Too Wilde to Tame

Chapter Fifteen

"THIS came in today's mail," Mia said to Cameron once she'd arrived at his place half an hour later. She paced anxiously near the kitchen table, her stomach already in knots over what they'd find inside. "I thought I'd wait and give you the honor of opening the envelope this time."

Cameron picked up the envelope and checked it out, front and back. "No return address, of course," he said calmly. "And it's bigger and bulkier than the others you've been sent with the pictures inside."

And that's what worried her the most, because she was fairly certain her stalker had a different kind of surprise in store for her. "I don't think I want to know what's inside." Dread tightened her chest.

"We don't have a choice." He glanced back at her, his gaze filled with understanding. "I know this is difficult for you, but maybe there's something in here that will help us figure out who is sending you this stuff."

Just like the untraceable pictures she'd received, Mia had her doubts. Still, there was no avoiding the inevitable, and she wrapped her arms around her middle as if she could protect herself from what was about to come. "Go ahead and open the envelope so we can get this over with."

Cameron hesitated a few seconds, then tore open the seal and pulled out something bright red and silky. He immediately frowned. "What the hell…"

For a moment, as Mia stared at the provocative pair of panties, she wondered if she'd recently ordered any lingerie from a catalog, which would explain the risque underwear dangling from Cameron's fingers. But then she noticed the slashes in the crimson fabric, and worse, the black pen markings on the crotch area where someone had written the word tramp.

Oh God. Shock swept through Mia, weakening her knees and making her stomach pitch with apprehension. She didn't want to believe the conclusion she'd just come to, but there was no denying the connection to those panties.

"Goddammit!" Cameron bit out furiously and tossed the underwear back onto the envelope on the table. He was so caught up in his own anger over this latest attack that he wasn't aware of the change in Mia. "Who in the hell would do something deranged like this?"

Mia was certain Cameron still believed Ray was the culprit, but Mia had her own strong suspicions. "Carrie," she said, still stunned by the realization. Didn't Carrie think she'd figure it out? Or maybe she just didn't care any longer.

Cameron's startled gaze jerked to her, and his brows creased in confusion. "What?"

"It's Carrie," she said again and sat down on the nearby barstool before her shaking legs gave out on her. "I'm certain she sent this package, and maybe even the pictures, too."

"Okay." Cameron's tone was cautious, even a little skeptical. But he didn't discount her claim. "Why would you think that?"

She'd never told him about her odd and somewhat strained lunch with Carrie last week, but she brought it up now. "When I met with Carrie last week, at lunch she made the comment that she hated going places with me, because she felt as though she blended into the woodwork when I was around. And when the waiter paid more attention to me than he did to her, Carrie also made a remark that my breasts were enough to encourage any man to flirt with me."

Cameron leaned against the counter behind him, his expression intent. "It definitely sounds like Carrie is jealous, and even I saw glimpses of that the first night at The Electric Blue, but do you really think she's capable of doing something like this to you? The pictures, your car, and now this?" She waved a hand toward her latest delivery.

"I hate to think she'd be so cruel, but there's more I need to tell you about that day." She gathered her thoughts, remembering, and relayed the events to Cameron. "After lunch we went shopping, and I found a provocative lingerie set I liked and I showed it to Carrie. She wasn't impressed and made the comment that it reminded her of the kind of stuff her mom wore and it made her look like a tramp. Carrie seemed to be having a bad day, so I just wrote off her remark as something that had stemmed directly from the issues she was currently having with her mother and her most recent live-in boyfriend."

"That certainly makes sense," Cameron said.

"But what doesn't make sense is, why me?" Mia couldn't ever remember doing anything to provoke Carrie into turning on her this way.

"Well, just going on what you told me, I'm thinking that because Carrie can't control her mother's behavior with men and the way her mother acts and dresses, maybe she's trying to control yours." As he spoke, he rubbed his thumb absently along his jaw line. "She sees you getting all the attention with men, and it must remind Carrie of her mother in some way. She definitely has emotional issues, and you were an easy target for her."

It amazed Mia how well Cameron could peg people's personalities and motivations. And not for the first time she didn't like what she was hearing about herself within the text of his explanation. It was yet another reminder of how other people perceived her own behavior and actions.

She combed her fingers through her hair and sighed, looking to Cameron for answers. "So what do we do now? Confront her?"

"If we confront her, she's going to deny she did anything. Her involvement is all speculation on our part, and we don't have any solid, irrefutable proof she sent the pictures or this latest package." He sat down on the barstool next to her. "The best thing to do is try and catch her in the act."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Mia asked.

