Busted (Barnes Brothers #3)

by Shiloh Walker

  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 th
e 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.”