He scrolled through another dozen photos of birds and plants, careful to stop before the first picture he'd taken of her. No logical explanation for it, he just couldn't destroy them all.

The deadly gleam faded from her eyes and she dismissed him with a wave. ”Fine. Carry on, but don't take any more photos of me.”

He unhooked the camera from around his neck and placed it on the Range Rover's roof. ”Why not?”

”A lot of women don't like being photographed if they're sweaty and disheveled.” Her arms crossed snug under her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

”I don't believe it's that, and, at the risk of repeating myself”-he closed the gap, stepping way into her personal s.p.a.ce-”you're beautiful, sweaty or not.”

Her upturned eyes widened, darting sideways as if she sought an escape route. Her tongue peeped out between sealed lips, and the afternoon sun highlighted the tremor of a pale blue vein in her neck. His gaze dropped. If she inhaled any more deeply, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s would meet his chest. The puff of her warm breath misted on his collarbone, and his hands flexed, burning with the desire to drag her flush against him.

”Step back, Nate. You're crowding me.”

b.a.l.l.sy and beautiful. The male predator in him fought for control, aware of what the woman in front of him may've endured but equally aware of the magnetic s.e.xual pull of her body swaying toward his. ”Not this time.”

A breeze, warm and fragrant with the scent of her, flared into his nose, wrapped around his resistance and suffocated it. ”I want to kiss you.”

”No.” A soft gasp, her hands unfolding quickly to brace against his chest. ”No, you can't.”

His palms trailed up her bare arms in a caress that sent s.h.i.+vers down his back. Lauren's eyes blazed hazel fire, but she didn't step away, though he did nothing to restrain her. Instead, her nails sc.r.a.ped across his s.h.i.+rt as her fingers curled into fists.

”Then you decide.” He wrapped his hands lightly around her upper arms. ”Either hit me or kiss me. Those are your options.”

Could her body be any more traitorous?

Gooey mush. That's what Lauren's mind dissolved into. All logical thoughts vanished when Nate brushed those work-roughened hands along her skin, and her body-her traitorous body-arched toward his without consent.