Call Me: sold live on CBS 48 Hours (Barnes Brothers Book 1)

by Alison Kent

  She knew Gardner was nothing like Brad. Loyalty was as much a part of Gardner as his looks. As important as he considered the first, the second meant nothing to him. That combination of values and virility made for a tempting package.

  Yet, after the fantasy she’d woven last night, she hesitated calling this evening. He’d taunted her with an erotic dare and she’d responded like a 1-900 late-night call. Well, her version of one. What if he told her not to call again?

  Suddenly, that answer was unacceptable. Though they’d never met properly, what they’d shared in conversation was the intimacy of lovers. He’d lifted her dragging spirits, done wonders for the pieces of her self-worth still suffering damage from Brad, and their verbal foreplay left her achingly frustrated.

  Theirs held the easy comfort of a longtime relationship as well as the tense adjustments to one new and frighteningly intense. She was ready to take a giant leap for womanhood. Or for herself, anyway. She wanted to give Gardner a chance and in doing so would be taking the biggest one of her life.

  In the privacy of her room, she pulled her cell from her bag then decided against giving him that number just yet. Climbing into the big feather bed, she propped the room’s phone on her lap and snuggled back into a mountain of green, pink, and yellow chintz and gingham pillows. Her hand trembled on the receiver.

  “Harley,” he stated, his voice cutting into the second ring. Warmth swept through her at the sound of her name on his tongue.

  “Am I that predictable?” she asked with a laugh.

  He chuckled. “You sound like that doesn’t make you too happy.”

  “A woman I work with tells me that I need to get a life.”

  “Do you?”

  Harley thought of Mona with affection. “Could be. She’s been predicting my every move for a while now.”

  “Sounds like she knows you pretty well.”

  “Better than just about anybody.”

  “We could remedy that, you know.” He paused, then cruised smoothly forward. “Unless you’re still not ready.”

  Harley let his voice roll through her before she answered. “No. I think I am.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep lately.”

  “We could lose a lot of sleep together if you tell me where you are.”

  Tonight she figured it was a safe enough reveal. “I’m in Fredericksburg.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “Texas.”

  “Yeah. I know where it is. I thought you were on a business trip.”

  Harley detected a frown in his voice. “I am. I’m attending an auction here tomorrow.”

  “How long are you going to be there?”

  “I’m not really sure. I’ve cleared my schedule through the end of the week. If I don’t find what I need in Fredericksburg tomorrow, I’ll look someplace else.”

  Though it was a minute in coming, Gardner’s answering laugh was supremely male, powerful, and dangerous to most every part of her body. She toed off her sneakers and tucked her legs beneath her, folding herself around the awesome feeling.

  “Don’t worry about tomorrow, Harley. I know you’re going to find exactly what you need.”

  “You know that much about me, huh?”

  “I know a lot. Remember, I’m your fantasy.”

  Yes. He was. He certainly was. “I don’t think that’s exactly the way I put it.”

  “Close enough. Besides, after last night, I know more than you probably wish I did.”

  Harley pressed a palm to her cheek. “Gardner. About last night—”

  He cut her off with, “Don’t even try to take a word of it back.”

  “Then you’re not disgusted?”

  “Disgusted? Are you kidding?”

  Harley shrugged for her own benefit. “After I hung up, I felt… I don’t know… cheap.”

  He blew out an exasperated sigh. “Harley, cheap would be if you did that for a living. Or for some warped sense of sexual power. But I asked you to. You did it for me. Didn’t you?”

  Her stomach knotted and she pictured him close, his hand spreading over her belly to ease the flow of fire through her blood. “Yes. It was for you.”

  “Good. That’s all I wanted to know.” She imagined him pacing, scrubbing a hand over his hair. “What you and I say to each other in private is no one’s business but our own. We can be as intimate, as personal, hell, as erotic as we want, as long as you know that the talking’s not going to hold me much longer Agreed?”

  “On one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “That you’ll respect me in the morning,” she said and held her breath.

  “Oh, I’ll respect you,” he answered, the words an intimate stroke to her senses. “Especially after the night.”

  “The night?”

  “Yeah. Night. You know, those hours of dark between dusk and dawn.” His voice had shifted, grown subtly lower, a swirl of heat like rising steam, and the slowly ebbing tide of her blood.

  “I know about night,” she finally replied.

  “And you know about secrets. And desires. Have I ever told you my fantasy? What happens with you and me? At night?”

  Harley swallowed hard. “No…”

  “All pretenses come down. All walls, all defenses. You and me And nothing else.”

  “You make it sound too easy,” she managed, giving a true effort to a false laugh.

  “It’s simple. As easy as one plus one. We start with the night, then slowly add the secrets—”

  Her heart stopped, then started; her breathing came in choppy gasps.

  “Next comes desires. Then you. And finally me—”

  “What happens then?” she asked, her voice a mere whisper over the roar in her head.

  “You’ve got a quick mind. Your calculations can’t be far off from mine.”

  That’s what she was afraid of. And what she wanted. Even knowing nothing more about him than she did, she wanted Gardner Barnes with the fiercest intensity.

  “I don’t have much of a mind for math. Why don’t you just give me the answer?”

