by J. Kenner
“In other words, your ex—Reg?—dumped you and is trying to sleep his way up in the world.”
Her brows arch and rise. “I know it’s shallow of me to even care if he notices who I’m with, but it burns me that he was using me, and tossed me aside when I was no longer useful.”
“Not shallow,” I say. “But probably unnecessary. I’m sure you can do a hell of a lot better.”
Her smile lights up the room, and she surprises me by taking my hands and easing her body up against mine. “Of course I can,” she says, her voice low and a little breathy. “I’m engaged to you, aren’t I?”
I tense, suddenly keenly aware of the swell of her breasts against my chest. “Sam…” I swallow, my body reacting in all sorts of ways it really shouldn’t be reacting.
“I know, I know. It’s only….” She licks those kissable lips. “It’s just that I really want him to believe we’re real. If he realizes it’s all fake, he’ll spread the word, and I’ll look like an idiot from Austin to Seattle and beyond. Shit.”
The sharp word is underscored with motion as she lurches out of my arms. “I’m so, so sorry. Crap. This was a stupid idea. I’m a total idiot. It’s not fair to you, and—”
Without thinking, I take her hand, pull her hard against me, and claim that gorgeous mouth for my own. At first, she’s stiff in my arms. Then she melts against me, and she feels so damn perfect that I can’t help but think that I’m the one who’s the idiot, not her. Because she’d given me the opportunity to back away slowly. Instead, I not only walked through the door, I damned near did a handspring over the threshold.
I pull away, then shake my head sternly in response to the question painted all over her beautiful, dazed face. “We’re not calling it off, and I can play the part. Don’t you remember all those shows I did in junior high and high school?”
I don’t know why I add the last. Maybe because we both need to be clear what’s happening here. We’re putting on a show for Reg. But there’s nothing real about it. Not a single goddamn thing.
“You’re sure?” She drops her gaze, her lashes dark against her pale skin. “You’ll need to act like you want me desperately. If Reg doesn’t believe that an incredibly hot, sexy guy has completely flipped over me, then there’s no point to this whole charade.”
If I were a smarter man, I’d take the out she’s offering. Instead I say, “Of course, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you. You really are the best.” She rises onto her tiptoes and kisses the corner of my mouth. A sweet gesture. Tender. Nothing sexual at all.
But that doesn’t stop every part of my body from stiffening with both heat and awareness.
Every. Part. Of. My. Body.
That’s the moment I realize how excruciatingly hard it’s going to be to keep my promise to Brody—and that I really, really should have said no.
Chapter Three
“I think it’s sweet,” Gracie says, aiming her photogenic smile at me first and then the rest of the group gathered in the spacious kitchen of the Northwest Austin house she shares with her husband Cayden.
The comment is in response to my review of my changed plans for the weekend. Specifically, that I’m going to play the part of a besotted fiancé instead of spending the days unpacking and organizing my sadly ignored little house.
“Don’t you think it’s sweet?” Gracie asks Cayden when no one else answers. With his tousled black hair and his familiar eye patch, he looks a bit like a pirate. He slides in behind her and rests his hands over her lower belly. “I love you, babe,” he murmurs to her. “But that is not a recipe for sweet.”
Her blond hair fans out as she whirls in his arms and pretends to smack him. At the same time, Connor, Cayden’s identical twin, snorts out a laugh from the other side of the massive kitchen island.
Cayden ignores his brother, grabs Gracie’s wrist, and pulls her close for a kiss. She melts against him, and when they part, he’s smiling at her. “Love you, wife,” he says.
Cayden lost his eye in Afghanistan, and had a rough time of it after. In addition to the eye, his first wife was apparently a piece of work. I didn’t know the woman, but I can’t imagine him with anyone other than Gracie.
Her lips twitch with amusement … or possibly irritation. “Love you, too, husband. Although I’m not sure how much stock you should put into that. After all, I’m not too bright.”
