Hot Commodity (23 page)

Olivia frowned and set her hands on her hips. Her new husband didn’t know how to cook, did he? Though it appeared he did, she refused to believe it. It wouldn’t be fair if Cameron was domestically inclined. He was already rich, and handsome, and successful. Being able to cook gave him too much advantage. And it didn’t help that she hadn’t the foggiest idea of what to do with all the food she found.

Well, there was no time to learn like the present. Shrugging, Olivia pulled down a package of spaghetti noodles and a can of tomato sauce. What could be hard about making spaghetti? It was just pasta, sauce, and meatballs, right? And actually, she could do without the meat.

Feeling optimistic, she opened the package of pasta and frowned inside at the contents. She had no idea how much pasta was needed to feed two people. She poured the entire package into the round pan she’d found and tossed the box into the waste basket. Then she struggled to open the sauce. It took her a while to figure out how the electric can opener worked, but when she finally pried the lid open, she felt cockily successful.

Humming, she poured the entire can of sauce over the hard noodles and set them on the stove. Crouching down to examine all the devices, she finally figured out how to turn on the correct burner. Twisting up the heat, Olivia bit her lip and wondered how hot it needed to be.
 

Finally, it occurred to her that maybe the cooking instructions were on the noodle box. Wrinkling her nose, she glanced toward the trashcan.

"Eww," she said, and decided if a man could get from point A to point B without stopping for directions, then a woman could certainly cook a meal without digging through the nasty trash.
  

So, she cranked the heat up to full-blast and went about inspecting Cameron’s wine fridge. She picked out the perfect blend for an Italian supper before it struck her that wine was alcohol. Probably not the best beverage for a recovering alcoholic.

Immediately, she slipped the wine back into the cooler and decided to make coffee.
 
Which was an experience all on its own.

~ * ~

Olivia wanted to melt into the floor and die of humiliation.

By the time, Cameron appeared in the kitchen doorway, the room was in utter chaos. Thick ugly smoke rose from the spaghetti while coffee dripped directly onto the burner because there was no pot waiting to catch the brew. And the smoke detector wailed out a piercing yowl.

"What the hell!" He flew into the room and tossed his briefcase onto a counter before dashing to where she was fanning the smoking spaghetti. Grabbing the handle, he jerked the scorched pan off the heat and turned off the stove. Then he disabled the alarm.

Once the noise stopped, he turned and eyed the mess in his kitchen. Grinning, he shook his head. "I thought you were kidding when you said you’d have supper ready."

"I was," she grumbled. "But I’m famished. I thought it was better to make a go at cooking than die of hunger."

"Why didn’t you just have something delivered?" He motioned toward the refrigerator where all sorts of menus and magnets were posted, advertising a variety of food deliveries.

Olivia flushed. To tell the truth, she hadn’t even noticed all the numbers. But she frowned and set her hands on her hips, eyeing him critically. "And just how was I supposed to pay for food? I don’t have any money."

"Ah. Good point." Turning back to the pot of her scorched attempt at spaghetti, he scratched the back of his neck as he tapped at a crusty piece of pasta sticking from the top. After glancing in at the sauce, he cocked a curious glance Olivia’s way. "Um, did you, by chance, forget to boil your

pasta first?"

Olivia blinked. "You’re supposed to boil it…in water?"

He laughed. "Well, yeah." He pulled a stiff stick from the red goo. "Interesting," he murmured as if her failure was the most entertaining thing he’d ever witnessed.

Olivia sat her hands on her hips. "Just how do you know how to cook?"

"My mom." He picked up the handle of the pot and cleared his throat. "Say, let’s dump this, ah, whatever it is, and order Chinese."

"I thought you knew how to cook," Olivia countered, still irritated her disaster only amused him.

"Hey, just because I know how, doesn’t mean I do."

"But what about all the food in the cabinets?"

"That would be my mother. Again. She likes to stock my kitchen every few weeks. My housekeeper, Greta, will usually make a meal and leave it in the fridge. But she only comes on Wednesdays and Sundays."

Olivia sighed, admitting defeat. "Okay," she said. "Let’s order Chinese. But I’m going to need, like, a dozen egg rolls."

~ * ~

Half an hour later, the kitchen was free of all coffee and spaghetti. Olivia and Cameron sat cross-legged on his leather couch, eating delivery from oriental to-go boxes.

Olivia licked soy sauce off her thumb and sent Cam a rueful grin. "You don’t happen to know how to use the washing machine, do you?"

He glanced up, surprised. "Why?"

"I’m running out of clean clothes." Olivia motioned to her outfit.

He shrugged. "Just have Greta wash them on Wednesday when she comes to clean," he offered.

She flushed. "I, uh, I’m going to run out before then."

Cameron paused and studied her shirt and slacks. "You need more clothes," he finally surmised.

She didn’t answer, but busied herself pulling apart a crab rangoon.

"But you don’t have any money," Cameron added softly. "I’m finally catching on here." He held up a finger for her to wait and lifted his hip off the couch in order to dig into his back pocket.

When he pulled out his wallet, Olivia instantly scowled. "I don’t want your money."