  “That’s cheating, Harley. Do I seem like that kind of guy?”

  She hoped not. Oh, God, she hoped not. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been fooled.”

  Gardner took a minute to reply. “Honesty is either a part of a man or it isn’t. If that’s what happened to you, I’m sorry. You deserve better.”

  “How do you know what I deserve?” she asked, her voice slightly raw.

  “No one deserves to be cheated on.”

  “I don’t think the cheater took the cheated-on’s feelings into the equation. In his case, one plus one wasn’t enough. Or maybe I wasn’t enough.” She blew up a puff of breath, her bangs fluttering back over her forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t call to dredge up the past.”

  “Why did you call?”

  “To find out what we’re going to do with the present.”

  “The present, huh? You mean, like maybe a real date.”

  She twisted the phone cord around her finger. “I know we’ve got some obstacles, like time and distance and schedules—”

  “Those obstacles are nothing now that we’ve gotten past the biggest one.”

  “You mean me.”

  “You needed time. I can understand that but whatever caused you to change your mind, I’m damn glad it happened.”

  She was damn glad, too. Anticipation was a giddy thing and she felt its tiny fingers and toes start the climb up her backbone. “What do you like to do on a date, Gardner Barnes?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Your imagination must be a little rusty.”

  “I’m not lacking in imagination,” he growled. “Just opportunity. Why don’t you give me your idea of a great date. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  She could talk to him for hours and never be disappointed. The realization seized her s
uddenly, giving her no time to weigh the implications.

  “Think back to school. I’m not a whole lot different from any of the girls you found time to date. Just a little older.” And a whole lot wiser, she thought wryly. “I like to be romanced. I like flowers, dark corner tables with candlelight, having my car door opened and my chair pulled out.”

  “The last time I opened a door for a woman, she jerked the handle from my hand and told me she could do it herself.”

  “So can I. But those tiny shows of tenderness and respect mean a lot to me. I may be working in a man’s world but that doesn’t make me a man. I’m too young to have burned my bra but I wouldn’t have, anyway. I enjoy the differences that make me a woman.” And screw Brad for being such a jerk and making me wonder why I wasn’t woman enough.

  “That’s some kind of sermon.”

  Harley cringed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I like a woman who’s a woman, who can stand up to a man without becoming one. A woman’s strengths are totally her own. That’s what makes the traditional roles great for some and not for others. I happen to be a big fan but I have no problem being flexible.”

  She’d wanted so hard to believe in traditional roles, hard enough to take Brad at face value, hoping to find with him what she’d not found on the back of a Harley-Davidson with her arms wrapped tight around her mother’s waist.

  “Harley?”

  “I was just thinking. You know, Gardner, if you’re that big on traditional, you need to be the one to plan this date.”

  “It’ll be my pleasure,” he said, his words rolling out on a prayer and a promise.

  Pleasure and Gardner Barnes. Harley couldn’t begin to imagine. “Do you want to meet me somewhere on the road? Or should we wait until I get back to Houston so we can better coordinate our schedules?”

  “I don’t know if I can deal with all this spontaneity, Harley.”

  She easily pictured his sexy grin. “Then the next time you pull this business-card routine, why don’t you check out a girl’s area code first?”

  “If there’s ever a need for a next time, I won’t bother with a business card. I’ll just stake my claim and be done with it.”

  “Is that what this is? Staking your claim?”

  “I’m giving it my damnedest.”

  “Then you tell me the when and where and I’ll make my damnedest effort to be there.”

  “Who’s staking claims now?”

  “You got a problem with that, Barnes?”

  “Not a one. Call me when you get ready to leave Fredericksburg. I’ll see what I can do about setting up this date.”

  “Until tomorrow, then?”

  “Yeah. Tomorrow.” He said it with such potential that Harley shivered. “And, Harley?”

  “Yeah, Gardner?”

  “I’m glad you didn’t burn your bra. I’m going to enjoy taking it off.”

  “Sold!”

  Damn, she’d wanted that nightgown. The final item in the auction and the only thing she’d wanted for herself. Figured. She’d arrived early, set up her folding chair in one of the center rows, then walked through the barn, scouting out the items to be auctioned before she picked up her bidding card from the cashier. She would’ve been on the road long before now if she hadn’t had her heart set on the simple linen shift.

  Harley glanced over her shoulder but the crush of people prevented her from locating the jerk who’d had the gall to have more money than she did. Spending clients’ money gave her a vicarious thrill because when it came to spending her own, she had to set a more frugal limit. Damn, she’d wanted that nightgown.

  At least Dr. Fischer should be a happy man. The earthenware inhaler and the mahogany pill-making machine were the best quality she’d seen in a long time. A few more choice items such as those and her deal with Dr. Fischer would be a fait accompli. Pulling her AmEx and a business card from her briefcase, she made her way to the cashier’s table.

  The antique business was getting tougher, especially with the choicest antiques owned by museums or affluent collectors. She often wondered if owners were holding back their best items, and from discussions with other dealers, she was not alone in her concern.

  Then there was the online market where—granted—she’d snatched up more than a few priceless finds. Collectors were going to have to get used to the new generation of antiques coming up.

