Chapter One
Ginger tapped her nails on the frosty glass in front of her and straightened the white linen tablecloth. She tried to suppress a sigh as she glanced at the slim, gold Cartier on her wrist. Fifteen minutes late. How long should she wait for a no-show? Without appearing desperate?
Underneath the table, she uncrossed her legs then re-crossed them in the opposite direction, tucking the short, black skirt under her thighs. She fought the urge to pick up her phone to check the email yet again. She remembered the thing verbatim, anyway. Madame had been very clear in her instructions: wait in the hotel bar and give him extra time for his cold feet.
How much time did she have to give the mystery man, though? Fifteen minutes? An hour? Did he know where to go and who he was to meet? Hell, was that why he had “cold feet”?
Ginger intimidated the stronger sex all the time, although she never intentionally tried. As an ex-federal officer, six feet tall and attractively built, men usually reacted to her in one of two ways. The law enforcement types inevitably became ballsy, regaling her with tales of bravery and heroism too outrageous to believe. All the other guys tended to be too intimidated to even talk to her—at least in anything other than a professional capacity. Eight years after she’d quit the Bureau, they still reacted the same way. Really, she shouldn’t be surprised. Men were such contrary creatures.
She had decided to try to bypass all the meeting and greeting bullshit by engaging Madame Eve’s dating service, 1NightStand. That way, the men knew up front her history and what she wanted. She found nothing more humiliating than showing up for a date to find the man wasn’t even six feet tall. Eve’s emails had reassured her that she had the perfect match in mind.
Ginger raised the drink to her lips, let the apple martini slide over her tongue, and set the empty glass to the edge of the table. The barman arrived at her side immediately and she ordered another, as well as an artichoke dip appetizer. She would give her mystery date thirty more minutes then leave.
***
Cameron debated what to do about the customer. She downed drinks like they were going out of style. Alex, the bartender, had texted him a little while before to warn him that the upset woman might be drinking a little more than she should. But he was already aware of the situation. Hell, he’d been watching her for forty minutes. As soon as she’d walked into view of the closed-circuit cameras, she’d drawn his eye.
From the way she glanced at her watch and the doorway, she’d been stood up.
The schmuck needs shooting. Standing up a woman gorgeous enough to make a man’s toes curl. Idiotic. He stared, unable to drag his eyes away from the screen. Dark auburn hair curled to the middle of her slender back, outlined by the black dress she wore; long calves pressed together and tipped to the side, shiny heels resting on the footrest of the barstool. The camera position didn’t allow him to see her face, only the smooth, feminine jaw and plump, glossy lips when she occasionally peered toward the door. He zoomed in, praying for a better shot, or for her to turn around, but neither happened. He wondered what she looked like full on. If her front matched her back, she would stop traffic.
Cameron shifted in his chair, debating what to do. She had a right to get schnockered if she wanted to, but she didn’t seem the type to let go that way. Her demeanor had been too reserved. As of right now, she caused no problems, so he had no real need as chief of security to talk to her.
Was she the one Madame told him to keep an eye out for? Her description had been blunt, but uninformative: You will know her when you see her. Take care of her for the night. Do not let her appearance deter you, chèr. She has scars, too.
Cameron gritted his teeth. He did not like being manipulated, but had no choice in the matter. Madame Eve had gotten him the job at the Castillo New York, and he owed her a lot.
Surveying the bank of security monitors, he searched for some reason to put off going downstairs. Everything was quiet. He desperately wanted to study the woman up close, but desire that strong only led to trouble.
Fuck it. He shoved to his feet, startling the guard behind him. “I’ll be down at the bar.”
Young Michael nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”
Cameron tried to prepare himself as he strode down the ornate hallway. In spite of what he claimed, excitement sped up his heart and feet. Out of habit, his eyes scanned as he walked, checking for anything out of place that might indicate a problem. Brass shone in the low light and the carpet was spotless. The windows with a view of the luxurious lobby gleamed. Management prided themselves on the back of the house being as presentable as the front.
The opulence had no effect on him. After three years in the Castillo’s employ, he had become used to the sumptuous surroundings and the wealthy patrons who frequented the chain of hotels. It all seemed old hat now. Boring.
The beauty pulling him downstairs presented a break in routine. He hadn’t experienced motivation like this, for, well, years.
Alex and the woman were the only ones in the bar when he arrived. The elegant curve of her spine invited him closer. The bartender leaned over the gleaming mahogany, smiling. When Cameron glared at him as he strode closer, Alex walked away and the woman’s head turned, following his retreat.
Cameron stopped at her shoulder and she straightened, tipping her delicate chin toward him.
