response, wriggled and spoke more firmly. "Cameron, wake up."
He grunted, snuggled closer, and muttered something into her hair.
She sighed and, deciding she had no choice, lifted the leg that was caught between his until her knee pressed firmly against his crotch. Then she gave it a quick nudge.
That got his eyes open.
"Whoa! What?"
"Wake up."
"I'm awake." And his just-open eyes were all but crossed. "Would you mind moving your…" When the pressure eased off, he let out the breath he'd been holding. "Thanks."
"You've got to go." She was back to whispering. "You shouldn't have stayed in here all night."
"Why not?" he whispered back. "It's my bed."
"You know what I'm talking about," she hissed. "One of your brothers could get up any minute."
He exerted himself to lift his head a couple of inches and peer at the clock on the opposite nightstand. "It's after seven. Ethan's already up, has probably emptied his first crab pot. And why are we whispering?"
"Because you're not supposed to be here."
"I live here." A sleepy smile moved over his face. "Damn, you're pretty when you're all rumpled and embarrassed. I guess I have to have you again."
"Stop it." She nearly giggled, until his hand snuck around to cup her breast. "Not now."
"We're here now, naked and everything. And you're all soft and warm." He nuzzled his way to her neck.
"Don't you start."
"Too late. I'm already into the first lap."
And indeed when he shifted, she understood that the starting gun had already sounded. He was inside her in one easy move, and it was so smooth, so natural, so lovely, she could only sigh.
"No moaning," he said with a chuckle at her ear. "You'll wake up my brothers."
She snorted out a laugh and, caught between amusement and arousal, shoved and rolled until she straddled him. He looked sleepy, and dangerous, and exciting. A little breathless, she braced her hands on either side of his head. She bent down and sucked his bottom lip into her mouth.
"Okay, smart guy, let's see who moans first."
And arching back, she began to ride.
Afterward, they decided it was a tie.
she made him climb out the window, which he claimed was ridiculous. But it made her feel a little less decadent. The house was quiet when she came downstairs, freshly showered and comfortable in olive-drab cotton slacks and a camp shirt. Seth was still sleeping on the rug. Foolish stood guard on the floor.
At the sight of Anna, the pup scrambled up, whining pitifully as he followed her into the kitchen. She assumed it was either an empty stomach or a full bladder. When she opened the back door, he shot out like a bullet and proved it was the latter by peeing copiously on an azalea just struggling into bloom.
Birds were singing with full, joyful throats. Dew sparkled on the grass—and the grass needed mowing. There was still a light mist on the water, but it was burning off quickly, like blown smoke, and through it she could see little diamond sparks of sunlight on calm water.
The air was fresh from the night's rain, and the leaves seemed greener, fuller than they had only a day before.
She built a little fantasy that included steaming coffee and a walk down to the dock. By the time she'd taken the first step toward brewing the coffee, Cam came in through the hallway door.
He hadn't shaved, she noted, and found that the stubble of beard suited her image of a lazy Sunday morning in the country. He lifted a brow.
She got two mugs out of the cupboard, then lifted hers. "Good morning, Cameron."
"Good morning, Anna." Deciding to play along, he walked over and gave her a chaste kiss. "How did you sleep?"
"Very well, and you?"
"Like a log." He wound a lock of her hair around his finger. "It wasn't too quiet for you?"
"Quiet?"
"City girl, country silence."
"Oh. No, I liked it. In fact, I don't think I've ever slept better."
They were grinning at each other when Seth stumbled in, rubbing his eyes. "Have we got anything to eat?"
Cam kept his gaze locked on Anna's. "Phillip ran his mouth about making waffles. Go wake him up."
"Waffles? Cool." He ran off, his bare feet slapping on the wood floor.
"Phillip's not going to appreciate that," Anna commented.
"He's the one who started the waffle rumor."
"I could make them."
"You made dinner. We take turns around here. To avoid chaos. And the shedding of blood." A loud and nasty thud sounded over their heads and made Cam grin. "Why don't we pour that coffee and take a walk out of the line of fire?"
"I was thinking the same thing."
On impulse, he grabbed a fishing pole. "Hold this." A hunt through the fridge netted him a small round of Phillip's Brie.
"I thought we were having waffles."
"We are. This is bait." He tucked the cheese in his pocket and picked up his coffee.
"You use Brie for bait?"
"You use what's handy. A fish is going to bite, it'll bite on damn near anything." He handed her a mug of coffee. "Let's see what we can catch."
"I don't know how to fish," she said as they headed out.
"Nothing to it. You drown a worm—or in this case some fancy cheese—and see what happens."
"Then why do guys go off with all that expensive, complicated gear and those funny hats?"
"Just trappings. We're not talking dry fly-fishing here. We're just dropping a line. If we can't pull up a couple of cats by the time Phillip's got waffles on the table, I've really lost my touch."
"Cats?" For one stunning moment, she was absolutely horrified. "You don't use cats as bait."
He blinked at her, saw that she was perfectly serious, then roared with laughter. "Sure we do. You catch 'em by the tail, skin their bellies, and drop them in." He took pity on her only because she went deathly pale. But it didn't stop him from laughing. "Catfish, honey. We're going to bring up some catfish before breakfast."
"Very funny." She sniffed and started walking again. "Catfish are really ugly. I've seen pictures."
"You're telling me you've never eaten catfish?"
"Why in the world would I?" A little miffed, she sat on the side of the dock, feet dangling, and cupped her mug in both hands.
"Fry them fresh and fry them right, and you've never tasted better. Toss in some hush puppies, a couple ears of sweet corn, and you've got yourself a feast."
She eyed him as he settled beside her and began to bait his hook with Brie. His chin was stubbled, his hair untidy, his feet bare. "Fried catfish and hush puppies? This from the reckless Cameron Quinn, the man who races through the waters, roads, and the hearts of Europe. I don't think your little pastry from Rome would recognize you."
He grimaced and dropped his line in the water. "We're not going to get into that again, are we?"
"No." She laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I almost don't recognize you myself. But I kind of like it."
He handed her the pole. "You don't exactly look like the sober and dedicated public servant yourself this morning, Miz Spinelli."
"I take Sundays off. What do I do if I catch a fish?"
"Reel it in."
"How?"
"We'll worry about that when it happens." He leaned over to pull up the crab pot tied to the near piling. The two annoyed-looking jimmies inside made him grin. "At least we won't starve tonight."
The snapping claws had Anna lifting her feet slightly higher above the water. But she was content to sit there, sipping coffee, watching the morning bloom. When Mama Duck and her six fuzzy babies swam by, she had what Cam considered a typical city girl reaction.
"Oh, look! Look, baby ducks. Aren't they cute?"