“Zing!” Kerrie says, coming around the island with two glasses of red wine. She hands one to Cayden, then holds out the other for me.
“I can wait,” I say as I nod toward Gracie, who shakes her head.
“Take it,” she says. “I’m fine with water.”
“You sure?” Connor asks, holding the bottle as he pours another two glasses. “It’s a celebration. There aren’t many cases that close so uniquely,” he adds with a glance in my direction.
I raise my wine in a mock toast. “Brody already made all the ass jokes. But I’m still happy to celebrate.”
“I am, too,” Gracie says. “That’s why my water is fizzy.”
“You’re going to float away,” Connor says. “That’s all you drink lately.”
Gracie’s blue eyes sparkle as she smiles. “I’m working this week. And your skin looks better for the camera when you just drink water.”
Connor shrugs, looking nonplussed. Cayden, on the other hand, is practically beaming. I tilt my head and pretend to look at my wine so as to hide my grin. Connor’s an excellent investigator, but on this score he’s failed. Even so, I think he’ll be an outstanding uncle. And sooner or later, he’ll get a clue.
Despite the fact that the house is huge, we continue to linger in the kitchen, and I take my wine to the farm-style breakfast table, then sit back and watch my friends, feeling pretty damn lucky.
I met Cayden back when we were both in the service, and we hit it off. So much so that he eventually asked me to consider joining Blackwell-Lyon Security. I’d been working private security for years, but for a huge company where I felt like just one more cog in an endlessly turning wheel of billable hours and deathly dull assignments.
Cayden and Connor make up the Lyon part of Blackwell-Lyon, and Pierce Blackwell makes up the rest. And though I didn’t know Pierce well before starting the job, he’s become a solid friend, too. Tonight, he’s in Los Angeles with his wife, Jez, whose sister is getting some television award. Not an Emmy, but other than that I haven’t got a clue. But Jez is thrilled, which means I am, too.
The most excited person in the room about Del’s award is Kerrie, Pierce’s younger sister and Connor’s fiancée. Were it not for the fact that she’s deep in wedding planning—and has plenty of work piled up as the Blackwell-Lyon office manager—I’m sure she would have tried to wrangle a ticket. Unlike me, she not only knows the name of the award, but also what movie—or maybe TV show?—it’s for.
I watch Kerrie in her skinny jeans and T-shirt, her dark blond hair bouncing in a ponytail, my mind wandering to Sam. She’s not that much older than Kerrie, and even though she doesn’t work in Hollywood, she’s definitely in the entertainment industry. She probably knows what award Del is getting, too.
I frown, and for the first time realize that I haven’t got the faintest idea what’s in store for me this weekend. Sam was easy to talk to as a kid, but what do we have in common now? Generally, when I’m out with a woman, I keep a mental list of neutral topics handy for cocktail or dinner talk. After that, as per my usual modus operandi there’s not much talking.
But with Sam, we’re going to be together constantly for an entire weekend. And my usual mental list isn’t going to hack it.
I cut my thoughts off with a shake of my head, reminding myself that it doesn’t matter. We’re playing a role. Unscripted, maybe, but we can make it up as we go. And if there are conversational lapses, I’ll just wax poetic about some fictional amazing date we had early in our relationship.
All of which is well and good. Or it would be if this was only about the show we’re put
ting on. But it’s not. It’s about—
“Blue balls,” Cayden says, his words and everyone else’s laughter pulling me out of my reverie.
They’re all looking at me, and I narrow my eyes as I stare Cayden down. “Want to clue me in on the joke?”
“Cayden’s being an ass, as usual,” Kerrie says, a tease in her voice.
Cayden eyes Connor. “You need to keep your woman under control.”
Connor laughs. “You’ve known her as long as I have. Do you really think that’s possible? Besides, my woman is right.”