He struggled to maintain his surprise as he saw her glorious face for the first time and recognized her instantly. High cheekbones, hazel eyes like pieces of shattered stained glass…Ginger Hampton was more beautiful in person than he could have imagined. For the first time in four years, awareness flowed through him at the sight of a woman. Her gaze scanned his face then drifted down his rangy body, settling on the scars on his neck, and he waited for an expression of disgust to materialize. God, how could he have forgotten? His heart clenched and his breath paused in his lungs. But it didn’t happen. Instead, her painted red mouth broadened into a full smile.
“Hello,” she said.
Cock hardening instantly, he struggled to remember their surroundings. They were in the Castillo bar, not in his suite. Her voice was surprisingly smoky, and he wondered if it was that way naturally or as a result of the alcohol. Either way, he wanted to hear more. She personified sex, and his damaged body wanted to participate. His cheeks heated as he remembered the dog-eared security manual lying on the floor beside his bed, open to her ad.
How mortifying to be staring into the face of his wet dream. Literally. The pose in the magazine was professional in the extreme. She wore a plain black suit with a narrow skirt, her hair rolled up in a bun. Something about the look in her eyes, though, made him think sex.
She blinked up at him, quirking a dark brow in question. Her expression gentled as heat washed over his cheeks. He was relieved when the drink suddenly became fascinating to her.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
Ridiculous. Thirty-eight years old and an attractive, intuitive woman could knock him off guard. It never used to be that way; years ago, he did the flustering, and he had never gone without female companionship for any length of time. Until the accident that blew his world apart. Four years after his return from Iraq, his confidence with the opposite sex had pretty much tanked.
Concentrating, forcing himself to be personable, he held his hand out. She didn’t hesitate to clasp it strongly. Intrigued in spite of himself, heat surged up his arm from the point of contact. “Cameron.”
The woman smiled sweetly and gave his hand an extra shake. If she noticed the warmth, she didn’t give any indication. “Ginger.”
A thrill went through him as she confirmed her identity. One of the most photographed and recognizable forces in the security world, she had resigned from the FBI years before. High-end corporate issues were her forte now. A couple of years ago, she had made the papers for rescuing the four-year old daughter of a Fortune 500 CEO. He’d snipped the piece and pored over it repeatedly during his months of recovery. When he’d been released from the hospital, he’d tucked the threadbare clipping in his underwear drawer.
“Ginger,” he asked, “mind if I sit with you a minute?”
Interest lightened her unique hazel eyes, and his ego thumped. Didn’t his appearance bother her? If she was interested, he would seriously try to work up the balls to acknowledge it.
She waved a manicured hand and shifted her knees to give him room. Cameron hiked himself onto the little stool and rested his left elbow on the mahogany rail, his body angled toward her. Alex set a Diet Coke at his elbow, winked at her, and retreated to serve another customer who had entered.
He cleared his throat. “Are you, uh, waiting for somebody?”
She blinked at him and frowned at the almost empty glass in front of her. “Yes. A date.” She tossed him a wry smile. “But he didn’t show up.” She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “He’s an hour late now.”
Cameron’s brows lowered in disbelief. Who would leave someone so beautiful and intelligent hanging that way? “I seriously hope he’s in the hospital or being mugged downtown or some other catastrophic event. He better have a damn good excuse.”
Ginger laughed and swallowed the last of her drink, her expression dark with sadness as she faced him again. “Thank you for that. I don’t know why he didn’t show. We were set up through a dating service.”
Madame Eve. Cameron struggled with the thought that she had to be set up on a date. The woman was bangin’ hot and knew people. It amazed him that she didn’t already have a family, let alone a boyfriend.
Ginger quirked a sleek auburn brow at him. “You’re wondering why I employed a dating service.” She raised a smooth shoulder delicately, the silver chain at her throat glinting in the low light. “I wanted somebody with more substance than I could find in my circles. Most of the guys I know are either too full of themselves, freaks, or too scared to ask. I needed somebody objective to help out and guide me in the right direction.” Resignation tightened her features. “Worked great, huh?”
Cameron’s jaded heart shuddered at her obvious disappointment. But he could understand her reasoning. And he could certainly sympathize with the men. Honestly, he didn’t know if he had the balls to ask her out. You’re on duty, asshole. You can’t. He’d been directed to work the night shift tonight for a reason. Surely he’d located the woman Madame had told him to watch for.
He pulled his cell phone out and typed off a quick text, letting Mike know he was going off shift. He offered Ginger a slight smile, just enough for the scar to tug at his lips. Taking a deep breath and his courage in hand, he asked her, “Can I buy you a coffee?”
***
A frantic thrill coursed through Ginger’s body. The intensity of the feeling surprised her. The battle-scarred man beside her appealed to her in ways she didn’t expect, but was more than happy to explore.
“Absolutely,” she told him with a grin. She would have preferred another martini, but maybe a little head clearing would be good. She wanted to be on her toes. Actually, I’d rather be in bed with him.
