Текст книги "Busted"

Автор книги: Shiloh Walker

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter Eighteen

Trey knew what it was like to have the breath knocked out of him. Normally, he didn’t associate the sensation with good things. He’d felt that way when he’d fallen out of a swing when he was a kid—when he’d gotten knocked on his ass time and again in middle school during his very, very brief interlude with school sports. Maybe he’d enjoyed basketball when it was one on one, or when he was playing with his brothers, but team sports had never been for him.

That hadn’t kept Travis from nagging him into trying out for football one year. Trey had given it a shot—for that one year. During that time, he’d spent so much time getting tackled, knocked down, thrown around, that he’d ended up feeling like the ball himself.

He’d given it up—he was more for individual sports. Swimming was his thing and even then, he’d known what it was like to feel breathless—or worse, like he was drowning. Like when he’d gotten a charley horse while swimming a few times.

Then there had been the day he’d gotten the call about his wife . . . when they wheeled her in the surgery. Those unending moments when the doctor came out and told him the news.

His first look at his son, hooked up to a vent as he struggled to live.

Trey knew all about how it felt to have the air knocked out of him, but he generally associated it with pretty shitty things.

He didn’t think it had once felt like this.

Ressa opened the door, standing there in the doorway with light spilling out around her while she wore a dress of red that cupped her breasts and skimmed in over a waist that dipped in and all but begged for him to curve his hands around it, before flaring out over those lush, round hips.

She’d twisted her hair up and back in a way that made him think of a time gone by—drive-ins and diners and girls in poodle skirts and muscle cars. Her mouth was once more painted red and made him think of sin and sex while his mind went blurry and hot. Her eyes were smoky, smudged, and as he tried not to gape at her, she lifted one brow, an almost-amused expression on her face.

“Hello.”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then he tried again and had to clear his throat before he managed anything more than “. . . Uh . . .”

Now a smile curved her lips and she leaned against the doorway. “What’s the matter, Trey? Cat got your tongue?”

It was the smile that did it.

He should have a little more class than that, more subtlety, better moves or something.

Considering what was going on with him, he should’ve had a little more fear. But as she continued to stand there, grinning at him like that, his mind just clicked off and instinct clicked on and he moved, caught her around the back of the neck.

A startled noise escaped Ressa—she might have been trying to say something but by the time his mouth slanted across hers, it became a moan and her hands curled into the lapels of his shirt as she rose up onto her toes to meet him.

It was like the past few weeks had fallen away. Nothing else mattered in that moment as he fell into a spell of lust, heat, and need. He licked at the seam of her lips and then pushed inside, craving more.

She opened for him and he banded an arm around her waist, hauling her close. The taste of her—sweet, sweet woman and coffee—flooded him and he thought he just might go crazy if he ever had to wait so long to kiss her again.

It was the sound of a car blasting by that had him jolting to his senses. Common sense told him to put some distance between them.

His cock pulsed against the warmth of her belly and her open door beckoned them. He could have her inside there in just a few seconds . . . naked in just a few seconds more, although really, naked wasn’t necessary, just tug up her skirt and . . .

Stop. Now. Before you turn into a drooling maniac.

Instead, he eased back and rubbed his lips across hers. “I’ve only thought about doing that a thousand times in the past six weeks.”

Her lashes fluttered up. “I’ve only thought about you doing that a thousand times,” she said, her hands still curled into the front of his shirt.

Pressing his brow to hers, he forced himself to let go. It took more willpower than he thought he had, but he was able to manage it, uncurling his arm from her waist, releasing the grip he’d had on her neck.

She was slower to let go of his shirt, smoothing the wrinkles away. Finally, he put a few feet between them and looked around. “So. This is where you live. Nice place.” Then, he added wryly, “Not a bad neighborhood.”

“Well, seeing as how I live about a half-mile away from you, I’d hope you like the general area.” A bubble of laughter escaped her. “I kind of like it myself. You want to come inside, see the place?”

*   *   *

His eyes came to hers and the heat inside them almost turned her bones to mush. Ressa thought her legs would dissolve, she truly did.

Sucking in a slow breath, she casually braced her weight against the wall at her back.

If he said yes . . .