  Harley had gone so far as to start her own collection of teapots in addition to her treasured assortment of old clothes.

  Once she’d tendered payment, she arranged to have the items shipped directly to her store, preferring to pay the insurance and shipping on the parcels than risk damaging them in the back of her four-wheel drive.

  She’d had no luck finding Mrs. Mitchmore’s linens, however, and no matter how inviting the idea of lingering in town long enough to call Gardner, she needed to be on her way. She’d call him from wherever she managed to stop tonight. Their date would just have to wait.

  Even as she mentally voiced the words, a pang of regret slipped up on her better judgment. Funny how she’d always thought of these buying trips as a challenge. This one was growing to be a chore.

  “Excuse me,” she murmured, skirting her way past two older women arguing over the price one had paid for a Snoopy cookie jar. Just as Harley stepped past, the first woman turned to the side and opened her satchel.

  The handle loops caught on the corner of Harley’s briefcase, jerking her shoulder back, and yanking the purse from the woman’s grasp. A Mary Poppins array of books, brass knickknacks, buttons, beer bottle crowns, an envelope of stamps, an old Barbie doll, and a lead doorstop tumbled to the ground.

  “Now look here, Helen. I told you that purse was going to be the death of you,” scolded the second woman, standing above the kneeling Helen and shaking her finger.

  Helen took on the look of a wounded child, the slashes of rouge over her cheekbones nothing compared to the red cast creeping up her neck.

  Harley dropped down beside her. “It’s my fault, really. This briefcase is too bulky for such tight quarters.”

  “That’s all right, Miss. Ellen’s always telling me to leave things in the car but I’m afraid someone will break in and steal them.” A small crowd had gathered now, chasing buttons and bottle caps through the dirt-and-sawdust floor.

  Harley picked up the Barbie doll and dusted cedar flakes from its near-mint box. “Don’t worry about it, Helen. We’ll get it all gathered up.” She handed her the doll. “Is this for your granddaughter?”

  “No, that’s not for her granddaughter,” Ellen butted in. A wiry bird of a woman, Ellen fluttered from side to side and flapped her skinny arms. “She’s got bookcases full of dolls in her trailer house. Dolls on top of the TV, on top of the refrigerator. Dolls on her dresser.”

  Helen gave a little shrug. “I like dolls.”

  “I tell you what, Helen,” Harley said, nodding toward the Barbie. “You take care of this one. She’s going to be worth something someday. Now let’s get the rest of these buttons up.”

  Harley, Helen, and Ellen took bottle caps and buttons out of several hands. Harley leaned forward and reached for a small brass Empire State Building ashtray behind Helen’s left foot, only to be knocked off balance by someone at her back.

  She shuffled one foot, then scooted on the other, and made a grab for the denim-covered thigh crouched down beside her to keep from pitching on her face.

  “Thanks,” she said, righting herself and turning to the side.

  “You’re welcome,” said an all-too-familiar voice and Harley found herself gazing into the bedroom eyes of Gardner Barnes.

  ELEVEN

  THE FIRST TIME SHE’D SEEN him, she’d had on three-inch pumps; he’d been wearing Italian loafers. That had to be the reason he hadn’t seemed as tall then as he did now.

  On the plane they hadn’t stood this close, so close he filled every inch of her vision. That had to be why she didn’t remember his chest being as broad b
eneath navy silk as it was now under white chambray.

  But try as she might, she couldn’t come up with any rational explanation for the man to look so sexy, so breathtakingly magnificent, so utterly male. And that was exactly the way he looked now.

  Even when he stepped closer, so close she had to tilt back her head, she couldn’t look away from his eyes. Eyes she didn’t remember being this green, sparkling with this much life—or fire. He blinked slowly, lazily, the easy sweep of his long dark lashes at odds with the banked emotion behind.

  The peripheral movement of his arm was more a feeling than an image, the flex of a shoulder, the crinkle of crisp cotton. Trembling, Harley breathed in the scent of soap and sun-kissed cloth and waited for his touch.

  His breath stirred the wisps of unmanageable hair curling at her temple, the contact no more than a stroke of air on skin. Harley shivered, hunched deep into the turned-up collar of her belted wrap, and waited.

  Angling his head toward her, Gardner reached up, trailed his thumb along her lower lip, tugging on the center until she wet the spot with a flick of her tongue.

  “Cat got your tongue, Harley Golden?”

  No, but you do, she thought. His flavor filled her mouth. She spoke the first words that floated through her mind. “I didn’t know you were a cowboy.”

  His knuckles grazed her jawline; his huge palm sizzled against her neck; his fingers speared into the hair behind her ear. “Does that matter to you?”

  Not only did it not matter but from the moment their eyes had made contact, the rest of her world had ceased to exist. Instinctively, she shook her head.

  “Good.” The brim of his Resistol cast an intimate shadow over her face. “Because I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

  The warmth of his smile tickled her cheek. Her breasts tingled, her blood thrummed, and Harley felt as if she’d been waiting forever.

  Sliding his hand from her neck down her shoulder, Gardner wrapped his fingers possessively around her upper arm and backed a step away.