from the thighs down. They were trim, well shaped, encased in taupe-colored stockings. Her skirt was dark teal, with a little swing to it. She had walked past his window once, double-backed, and hesitated.
Probably couldnât remember his address, Cam thought. Or maybe she couldnât reconcile his rough-and-ready image with this Federal period townhouse.
Ah yes, a man of many contradictions he was.
He rolled off the couch and looked through his window, peering up at the shapely-legged woman.
Gabriella Starr indeed. In running shoes and one of her brass-tacks business suits. A woman of her own contradictions she was.
He considered rapping on the window to tell her she had the right place but, given the rough time sheâd been having lately, decided against it and headed upstairs.
She was in the vestibule, applying her MBA mind to the row of silver mailboxes. Her hair was shining and windblown and very, very dark, and seeing her hit him hard in the gut, even harder than heâd imagined it would. Hell, maybe it was just because sheâd plucked his miserable butt off the rocks and probably saved his life. Maybe it was because he was on vacation.
As he pushed open the glass inner door, he warned himself not to be fooled by her warm, huge, dreamy eyes. Gabriella Starr was smart, astute, and hardheaded.
âYouâve got the right place,â he said.
âOh.â She smiled, unexpectedly self-conscious. And scared, Cam thought. Something had happened. But she brazened it out. No surprise there. âI wasnât sure. May I come in?â
He opened the door wide. âOf course.â
He waited for her to walk past him, noted the unevenness of her gait, the strain in the pretty eyes, as if she wasnât at all sure sheâd done right by coming here.
âStairs are down the hall, around to the right.â
That seemed to make more sense to her. A basement apartment fit with the cop-turned-prosecutor image she had of him. Well, the image heâd had of her after spotting her at Fanueil Hall Marketplace on Friday didnât exactly square with reality either.
He went ahead of her down the steep stairs, pushing open his door, which heâd left unlocked.
âItâs nice,â Gabriella said, taking in his apartment with an awkward wave of the hand.
âThanks. Can I get you something to drink?â
âNo thanks. Iâm fine.â
âHave a seat then,â he said, gesturing toward the sitting area with its battered leather furniture.
She bypassed the couch, choosing the chair. Not going to risk having him plant himself next to her. He crossed over to the couch and sat down, watching her. She twisted her hands together, avoiding his eye. A bundle of nerves. Uncomfortable being in his apartment. Maybe even a little scared. Definitely more aware of him on a physical level than suited her. They had that in common, anyway.
âWhatâs up?â he asked.
She took a small breath, and he could see her considerable willpower kick into gear as her dark eyes focused on him. âPete Darrow knows everything.â
Cam nodded. âHe always does.â
âHe caught up with me after work, just a few minutes ago. He knows Scagâs in town, he knows I rescued you on the rocks, he knows you were at my apartment on Saturday. He implied heâs been following me to check out my personal security, to make sure that whoever tried to kidnap Joshua doesnât take a swipe at me.â
âYou believe him?â
âI donât know what to believe. He said I shouldnât try pulling a fast one on him in the future.â She hesitated, licking her lips, her eyes drifting away. Then they came back, clear and determined. âYou are who you say you are, arenât you?â
âYes.â
She breathed out. âI checked the phone book just to be sure you hadnât lied to me, and your name was there, and here you are on lower
Deborah Crombie
Gertrude Chandler Warner
Rochelle Paige
Donna McDonald
Steven Grey
Giles Milton
Mj Fields
Jesse Rev (FRW) Christopher; Jackson Mamie; Benson Till-Mobley
Addison Moore
Amy Butler Greenfield