"We start by going back to The Electric Blue. Let her know you'll be there this weekend, like this Saturday. And then we wait and see if she shows up to take more pictures." He placed his large, warm hands on her legs and gave them an encouraging squeeze. "Now that we're certain it's her, I'll keep my eye on her at all times until I see her do something and we can nail her for it."

Spending another evening at The Electric Blue didn't appeal to Mia as it once would have. She'd rather stay at home and work on a few new stained-glass designs, but to end the insanity that Carrie was putting he:: through, she knew it was necessary. Maybe, then, her life would get back to normal. If she even knew what that was anymore.

"Okay," she said in resignation. "We'll do it."

THE following afternoon, on Friday, Cameron was heading home after work when his cell phone rang. He didn't recognize the number on the display, but he answered the call anyway just in case it was a client. "Hello, Sinclair here."

"Hi, Cameron," a familiar female voice replied. "It's Ashley."

It took him an extra moment to realize it was Ashley Wilde-on the line. "Hey, how's it going?" he asked, surprised to hear from her.

"Everything's good," she said, though there was an energized lift to her voice. "You'll never believe what happened today while I was working at the boutique. You know that woman you pointed out ta me last week at the hotel?"

"You mean Trish Shelton?" he asked, his interest piqued.

"That's the one. She was here again today in the early afternoon. I just happened to glance out in the lobby as she was walking in and I recognized her. And this time, I followed her into the elevator to find out where she was heading. You'll never guess what she was at the St. Claire Hotel for."

He'd believed she was having an affair, just as her husband had stated, but he had a distinct feeling Ashley was about to shatter that notion. And Cameron was curious to discover what she'd learned about Trish Shelton. "Don't tell me she was there for a spa treatment," he joked, wondering if he'd misjudged her original visit to the hotel.

Ashley laughed. "No, it wasn't for a spa treatment," she said and then went on to tell him the real reason why Trish Shelton had been frequenting the hotel.

By the time Cameron disconnected the call, he was blown away by the facts Ashley had relayed to him, which put the Shelton case to rest and also explained Trish's meeting with Margot. All that was left for Cameron to do was to put together a final report for Doug and then contact him with the details and explanation for his wife's behavior, secrecy, and clandestine meetings. Mia knew about this case, too, and he couldn't wait to tell her how it had ended.

He arrived at home, parked his car in the garage, and stepped inside the house. Rich, redolent scents greeted him, and he followed the delicious smells into the kitchen where he found Mia standing in front of the stove cooking dinner. She was wearing a sexy pair of jean shorts and a pink ribbed tank top, and he had the fleeting thought that if this is what it was like to come home to Mia every night, it was something he could definitely get used to.

"I didn't know you could cook," he teased as he sauntered more fully into the kitchen.

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled, her soft gray eyes sparkling with pleasure at seeing him. "I'll have you know I'm great in the kitchen."

He came up behind her, slid his hands around her waist so his fingers were splayed on her belly, and nuzzled her neck. "I have no doubt you're phenomenal in the kitchen," he murmured in her ear, his voice rumbling with sexy innuendo. "And in the bedroom, and the bathroom…"

She turned around in his arms and gave his stomach a playful punch. "I meant cooking," she chided him, her face alight with amusement.

"Yeah, that, too." He grinned down at her.

She rolled her eyes, though she was laughing. "You've become completely incorrigible."

"It must be your doing," he said, casting the blame her way. "I've always been an upstanding, moral kind of guy… until you."

"True." The corners of her mouth curled upward as she smoothed her fingers over the collar of his shirt. "You're not quite as uptight and stuffy as you once were."

The timer on the counter rang, indicating that something was done. She returned her attention to the meal she was preparing. There were a few pots and pans on the stove top, all of them covered, and she lifted the lid on one of them and stirred the thick, bubbling sauce inside.

"You didn't have to make dinner," he said and leaned a hip against the counter next to her. Whatever she was making smelled heavenly, but he didn't want her to think he expected anything from her because she was staying at his place for the weekend. "We could have ordered in pizza."

She wrinkled her nose at him at that suggestion. "You're truly a bachelor, aren't you? Why have pizza when you can have chicken Parmesan, spaghetti, and a fresh salad?" Scooping up a small spoonful of the sauce, she lifted it up to his lips. "Taste this."

He did and was impressed with the savory flavors that filled his mouth-tomato sauce, basil, and garlic. It reminded of his mother's cooking, meals made from scratch, which he missed because he never took the time and effort to make anything elaborate for himself. It was so much easier to grab something on the run or pop a frozen dinner into the microwave.

This was a welcome change of pace. "If you keep this up, I'm not going to let you go back home."