If he said yes, then she’d damn well take him inside and screw the date.

“I want to.” Then Trey’s lashes swept down over his eyes and he stepped back another step. “Which means I’m going to stay right here while you lock up. We’re having a date. Dinner. Conversation . . .”

“Any reason why we can’t do that if you come inside?”

“If I come inside, we aren’t going to leave for a while.” His gaze traveled down to her mouth. “We both know that.” Then, her heart clenched inside her chest as he reached up and cupped her face. “I want to spend time with you . . . get to know you. That means I can’t go inside.”

*   *   *

She’d been prepared for a lot of things.

Ressa had gone on more than her share of dates. First dates weren’t anything new to her. She’d had more than a few where she’d called a friend from the bathroom to help her bail out gracefully because she didn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings, a couple where she just hadn’t cared because the guy was such a roach—and a couple of times she’d had to call a friend when one of those roaches had up and decided You think you can brush me off like that, bitch?

And then there were the dates that had been on the verge of flipping a coin—Should I let him pay or am I going Dutch . . .

She had everything from hot dogs and canned sodas to gourmet meals and candlelight, but she hadn’t known what to expect from Trey Barnes.

It hadn’t been this.

Now she’d heard about this place, but she had absolutely no thoughts about getting inside—it wasn’t even open . . . yet.

Eying the unlit sign as he held open her door, she held out her hand. “I don’t know if now is a good time to point out that I am kind of hungry.”

“Well, since I did tell you I wanted to take you out to dinner, I was kind of hoping you would be hungry.” He grinned at her and shut the door as she shifted her attention back to the not-yet-opened business in front of her.

It was set in one of the older buildings and although she knew they had been working to renovate it, if she hadn’t been aware of it, she’d think she was looking at the place as it had been built maybe two hundred years ago. Towering, imposing . . . and maybe slightly spooky.

Perfect for the themed restaurant that would open in the next couple of weeks.

As of now, though, the place wasn’t open.

“So. . . .” She drew out. “If this place isn’t open, how are we supposed to eat?”

Trey’s grin widened a little farther. “That’s easy.” He slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out a key ring. “I’ve got an open invitation . . . and they are still doing the finishing touches on the final menu. I called earlier and asked if maybe I could come by . . . bring a date.”

Ressa’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the keys.

Then she swung her head around and stared up at Chillers.

Local media had been talking about this place for months now and with the opening getting closer, the place was being talked about more and more. She definitely had plans to come—once the madness stopped, but she’d expected that would take a while. It wasn’t every day that a couple of best-selling writers got together and decided to open up a joint like this. Chillers wasn’t being billed as a typical restaurant. It was an entertainment venue, complete with private areas for large parties; they were going to have live music, and she thought she’d seen a mention that they were already booked, as far as musical acts went, for the next six months straight.

Chillers had a bookstore as well—one that would carry mostly genre books, with a heavy focus on thrillers, suspense, and horror—but they weren’t skimping on any of the others, either, and they were also going to be doing author events. The last she’d seen, they already had seven lined up over the next few months, including a local writer who was fairly popular, a big-name romance writer, and a couple of fairly well-known urban fantasy and science fiction writers.

Every time she thought about this place, the book lover in her got a little giddy.

“We get to eat here,” she said slowly. Absently, she reached up to rub her fingers across her lower lip, forgetting about her lipstick. “Tonight.”

“Yep. You were specifically requested to tell them exactly what you thought about the place—from how it looks, to the menu, and anything else you thought might be useful.”

She slanted a look at him. “I take it that you know the owners.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, jerking one shoulder up as he studied the place. Then he canted his head in her direction, a somewhat embarrassed grin on his face. “I . . . ah. Well, this is between us, but Mitch and Guff—when they were putting the plans together before they went to the bank, they talked to some friends about it. Asked some if they’d be interested in maybe offering some money for the start-up. I was—thought it would be a hell of a place to have in the area. So I’ve got a vested interest in seeing it take off.”

*   *   *

This had been a good choice.

Trey had been torn between trying this or a nice little Italian place he knew about or even something more casual—a chain place somewhere close to the mall. It would be easy to keep things nice and casual if they’d gone for the Italian place or a chain restaurant.

