Busted (Barnes Brothers #3)

by Shiloh Walker

  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 m
ean 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.

  Chapter Twenty

  The bookstore was as perfect as the rest of the place.

  Small, quaint and cozy, it was tucked off the back of the building. If somebody had asked her to design the perfect bookstore, this just might be it. Lots of dark wood, soaring shelves that held the extra stock, and little book nooks tucked into every available space. There was plenty of light, and during the day even more would pour in through all the windows.

  She found herself eying the little seat built into the space under a staircase and felt a thread of envy moving through her. “I want this,” she said. “I want just this. That’s it. I’m remodeling, just so I can have this.”

  Behind her, Trey chuckled.

  When he slid his arms around her, it felt perfectly natural to lean back against him. “They’ll have people coming in here just to read,” she said.

  “Read, and hopefully buy.” He pressed his lips to her neck.

  “You going to sign here?” Turning in his arms, she tipped her head back so she could see him, and when he winced, she grinned.

  “I . . .” His face slowly went red and he blew out a rough breath. “I honestly haven’t decided.”

  “Why not? You did fine at the book fair.”

  “I know.” He let go of her with one last, lingering stroke of her sides and then he stepped away to pace edgily. “That just felt . . . different. I don’t know. It’s easier to flick the author part of me on when I’m not here.”

  Running her tongue across her teeth, she skimmed her eyes across the bookstore. Mitch had let them inside and then left, saying he’d be back in a bit. The man seemed determined to leave them alone as much as possible, she’d noted. “I’m going to assume that you mean here as in Norfolk . . . not this bookstore.”

  “Yeah. Here . . . home. It just feels weird. I like not worrying about screwing up and saying something stupid if I bump into somebody. If I start being author me, that kind of goes away.” He shrugged and shot her a grimace. “That probably sounds stupid.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It sounds like you just want to have a part of your life that stays separate . . . yours. But Trey, people here already know who you are. If you say or do something stupid, it won’t matter if you are in your home space or not.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Do you know there are a few pages on Pinterest? Trey sightings?”

  “What?” He blinked at her.

  “Yep. Some locals who grab pictures of you when you’re out around town—the post office, grocery store. That sort of thing. You aren’t anonymous here, even if you want to be.” She watched the expressions on his face flit from surprise to frustration to resignation. She decided she wasn’t going to mention that a few people she knew kept up with those Trey sightings. Finally, he just sighed and shook his head and she reached out, touched his cheek. “I guess that’s not making it any easier for you to think about doing anything here, huh?”

  “I’m not thinking about it.” He shoved his hands through his hair. The thick, gold-streaked strands of brown immediately fell back into place, but he barely noticed. “I’m not thinking about it tonight at all.”

  “Okay.” She shoved off the wall and moved toward him. “Seems fair. I want to . . .”

  She stopped and studied the book dump tucked at the end of the aisle. The section was labeled Romance and the book, with its spring green cover and the mostly nude female torso, was very familiar.

  “Looks like they don’t care if romance writers play in their pool,” she murmured, reaching out for one of the L. Forrester books. She started to flip through it and then stared at the signature on the title page. Just below the block font was the bold, vivid scrawl—the exact same scrawl she had in her book, although hers was personalized. “She signed these.”

  Trey stopped at her elbow. “There are quite a few signed books in here,” he said. He gestured to another display. “Those are signed, too.”

  “But she doesn’t do this. She doesn’t do interviews, blog tours, nothing.” Frowning, she put the book down and picked up another, scowling at the signature.

  Trey picked up a book and flipped through before putting it down. “You a reader?”

  “Of her? Hell, yes. I love them. She makes me laugh and . . .” She paused, pursing her lips. “Well, if I’m ever reading one and you’re around, I’d want privacy.”

  The back of Trey’s neck went red even as his eyes flashed hot.

  “That a fact?” He picked a book back up. “Maybe they’ll sell me one early then.”

  “I have one.” She laughed a little and then went back to studying the signature, then the book dump. “I wonder how they got her to come in here and sign.”

  “That’s not necessary.” Trey gestured at another display. “He doesn’t live here either. If the publisher makes arrangements and the author is okay with it, they can get signed books from the author. It just has to be coordinated.”

  “Well, so much for that idea. I was hoping Mitch or Guff knew her. I was going to press for clues.” She sighed and put the book down. “The information on her website can’t even be called sketchy. It’s more like she thought about being sketchy and then took an eraser and cleaned up most of the sketch before she let anything go up.”

  “Some people are kind of big on their privacy.” Trey shrugged.

  “But . . .” Then she stopped and put Exposing the Geek Billionaire down. “Never mind.”

  He slid her a look. “But what?”

  “She’s good. Damn good. I guess I just don’t understand why somebody that talented wouldn’t want to do interviews and that kind of thing.”

  “Maybe for the same reason I don’t much like doing book signings.” He cocked a brow and put his copy of the book down, too. “Some authors just aren’t all that good at being social, or they feel weird talki
ng about their work—so weird they can’t get past it. Others have different reasons.”

  “Yeah. Fine.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Whatever.”

  Then she cut around him. “What books do they have of yours? I should probably read a couple of them.”

  There was a faint pause. And then he said, “Read a couple?”

  She shot him a wide grin over her shoulder. “Oh, relax. I’ve read two of your books. I just figure I’ll read a couple more. I normally go for something a little less . . . depressing, though.”

  “Gee, thanks.” He gave her a sidelong look and then jerked his head to the side. Something about the look he’d given her told her he’d had this conversation before. Then he confirmed it by saying, “You do realize that dating me doesn’t make my books required reading.”

  Dating me . . .

  “Dating you.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “So . . . does that mean we’re doing this again, Mr. Barnes?”

  He caged her in, up against the end of one of the bookshelves. She felt the wood against her back, the heat of him against her front and her heart started to race.

  “I think you’re the deciding vote on that, Ms. Bliss. You already know what I want.”

  * * *

  She smelled so good.

  It was a scent he wanted to lose himself in.

  Trey wanted to lose himself in her altogether really. Then she turned in his arms, a smile on her lips and he felt that strike him square in the heart.

  Feeling a little dazed, he wrapped his arms around her. “So what’s the decision?” he asked, the words sounding a lot rougher, a lot more demanding than he’d intended.

  Say yes—

  “I’m definitely considering it.”

  “Okay.” He caught her lower lip between his teeth. Then he let go. “Just so you know, I make excellent arguments. If you need me to convince you . . .”

  A bubble of laughter escaped her. His lips twitched at the sound and he pressed his face against her neck as she laughed. Her arms curled around him, one hand sliding into his hair. “Well, now. You know . . . maybe that won’t be necessary.”