reveal things she probably didn’t intend to. Her mile-long legs were shapely and graceful, and it was damn near impossible to keep his attention on the food.
He uncorked the wine and poured two glasses to take outside and enjoy with her before dinner was ready, but he was waylaid by a cat darting in front of him. He cursed when he almost tripped trying not to step on the animal.
Rayma rushed in and gathered up the furball. “Sorry about that. This is Beacon, and he thinks if you have anything in your hands it’s for him.”
She disappeared down a hall and Camden heard a door open, shut, and open again.
He’d damn near tripped over a cat.
He set the glasses on the table and wiped a drop of wine from the tile as he listened to Rayma’s soft mutterings. He liked cats, but not enough to get excited over them, and definitely not enough to cajole them with words.
He wondered how much he’d have to sweet talk Rayma before she touched him that way.
She returned and grabbed one of the glasses of wine. “He hates to be locked up.”
“Don’t lock him up. He’s fine. I just thought I was tripping over my own feet. Too interested in the view.” His gaze trailed the length of her to make it obvious what he meant.
She gave a one-shoulder shrug, her head tilting as she rolled her eyes and whirled away. He followed her outside, and they sat at the table. The wind whisked her hair. She pulled at it, twisted it behind her, and placed it under her shirt’s strap.
“So what else do you do besides report on restaurateur improprieties?”
“What else do you do besides pick fights with coworkers?”
He laughed, and the corners of her mouth lifted. He liked her spunk, the way her eyelids flickered before she glanced away.
“You have a beautiful view from your condo,” he said, as he turned his attention to the waves. They crested against the sand and spewed into bubbles on shore.
“Thank you. I enjoy it.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“A year.”
“You’ve been here a year and I’ve never noticed you before?”
“You’ve never gotten into a fight with a coworker before.”
“Damn.” Camden raked his fingers through his hair and thought about how much this assignment had played hell with his social life. “I’ve got to get out more.”
“How long have you been here?”
He reached for his wine. “A little over a year myself.”
“Where are you from?”
“All over. My dad was in the military when I was young, so all I can really remember is moving around a lot. Now I do the same thing.”
“Lucky for you, it must be easy to find a job as a chef.”
“Yeah, it is.” He hated lying to her, but he couldn’t exactly tell her he was a DEA agent, now could he?
“You’re pretty built for a chef,” she said as she eyed him blatantly and sipped her wine.
He nearly choked on his, and set the glass down before he spilled it all over the place. “What’s wrong with a chef being built?”
“I’d think you’d want to sample all your food, and end up fat.”
He flexed his bicep and squeezed. “I work out a lot.”
“A man who works out, tends garden, and cooks? Is there anything you can’t do?”
Commit , he thought. And most times tell the truth . “Sure, lots of things.”
“Yeah? What?” She leaned into him as if waiting to hear a dark secret. His hormones jumped, his tongue curling with the longing to taste her.
“I can’t concentrate when a pretty woman like you is this close to me.”
She laughed and sat back in her chair. “That’s a line if I ever heard one.”
He shrugged. “It’s true. Didn’t you see me almost drop the grocery sacks I was carrying?”
“Not at all.”
He enjoyed watching her skin flush a delightful pink. She narrowed her eyes at him as he continued to study her. His gaze roamed over her face in a languid path of appreciation. The seductive tilt of her lips as they watched each other was disrupted by the timer on his phone.
He switched
He uncorked the wine and poured two glasses to take outside and enjoy with her before dinner was ready, but he was waylaid by a cat darting in front of him. He cursed when he almost tripped trying not to step on the animal.
Rayma rushed in and gathered up the furball. “Sorry about that. This is Beacon, and he thinks if you have anything in your hands it’s for him.”
She disappeared down a hall and Camden heard a door open, shut, and open again.
He’d damn near tripped over a cat.
He set the glasses on the table and wiped a drop of wine from the tile as he listened to Rayma’s soft mutterings. He liked cats, but not enough to get excited over them, and definitely not enough to cajole them with words.
He wondered how much he’d have to sweet talk Rayma before she touched him that way.
She returned and grabbed one of the glasses of wine. “He hates to be locked up.”
“Don’t lock him up. He’s fine. I just thought I was tripping over my own feet. Too interested in the view.” His gaze trailed the length of her to make it obvious what he meant.
She gave a one-shoulder shrug, her head tilting as she rolled her eyes and whirled away. He followed her outside, and they sat at the table. The wind whisked her hair. She pulled at it, twisted it behind her, and placed it under her shirt’s strap.
“So what else do you do besides report on restaurateur improprieties?”
“What else do you do besides pick fights with coworkers?”
He laughed, and the corners of her mouth lifted. He liked her spunk, the way her eyelids flickered before she glanced away.
“You have a beautiful view from your condo,” he said, as he turned his attention to the waves. They crested against the sand and spewed into bubbles on shore.
“Thank you. I enjoy it.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“A year.”
“You’ve been here a year and I’ve never noticed you before?”
“You’ve never gotten into a fight with a coworker before.”
“Damn.” Camden raked his fingers through his hair and thought about how much this assignment had played hell with his social life. “I’ve got to get out more.”
“How long have you been here?”
He reached for his wine. “A little over a year myself.”
“Where are you from?”
“All over. My dad was in the military when I was young, so all I can really remember is moving around a lot. Now I do the same thing.”
“Lucky for you, it must be easy to find a job as a chef.”
“Yeah, it is.” He hated lying to her, but he couldn’t exactly tell her he was a DEA agent, now could he?
“You’re pretty built for a chef,” she said as she eyed him blatantly and sipped her wine.
He nearly choked on his, and set the glass down before he spilled it all over the place. “What’s wrong with a chef being built?”
“I’d think you’d want to sample all your food, and end up fat.”
He flexed his bicep and squeezed. “I work out a lot.”
“A man who works out, tends garden, and cooks? Is there anything you can’t do?”
Commit , he thought. And most times tell the truth . “Sure, lots of things.”
“Yeah? What?” She leaned into him as if waiting to hear a dark secret. His hormones jumped, his tongue curling with the longing to taste her.
“I can’t concentrate when a pretty woman like you is this close to me.”
She laughed and sat back in her chair. “That’s a line if I ever heard one.”
He shrugged. “It’s true. Didn’t you see me almost drop the grocery sacks I was carrying?”
“Not at all.”
He enjoyed watching her skin flush a delightful pink. She narrowed her eyes at him as he continued to study her. His gaze roamed over her face in a languid path of appreciation. The seductive tilt of her lips as they watched each other was disrupted by the timer on his phone.
He switched
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