Casual was crucial right now because if he had too much time alone with her, it was going to shatter his ability to think. Maybe even destroy his ability to talk. It had taken a lot more focus than he’d thought possible just to drive here, because it had required taking his eyes off her and he just hadn’t wanted to do that.

But here, he’d have some semblance of privacy—not a lot of it because he knew Mitch Watkins and Les MacGuff weren’t going to give him that much privacy. Not when he was bringing a date. They got together often enough—BBQs a couple of times in the summer, and both Trey and Guff had boys the same age who got along well. Neither of the men had been able to resist digging for information when Trey had called to ask about maybe coming by. With a friend.

So he’d have to put up with their nosy asses.

But that was fine, because Ressa had just turned to look at him, a smile on her face that was nothing short of delighted.

He didn’t even have time to brace before she launched herself into his arms. “This has got to be the coolest thing ever,” she said, her mouth moving against his neck.

It sent shivers down his spine and he closed his eyes.

Behave. It was a stringent command to his body.

But at the same time, part of him wondered why it was so necessary that he behave. Well, yeah, clearly it wasn’t a good idea for him to push her up against the closest available surface. Or even the broad, large railing that led up to the veranda.

But really, did they have to be here?

Yes, his mind insisted.

A date.

They were having a damned date.

That didn’t stop the blood from draining out of his head, from churning hot and ready, from pulsing all in one direction—straight toward his cock. To try and get his thoughts on something other than how soft she was, how good she smelled, he said, “Well, don’t say that now. Guff and Mitch are raving about the kitchen crew, but for all I know, we’ll go in there and everything will taste like kibble.”

“I don’t care,” she said, pulling back and planting a loud, smacking kiss on his mouth. “You can fix that. Or they can. Fire the crew, hire better kitchen help. But . . . wow. I’m eating here before anybody else.”

He licked his lips, tasting her on them. He was a split second from pulling her back against him, just so he could have another, longer, deeper taste.

But then she turned around and her lids drifted down low, a tiny smile bowing up the corners of her mouth. “I can already tell you, baby, that’s not kibble cooking in there. I smell steak . . . and bread . . . whoa. Let’s go eat.”

She caught his hand and he let her tug him along behind her. He’d go pretty much anywhere she wanted at that point.

*   *   *

The restaurant had three floors.

She loved every single one, but thought maybe, the third floor with its dimmer lighting, the slow, smoky blues playing in through the speakers, and the semi-private booths was her favorite.

“So the first floor was more for the classics. Stoker. Poe. Doyle.” She smoothed a hand down the glossy hardwood, eying everything around her. “Second floor was geared for all the modern writers—I saw books from the big horror writers like King, as well as the major suspense and thriller writers—I loved seeing references to J.D. Robb mixed in with Lehane and Coben.” There had been what looked like a body bag affixed to the wall—she wondered what some poor diner might think of that, and the toe tag used to identify the body—as well as what looked like memorabilia from the futuristic romantic suspense series, side by side with similar items that played up books from the other authors.

When she’d asked how they’d picked what authors and what books they’d gone with for the décor, they’d shrugged, then one of them had answered, We went with who we like to read . . . who we like personally. Once word got out what we were doing, we had plenty of people offering to help out, but we went with who appealed to us.

She liked that, knowing that they had their hands all over this place.

But she still couldn’t quite figure out what was up here on three. Well aware that she had three men watching her, she stopped in the middle of the floor and tried to place the connecting theme.

The low light coming out from smoky shades.

The sultry music.

There were framed pieces of cover art and she caught sight of a few shadowboxes that had actual books in them, but they all looked old. “You already did the classics. I’m not quite sure what you were focusing on here.”

“Crime noir.” Guff shoved his glasses up his nose, smiled. He had a round face that was just this side of homely—but that smile made him almost beautiful. It was warm, welcoming and so genuine, she couldn’t help but smile back. “That was the only thing we could figure out to make this floor work.”

“Oh?” Puzzled, she gave the surroundings another look. Was she missing something?

