And after last night, the thought of facing him made her stomach jitter.
Christ, she didn’t know what was wrong with her. Why, all of the sudden, she couldn’t keep her hands off him—or, apparently, herself—whenever she thought about him. It had never been like this with Preston or the few other men she’d dated. She always knew where she stood with them, because she’d always called the shots in their relationship, both in bed and out. But Cam left her off-balance, reeling until she had no idea who stood where. It freaked her the hell out.
So she had to gain control. She had to stop avoiding him and let him know in no uncertain terms that friendship is all she wanted from him, too, despite what happened in Key West. And last night.
Actually, she wouldn’t mention last night at all. Too embarrassing.
She kicked off her shoes and hung her jacket on the rack by the door, then padded back to the living room and checked the digital clock on the cable box. The storm hadn’t taken out their electricity, and the clock changed from 7:59 to 8:00 AM as she watched. Cam wouldn’t be up for another hour at least. Maybe two. He’d never been much of a morning person. She scanned the condo’s open floor plan, not entirely sure what to do with herself, and spotted her bag where she’d left it propped against the side of the couch.
Work. That’s what she’d do.
Feeling steadier now that she had a purpose, she scooped up the bag and settled at the kitchen breakfast bar. She had copies of some files she needed to review before the cases went to court, so she brought the folders out, spreading them on the counter. She picked one at random, opened the cover, and was greeted by gruesome crime scene photos.
The tension bunching her muscles eased away as she threw herself into the work. What did it say about her that murder was so much easier to handle than the feelings Cam stirred up? She shuddered to think. So she stopped thinking altogether—at least about him—and focused on the intricacies of the difficult investigation laid out step-by-step in the report before her.
…
She didn’t notice him right away, which was fine by Cam. He didn’t get to see her with her guard down much anymore, and he stopped short in the hallway outside his bedroom to watch her. She hunched over a file on the counter, her lips moving a little as she read the contents. Then she sat up, brow furrowed, and flipped the pages.
He loved watching her work. Back when they’d been partners, how many times had he caught himself staring at her? In fact, how many times had she caught him staring? He always made a dumb excuse or cracked a joke so she wouldn’t know exactly the kinds of thoughts in his head as he watched her. Well, no more.
He purposely bumped his elbow into the wall and her head snapped up.
“Oh.” She shuffled her files together, her back and shoulders tightening up again with each step he took toward her. “How long have you been standing there?”
“A few minutes.”
“Why didn’t you—”
“Because I wanted to watch you.”
She snorted. “That’s not creepy.”
All right, so she’d resorted to cracking the jokes this time. He ignored it. “Did you sleep?”
The color filling her cheeks about matched the red of the coffee mug he pulled out of the cupboard.
“Yes,” she said stiffly.
“Did you eat yet?” He opened the freezer, found a box of Eggo waffles, and filled the four-slotted toaster.
“Uh, no.” She shifted around uncomfortably, no doubt trying to think of an escape plan as he left the waffles to cook and fixed himself a cup of coffee. He never felt fully functional until he got that kick of caffeine and sighed in pleasure with the first sip.
“What are you doing?” Eva demanded when he opened his eyes again.
“Cooking breakfast.”
She crossed her arms in front of her. “You don’t have to cook for me.”
“Uh, I usually do when you stay over. Outta the two of us, I’m better with a toaster. Which, granted, isn’t saying much for either of us, but you never had a problem with it before.”
Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. “I’m not hungry.”
“Bullshit.” He set his mug on the counter, smacking it against the granite harder than he’d planned. But, c’mon, she was being so freaking obstinate this morning, and frustration rumbled through him. “You’re always hungry.”
As if to prove his point, her stomach growled loud enough for him to hear it. Arching his brow, he returned to the coffee maker to start her cup. She let him finish making their breakfast without further comment, nursing her coffee in a broody silence.
Ten minutes later, he slid a plate of waffles and microwaved bacon to her and she dug in like she was aiming for first place in an eating competition, obviously in a hurry to get away from him. So, naturally, he sat on the stool beside her. She shifted away, giving him her shoulder.