Janelle Denison: Too Wilde to Tame

"Dammit, Mia," he said through gritted teeth. "You've obviously had too much to drink and you're not thinking straight. I'm not about to leave you here in your condition. Your brothers would be furious with me if I didn't at least be sure you got home safely."

Ahhh , now she understood where all his high-handedness was coming from. He obviously believed she was intoxicated, and for some ridiculous reason he was driven to save her from herself. Well, she wasn't impressed with his chivalry. In fact, his do-good deed only chafed at her more rebellious side and made her want to buck this charitable gesture of his.

Anger nipped at her own emotions, and she inhaled a deep, calming breath. God, why was it that every man in her life thought it was his duty to keep her safe and sheltered and protected like a weak female? They treated her as though she couldn't take care of herself on her own. Especially her brothers and cousins, and now, it seemed Cameron had also developed the urge to join the ranks by assuming the worst of her condition and making sure she had a chaperone home.

His grand and honorable intention was the very last thing she wanted from him.

She ought to set him straight and tell him she was far from drunk-not even close after two lightweight pina ladas that contained more fruit juice than alcohol-but what was the fun in that, she decided. However, on a brighter, more appealing note, if stuffy, uptight Cameron Sinclair continued to believe she was tipsy, she might be able to get away with all sorts of outrageous and wicked mischief.

And that was certainly her idea of fun.

That thought improved her mood immensely, because she'd love nothing more than putting one over on this man. If he had the inclination to rescue what he perceived as a damsel in distress, who was she to argue? She'd give him exactly that-a helpless woman in need of saving-until she decided it was time to end the farce and prove to him that she'd been completely lucid the entire time.

The look on his face when he realized the joke was on him was bound to be priceless and worth a good laugh.

With that in mind, she let her body relax and glanced up at him from beneath heavy-lidded lashes. "My mind is functioning just fine, sugar," she refuted in a slow, convincing drawl with the slightest bit of a slur. "See what I mean about you not being able to handle fun?"

The frown creasing his brows deepened into a scowl. "Watching you parade half-naked in a bar full of randy men isn't exactly my idea of fun."

Hmmm, such censure in his tone. That was the thing about Cameron-despite being attracted to her, she knew he disapproved of the way she lived her life, along with her assertive and uninhibited personality. Now, she decided being drunk gave her even more license to be brazen, to touch him without guilt, to enjoy their attraction and find out exactly what kind of temptation Cameron couldn't resist.

She tipped her head, letting her disheveled hair fall around her face, and stared in fascination at his mouth, which had been the source of many of her late-night fantasies. She wondered what it would take to see those lips smile at her in one of those slow, sexy grins she knew he was capable of. She wondered how his seductive mouth would feel pressed against her own in a deep, hot kiss, or skimming along her neck, her breasts…

She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight, and gave into the urge to place her hands on his chest. She'd thought a lot about his incredibly honed body and what it looked like naked. She figured this was probably the closest she'd ever get to finding out-by feel .

As soon as she touched him, his muscles flexed beneath her palms and his breathing hitched. She felt the heat of him through his shirt, along with the way his heartbeat accelerated.

She held back a secret female smile. Oh, he was far, far from immune to her. Just as she was certain he'd been far from indifferent to her dancing up on that stage a while ago.

She decided to call him on it.

"Awww, come on, sugar," she said in a breathy voice as her fingers brushed over his nipples, which were as hard as her own. "Watching me in that wet T-shirt didn't turn you on, not even a little bit?"

"Nope." He sounded very sure of himself.

She didn't believe his adamant denial. Not for a second. "You're such a liar, Cameron," she said and set out to prove it. With her gaze holding his, she skimmed a hand down his torso, past the waistband of his jeans and lower… until she held the most masculine part of him in her hand. He released a hiss of breath, and satisfaction curled through her when she found him already aroused, the firm length of him impressive in size.

He was definitely more than a handful. Desire curled low and deep in her belly at the heady thought of that aggressive male flesh filling her in all the different ways she'd imagined and fantasized about over the past few months.

Satisfied with the evidence she'd discovered, she let a sultry smile emerge. "Unless this is a very thick sock stuffed in your pants, I'd have to say you are a little bit turned on."

A strangled sound erupted from his throat, and he yanked her hand away, as if her touch had the ability to burn. His fingers circled her wrist, and his thumb pressed against the rapid pulse beating there. "That smart mouth of yours is going to get you into big trouble one day, sweetheart."

"Promises, promises," she taunted softly, which earned her a warning look from him that did nothing to quell her shameless approach. "Actually, it's nice to see I can get a rise out of you after all."

The double entendre wasn't lost on him, and for a moment it looked as though he was going to say something in response to her comment. Then he shook his head as if to clear it, causing the dim lights in the hall to cast intriguing golden highlights through his soft-looking strands of hair.

"Give me your car keys."

She blinked at him, thrown by his abrupt request. "I didn't drive. I came with Carrie."

"Even better." He ignored the two young college girls who turned down the hallway, whispering and giggling as they passed them on their way to the women's room. "Where's your purse?"

"I didn't bring one." She had her money, apartment key, and lipstick in the small pouch clipped to the waistband of her skirt.

"Good. One less thing to worry about." He tightened his grip on her arm. "Let's go," he said and started back down the corridor toward the bar area, with her in tow.

The wet T-shirt contest was over, but the place seemed even more packed than before and twice as rowdy. The music was loud, and Mia actually had a difficult time keeping up with Cameron as he made his way through the crowd. He stopped at the table her roommate, Gina, had claimed earlier, and Carrie was there, sitting alone and nursing a drink.

"Mia won't be needing a ride back to her place," Cameron said to her. "I'll be sure she gets home safely."

Carrie shrugged indifferently as she swirled her straw through her drink. "Okay."

Mia wasn't in the habit of leaving nightclubs with strangers, and she felt compelled to explain who Cameron was so Carrie didn't think she was about to indulge in a one-night stand with someone she didn't know.

Keeping up the pretense of being intoxicated, she leaned into Cameron and patted him on the, chest in a placating way. "He's a friend of the family and seems to have this need to play my white knight tonight." She rolled her eyes at that notion.

Carrie's stare was distant, her demeanor standoffish. "Lucky you."

The sarcasm lacing Carrie's tone took Mia off guard. Her friend had been acting oddly toward her all evening, but before Mia could ask Carrie what was wrong, Cameron was pulling her along again, seemingly eager to get out of the place. With his fingers still locked around her wrist, she had no choice but to follow as he wended his way through the mass of people filling the establishment.