“It was the answer, Guff, my friend. Not the only thing—the answer.” Mitch was louder, more flamboyant than both Trey and Guff and he flirted with anything breathing. Her, Trey, and Guff. Trey ignored him. Guff just rolled his eyes. She was hovering somewhere around amusement and irritation, but he was so good-natured with it, it was hard not to laugh, although a couple of times, she’d seen Trey give him a dark look.

“The answer to . . . ?”

“We wanted something sexy.” Mitch’s grin was wide and slightly wicked. “See how it’s quieter up here? Even with the music blasting downstairs, you hear only an echo. Plus, the entire air of the place, it’s just . . .” He paused, and then, voice lowering, he murmured, “Intimate. We thought we’d offer this for those wanting a quiet night. It’s already booked solid for the next eight weeks.”

“You’re kidding.”

He winked at her. “No. But for tonight, it’s all yours, honey.” Then he shot that grin at Trey. “Well, yours and Trey’s. Maybe I’ll send up a bottle of Glenlivet and then just lock the two of you in here.”

“Very funny,” Trey said, but there was an edge to his voice. “How about you go hassle your staff or align the edges of the napkins, Mitch?”

“My therapist has told me I’m not allowed to align things anymore.” Mitch gave a theatrical sigh.

Guff snorted. “You probably put your therapist in therapy. Come on, Mitch. We’ll send one of the servers up with menus, the whole deal. We need to see how everything is running. We have a test run next week, but you can be our very first guinea pigs as far as orders and all that goes.”

It took less than sixty seconds for them to be alone.

Now, with that soulful sax wrapping around her and the dim light casting Trey’s face into shadows, Ressa felt her breath catch in her chest, just looking at him.

The low lights played with the planes and hollows of his face, making his eyes look darker. A man as beautiful as he was really didn’t need the extra help to look so beguiling. He took a step toward her and she spun away, moving around the decidedly smaller dining area, her heels muffled by the padded carpet. “They really have gone all out here, haven’t they?”

“Yeah.”

She shot him a look as he leaned his hips against one of the tables.

“Mitch . . .”

She stopped and turned to him, laughing a little. “Don’t worry about him. I got his number.”

“Yeah?” Trey smiled halfheartedly. “Is it tuned to the I’m a sex-fiend dial?”

“Nah.” She decided she wanted the little booth tucked against the windows. Sliding onto the bench, she turned her gaze toward him and lifted an expectant brow, waiting.

Once he joined her, she slid her hand over the table, linked their fingers. “He strikes me as somebody who does it just to get a rise out of people.”

“He does.” Trey shrugged. “He’s mostly harmless.”

“I already figured that.” With a happy sigh, she leaned back and looked around once more. “This place is something else. I can’t—oh!”

“What’s wrong?”

“The bookstore! I wanted to see inside!”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “Both Mitch and Guff have keys and they’ve all but been living here lately. Guff’s wife, Zelda, too. We can get them to show us the store. I wouldn’t mind seeing it myself.” He paused, frowned. “They keep asking me to set up a signing there.”

He was rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, a thoughtful, almost absent caress. It sent shivery little thrills racing through her each time.

“Will you?” Her voice came out a little less than steady.

His eyes slid slowly up to meet hers, pausing to linger on her lips.

Oh . . . don’t do that . . .

Chapter Nineteen

“Is Loki really dead?” Travis asked, faking interest in a movie he’d seen a hundred times. Well, maybe not that many. Although he already knew the answer, if he managed to get Clayton going, it just might distract him from the nausea twisting through him. It felt like somebody was playing Twister inside him—with spiked gloves and boots.

Amy narrowed her eyes at him and then whispered, “Don’t tell him. You don’t want to ruin the movie.”

Clayton stared at Travis with suspicious eyes. “I think he’s already seen Thor. Dad told me that Uncle Travis collected all these comics and he knows more about these movies than probably anybody else.”

Travis kept his face blank. “Hey, that was when I was a kid.” He watched the scene play out, then he shook his head. “I don’t know. I think he might be. He got all white and stuff.”

Clayton focused on the screen for all of two minutes.

His next question almost had Travis choking on his beer—and the wound in his side all but screamed as he tried not to laugh.

“Do people kiss each other on dates?”

Torn between agony and amusement, he eyed Clayton. “Aren’t you a little young to think about dates and kissing?”