He turns to me as Cayden and Kerrie both start to laugh. “I was just saying that I thought you wanted down time at your house. A few weeks to catch-up and relax. But playing lover-boy doesn’t sound relaxing. Especially since you don’t get to method act. Honestly, it sounds seriously stressful.”
“Stop it,” Gracie says. “He’s doing a nice thing for an old friend.”
“See? Blue balls,” Cayden says again, this time in a whisper.
“Gracie’s right,” I say. “I’m doing Brody—and Sam—a favor. I’m not looking to score with Samantha Watson.”
Which is the absolute truth. What I don’t say is that I’m undeniably attracted to her, a fact that I’ve been coming to terms with since I saw her yesterday.
“Are you sure?” Kerrie says, and I honestly can’t tell if she’s teasing or not. “Connor and I finally got together for real after pretending to be together.” She blows him a kiss, then adds, “The pretending can definitely up the heat factor.”
“I can’t believe she’s saying this,” Connor says. “Hello, private moments.”
“We’re engaged, sweetie. I think they all figured it out.”
“What?” Cayden says, deadpan, and we all start laughing. At least until I hold up my hand to quiet everyone. Because it’s time to put an end to the ribbing and the speculation. For them, and for me.
“One, Samantha Watson is an old friend. End of story.”
“And what?” Cayden chimes in. “You won’t convince me that you of all people are opposed to friends with benefits.”
“Two,” I continue, ignoring my friend, “even if I was tempted to wring some benefits out of the friendship, I wouldn’t. She’s my best friend’s little sister, which is reason enough.”
“And if she’s the one starting something?” Cayden asks.
“She’s not,” I say. “She just needs a favor. Stop seeing hidden agendas where there aren’t any.”
But it’s an occupational hazard, and now that he’s spoken the words, I can’t get the possibility out of my head. In military training, we’re taught to run scenarios. But that’s not something I want to do. Because I’m pretty damn sure that any scenario that has Samantha throwing herself at me will not end with a PG rating.
“Sorry,” Cayden says, and for a second I think that he’s seen my thoughts. “I’m just ribbing you. Like you said, it’s just a job like any other. No big deal.”
“Exactly,” I say, but I have to force the word out. “No big deal at all.”
Chapter Four
Her front door bursts open right as I pull up alongside the curb. Sam steps outside and waves at me, her grin so wide I can almost believe she’s been counting the minutes since I left her.
She’s wearing a pale blue V-neck T-shirt that accentuates the curves I saw on my last visit, as well as denim shorts that reveal long, athletic legs leading up to straight hips and an ass that doesn’t quite fill out the shorts, but suits her build. I can’t help but superimpose my memory of gangly young Sam onto the current model, and can’t deny that I like the way she’s grown-up.
She’s not as curvy as the women I’m usually attracted to, but I still wonder what those legs would feel like wrapped tight around me. Then I mentally curse myself for the way forbidden thoughts about Brody’s sister keep popping into my head.
She pops back inside, but returns in an instant, tugging her suitcase over the threshold before turning back to pull the door closed and lock it.
By the time she’s turning around again, I’m out of the car and hurrying up the buckling sidewalk to meet her.
“Let me,” I say, then take the suitcase and haul it down the three concrete stairs.
“I can get it,” she protests, still on the porch with a giant leather tote bag slung over her shoulder.
“I don’t doubt it.” I keep my hand tight on the handle. “But I’m happy to do it for you. Or would you rather I not?”
She hesitates then offers me a small smile. “No. It’s nice of you to offer. Thanks.”
I return her smile, then tug the case the rest of the way to the curb. I’ve already opened the hatch remotely, but I leave the case for a moment and detour to open the door for her before hauling the suitcase into the back of my Toyota Highlander.
When I slide in behind the wheel, I notice that her tote is taking up almost all of the floor space in front of her seat. “Want me to put that in the back, too?”
“Nope. This is my treat bag.”
“You’re sure?” I say as I start the car.
“Yup.” She motions to the road. “Ready?”
