Hot Commodity (Banks / Kincaid Family #1)(14)

And she had sought him. He knew that much for sure. He remembered her approaching him, remembered how she’d looked so desperate when she’d told him she needed a husband. He’d been only half wasted at that point. But from then on, everything turned blurry. He also remembered the sex. Vaguely. He recalled thinking he’d never wanted it so bad before. He remembered how good she’d felt when he first slid inside her. He remembered pounding into her and making her come, more than once.

But other than that…

"Look," he said, trying to sound gentle since she was obviously spooked. "I’m still having trouble remembering much. But if you want to help me clear up a few details, like why and how this happened, I’d be real willing to hear what you have to say so we can fix it as expediently as possible. And I’m not going to hurt you, so you don’t have to flinch away from me every time I speak."

She didn’t answer.

"Are you okay?" he tried. "Olivia?"

She didn’t even glance his way as she wiped at her eyes.

"Humph," he muttered to himself. "Not even married twenty-four hours and the wife’s already giving me the silent treatment."

And still, he got nothing.

Cameron rolled his eyes. "All righty then," he said, deciding it was time to put some clothes on.

He pushed himself to his feet, and finally she responded with an outraged gasp. Wondering what her problem was now, he glanced over. She’d turned her attention to him. Her blue eyes had gone wide, her hand covered her mouth while she ogled his crotch. He looked down to discover his raging erection was immodestly swaying her way. It almost surprised him he could get it up. After the workout she’d given the little guy last night, Cameron figured junior wouldn’t want to come out of hibernation again for a while.

But nope, there he was, straining at the sight of the blond goddess as if seeking an introduction. Wife, this is my hard-on. Hard-on, meet the wife. Hmm, however could the two shake and properly get to know each other?

Cameron grinned. "What? You want to go another round?"

Olivia sputtered. Her narrowed eyes zipped from his erection to his face. She glared long enough to get her point across with a lethal glare before abruptly whirling away to put her back to him.

"Guess that’s a no," he answered and then winced when he realized what an ass he sounded like. "Sorry."

When she only sniffed, he sighed and made his way to his suitcase, where he hauled out something to wear.

The Mrs. kept her back to him, wrapping the sheets more firmly around herself while he slipped into a fresh pair of underwear and some comfortable jeans. He tugged on a shirt and was reaching for his shoes when he stubbed his bare toe on a knife-like object.

"Son of a—" The string of curses that followed had Olivia spinning around and hovering against the bed’s headboard, her eyes wide and frightened. Hopping on one foot as he held the injured toe in his hand, he glared at her, hoping she caught on that his crappy morning was her fault.

When she merely eyed him as if he was Freddy Krueger, he muttered under his breath and bent down to retrieve the high heel that had caused his outburst. Scooping up the fishnet hose and thong underwear as well, he dumped the contents on the bed. "Yours, I presume?"

She quickly reached out and gathered her things close, cradling them to her chest.

"Right now might be a good time to, you know, put your clothes on, too," he suggested when she made no move to do so but only stared up at him with wide blue eyes. He shrugged. "Not that I mind you being all warm and naked in my bed, but—"

"Could I have a little privacy, please?" she cut in.

Ah, she speaks. Yet what she said left him clueless.

"What for?" he asked, frowning.

Her jaw dropped. "I don’t want you to see me," she said, her face heating with color.

He laughed. "Okay, let me get this straight. Last night, you picked me out of a bar full of complete strangers, kissed me like there’s no tomorrow, somehow talked me into marrying you, and then screwed my brains out. But this morning, you’re too modest to let me see you naked?"

"Could you just…" she grumbled as she motioned frantically toward the door.

Cameron folded his arms over his chest and sent her an amused smile. "Sorry. No." When she let out a small growl, he threw his hand into the air, calling defeat. "Hey, if I go out there, my sister’s going to rip a strip from my hide. And I’d like to figure out what the hell happened here before I try to defend myself."

"We got married," she explained from between clenched teeth. "That’s what happened."

"Yeah, I caught that much. Now, I’d like to know why. How?"

He watched her face shut down. Her features turned blank, an expression revealing nothing. Cameron sighed and scrubbed at his face with both hands. "Look, all I want are a few answers."

"I was just as drunk as you were," she said defensively.

"But this was your idea," he pressed. "That’s one thing I do remember. You approached me. You asked me, first thing. I have no idea how you talked me into it, or why, but that’s my own drunken stupidity. You, however, were the little instigator of this whole mess. And I do know that for sure."

When she refused to talk, Cameron became mesmerized by a stray tendril of blonde hair that slipped over her shoulder. No bikini line marred the smooth surface of her very bare skin; he couldn’t help but wonder if she sunbathed in the nude—nude like she was under that sheet.