Irish Eyes (Stolen Hearts Romance) by Annie Jones Page B

again and tidy her appearance before answering the door. She resisted it.
    Yes, she knew she looked a fright. But that man deserved the fright of his life for showing up on her doorstep so early in the morning. The doorbell sounded again, and she padded toward the door in her fuzzy slippers. She felt no reservation about appearing in her huge flannel robe belted over a pair of jogging pants and a long T-shirt. Still, she glanced down to make sure all was decent.
    Her eyes paused on the pin Cameron had given her with the instruction to wear it at all times. That man, she decided as she jerked her robe over the tracking device, had somehow started to wriggle his way into every aspect of her life. And she didn’t like it one bit.
    Time to teach that big buttinski a lesson, she thought. An instant before she lunged forward to nab the doorknob, she bent at the waist and shook her head furiously to ensure her hair looked properly wild and woolly. She chomped down tight on her toothbrush, set her face in a groggy scowl and yanked open the front door. “What is it?”
    “That’s what I’m asking myself." Cameron reached out to push aside the mass of black hair curtaining her face. “What is it?”
    She swatted his hand away. “It’s someone who has been disturbed far too early in the morning.”
    “She speaks and the words fall like pearls from her rosy lips.” He placed one open hand over his heart.
    She rolled her eyes at his attempt to tease her into a better mood.
    “You certainly have a glow about you this morning, Miss Reed.” He stepped inside the house like an honest-to-goodness invited guest. “I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. You’re doing your hair differently, aren’t you?”
    Julia let the front door fall shut with a window-rattling thud. She pulled the toothbrush from her mouth and folded her arms over her chest. As if taking up residence in her head and in her dreams had not been enough, now Cameron O’Dea was in her home. And no matter how much she didn’t like that, there didn’t seem to be much she could do about any of it.
    That didn’t mean she had to accept it. No, when Julia didn’t like something she fought it, fought it with whatever was at her disposal. This morning, fresh out of bed, the tool of the moment was snarkiness. “Sorry if I’m not what you expected when you barged into my life but it’s a little bit early in the day for me to be apologizing for my looks, friend.”
    “Oh?” He tipped his head to the right and smiled, revealing just the hint of a dimple. “At what time of day do you usually start apologizing for your looks?”
    Apparently he’d missed the hint that she refused to be cajoled out of her sour mood. She eyed him from the top of his tousled hair to his gray wool sweater to the baggy wrinkles around the knees of his jeans. “Very clever remark coming from someone wearing the same outfit he had on yesterday”
    “I say if a look works for a fellow, then go with it.” He adjusted his thick green parka over one shoulder. “It’s a fashion statement.”
    “And it’s screaming ‘I sleep in my clothes.’” She shoved the toothbrush back into her mouth and began to scrub with vigor. Gray sweater? Slept in his clothes? Same outfit? If her morning became any more cartoonish than it already was, a great big lightbulb would appear over her head.
    She pulled the toothbrush out again and used it to point at Cameron in accusation. “You did sleep in your clothes, didn’t you? Where were you? Parked in your car outside my house or some such nonsense?”
    “Careful with that thing, it’s loaded!” Cameron whisked the back of his hand down his sweater to flick away the spray of tiny white bubbles that had been flung from her toothbrush.
    “Give me a straight answer for once, Cameron, or I may just use that fine woolen sweater for a face towel.” She swiped the sleeve of her robe along one side of her mouth. “Did you or did you not spend the night