Play Me (Barnes Brothers Book 2)

by Alison Kent

  Sophie concentrated on the knife and the bananas and ignored the pull in her stomach, an expectant tug that tightened with each creak of wet weathered wood.

  The latch lifted. The hinges squeaked. Cold wind hissed through the cracks then blasted the door wide open. It bounced once off the interior wall. A spray of water showered her face, misted her glasses but she didn’t have a problem seeing Tyler.

  The blanket draped over his head was a sopping mess. He left it in a puddle on the porch and came inside. He stood close enough for Sophie to feel the cold from his skin when, teeth chattering, he pushed the door closed.

  Tiny rivers ran from the ends of his hair and off the shoulders of the T-shirt plastered to his torso. From the knees down, the sweats were reddish brown and heavy. From the knees up, well, the wet fabric was a snug fit. A perfect fit. Even through her rain-speckled glasses, she could see how clingy a fit.

  At least she could see until Tyler lifted icy fingers and removed her glasses. Then her vision blurred, leaving her other senses alert. When he stepped closer, reached for the tail of her shirt, she felt his cold fingers at her thigh. When he dried her lenses with the fabric, she felt the rasping slide of flannel over her T-shirt.

  And when he returned the glasses to her face, she smelled the rainy scent of his skin and the impact of his big bad wolf gaze hit her where it mattered. Oh, but his eyes were green.

  “Aren’t you cold?” she asked, needing a distraction.

  “Freezing,” he answered, arching a cocky brow.

  He leaned forward. She took a step away. He lifted a hand toward her. She backed into the table, picked up a banana, and wielded the fruit like a weapon. He laughed, brushed his lips into her hair, then yanked his dry clothing from the back of the kitchen chairs.

  Leaving her with a wink and the picture of his damp backside, he headed for the bathroom, grabbing his boots and socks on the way, and slapping a trail of wet footprints across the floor.

  By the time he returned—showered and dressed as she’d first seen him yesterday, except this time the tails of his wrinkled white shirt hung free—she had the fruit and cereal, the sugar and cream and a pot of coffee set out on the table.

  She also had all of her emotions completely under control.

  “Why don’t you leave those in the bathroom?” she said, nodding toward the dirty T-shirt and sweats he’d wrapped in a towel. “I’d planned to hit the washateria on my next lunch hour anyway. The extra clothes won’t make that much difference.”

  “I don’t think you want this mess”—he lifted the dripping bundle—“in your bathroom.”

  “I can rinse out the mud—”

  He cut her off with a shake of his head. Strands of damp hair framed his neck. “I made the mess. I’ll do the laundry. You’ve done enough already.”

  “I heated up your soup. Big deal.”

  “Uh, darlin’. You did considerably more than heat up my soup.”

  The look in his eyes spoke of intimate knowledge and vivid recollections of “considerably more.” Ah… rats. Her body melted, her pulse grew rapid, her breasts pressed points into her T-shirt and bra. And here she’d just finished having such a good talk with herself, too.

  She looked down, concentrating on scraping oatmeal into both bowls, concentrating harder on holding the spoon and pot handle with sweaty palms, concentrating the hardest on keeping her voice from sounding ready for sex. “Breakfast?”

  He laid the armload of clothing on the floor by the door, then pulled aside the curtain to look out the window. “I’m hungry enough to empty a siloful of oats. And it looks like I’ve got just enough time.”

  Her hands slowed, her stomach tumbled. “What do you mean, you have enough time? Are you leaving?”

  “I radioed Gardner. He’s on his way.”

  “How? I thought he was stranded at Camelot.”

  “That’s the beauty of ranching country. If four-wheel drive can’t get you there, four-legged beasts usually can.”

  She set the pan in the sink, filled it with soapy water, dried her hands on a towel. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Tyler, you don’t have to leave. I know last night was… uncomfortable but—”

  “Uncomfortable? I slept like a rock.”

