Hot Commodity(55)

"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.