Clayton rolled his eyes. “No. I see Uncle Zach kissing Aunt Abby. And Uncle Zach posted a picture on Facebook of Uncle Z kissing Miss Keelie.” He scrunched up his face. “I bet Uncle Z will ask Miss Keelie to marry him.”

“How do you feel about that?” He poked Clayton in the foot, glad the kid was distracted from his father and potential kissage.

“I like Miss Keelie.” He displayed his bicep. “She drew Captain America’s shield on me at the wedding. It washed off, though. I’ll get a real one when I’m big. And I’ll have her do it.”

“Uncle Zach might have something to say about that.”

“He can do the Hulk. A giant Hulk. On my back.” Clayton gave him a gap-toothed grin.

“You got it all planned out, huh?” Travis thought maybe he could breathe now without feeling like the fires of hell were eating him.

“Yep! You think my dad will kiss—?”

Travis reached over and covered Clayton’s mouth. “Enough. I’m the uncle. I don’t talk about kissing. You got questions about kissing, ask your dad.”

Amy laughed and then leaned in, whispered something in Clayton’s ear.

Travis couldn’t hear it, but whatever it was, it sufficiently distracted the kid. There was no more talk of kissing.

Personally, though, he sure as hell hoped his brother did some kissing. The man needed to start living again.

*   *   *

“I can’t.”

Trey laughed and scooped up the last bit of Irish Delight. It was a debilitating mix of Guinness fudge cake, caramel made with Jameson Irish Whiskey and creamy icing that tasted of Baileys Irish Cream liqueur. Normally, it was way too rich for him—he’d be happy with a few chocolate chip cookies.

But now he wanted to know how to make it—maybe Abby could do it and send him a few to stick in the freezer, so he could see that look on Ressa’s face. Often. Not that he’d tell Abby that’s why he wanted the cakes.

“One more bite.” He held the spoon in front of her mouth.

Ressa rolled her eyes at him and then leaned in, closed her lips around the spoon. As she drew back, humming in pleasure, he had images of her doing something similar . . . only not with a damn spoon.

Her lashes lifted.

She finished the bite and then lifted a brow. “What’s that look for?”

“It’s not a particularly polite thought.”

“Who said I was looking for polite?” She pushed the plate away and then leaned forward, elbows on the edge of the table. That position did devastating things for her breasts, plumping them up and sending a whole new slew of images rushing through his mind.

“It involved your mouth, and you doing just what you just did . . . but not with a spoon.”

Confusion clouded her eyes, but only for a few seconds. Then she reached for the wineglass at her elbow. “You shouldn’t put thoughts like that in my head, honey. I just might forget we’re in a public place,” she said a moment later, and he didn’t think he was imagining the lower, huskier rasp to her voice.

She’d sounded like that just after he’d made her come.

He’d heard that voice in his dreams. Too many times. Now he wanted to hear her sound like that again, in reality.

“Then I guess I won’t mention how sexy your voice sounds right now,” he said, leaning back from the table before he did something stupid. “That you sound pretty much exactly the same way you’d sounded when I made you climax.”

Her eyes widened, pupils spiking before her lashes drooped. “No. Let’s not mention that.”

A soft, shaky sigh escaped her and then she slid out of the booth, moving to pace around the room. Trey stayed where he was, blood pulsing too hot inside his veins. The dim light practically caressed her skin and his hands started to itch, just thinking about feeling her again. Under him, against him, above him . . .

It was a thought that made his hands start to sweat.

But all he could think about was touching her. Hearing that voice break as she whispered his name. Hearing her moan.

She swung her head around, staring at him over her shoulder. The power of her gaze held him mesmerized as she turned and slowly started toward him.

“You keep looking at me like you’re seeing me naked, we’re going to have problems, Trey.”

His heart practically stopped as she went to her knees in front of him, her palms resting on his thighs. Through the material of his trousers, he could feel the imprint of her hands, each finger, the heat of her.

He wanted to shove his hands into her hair, haul her against him—up, into his lap, so he could push her skirt up, free his cock and drive into her.

It was a hot, brain-numbing fantasy.

But as she slid her hands up, he caught her wrists.

“You’ve got no idea,” he murmured, lifting one wrist and pressing his lips to the inside.