In response, I pull out onto the street, then mentally calculate the quickest route to Mo-Pac, one of Austin’s north-south freeways, and then onto the spider web of state highways that will lead us into the Texas Hill Country.
As I shift in and out of traffic, she leans forward and pulls out a bag of miniature Snickers bars followed by a can of Dr. Pepper, which she shoves into the cup holder on my side of the car. “It’s still cold,” she says.
I can’t help but laugh. “How on earth did you remember that?”
She shrugs. “How could I forget after that drive to Winedale?”
“Good point.”
The summer after freshman year of high school, Brody and I drove to Shakespeare at Winedale with Tony Cox, a senior who was our friend for two reasons. One, he had a drivers license. And two, he was cool with Brody’s constant care of his little sister—a job that was frequently dumped on him since both his parents traveled for work.
The three of us had been in the same intro to drama class, and the teacher suggested we check out a show and the long-running Winedale workshop. Started in the Seventies by a professor in the English Department at the University of Texas, the program’s dedicated to helping students learn more about Shakespeare by publicly performing the works in a small converted barn located in the small town of Winedale, about halfway between Austin and Houston. In the summer, the students in the program actually spend two months on site, living and breathing Shakespeare.
By the time Tony, Brody, and I went, it had been going for decades and decades, so I guess the program was a success. We liked it, too. It was hot as hell, true, but none of us cared. Even Sam enjoyed it. We’d thought she’d be bored out of her mind, but she’d been positively engrossed in the plight of Romeo and Juliet. On the way back, we’d shared the back seat, and she’d quizzed me about true love and made up alternate endings where the hero and heroine didn’t die, but instead escaped together for their happily ever after.
During both legs of the trip, we’d stopped multiple times for snacks, and while Tony, Sam, and Brody all rotated their choices, I was DP and Snickers all the way.
“You still like them, I hope.”
“Love them,” I tell her honestly. “Although since I crossed the thirty marker, I don’t indulge much anymore.” When I was in the military, I was in such good shape I could eat anything. Now, I’m still in great shape, but that’s because I don’t eat just anything.
“Oh. Right. I forgot you’re old and decrepit now.” She pulls a Snickers from the bag, then peels it open. “Since I’m still young and in my twenties, I can indulge in whatever I want.”
She bites the candy in half, but her eyes are entirely on me, full of a flirtatious tease.
Just let it go. I can practically hear Brody lecturing me. But she’s captured my attention now, and so I counter with,
“I said I don’t indulge much. But the truth is, I’m always looking for an excuse to cheat.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. And just so you know, I’m a notorious enabler.” And even though the words are innocent and about snack food, my imagination gets the better of me, and I hear the low timbre of seduction in her voice.
Wishful thinking or preparing for the worst?
I want to tell myself it’s the latter.
I also want to tell myself to turn on the radio. Anything to counter the electricity in the car right now.
But I don’t.
On the contrary, when she says, “Open,” I do just that. She slips the other half of her Snickers into my mouth. And right then I know that I’ll never look at that candy the same way again.
“Good?”
“Definitely.” My voice is raspier than usual. I blame the caramel, then force myself to concentrate on the road.
“I’m glad. Just let me now when you want another one.”
Oh, holy Christ.
I draw in a breath, then take a sip of the soda, thankful when I turn onto Lamar Boulevard because the traffic is a mess, and focusing on the road will keep my thoughts in check.
Except it doesn’t work. Because despite the promise I made to my best friend, I can’t deny the fantasy that is running through my head in one delicious, sensual loop. A fantasy that I blame Cayden for. Him and his intriguing question: And if she’s the one starting something?
Damn Cayden and his theories. When I was with Brody just two days ago, I had nothing but platonic thoughts about Sam. Now, though…
Now this entire adventure is going to be far more of a challenge than I’d anticipated.
“I think you should be an actor,” she says once she’s pulled out her own snacks—Diet Coke and a giant bag of Popcornopolis.