His hard mouth twitched with surprise at her quick acceptance. He had probably expected her to decline. Normally, she would have, simply out of habit. Strange men approached her all the time, trying to get some kind of reaction. They saw her in a magazine or brochure for her company and acted as if they were acquainted and had special privileges to her. Pissed her off to no end.
This guy was not the type that usually appealed to her. A rough life had etched itself across his strong face. Subtle scars puckered his left cheek, around his neck, and disappeared beneath the collar of his suit. The scarring had resulted from a burn, but she couldn’t tell how long ago. Black hair trimmed close, shaved at the neck and a tad longer on top, hinted at some kind of military background, and his attire suggested he worked in security. Hmm, the only drawback. She had hired Madame Eve specifically to get her away from law enforcement and armed forces types, but they tended to be the rescuers. She glanced at his body out of the corner of her eye. The black suit and matching shirt fitted nicely to his broad, muscular frame, but did not appear expensive. And he was tall, well over six feet. She’d had to crane her neck up at him from her stool, and she didn’t often have to do that. The thought of being feminine and not having to try to fit in as “one of the boys” thrilled her.
“Black?”
Ginger frowned. Black? Oh, the coffee. Yes, time to lay off the martinis. She nodded. “Please.”
Cameron tipped his chin and the young man delivered two steaming cups within seconds. She inhaled the aroma, eyes closed, then smiled her appreciation.
Though she didn’t do anything wrong, Ginger felt a little guilty when she opened her eyes and looked at Cameron. She had to wonder if he thought she was flirting. Previous boyfriends had been suspicious of any contact she had with other men, even something innocuous as a business meeting or suspect interview. Girlfriends tended to think she had her sights set on their men, even when she didn’t. Everybody always assumed things about her, and it was frustrating being on the defensive all the time. One of the reasons she was in New York was to try to resurrect a friendship after a miscommunication.
Her rescuer blew on the steaming cup of coffee in his hand. The scar pulled up one corner of his mouth, but his lips could still tighten. Still flexible enough for kissing, then. He would probably taste like coffee, but what else? Dark stubble shadowed his jaw—how would it rub against her skin?
He licked his full lips and pursed them in a frown.
Ginger realized she was staring and forced her gaze down to her cup. She didn’t want to make him self-conscious.
“So,” she murmured, “do you work here at the hotel?”
Cameron took another heavy swallow of the steaming coffee. “I do. I’m chief of security.”
For a split second, Ginger debated telling him what she did professionally, but decided against it.
Actually, the man seemed familiar to her. A memory teased at her mind. The sight of a broad back walking down the hallway, away from her. That had been the last time she’d stayed here, several months before. Could it have been him? The image had stuck with her vividly.
She quirked a brow and leaned toward him, putting flirtation into her voice. “Really? Ever catch anybody having sex in the elevators?”
He snorted. “A time or two, yes. And skinny dipping in the pool. And of course, the ‘hot tub incident’.”
She giggled, intrigued. “Incident?”
He leaned toward her. Their shoulders brushed, and she sighed. Very nice. “Yep. A gentleman guest decided one of the hot tub intakes would be a good place to put his, well, you know.”
Chuckling, she rested her fingers on his forearm. “Seriously?”
Cautious gray eyes flicked down to her hand. She’d laid the girlie thing on a little thick, but she couldn’t help herself. He didn’t actually appear disturbed, only surprised. Did the scars pose that much of an obstacle for women? Well, this was New York, a city that prided itself on false beauty.
His physical imperfections didn’t bother her, though. This man actually lived and had the marks to prove it.
“Seriously.” His dark head nodded solemnly. “We had to shut down the main floor of the hotel for several hours while the fire department extricated him.”
Ginger covered her mouth with her hand. “The poor man had to have been mortified. Did he survive?”
His right eyebrow kicked up and he grinned. “Well, other than some swelling, he did recover.”
She laughed and rocked sideways on her stool, almost losing her balance. A strong hand snatched her arm and hauled her back into position. “Thank you,” she gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. “Oh, my, I needed that. Thank you, Cameron.”
The big man motioned behind him. “Why don’t we go sit in a booth before you fall down?”
She stared at him for a long minute. “No, I don’t think so.” She waved down the bartender, who snatched a receipt from the cash register and handed it to her, along with a pen. She scrawled her name across the bottom and handed them back. “Can you have room service send a pot of coffee up to my room, please? Thirteen-seventeen.”
He nodded and reached for the house phone.
She slid off the stool and smoothed her hands down her halter dress, tightening her tummy and squaring her shoulders. Cameron’s eyes drifted slowly up her body, following her movements, and her nipples responded to the weight of his gaze. Her stomach clenched at her daring. “Would you join me upstairs?”