Page 7 of Brazilian Surrender
She closed her eyes. Maybe she’d lied to him about the tears, she realized as a hot sting pricked her eyelids. No. She clamped her lips shut and tensed up her whole face, willing sadness away. She felt something move around her, the weight in the sofa shift a bit.
When she opened her eyes, she found him sitting next to her. He put his hand on hers, and a sizzle traveled up her arm. “We’ll find who did this to your dog, Camila. I promise you.”
“Thanks.”
He looked at their hands together, and she wrestled the need to interlace her fingers with his. Why would the thought even occur to her? The guy didn’t want to be friends, let alone… A thrill rushed down her back. Lovers.
The threat of a stalker and the loss of her dog had affected her common sense, that had to be the explanation for this attraction. Why else would she feel hot and bothered by such a subtle touch? She studied his hand on hers, hoping he wouldn’t move it. Somehow, his long fingers on her flesh gave her a sense of security, like he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
The dog yapped from the other room, and he withdrew his hand. “We’re still working on manners. His previous owner pretty much let him do everything.”
Maybe keeping Pork Chop after his owner died wasn’t such a chore to Jaeger—but was too macho to admit to it. She should be relieved Pork Chop interfered and they broke contact, yet a part of her she couldn’t understand wished for more.
…
“You should eat,” Jaeger said, when he took a piece of supreme pizza and put it on a plate for her. Two hours after their arrival at his place, and he’d decided ordering in would be the best thing to do. His regular diet consisted of protein shakes, coffee, and takeout, which meant his fridge and pantry weren’t stocked.
Why did I touch her hand and not let go?The freaking dog had more sense than he did. He’d give Pork Chop an extra treat tonight for keeping him from making a fool of himself.
Maybe bringing her here was a bad idea. He’d never brought a client to his place before, let alone a woman. The women he screwed he preferred to meet at a hotel and keep things honest from the beginning. Why would he give anyone the illusion of a potential relationship? He’d had a great marriage and he’d done the whole family thing. He’d lost the two people who mattered the most. End of story.
Hell, the only type of sex he enjoyed involved restraining his partners to keep a safe distance from them. Wouldn’t be fair to any woman to keep them from getting what they wanted or deserved in a relationship. So setting the tone from the start was more than a strategy—it was the only way he operated.
“I love pizza. The world needs more pizza,” she said, bringing the slice to her mouth. They sat across his dining table, which he rarely used for eating. Thankfully, his cleaning lady kept it clutter-free and polished; otherwise, it would be topped with books, electronic gadgets, and whatnot.
“The world needs a hell of a lot.”
“You’re so vague. You choose your words carefully, and you don’t give much away,” she said, reaching for a napkin behind him.
“Thank you.”
She winked and leaned closer as if sharing a shameful secret. “I didn’t mean that as a compliment.”
He figured. The nearness of her caused his blood to pound in his veins. He rocked back on his chair, gut clenching. “Tony should start sending those files soon,” he said, remembering the text he’d received ten minutes prior from his employee. Talking about work and their reality gave them a buffer zone. Camila had been through enough for one day.
“Sounds good,” she said and had another bite.
He had a couple more pieces himself, preferring to eat in silence and keep his mouth busy. Thankfully, she did the same, so they didn’t have to engage in small talk. He’d already messed up, holding her hand like she was his damn date. Why make it worse?
When his phone pinged, the sign he’d been waiting for, he checked to make sure Tony had sent the email. Once confirmed, he took Camila to his office where three different computer screens occupied the dark oak table. Maybe he should start letting the cleaning lady into his office. Camila skimmed the area, but if she found anything unusual, she didn’t comment.
He gave her the nice, swiveling chair and grabbed the one on the corner and sat next to her. Her sweet scent intoxicated him—a blend of a different flowers, resulting in a sophisticated feminine fragrance. When he’d been married, he enjoyed his wife’s perfume. What was it again? He blinked. Five years and he didn’t remember anymore. He bet Ellen would remember were she in his position. Damn it, he’d give anything for that to be the case. He shouldn’t have been late to work that day. If he hadn’t, he would have made it home for lunch as promised—and he’d have arrived before the motherfucker who killed Ellen and Trevor.
“Jaeger?” She nudged his elbow.
He blinked, and he should thank her for yanking him out of his reverie, but as he glanced down he found her soft hand clasping his elbow. His gut clenched, and he jerked away from her like she had attacked him. Shit. She frowned at his overreaction, and he cursed himself inwardly. “Let’s get to it,” he said.
“Er, sure. Everything okay?”
Nodding, he typed his passwords and soon the download started.
“This seems like a lot of stuff,” she said.
“Yes. I had him send video a few days before you got each letter so we wouldn’t miss anything, just in case.”
“Did he simply walk in and ask to see the files? That sounds too easy.”
If it sounds too easy, that’s because it is.“Does it matter how we’ve gotten these?”
