The Sex Files. Jule McBride

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      “I think you already know,” he said calmly. “But it’s Oliver. Oliver Vargo.”

      The way he said it reminded her of how James Bond always introduced himself. The name’s Bond, James Bond. His fleeting smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, although it did show off rows of straight, white, gleaming teeth. Days ago, she’d decided he was more interesting-looking than handsome, but now that he was inches away, she was changing her mind. He was mouthwatering. Too bad he wasn’t acting nearly as charming as when he was on television, chatting with Kate Olsen.

      “And since we’re exchanging names…” he said.

      Despite his annoyance, his voice rippled through her, sending heat into her bloodstream, shooting quill after quivering quill into her belly.

      “You were outside Grand Central,” he continued. “And outside the apartment where I’m staying, watching me from a club across the street, Nite-Lite.”

      Yes, indeed, Oliver was more observant than she’d realized. He had a very commanding presence, too, and she was beginning to understand that denying all the accusations might not be in her best interest. Still, days ago, she’d been ready to turn to him for help, but now, after spying on him from Grand Central, she needed to be more certain she could trust him. “I can explain everything,” she said cautiously.

      “I’m waiting.” When she didn’t respond immediately, he added dryly, “No rush. We’ve got all night.”

      “We won’t have to spend all night,” she said quickly.

      “We won’t be spending the night,” he murmured in soft echo, seemingly liking how the innuendo made her eyes widen.

      “That’s not what I meant.”

      “What did you mean?”

      Now that she was getting over her shock, Peggy noticed Oliver was looking at her with an oddly curious expression, as if he’d seen her somewhere before. “I don’t know where to start,” she said.

      “You said you could explain everything,” he retorted, his gaze still assessing. “So, why don’t you start with that?” he suggested. “Everything.”

      Surely she was misinterpreting the strange look in his eyes, but he clearly recognized her. There was no mistaking it now. Had Miles McLaughlin told him about her? And why had Kevin Hall chased her? she wondered again, panic making her insides tighten. “Before I do,” she said, “I need to know why you’re looking at me like that.”

      “Like what?”

      Like you know me. And like you want to kiss me. The thought came unbidden, but she could see it in the way his eyes kept drifting to her mouth. In fact, his eyes seemed to devour her, as if he’d long had fantasies about her. That was crazy, of course, and she tried to tell herself it was only wishful thinking, since she’d dreamed of him. What woman wouldn’t? Peggy was healthy. And sexually active before she’d sworn off love.

      “Have we met before?” he asked.

      “Have we?” she managed.

      “I’ve seen you,” he murmured. “The same dark eyes. The same blond hair…”

      Something in his voice—a thread of steel weaving through softness—made her heart pound again. As it beat a tattoo against her ribs, she wished with all her strength that he’d let her go. If anything convinced her she’d made a huge mistake by following him, it was the weakness hitting the backs of her knees. Yes, with his hard, aroused body pressed against hers, she suddenly felt sorry, truly sorry, they’d met. As things stood, she’d been in enough trouble.

      “Let me go,” she said again, with more conviction.

      “I don’t think so,” he answered in an easy tone that belied his commanding words. “You’re coming with me, Cameron.”

      Things were getting stranger by the minute. She swallowed nervously. “Cameron?”

      “Yeah…” Lightly licking his lips, he repeated the name as if he liked the taste of it in his mouth. “Cameron.”

      “What are you talking a—”

      He interrupted, saying the strangest thing yet. “Whoever you are—” He squeezed his hand around her arm again as if to test the truth of it. “You’re every bit as real as me.”

      “Of course I am.” She squinted at him.

      “Why are you following me?” he asked again.

      “Look,” she said, “I don’t mean you any harm—”

      “You,” he emphasized with a chuckle. “Harm me?”

      Of course the idea was ludicrous. Oliver Vargo was tall, broad-shouldered and packed with solid muscle that made her shudder. “I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t defend yourself.” The question was, could he defend her?

      The longer she looked at him, she wasn’t even sure she wanted him to. The second their bodies connected, she’d realized this man could be dangerous, if only to her heart. How many times could a woman trust, after all? How many times could she heal and then open herself up to let in feelings of love—only to find out she’d been used again?

      She bit down hard on her lower lip. Everything around her seemed to tilt off-kilter. Admit it, she thought. She was already half in love with him. She was a crime-story junkie, which was what had gotten her into all this trouble in the first place, and when she’d read Oliver’s books she’d been smitten…

      Her eyes darted from left to right, seeking escape.

      “Don’t even think about it,” he warned quietly.

      She wanted to look anywhere but into his eyes, and yet she forced herself to stare him down, not about to be intimidated. “Why did you call me Cameron?”

      “What is your name?”

      “I see you’re going to answer questions with questions.”

      “Until you start talking.”

      She considered a long moment. Feeling sure nothing good was going to come of all this, she said, “I guess Cameron will do. For now.” Maybe this way, she could buy time, find out what was happening at the FBI office. Whatever was going through Oliver Vargo’s mind at the moment, he wasn’t saying he was going to take her in for questioning, the way Kevin Hall had….

      “Who are you, really?”

      She had a thousand answers for that, beginning with Peggy Fox, a woman in trouble. But he was getting impatient. He said, “Are you a fan?”

      “Uh…yeah.” That, too.

      His gaze flicked down, making her realize her coat had fallen open again. He was slowly perusing the tight white dress beneath, his gaze lingering on the scoop neckline, as if he was thoroughly intrigued by the space where fabric ended and skin began.

      The crowd surged, pushing him into her arms, and she gasped. Her hands СКАЧАТЬ