Guarding Camille

He looked over his shoulder at the peaceful scene behind him rather than into the darkness. Mother and child. “No, nothing.”

“Good,” she said with a sigh.

He could tell she was rearranging her clothing. Then she lifted the baby to her shoulder and gently patted his back until a loud burp broke the silence.

“Talented kid.” He offered the words with a grin, moving to Camille’s side.

“Yes, he is.” She started to rise, but Jake held out his arms.

“I’ll put him in bed. You go on and get some rest.”

“You said you didn’t know anything about babies.”

“I don’t. But how come you’re so experienced? This is your first baby.”

“One of my friends had a baby a couple of years ago. I helped her out a lot.”

“Well, I know enough to put this little guy in bed okay. I lay him on his back, right?” He’d heard that somewhere.

“That’s right. Thank you.”

“You need any help?” he asked as he headed toward the connecting door. After all, she’d only given birth a couple of weeks ago.

Again she chuckled. “I had a baby, Jake. I didn’t break my leg. I’ll manage.”

“All right. Good night, then.”

He firmly closed the door behind him before he gave in to temptation and assisted her anyway. He’d faced the biggest challenge of his career since he’d met Camille. For the first time, he’d let his personal feelings interfere with his job.

When he’d left Texas, determined to disassociate himself from his wealthy, socially prominent family and controlling father, he’d joined the FBI. His isolation only increased. The FBI didn’t encourage fraternizing with civilians.

Jake had had no problem being alone. He’d hidden himself behind his badge. Women played an entertainment role occasionally, but never touched his emotions.

Until Camille.

Even so, he’d held himself aloof, distant. For six months, he’d pretended she was just another job, another assignment. He’d pretended.

That was the problem.

He laid the infant in the baby bed his mother, Megan, had provided. Then he stood staring at the sleeping baby in the pale glow of the night-light.

Camille had chosen Jacob as his second name. She’d said the baby wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for Jake.

Well, hell, she was right about that.

James Jacob Eckart.

Not bad…except for the surname. This innocent baby’s father was a vicious gangster.

Which was why Jake had figured he’d despise Camille. After all, she was married to the man. Well, had been married to him. By the time Jake had made contact with her, she was divorcing the scumbag.

Only her husband objected.

The baby squirmed in his sleep, and Jake gently rubbed his tiny tummy.

“It’s okay, little guy. You’re safe.”

He’d met Camille while he was working the case against her husband. Without a lot of success. He’d trailed Vincent Eckart one day and discovered Vince was trailing a beautiful blonde.

Stalking, more like. When he figured out she was the man’s wife and was in the process of divorcing him, Jake had been ordered to make friends with her.

Their friendship had gotten off to a rocky start. She hadn’t wanted any new friends, particularly men. Finally, he’d identified himself as FBI. She’d insisted on seeing proof.

Then she’d cooperated, giving the FBI all the information she had. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much. As soon as she’d realized the kind of work her husband did was criminal, she’d left him.

“Jake?” Camille whispered from the doorway.

He spun around. “What? Is something wrong?”

“No, but…you didn’t come out. I was afraid Jamie was giving you problems.”

“No. I—I was just thinking.”

She crossed to stand beside him, way too close for comfort. Her rounded feminine body was clad in a lightweight robe that her warmth easily penetrated as she brushed against him. He tried to control the shiver that was his unwanted response. Just hormones, he told himself.

Leaning over, she ran one finger down her son’s soft cheek. “I’m grateful.”

“For what?”

“For the protection you’ve given me.”

“I’m just doing my job.” His voice was brusque, clipped, and he was afraid he’d offended her.

“And your friendship.”

He wasn’t comfortable with this conversation. In spite of the attraction he felt, or maybe because of it, he’d worked hard to keep his distance.

“I’ve been wanting to thank you for coming into the delivery room with me. I—I was scared.”

He’d known that, and he’d broken his own rule. No personal involvement. And things had gotten very personal in the delivery room. He’d held her hand, caressed her brow, whispered encouragement. He’d held her son, then passed him to Camille’s waiting arms, trying hard to hide the tears that had filled his eyes.

He cleared his throat now. Since then, he’d worked hard to maintain a cool distance.

“Just doing my job,” he muttered again.

Camille raised one delicate eyebrow. “The FBI provides surrogate fathers? Amazing. Do they advertise?”

Her teasing sarcasm rocked him. He took a step back from the baby bed. “Camille,” he protested, his voice carrying a warning.