Hot Commodity

"Cam!"

"What?" he croaked in a muffled voice as he buried his face back into his pillow.

"How could you? Have you no decency at all for your family? This is my house for God’s sake!"

"Damn, Leah," he mumbled. "Lower your voice, will you? I’ve got a killer headache."

"Oh, do you really," Leah said sarcastically. "Hmm, I wonder why?"

Cameron cocked one eye open and turned his head to watch her bend down and snag something off the floor: a shot glass advertising "Battista's Hole In The Wall" nightclub.

Oops.

His sister shook it in his face. "This wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would it?"

He groaned. "Sorry. Forgot to hide that."

Leah lifted an eyebrow. "Hmm, too bad," she agreed. "Too bad you couldn’t hide the girl too."

"Huh?" he asked, squeezing his eyes closed and stretching his arms above his head. Man, he felt like crap. He couldn’t even remember when he’d gotten home last night. Or how.

What in the world had he done? Jesus, what day was it?

"The glass is actually minor compared to her," Leah was saying.

"Her who?" He smacked his lips a few times to loosen his dehydrated tongue from the roof of his mouth.

When Leah merely scowled at him and dumped an armload of something on top of him, he jerked to a sitting position. Cursing and blinking repeatedly, he took in the black high heels, torn fishnet hose and a slinky strip of black silk cloth. Intrigued by the tiny scrap of cloth, he picked it up with one finger and lifted it for a curious inspection. Good God. Was that—was that underwear?

"I’m so disappointed in you, Cam," Leah raged. "I can’t believe you brought a woman into my home. I have a family, damn you, an impressionable four-year-old son that just adores his uncle—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, cutting in as he wadded the thong in his fist. "What in God’s name are you talking about? What woman?"

Leah sighed and pointed to the expanse of sheets and blankets next to him. "Well, gee, maybe the one in bed with you."