*   *   *

The feel of that beautiful mouth on her skin was a tease, a caress . . . a promise. It sent a shiver racing through her entire body and Ressa was tempted to plaster herself against him and do everything she could to make him forget who he was, where they were . . . everything that didn’t include getting naked.

If she didn’t have so much conflict inside her, she could just do what Farrah had told her . . . enjoy the ride.

But she didn’t want to enjoy the ride while it lasted.

There was too much going on to make her think she could have this for a little while and then just let go.

It was there in his smile. In the way her heart tugged when he looked at her.

The way he laughed when she told him about some of the things she’d seen at the library—a couple of teenagers she’d caught making out at the stacks, or the sympathy and irritation that had lingered on his face as she talked about how a group of concerned citizens had descended on the library to discuss the moral repercussions on the community when the library actually purchased sexual-type books. That had been the phrase they’d used when they’d lined up in front of her one Saturday afternoon. Sexual-type books.

Enjoy it while it lasted?

I think I could enjoy him forever.

As he lowered her hand, his gaze moved to hers and he reached up, cradled her face in his hand. “You look a thousand miles away all of a sudden.”

And you see too much.

Forcing a smile, she shrugged. “You know, a friend of mine thinks I should just . . . enjoy the ride.”

Heat flooded his gaze, even as he arched a brow.

“Enjoy what ride?”

She reached up and cupped his cheek. “You. This.”

“I can’t say I’m opposed to you enjoying me,” he said, his voice dropping lower. He covered her hand with his, his thumb stroking back and forth over her skin. “But I think there’s more to it than that.”

“I think we both know there’s a lot more going on here than just a couple of casual dates . . . a casual weekend, and then we say, See you around.”

He moved and she caught her breath as he pulled her into his lap. He did it with ridiculous ease and when she settled there, astride his thighs, it was with her skirt riding high on her legs. The table pressed into her side but she ignored it, looking at him, his mouth just a wish away.

“Is that what you want?” Trey studied her.

Ressa felt something in her chest tighten. Sitting there, with his eyes boring into hers, she felt stripped bare. Vulnerable. She could lie. Let this go. Just see what happened. Right?

“That’s a loaded question, honey.” She leaned in and pressed her brow to his. “I already told you . . . my life is complicated, and I seriously mean complicated. I don’t know if you getting involved with me is the best thing for you.”

He went to speak and she pressed her finger to his lips. “Don’t. I’m not just blowing smoke. But at the same time, I hate the idea of not seeing you. The past six weeks? They’ve pretty much sucked, Trey.”

“Tell me about it.” His lips pressed to hers. His hand curved over her neck as he looked into her eyes. “Maybe you should let me decide about whether or not I want to get involved with you, Ressa. These complications . . . are they really that bad?”

Her gut twisted.

He pressed his thumb to her chin. “Whatever it is, Ressa . . . I want to be with you.”

A million words, a million questions, a million hopes and doubts and wishes crowded up her throat to spill out of her. But before she could even voice one, there was a noise coming from the hall—almost deliberately loud, and the voice was too cheerful.

And obnoxious. “You all are far too quiet . . . is that a good thing or bad?” Mitch called out. “Should I come back? Speak now or forever hold your peace!”

Trey sighed and let go of her waist.

“And what if I was about to tell him to come back?” She wiggled free and smoothed her dress down.

“Not a good idea,” Trey advised. “We’d never hear the end of it, and knowing him, he’d sneak up anyway or try to, thinking he’d get a look at something he shouldn’t.”

“A bit of a pervert, huh?” She grabbed the rest of the wine and tossed it back, her throat dry, her heart racing. What am I doing?

Enjoy the ride, while it lasted—that was the best thing, the smart thing. Ressa wasn’t going to be smart, she realized. She wasn’t going to be smart at all. There was no point. Her heart was already involved.

“No.”

As Mitch came in the door, Trey shot him a look. “He’s not a bit. He’s a full-fledged perv. A card-carrying member of the local degenerates club.”

“Who?” Mitch grinned. “Me?”

Then he rolled his eyes. “You two don’t even looked mussed. What is wrong with you?”

I was just asking myself that very question, Ressa thought.