  The man really enjoyed being obtuse. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh, that uncomfortable.” He picked up a banana, split the top, stripped off a length of peel. “I hate to tell you you’re wrong. But you’re wrong.” His skilled hands easily skinned off a second strip, a third. “I do have to leave. Otherwise, we’re gonna finish up today what we started last night. And if you think last night was uncomfortable…”

  She could barely breathe for the naked banana. “But the rain. You’ll be miserable.”

  “What’s the matter, darlin’? Fraid all this sweetness will melt right off of me?” He popped a third of the banana into his mouth.

  Not even with a repeat of Noah’s flood, Sophie mused. She arched a brow. “You mean, it hasn’t already?”

  He pressed a hand to his heart. “Ouch. That’s some tongue you’ve got there. But then”—he grinned—“I already knew that.”

  She slapped at him with the dish towel. He caught it, of course—cocky cowboy that he was—and tucked it into the neck of his shirt. Then, after burying his cereal beneath slices of fruit, loaded butter and brown sugar on top.

  “Mmm-mmm. Nothing like a big bowl of oatmeal and bananas to save a man from starving.”

  He was so good at sweet-talking she would’ve believed him if not for the scowl drawing his brows to a vee. She backed into the kitchen area. “Let me see if I can find you something else.”

  “Sophie, this is fine. It won’t hurt me to eat healthy for a change.” He spooned up a big bite.

  “I don’t know if I’d call that healthy.” His teeth had to be grinding through an inch of sugar. Grimacing, she cast a cursory glance over refrigerator shelves stocked with carrots, cauliflower, cheese, milk, and soup. She couldn’t even offer him eggs after breaking her last one last night.

  She looked back his way in time to see him scoop up another spoonful of cereal covered with nearly caramelized bananas. “I’m afraid it’s either that candy you’re eating or more soup and raw veggies.”

  “I’ll stick with the candy,” he said and shoveled up bite number three.

  He had to be starving and her vegetarian tastes didn’t help. She wasn’t prepared to feed a man with this one’s appetites. Uh, appetite. She closed the refrigerator, leaned a shoulder against it, and sighed. “I’m really sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Everything. The past eighteen hours couldn’t have been any lousier, what with the rain and your truck getting stuck and having to sleep on the floor, and”—she gestured randomly—“being cooped up here with me and my dog.”

  He pulled the spoon from his mouth, slid it into the bowl, then turned and walked toward her. “Being cooped up here with you and your dog is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

  “Look—”

  “Now, I wasn’t talking about the sex, though that was pretty spectacular.” His movements were slow and measured, his intent clear.

  Sophie’s stomach dipped and rolled. The sound of his boots on the floor was the sound of her heart. She told herself to be strong, be strong. “Look, Tyler—”

  “I know you don’t want to talk about it now and that’s okay. We’ll talk about it soon.” He came within striking distance, the wolf on the prowl.

  Her blood heated and pooled and with every step he took, anticipation eased toward the edge of fear.

  “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, Sophie North. You’ve brought to mind some things I’ve been meaning to remember. I like that.”

  She backed into the refrigerator. The electrical hum sang along nerve endings drawn tight and tuned to his touch. Be strong. Be strong. “You do?”

  “I do. It’s a comfortable feeling,” he said, his eyes eager like dark bedroom dreams. He braced
his hands on the freezer door then moved in for the kill. He nuzzled her neck, her jaw, the curve of her chin and whispered, “But not as comfortable as I was last night laying my head on your belly.”

  His kiss tasted of brown sugar, of a sweetness that ran deeper, of yearning. His body came home where it comfortably belonged. She felt the hardness of his thighs and the hardness of his hip bones and the hardness that lay between.

  Be strong, Sophie. Strong. When he dipped his knees, settled her thighs over his, she wrapped her legs around his hips and snuggled close. When he parted her lips and his tongue found entry, she shivered.

  But when he held her with only his body, wedged a hand between them and covered her breast, she surrendered her strength and came undone.

  She pressed herself into his palm, fed on the feel of his fingers, the sweet pull at her nipple, the tingling web spinning from breast to belly.

  She wanted more. Needed more. Needed him to fill her emptiness, to soothe the ache that began in her heart.

  She needed to be wanted and Tyler wanted her.

