Cordinas Crown Jewel Read Online Free Page B

for an interview.
    Of course, the downside was he hadn’t realized how problematic it would be to try to deal with paperwork, with cataloging, with every damn thing essentially one-handed.
    But he was managing.
    Mostly.
    It was just an hour or so, he reminded himself. He couldn’t have left the woman stranded on the side of the road in the middle of a storm. Okay, he’d considered it—but only for a couple seconds. A minute, max.
    Brooding, he didn’t notice her shivering on the seat beside him. But he did notice when she huffed irritably and leaned over to turn up the heat.
    He only grunted and kept driving.
    Baboon, Camilla thought. Delany Caine was rapidly descending the evolutionary chain in her mind. When he turned into a narrow, rain-rutted, bone-jarring lane that had her bouncing on the seat, she decided he didn’t deserve whole mammal status and regulated him to horse’s ass.
    Cold, miserable, fuming, she tried to make out the shape of the structure ahead of them. It was nestled in the woods, and looked to be some sort of cabin. She assumed it was wood—it was certainly dark. She caught a glimpse of an overgrown lawn and a sagging front porch as he muscled the truck around what was hardly more than a mud-packed path to the back of the building.
    There, a yellow, unshielded lightbulb was burning beside a door.
    “You … live here?”
    “Sometimes.” He shoved open his door. “Grab what you need, leave the rest.” And with that, he stomped through the rain toward the back door.
    Since she needed, more than breath, to change into dry, warm clothes, Camilla dragged her cases out and lugged them toward the cabin. She had to maneuver to open the door, as he hadn’t bothered to wait for her or hold it open as any Neanderthal with even half a pea for a brain would have.
    Out of breath, she shoved through into a tiny mudroom that lived up to its name. It was, in a word, filthy—as was everything in it. Boots, coats, hats, gloves, buckets, small shovels. Under a heap of pails, trowels and laundry were, she assumed, a small washer and dryer unit.
    Cochon,
she thought. The man was a complete pig.
    The opinion wasn’t swayed when she walked through and into the kitchen. The sink was full of dishes, the small table covered with more. Along with papers, a pair of glasses, an open bag of cookies and several pencil stubs.
    Her feet stuck to the floor and made little sucking sounds as she walked.
    “I see soap and water are rare commodities in Vermont.”
    She said it sweetly with a polite smile. He only shrugged. “I fired the cleaning lady. Wouldn’t leave my stuff alone.”
    “How, I wonder, could she find it under the dirt?”
    “Tow truck,” he muttered, and dug out an ancient phone book.
    At least he seemed to be fairly clean, Camilla mused. That was something at least. He was roughly dressed, and his boots were scarred, but his hands and hair—though it was long, wet and unkempt—were clean. She thought his face might even be handsome—of a type—under that untidy beard.
    It was a hard face, and somewhat remote, but the eyes were striking. And looked fairly intelligent.
    She waited, with admirable patience, she thought, while he found the number. Then he picked up the phone, started to punch in a button. Swore.
    “Phone’s out.”
    No, she thought, fate couldn’t be so cruel. “Are you sure?”
    “On this planet, no dial tone equals no phone.”
    They stared at each other with equal levels of dismay and annoyance. Her teeth wanted to chatter.
    “Perhaps you could drive me to the nearest inn, or motel.”
    He glanced toward the window as the next blast of lightning lit the glass. “Twenty miles in this—flash flooding, high winds.” He rubbed his aching shoulder absently. Two good arms, he might have tried it, just to get rid of her. But with one, it wasn’t worth it. “I don’t think so.”
    “What would you suggest?”
    “I’d suggest you get on some dry clothes before you end up