He ignored her and pulled free a credit card. When he handed it over, she merely glared at it.

"I’m serious," she said. "You’re already doing too much for me."

"Hey, you’re my wife," he said in a playful manner. "What’s mine is yours, right?" When Olivia didn’t budge, he sent her an imploring look. "You know I have more than enough to buy you ten new wardrobes, right?"

"Cameron, I need to start learning how to do things on my own. If I

just keep taking hand-outs from you, I’ll never—"

"Then don’t think of it as a hand-out," he interrupted.

When she opened her mouth to interrupt, he held up a hand. "Think of it as a jump start. Once you’re on your feet, I’ll cut you loose."

She nodded and finally slipped the card slowly from his hand. "I’ll pay you back as soon as I can."

He shrugged. "Whatever."

~ * ~

Olivia was really starting to unnerve Cameron.

Though he should’ve turned in for the night, he had this overwhelming urge to seek out his new houseguest and see what she was doing. He wanted to seduce her, push her against the first sturdy surface they encountered and bury himself deep inside her warmth. He wanted to suck her ripe nipples into his mouth and bite down until she cried for more.

The urges annoyed him. Sure, he wanted Olivia. She was an attractive woman. But this need in him was starting to get ridiculous. He wanted her all the time. As soon as he pictured her face, his body went all achy and throbby and he wanted to bury himself over and over into the nearest available hole. Hell, he’d been damn near tempted to visit the bathroom at work and give himself a hand job to find some release. Three different times. And it was all because some delicious little Twinkie wouldn’t get out of his head. He’d thought about her more than he should’ve all day. Numerous times he’d been tempted to call home just to check in and see how she was doing.

The pleasure he’d gotten from seeing her trying to cook in his kitchen went against all his rules concerning the opposite sex. He didn’t care about women—not in a lasting commitment sort of way. Okay, okay, that wasn’t exactly true. He loved his mother, and his sister, and all his girl cousins, and aunts, and
 
grandmother, and so forth. But datable women were just around for entertainment. He didn’t feel contentment by watching them destroy his kitchen. That kind of affection wasn’t allowed. Not anymore. Sienna had successfully killed his ability to love that way, just as surely as she’d killed herself.

Yet one little blonde cupcake broke all his carefully ordered guidelines.

Determined to put Miss Livy back into her rightful place, Cameron scoured the house for a sign of her. He needed to do something nasty and mean so she’d know not to get too comfortable. Her stay was only temporary. They both needed a reminder of that. So, before looking further, he stopped by his nightstand and filched a little something from his condom box.

He found her in one of the guest bedrooms. She wore the nightgown from Chicago and hummed under her breath as she stared in a mirror, watching her own fingers smear lotion on her throat and upper chest.

His cruel intentions forgotten, Cameron went rock-solid hard as he recalled touching that throat and slipping those thin straps off her shoulders to bare her full breasts. He ran his gaze down her voluptuous figure. God, she had such a tiny waist to go with those full hips. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on them again.

"You’re not really going to sleep in here, are you?" he asked, startling her into jumping and whirling around.

"Well, yeah," she answered, sending him an odd look after surveying the room. "This is my room. You said I could choose."

Stepping inside, Cameron approached her slowly, like a spider advancing on any tasty morsel caught its web. "Yes, but why should we mess up two set of sheets for Greta to clean when we can just share mine?"

"Because," she started, but he effectively cut her off when he yanked her into his arms and kissed her.

He could tell she tasted alcohol on his tongue. She pulled back immediately and gave him a surprised look. "When did you—" But she stopped herself at the last moment.

He was glad she didn’t continue. He didn’t want to talk about it.

~ * ~

Olivia ran her tongue over her bottom lip and lapped up the taste of Cameron. As she did so, she focused on his face and compared it to all the pictures she’d sorted through earlier.

He’d aged a lot in the last few years. And it was true what they said about men only looking better the older they grew. Though he’d been cute in his youth, the features on his face were chiseled and shaped to perfection. Cameron Banks had a defined character about him.

His eyes narrowed. "Why is that look in your eyes making me so nervous?"

Olivia smiled and reached for his face. He stiffened in surprise, but then closed his eyes and nuzzled her fingers as she ran them up his jaw. "I was just thinking you made a good point about the sheets," she murmured, moving closer. "And you’re right. There really is no point in being wasteful. We should just share a bed for tonight."

"I’m always right," he murmured drowsily and made a sound of appreciation when she moved closer and pressed her mouth to the jaw she’d just stroked. His breath caressed her face.

A picture of his first wife entered her head. Remembering Sienna and the way she’d made Cameron miserable upset her. For the first time in her life, she wanted to slap a dead woman. But how could Sienna still control so much of Cameron’s emotions? Irrationally jealous he could sleep with her each night, yet still mourn another woman, Olivia tightened her grip on him.

Determined to wipe all traces of the other woman out of his head, she hooked a finger under one strap of her nightgown and slid it off her shoulder to reveal the slope of her breast. Cameron watched the process. His steady, solemn gaze almost broke her. For some reason, she wanted to soothe the ache inside him. He’d saved her from her mother. She needed to return the favor.