She went back to checking the entrees on the stove. "You like playing house, hmmm?" she said in that light, frivolous way of hers.

Oh yeah, he liked coming home to Mia, enjoyed seeing her cooking barefoot in his kitchen, and loved having her in his bed all night long. It was a temporary arrangement he wanted to make much more permanent.

"Here, could you put this on the table for me, please?" she asked and handed him a platter of fried, Parmesan-encrusted chicken.

Between the two of them they put everything out on the table and then sat down across from one anther to eat. Cameron heaped his plate with spaghetti and a slice of chicken and smothered both in the sauce. Then he added a side of salad with Italian dressing.

"How did your meeting with Amy go today?" he asked, remembering that Mia had an afternoon appointment at the gallery.

"It went well." She took a sip of her drink. "Only a few more weeks until the show. Invitations go out next week, and I have a couple designs I want to finish up before the date. It's all happening so fast."

He noticed she hadn't mentioned her family at all or how she felt about them attending the show. He thought about asking but then decided not to. This was a huge step for Mia, possibly even a break from the family business, and she needed to play it out her way.

She looked both nervous and excited about the gallery show, but he knew in the end she would be just fine. She was a woman who persevered in the face of a challenge-just so long as it was a situation she wanted to take on.

He let that thought go and recalled his earlier conversation with Ashley. "I finally discovered what Trish Shelton has been up to," he said and took a bite of the delicious, tender chicken.

"Oh?" She glanced across the table at him as she spun spaghetti around her fork. "Was it an affair like her husband thought?"

"Thankfully, no," he said, and that was rare in cases where a spouse was suspected of infidelity. Usually, Cameron presented his client with a guilty verdict and evidence, but not this time, and he could only hope Trish's husband appreciated his wife more than ever after this case. "All the signs were definitely there, and Doug Shelton automatically thought the worst, but he needs to have some faith in his wife."

"Why?" Mia's gaze was bright with curiosity. "What was she really doing?"

"Thanks to Ashley, I now know Trish has spent the past few months planning a very big and lavish surprise party for her husband's fiftieth birthday. It's taking place tomorrow evening in one of the ballrooms of the St. Claire Hotel. Trish was there today to firm up the final details with the banquet manager."

"Wow, all that surveillance and there was no affair after all," she said as she cut her chicken into small pieces. "So how does that other lady Trish was with at the restaurant fit into all this?" Mia asked.

"Margot? She's a graphic design artist, and when I asked Ashley if she was familiar with the name, she said Margot Dalton was working with the banquet manager on some graphic art work for the party. Probably for the invitations or the favors." Finished with his first serving of dinner, Cameron piled more chicken and spaghetti on his plate.

"What are you going to tell Doug Shelton?" she asked as she absently pushed her salad around in her bowl. "Are you just going to let him go to the party and be surprised and then give him your final report afterward?"

Cameron was tempted to do that, but his job as a P.I. dictated that he report the facts as he received them, even if it meant spoiling a surprise. Unfortunately, that was the man's problem, not his, and Doug was going to have to put on a convincing "surprise" act if he didn't want to rouse his wife's suspicions in return.

"I have to tell him what I know," Cameron told her. "According to the contract he signed with the firm, I'm bound to reveal any information I come across during the investigative process. That's what he's paying me for."

He met Mia's gaze from across the table, wanting her to really think about what he was going to say next. "I might investigate these cases more often than I'd like, but there comes a point when you have to know and trust the relationship you're in. In this case, Doug and Trish had a good relationship. He was just being an idiot."

He ate a bite of spaghetti and chased it down with a long, cool drink. "Quite honestly, maybe this will teach Doug to believe in his wife a little more instead of jumping to wrong conclusions. It's all about unconditional trust between a couple. A marriage or relationship can't survive without it."

And in the worst way, Cameron wanted Mia to trust him, unconditionally. To believe in him. To let him into the deepest recesses of her soul where she'd never, ever, let any other man before. He wanted to be the first to claim that wild, untamed heart of hers, and the very last.

As if she could read his thoughts in his eyes, she glanced back down at her plate and started making small talk about her day at work with Scott and Alex, and how she was feeling restless in her job as their secretary. That didn't surprise Cameron at all, now that he knew what her real passion was.

He could only wonder if she'd come to realize that she was meant to embrace her stained-glass art and make a career of it, or if she'd just continue on with the family business for the rest of her life because of deep-rooted fears and insecurities.

It appeared Mia was going to be facing some very difficult choices and decisions in the upcoming days and weeks. Cameron could only hope he would part of whatever future she chose.

