Page 18 of Forbidden Heat

“I need to be useful.” His brow knits. “I can’t ask to help with the chores around here,” I go on, “or the staff will be horrified. I could do your filing, maybe, or dust the books in your study, or something. Anything.”

He studies me, in that way he has, and I blurt out what the last few minutes have impressed on me. “I’ve been selfish. I spent the whole week practically moping, just thinking about myself and what I wanted. If I’m going to be here longer than a few days, I need to contribute somehow.”

“I think you’re being a little hard on yourself. Did you have any advance warning that you were coming here?” Cameron says.

“No; I found out the same day. It was very sudden.”

“So you were yanked away from everything and everyone you knew, and sent to stay with strangers in a household with a different set of rules than you’re used to. I think a period of adjustment would be not only expected, but necessary.”

I open my mouth, then close it again. The impulse to kick myself fades. “That does sound reasonable.”

“Because it is.”

Ready to tease again, I squint at him. “Is one of the rules ‘Cameron is always right’?”

He hooks an arm around my waist and hauls me against him. My body responds immediately, pressing closer, my arms winding around his neck. And then he kisses me, right there where the Jamesons or anyone could see us.

When he finally lifts his head, my lips are swollen, my blood thick, the pulse between my legs throbbing. “I am right more often than not,” he says, only partly teasing. “And one of the reasons for that is a rule I have for myself: pay attention.”

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