  A tiny whimper spilled from her lips when he pulled his mouth away. His breathing was ragged, his breath hot and moist against the skin of her neck. “What we’re doing may not be crazy but I’m about to go totally insane.”

  She settled her forehead against his throat, took in his scent, whispered against his bare skin, “I thought it was supposed to make you go blind.”

  Slowly, exquisitely, he unwrapped her legs from around his hips and let her body slide the length of his. She felt every muscle, every hard male counterpoint made to fit her female curves.

  “I’m glad you find some humor in the situation. But this”—he pulled her hips hard to his—“is not funny.”

  “No. It’s not,” she whispered then knowing she’d regret the admission said, “It’s beautiful.”

  Tyler grimaced like a man in pain. “Don’t give me that look or you’re gonna be naked on your back on this floor. And I don’t think either of us wants my brother walking in on that.”

  “Your brother?” Just then she heard the boot steps on the porch. “How did you—”

  “I heard the horses.”

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  His smile was tender. “Except the sound of my heart pounding in your ears?”

  “I thought it was my heart,” she said, knowing it was and that it beat with all the strength she had left.

  At the brisk rap on the door, Cowboy gave two short yips, roused from under the table, and trotted to the door.

  “That’d be Gardner.”

  Sophie lifted her arms from around Tyler’s neck and waited for the guilt but in its place came acceptance, resignation, and a prickle of alarm that oatmeal would never taste as good again.

  The knock at the door sounded once more. “I’d better go,” Tyler said and took a step back.

  Sophie smoothed down the flannel that had bunched around her waist and used it to polish her smudged glasses. “Yeah. You’d better.”

  He looked reluctant to leave, more than reluctant, in fact. When he turned away, she crossed her arms over her chest and followed him to the door. The wind brought a blast of rain inside as well as the scent of leather and horses.

  Once Tyler stepped onto the porch and out of her way, Sophie got her first look at his brother. They stood about the same height, though Gardner’s hat gave him an extra few inches.

  They had the same green eyes, the same dark hair. But where Tyler’s hung long over his collar, Gardner’s was cut above his ears. And though Tyler’s shoulders were beautifully broad, Gardner’s were broader, hinting at the potential in masculine maturity.

  Gardner handed Tyler the twin to the long, tobacco-colored oilskin duster he wore. Wrapped inside the duster was a worn but serviceable felt hat. Tyler slipped on the coat then beat the hat into shape and jammed it down on his head.

  Gardner looked from his brother to Sophie where she stood in the cabin doorway. A slow, lazy grin spread over his face. “I’ve obviously been hiring the wrong construction crews.”

  Sophie took his flirting in stride. “Maybe not the wrong ones, just not the best.”

  She glanced at Tyler, then, took in the picture of his disreputable hat, his hair caught in the collar of the broad-shouldered coat. His smile was just as lazy, just as slow as his brother’s, but his was pure big bad wolf, replete with memories of “considerably more.”

  “Gardner, Sophie North. Sophie, my brother, Gardner Barnes.”

  She looked back at Gardner then because, though he might be devastatingly handsome, he didn’t steal her breath. Tyler did. And she needed to breathe. “My pleasure.”

  “I have a feeling the pleasure is all Tyler’s,” Gardner said and playfully cuffed his brother on the arm. “For a man big on truth, you’re cutting it close, little brother. You didn’t tell me the construction crew member you were stranded with was female. I’d call that a sin of omission.”

  Fastening the coat, Tyler sent a private wink Sophie’s way. “You don’t gotta know all my secrets, big brother. I keep the choice ones to myself.”

  “So I see,” Gardner said, turning his speculative gaze her way. “I hope my brother didn’t cause you any trouble, Miss North. He can be a real pain—even when he’s not trying. We’ve had to quit taking him out in public.”

  Sophie couldn’t help but smile at Gardner’s words, or the way Tyler was eating them up. “It was a quiet evening. We had supper, talked, played… Scrabble.”

  “Scrabble, huh? He didn’t con you into playing poker with that deck of marked cards, did he?”

  “He tried.”