"I don't think Carrie is going to show," Mia said over the loud music playing at The Electric Blue the following night. After two hours of waiting and mingling and dancing, she was starting to think their plan to catch Carrie in the act had been pointless.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Cameron replied, his sharp, assessing gaze focused on the entrance to the bar. "I think I saw her come in a few minutes ago, but if it was her, she's doing a good job of laying low and keeping herself inconspicuous."

That behavior matched what Cameron had told Mia earlier, when she'd asked how Carrie could have taken those second set of pictures and written all over her car when she hadn't been at The Electric Blue that night. He'd explained that because Carrie knew Mia would be at the bar, she'd most likely saw it as an opportunity to vandalize Mia's vehicle and take more pictures without Mia ever suspecting her as the culprit. Her plan had worked… until her latest package had given Carrie away.

It appeared Carrie might be operating on the same assumption this evening.

"Why don't you and Rick go on up to the stage and dance," Cameron suggested, because they'd invited his friend Rick along tonight for that purpose-to use him as a diversion so Cameron could blend into the crowd and watch Carrie without her knowledge.

"Ahh, I finally get to dance with Mia," Rick said and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "This is what I've been waiting for. Let's go give Carrie a reason to take some more pictures of you." He waggled his brows at Mia in a playful, teasing manner.

Mia laughed and stood and then gave her sexy, body-hugging sheath of a dress an adjusting tug. "This is going to be fun."

"Just keep your hands to yourself," Cameron warned Rick in a gruff tone and then drained the last of his beer. "Nothing below the neck and nothing above the knee."

Rick held up his palms. "These hands won't touch anything they're not supposed to."

"Oh, come on," Mia said and grabbed Rick's hand, amused by Cameron's show of possessiveness. "Let's go do some dirty dancing."

Cameron scowled after them, wondering when in the hell he'd become such a jealous man. Oh yeah… since Mia. But ultimately he trusted Rick and knew the man wouldn't do anything inappropriate. Cameron understood that the two of them had to make it look real and convincing to prompt Carrie to take her pictures, and that would mean more touching than Cameron would have preferred.

Cameron's only consolation was that Mia would be going home with him tonight, and he planned to do more than just touch her body. Before he was done with her, he was going to entrench himself into her heart, her soul, her emotions.

He was going to make her completely his, and be sure she knew it.

With Mia and Rick up onstage dancing, Cameron skirted the edge of the room, staying in the shadows and working his way to the front of the establishment in search of the woman who'd walked in about ten minutes ago and resembled Carrie. He scanned the area and finally saw a redheaded woman making her way through the crowd on the main floor, toward the stage area.

Certain it was Carrie, he followed from a distance, watching her every move. She kept to herself, and it was as though she was drawn to the dance floor-specifically, to Mia and Rick, who were putting on a convincing act with their bold, uninhibited dance moves.

But then, Mia was so naturally sensual, her movements so inherently provocative no matter what she was doing. Men naturally stared at her, watched her, lusted after her. Tonight, though, Cameron noticed a big difference in Mia. She was laughing and dancing and having fun with Rick, but it wasn't a deliberate attempt to draw attention to herself as it had been in the past. Rather, it was an act to catch Carrie, and Mia no longer felt the need to be wild and reckless for the sake of shocking everyone.

It was an amazing change, a maturity he hoped would carry over to their relationship. Especially after tonight, which marked the end to their agreed-upon affair but could be the beginning of something much bigger and better. If she allowed it to happen.

With his gaze still on Carrie, he watched her lift something up to her face and realized it was a small, disposable camera-which made perfect sense considering all the photographs Mia had received in the mail had been grainy and taken from a distance. She took a few pictures, and the strobe lights overhead camouflaged the camera's flash. When the current song ended, Carrie wended her way through the crush of people and down the corridor leading to the restrooms.

Before the next song could begin, Cameron flipped open his cell phone and called Rick. He'd specifically told him to put his phone on vibrate, and he knew the exact moment his call had gone through. Rick jerked in startled surprise and then grinned wryly as he pulled his phone from his jean's front pocket.

As soon as he answered, Cameron said, "Carrie is here with a camera. Meet me at the bottom of the stairs to the dance floor."

Rick disconnected the call, said something to Mia, and then grabbed her hand and they both headed toward the stairs. Cameron arrived just as they did.

"Change of plans," he said to Mia. "She just went into the women's restroom. Why don't you go in there and act surprised to see her. That way she can't try and sneak out of here without being seen like she did the last time. I'll wait just outside the restroom, just in case you end up needing me for anything."

She exhaled a deep breath. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

As Mia headed down the hallway to the restrooms, she hoped her words proved to be true, that she would be okay by the end of all this. Even though she knew Carrie was responsible for everything, she wasn't looking forward to the confrontation that would undoubtedly occur.

