Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“Whoa!” I make a grab for her, pulling her back. Her startled yelp doesn’t dent my focus, and I pull her off the walkway just as a young lad sprints past, followed quickly by the security guard. I watch them go, not fancying the guard’s chances. The little crook is speedy, despite clearly having some goodies stuffed up his hoodie.
I shake my head and turn to Camille, not realizing I still have my arm slipped around her waist. The moment I register it, I’m hit with heat. Lots of it. I drop her and move back, giving her shocked form some space. Her topaz eyes are huge round balls of… Oh fuck, it’s that look again, the same one she’s had every time I’ve touched her.
I clear my throat and my head, ripping my eyes from hers. She’s in a daze. “Your phone,” I say, noticing it on the floor at her feet. I dip and collect it, handing it to her. It takes a few uncomfortable seconds for her to snap out of her trance, her arm lifting timidly and taking her iPhone.
“Thanks,” she mumbles and turns, looking as unsteady as my heartbeat is feeling. Fucking hell, her no-touching boundary is probably the best idea she’s ever had, but not effective if I physically need to touch her. Every time I look into this woman’s eyes, I see want, desire, need, but more frighteningly, I fucking feel it.
I need a drink. And a good screw. Anything to rid my head of these stupid, pussy thoughts. There’s only one woman who has even remotely had this effect on me before, and she’s the fucking reason I’m a fucked-up, ex-SAS sniper. Ex being the operative word. Sort it out, Sharp!
Catching up to Camille, I fall into line behind her, wondering what shit she’s going to inflict on me next. Nothing can be worse than an hour at the makeup counter, I’m sure.
Wrong.
The lingerie department.
Is she fucking kidding me? I keep my focus forward as she leads me through a maze of sexy underwear, collecting various pieces as she passes on through. I refuse to look. I keep my eyes on something safe, and, right now, the only safe place for me to look is at the back of Camille’s head. Until she turns around. Her blue eyes sparkle, and I see mischief in them. A hand loaded with lacy bras and knickers comes up between us, and I face the dilemma of what’s best to look at now: Camille, or the pile of underwear in her grasp.
The little…
She smiles, just a hint, and nods across the way. “I need to try these on.”
I widen my stance and join my hands in front of me, nodding. “Take your time,” I say evenly, my eyes betraying me and dropping to the mass of luxury material in her hand. I swallow and mentally shoot my brain out. If I was shadowing a bloke, I’d probably be standing at the end of a bar in some pub right now, or, better still, be half-enjoying some live sport. Fucking shopping! And for underwear? Lucinda must fucking hate me.
“This way,” she sing-songs, wandering off to the changing rooms.
I follow obediently and overtake her, having a quick check of the area before wandering back out and positioning myself at the entrance. “Use the cubicle closest and you’ll be good.” It’s ten feet away. I can live with that.
She gives me a dubious look. “You’re going to stand there?”
“It’s as much space as you’re going to get,” I tell her straight.
I see her crane her neck around the corner to the corridor of cubicles. “The first cubicle?” she questions.
“Yes.”
“I prefer the ones at the back,” she replies offhandedly, going on her way.
I try to hold back my tired sigh. Really, I do. “Camille, don’t think I won’t come in there.” She’s underestimating me.
“Don’t think I care,” she retorts.
My eyebrows jump up in surprise. She’s not suggesting…?
I laugh to myself, but I’m not amused. “Camille, just use this one.”
I step into the corridor and rap my knuckles on the wood to confirm it’s empty before pushing the door open. She reaches the end of the changing rooms and tosses a cunning smile over her shoulder before disappearing into the cubicle of her choice. I stand like a twat for a few disbelieving moments, staring at nothing. It would seem that I am underestimating her. I look over my shoulder, seeing the assistants busy, and slowly accept my fate.
I want to kill her. Slowly.
As soon as I arrive outside her door, I hear shuffling from beyond. Camille Logan stripping. I look to the heavens for help. The door opens a smidgen, her arm appearing from behind. I scowl at her hand, where a pair of the smallest red lacy knickers I’ve ever seen are hanging from the tip of her index finger.