  “Yeah, but at least I told you they were marked.” Tyler frowned at his brother. “How’d you know about those cards anyway?”

  Gardner snorted. “Typical of your generation to think you’re the only ones to use this cabin.”

  “Why, Gardner Barnes. I may just have to tell Harley.”

  This time his lazy grin spread like wildfire. “Too late. She’s already suggested we name this baby Oscar.”

  Tyler whooped. “You sly dog, you. You know she’s gonna kill you for sharin’ the details of your sex life.”

  “Yeah, and I can’t think of a better way to die.” His grin faded as the tempo of the steady rain approached torrential. “C’mon, little brother. We’d better be going. Sophie’s standing here shivering and I’ve got a day’s worth of work to do.”

  “Ah, yes. Through rain and snow and sleet and hail, a rancher’s work is never done.”

  “Your lazy butt wouldn’t know a thing about it. You were always too busy with the animals to do any real ranching.” He turned to Sophie then. “Is there anything you need? We can bring back supper later.”

  The switch from slapstick to solemn caught her off guard—and caught her grinning like a fool. She shook her head, fluffed at her hair. “I’ve got plenty of food.”

  “And fuel?”

  “And fuel.”

  He still looked hesitant. “You can ride back with us if you want. Harley won’t mind putting you up.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Well, if this doesn’t let up by tomorrow, we’ll be back. We won’t forget you’re here.”

  “I’ll second that,” Tyler said. He dug into his pocket for his keys, slipped one from the ring, and handed it to her. His gaze was steady and commanded her attention.

  “This is for the truck. You need anything, you get on the radio and call me, okay? It’s already tuned to Camelot’s frequency. Just pick up the mike and holler.”

  He pressed the key into her palm; the metal was warm with the heat of his hand. He stepped closer, leaned down. His eyes had darkened as had the sky; the brim of his hat touched her head and deepened the private shadow.

  “Okay,” she managed to whisper. She barely managed to breathe. She knew she couldn’t swallow, not with her heart in her throat. Not with what she saw in his eyes.

  Not with the tenderness, the caring, the security, o
h, God, not with everything she needed staring her in the face.

  She slipped her hand and the key into her front pocket. Then before she did anything she’d regret with the other hand, she slipped it in its pocket, as well.

  Gardner cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “It’s been a pleasure, Sophie. Hope to see you again soon.”

  She nodded, hating the way her smile shook, hating even more how she couldn’t stop it, and how, after his brother turned to go, Tyler reached up to rub a thumb over her lip.

  “You want me to stay?”

  “I’ll be fine.” She gestured toward the cabin. “I’ve got food and shelter. Fuel. Cowboy.”

  The timbre of his voice dropped. “But do you want me to stay?”

  “I want… time.”

  “You’ve got twenty-four hours,” he said and backed a step away.

  She nodded, knowing twenty-four hours was barely enough time to put last night into perspective, to deal with the magic of the moment, to reexamine her convictions and determine why they’d failed to keep her safe, to find what remained of her strength.

  She watched Tyler go then, his indecision obvious with every step back. Finally, he tucked his head to his chest and pounded down the porch steps. Dodging the worst of the mud and puddles, he took his mount’s reins from Gardner’s hand and swung fluidly into the saddle.

  Sophie glanced from Tyler to Gardner where they sat astride their horses, their shoulders broad beneath the heavy fabric of the oilskin coats. They both huddled deep into their turned-up collars, pulled the brims of their hats down low.

  She looked again from one to the other, noting in the expression on their faces a silent communication, a nod here and lift of a chin, and then the verbal as Gardner leaned forward to speak and Tyler leaned to the side to listen.

  The rain fell like a mantle of silver leaves around them, the pastures rolled in muted brown-gold waves beyond. The scene was worthy of a McMurtry novel, a Russell painting. She was the only witness to the unfolding beauty and she was grateful.

  Finally, in a choreographed rhythm, the Barnes brothers reined their horses around and lifted a hand in a brief farewell. She watched them go until her vision blurred—from the mist, she told herself—and the cold rain drove her inside.