She pushed open the door to the ladies room and stepped into the spacious women's lounge. The room was occupied by at least a dozen women sitting on the couches and chairs as they chatted and freshened their makeup. Carrie wasn't there, so Mia continued on to the bathrooms, and as soon as she entered the area she saw Carrie jerk away from the large mirror above the row of sinks and then quickly stuff something into her purse.

"Mia!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide and startled. "I've been looking for you!"

The lie hurt, especially when Mia knew exactly what Carrie was up to. She also knew that if Carrie hadn't been caught right now she most likely would have left The Electric Blue without contacting Mia at all.

"I was on the dance floor," Mia replied and refused to let Carrie off easy. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming tonight?"

"Oh, it was a last-minute thing. I wasn't going to come, then changed my mind, and because it was all so spur of the moment, I figured I'd find you here," she said, speaking in a fast, nervous rush. "Come on, let's go back out and get a drink." She stepped toward Mia in an attempt to usher her out of the bathroom.

Mia turned to go, but something on the mirror caught her eye. At first she thought it was a reflection of something in the bathroom, but when she stepped back to get a better look, she realized someone had written on the mirror itself-in what appeared to be bright red lipstick.

Mia Wilde is a slut.

The slur, coming from someone she'd once believed was a friend, hurt. Badly. She glanced back at Carrie, who now looked panicked because she knew she'd been caught red-handed.

And the only thing Mia could think of to ask in that moment was, "Why? Why write this about me? Why the pictures? The stuff you did to my car? The panties you sent? Why, Carrie?"

Mia expected Carrie to initially deny everything, but instead she lifted her chin scornfully. "Because I wanted you to see the way you act around men. The trampy way you dress. You want attention? Well, I made sure you got it."

A woman walked into the bathroom area, and Mia ignored her, knowing she couldn't let Carrie walk away now. "God, Carrie, what did I ever do to you?"

"You're a tramp," she said, as if that explained everything.

Mia thought back to her conversation with Cameron and his own explanation for Carrie's possible behavior. "Is this because of your mother?"

Carrie stiffened defensively. "Of course not. It's all about you. You're like a bitch in heat around men."

Mia tried not to flinch at Carrie's cruel words, though she couldn't deny they did sting. "I think this does have to do with your mother, whether you realize it or not," she said with more calm than she felt. "You can't control your mother's actions when it comes to the men who come and go from her life and the way she acts around them. And you blame your mother for your parents' divorce, so you've focused all that anger my way."

"My mother is, and always will be, a whore," Carrie said bitterly. "Just like you."

Although Mia was still hurt and angry, she could no longer take it as personally as she once had. She could only feel sorry for Carrie, that she was so wrapped up in her mother's life that somewhere along the way she'd lost control of her own. And until she disengaged herself from her mother and the situation at home, it would always continue.

But before she let Carrie go, she wanted her to know one thing. "In a lot of ways, you did me a huge favor. Those pictures you sent did make me see how my actions and behavior made me appear to other people. It made me think and change certain things, like how I dress and act. So if that was your intent, it worked."

The corner of Carrie's mouth curled in a malicious smile. "Just remember, once a tramp, always a tramp."

Carrie pushed around her, and Mia let her go. There was nothing left to say, and this was one friendship Mia didn't care to salvage. With a tired sigh, Mia followed her out of the lounge just in time to see Cameron catch Carrie by the arm and stop her mid-stride.

"Can I have the camera, please?" he asked politely and held out his free hand to confiscate the item.

Carrie yanked her arm from Cameron's grasp and narrowed her gaze at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do." He smiled, though the look in his eyes spoke volumes and told Carrie just how serious he was.

"I saw you taking pictures of Mia while she was dancing with Rick, and unless you want Mia to press charges against you for all the other crap you've pulled, then I suggest you hand over that disposable camera you used tonight."

"Fine," she huffed. She dug through her purse, found the disposable camera, and shoved it into his hand. "You don't need pictures to know she's a slut."

Cameron's jaw clenched in anger, but he maintained a cool composure when he replied to Carrie's rude comment. "If you ever use the word slut, whore, or tramp in the same sentence as Mia again, I can guarantee you'll be slapped with a lawsuit for slander so fast your head will spin."

Carrie stormed off, and Mia glanced at Cameron. "Thanks format."

"Of course." His fingers flexed around the camera he still held in his hand as if he had to resist the urge to crush it into tiny pieces right then and there. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." She offered him a smile, because she was so grateful she no longer had to worry about when the next assault was going to happen. "It's finally over. Let's go home."

Her case was over. And after tonight, they would be, too.