television during football season—Cam was, by far, the most gorgeous. For four years, when they’d all converged on the lounge for their gridiron fix, she’d lusted after him. Even knowing— knowing —she wasn’t his type. Not by a long shot.
She’d lusted after him when they weren’t watching football too.
And damn it, she still had that stupid crush on him.
It was stupid. Really it was.
Kristi wasn’t blind. She saw the kinds of women he dated.
They didn’t look like her. She was…well, curvy was a nice word for it. And his current girlfriend was a wraith. Not skin and bones, but pretty damn close. You could see her clavicle. Kristi was pretty sure she had a clavicle. But hadn’t ever seen it.
Robyn was always flawlessly turned out, with flawless makeup, talons for nails and a perfectly disciplined coif. She wore Prada.
Kristi liked clompy boots and funky outfits she picked up in a second-hand shop. She might wear mascara—if the world was coming to an end or she had a date with Channing Tatum. Or something like that.
She was definitely not modelesque. Certainly not a wraith.
A low laugh resonated from the great room down the hall and her heart did a painful back flip. She would recognize that laugh, shiver to that laugh, anywhere. Any time.
She frowned. She hated when her heart did gymnastics, as it always did around Cam. Her heart was freaking Mary Lou Retton around Cam.
Ah well. She had to face him eventually. Apparently they were spending the weekend together. At least Robyn’s name wasn’t scrawled next to his on the board. She threw back her shoulders and plastered on a big old friendly smile as she rounded the corner.
The house, perched on a rise overlooking the Pacific, was magnificent. The hub of the structure was the sprawling great room spanning the length of the house. Rustic and lodge-like, it sported a huge fireplace on one end and a rough-hewn, long dining table on the other. The ceiling vaulted to a high peak over the open kitchen and the seaward-facing wall was all windows, giving the impression that nature was one with the house. Sofas and chairs were sprinkled about in welcoming configurations.
Kristi’s focus locked on Cam.
He glanced away from the TV and broke into a grin. “Kristi! Hey.”
“Hey, Cam.” The stillness blanketing the house told her they were alone. The Dawgs weren’t known for being quiet. “Where is everyone?” She dropped her purse on the table.
“You’re late. They all went to the bar.”
It was the tradition. First night on Tryst Island, everyone went to Darby’s. “Oh? Why didn’t you go?”
He shrugged. She tried not to fixate on the way his broad shoulders moved in the cotton of his T-shirt. She tried not to fixate on the thick muscles of his neck, or those biceps or—God help her—that chest. Molded as it was by his tight shirt.
A man like Cam should never wear a tight black T-shirt. It should be against the law. He was a brilliant computer programmer and should, by rights, be a super nerd. But with that bod, he could have been a gym spokesman or a male model for those sexy romance book covers. Or a porn star. Or something. She’d seen him in swim trunks—gotten a gander at his bare chest, the cut abs, the broad, flexing pecs…
It got a little difficult to breathe, so she thrust that image from her mind.
He was a hottie. And not just his body.
His face was equally fascinating with a square jaw, high cheekbones and slightly crooked nose. His features were sharp, but the whole of it was softened by an open, charming expression and azure eyes that crinkled at the corners. A slight smile always teased his perfect lips. His hair was jet black, short and curly—just the way she liked it. She longed to run her fingers through it.
She didn’t linger on the fantasy though. Otherwise she might start drooling.
She did that sometimes.
Thank heaven he was oblivious to her obsession.
He switched off the TV and stood. “I
She’d lusted after him when they weren’t watching football too.
And damn it, she still had that stupid crush on him.
It was stupid. Really it was.
Kristi wasn’t blind. She saw the kinds of women he dated.
They didn’t look like her. She was…well, curvy was a nice word for it. And his current girlfriend was a wraith. Not skin and bones, but pretty damn close. You could see her clavicle. Kristi was pretty sure she had a clavicle. But hadn’t ever seen it.
Robyn was always flawlessly turned out, with flawless makeup, talons for nails and a perfectly disciplined coif. She wore Prada.
Kristi liked clompy boots and funky outfits she picked up in a second-hand shop. She might wear mascara—if the world was coming to an end or she had a date with Channing Tatum. Or something like that.
She was definitely not modelesque. Certainly not a wraith.
A low laugh resonated from the great room down the hall and her heart did a painful back flip. She would recognize that laugh, shiver to that laugh, anywhere. Any time.
She frowned. She hated when her heart did gymnastics, as it always did around Cam. Her heart was freaking Mary Lou Retton around Cam.
Ah well. She had to face him eventually. Apparently they were spending the weekend together. At least Robyn’s name wasn’t scrawled next to his on the board. She threw back her shoulders and plastered on a big old friendly smile as she rounded the corner.
The house, perched on a rise overlooking the Pacific, was magnificent. The hub of the structure was the sprawling great room spanning the length of the house. Rustic and lodge-like, it sported a huge fireplace on one end and a rough-hewn, long dining table on the other. The ceiling vaulted to a high peak over the open kitchen and the seaward-facing wall was all windows, giving the impression that nature was one with the house. Sofas and chairs were sprinkled about in welcoming configurations.
Kristi’s focus locked on Cam.
He glanced away from the TV and broke into a grin. “Kristi! Hey.”
“Hey, Cam.” The stillness blanketing the house told her they were alone. The Dawgs weren’t known for being quiet. “Where is everyone?” She dropped her purse on the table.
“You’re late. They all went to the bar.”
It was the tradition. First night on Tryst Island, everyone went to Darby’s. “Oh? Why didn’t you go?”
He shrugged. She tried not to fixate on the way his broad shoulders moved in the cotton of his T-shirt. She tried not to fixate on the thick muscles of his neck, or those biceps or—God help her—that chest. Molded as it was by his tight shirt.
A man like Cam should never wear a tight black T-shirt. It should be against the law. He was a brilliant computer programmer and should, by rights, be a super nerd. But with that bod, he could have been a gym spokesman or a male model for those sexy romance book covers. Or a porn star. Or something. She’d seen him in swim trunks—gotten a gander at his bare chest, the cut abs, the broad, flexing pecs…
It got a little difficult to breathe, so she thrust that image from her mind.
He was a hottie. And not just his body.
His face was equally fascinating with a square jaw, high cheekbones and slightly crooked nose. His features were sharp, but the whole of it was softened by an open, charming expression and azure eyes that crinkled at the corners. A slight smile always teased his perfect lips. His hair was jet black, short and curly—just the way she liked it. She longed to run her fingers through it.
She didn’t linger on the fantasy though. Otherwise she might start drooling.
She did that sometimes.
Thank heaven he was oblivious to her obsession.
He switched off the TV and stood. “I
Similar Books
