“You’ve heard something?”
“No. But I know how the man thinks. He considers Camille to be his property. He won’t rest until he has her in his control.”
Even worse, Jake believed Eckart was filled with anger and revenge because he’d been bested by his ex-wife. His macho image had been damaged. He wouldn’t rest until he had Camille under his power again. And heaven help Camille—and Jamie—if that happened.
“Come on, Jake. She’s just a woman, not Cleopatra. No man’s going to blow his entire life for a woman who doesn’t want him.”
Jake sent a steely stare Steve’s way. “Stay alert. He’ll turn up.”
Now he waited for Camille to appear so they could drive to his mother’s house. He wasn’t comfortable about the drive there. Once they arrived and he had Camille inside, he’d feel a lot better.
He suspected Camille would, too. Ever since he left her at Garrett’s house yesterday, she’d behaved differently. More withdrawn, quieter.
He should be pleased. After all, he’d rebuffed her early attempts at conversation. He’d ignored her offerings of friendship. For six months, he’d resisted her. And now that he wanted her to talk to him, she refused.
“Camille? Are you ready?” He checked his watch again. He definitely wanted them to arrive at his mother’s early. There would be a crowd, since his family was large. His mother and father had had five children of their own plus his adopted siblings, R.J. and Anna. Then there were the four Lords, and Jake’s cousin Connor and his fiancée.
And Harrison Smith.
Strange man. He’d come to town to check out Maitland Maternity Clinic as a possible place for his first grandchild’s entry into the world. Not an unusual occurrence. The hospital’s reputation drew the rich and the famous and extended far beyond the Texas border.
But something about Harrison Smith bothered him.
He’d stayed too long, and his interest seemed focused on the Maitlands themselves, rather than the clinic.
“I’m ready,” Camille said softly.
Jake looked up, still lost in thought, and was completely unprepared for the vision facing him.
His breath caught in his throat, and he thought he was going to pass out.
Dissolving into coughs, he bent over.
“Are you all right?” Camille asked, concern in her voice.
He straightened and looked at her again. Man, he was in trouble. He hadn’t seen her in anything sexy before.
And she was right about her breasts.
The gown she wore was a halter top in some kind of shimmery green material that made her eyes look huge. It hugged her breasts and then floated around her legs, emphasizing every move she made.
Her silky blond hair, shoulder length when they’d first come to Texas, was longer now, but she’d swept it up on top of her head, revealing an elegant neck that made his mouth water.
“Jake?” Camille prompted.
“I’m fine. You look—very nice,” he said, hoping she wasn’t aware of the reaction those tame words hid.
“Thank you. It’s exciting to wear new clothes. Anna even brought some things for Jamie. See, he’s wearing a new sleeper.” She gestured to the baby carrier where she’d strapped in her son.
“Very nice. We’d better hurry. Here, put these on.” He held out a white shirt, a tie and a jacket.
Camille stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No.” This was part of his plan to protect Camille. “You’re going in disguise.”
She took a step back. “But, Jake—my dress.”
“It won’t hurt it.” He didn’t mention the fake mustache in his pocket or the cowboy hat on the breakfast table.
He draped the jacket over the sofa and held out the dress shirt he’d bought the day before, along with the rest of the disguise. “Slip your arm in.”
With a sigh, she turned her back to him even as she stepped closer to slide her left arm in first. It was almost as if she were in his embrace. He drew a deep breath and was assailed by her delicate, provocative perfume. With her bare neck so close, he had to fight the urge to trace its graceful lines with his lips. Damn!
“I’m afraid I’ll mess up my nails,” Camille complained as she turned to face him.
He’d been relieved that the white shirt covered her alluring décolletage. Then he realized what her words meant. “You mean…you want me to button it?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Mind? He couldn’t find the words to explain the problem, because he’d have to admit what touching her did to him. With his mouth feeling as if it were stuffed with cotton, he growled and reached for the first button under her chin. Not too bad, he assured himself as his hands slid to the next button. But the third button—that was the test. His knuckles skimmed the warm, soft mounds of flesh above her low neckline, and he suddenly couldn’t breathe.
Camille jerked back, obviously uncomfortable with his touch, too. “I—I think my nails are dry enough now.”
He nodded, still unable to speak. His gaze was fastened on her slender fingers, the nails painted a delicate pink, as she buttoned the shirt.
He was relieved when the process was complete, and handed the tie to her.
She stared at him blankly. “I don’t know how to do one of these.”
“Do? You mean tie it?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
He stood there, breathing deeply, trying to think. But in the end, he knew what he had to do. He slid his hands to her neck and turned up her collar, then slid the tie in place, its ends lying on her chest.
Clearing his throat, he ordered, “Turn the collar back down.” After she’d done that, he said, “Take the ends of the tie and—” He didn’t know how to tell her. Finally, he led her to the hall mirror. Standing behind her, keeping his elbows as far from her body as he could, he reached around her and gingerly picked up the ends of the tie.
Moving as quickly as he could, he tied the knot and slid it to her top button, all the time inhaling her delicate scent.
“There,” he said, glad the tough part was over.
“I don’t think this will fool anyone, Jake,” Camille insisted. “My hair and face—”
He held up a hand, stopping her in midsentence. “This will help,” he assured her, reaching into his pocket for the brown mustache, “and there’s a hat in the kitchen.”
Her hazel eyes widened, but she made no attempt to take the fake mustache. He swallowed several times before he stepped closer again. He peeled off the adhesive protector and pressed the mustache across Camille’s upper lip. Her soft upper lip. Her kissable lip. Hunger surged through him.
She sneezed. “It tickles,” she complained.
“That’s what a woman says when she kisses—” He stopped. He didn’t want to go there.
“Did you ever have a mustache?”
“Yeah, when I was younger and wanted to look older.” And more in control. More macho, able to face his father as a man. Able to determine his own future and not follow in the traditions already laid down by his family.
But instead of facing his father, Jake had stayed far away.
CAMILLE WASN’T SURE what she’d said that had distracted Jake, but