“Certainly.” Sydney kept her gaze directly on Reese.
Cowards. Reese frowned after his brother and sister when they disappeared from the room. When he wanted them to leave they wouldn’t. Now he wanted them to stay and they couldn’t get out of here fast enough.
“Hey, Syd.” He turned his attention to the woman who stood watching him, her arms folded primly across her chest. Unknowingly, the gesture lifted and pressed her breasts firmly upward. Don’t think about her breasts, he told himself, but the more he told himself not to think about them, and certainly not to look, the more he wanted to.
“Where in the world would Lucian get such a preposterous idea that either one of us would have a thing for the other?” Sydney asked.
“Didn’t you know that Lucian was dropped on his head when he was a baby?” Reese said easily and slipped back into his desk chair.
“Is that so?” She arched one delicate brow.
“God’s truth.” He raised his hand to emphasize the veracity of his statement. At the same time, he forced his gaze to stay steady with hers, but it felt like a fish on the end of a line, tugging and pulling, trying to draw his attention down to the neckline of her blouse. “My parents thought about an institution when it became apparent there was permanent damage, but since he wasn’t dangerous, they kept him at home.”
“Every Sinclair man is dangerous,” Sydney said, shaking her head. “You should all come with a warning label that says you’re hazardous to the female sex.”
“I love it when you talk dirty,” Reese said huskily. And even though he was teasing, the sudden image of pillow talk with Sydney did make his pulse race.
Keep your eyes on her face, he repeated over and over, though he desperately wanted to slide a long, slow look over those lovely breasts, then down her silk-covered slender hips. What was she wearing underneath? he wondered, then gave himself a mental shake and decided he was the one with brain damage.
“Reese Sinclair.” Sydney shook her head and sighed. “Can’t you be serious for even one minute? It’s ludicrous to think that you would have feelings for me or that I would have feelings for you that were of a physical nature. I just don’t want your family getting the wrong idea about us.”
Her words had snob written all over them, Reese thought with annoyance. And just why was it so ludicrous for her to have any feelings for him that were of a “physical nature”? What the hell was wrong with him? She was the one walking around as if she had too much starch in her collar.
Just once, he’d like to shake that ivory tower she lived in. He stood slowly, moved toward her with intent. “What’s wrong with physical, Syd? I happen to like physical. In fact, I’m feeling extremely physical at this very moment.”
“I hear lifting weights is quite an effective release of energy.”
“There are other ways to release energy that are a lot more enjoyable,” he murmured, moving closer. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and though he had no intention of this going anywhere, the jolt of desire that shot to his groin obviously had a mind of its own.
“Tennis is an excellent form of exercise,” she suggested.
Wary, Sydney watched Reese approach, but refused to back away. Refused to think about those large hands of his, that long, muscular body and broad shoulders. She forced herself to think about a brandy sauce she’d been experimenting with, if it had enough butter, maybe a little less brown sugar. Vanilla, she decided, she’d add a little extra vanilla.
“Never could really get into the game myself.” Reese moved past her and closed the office door.
Sydney’s insides immediately formed a conga line from her head to her toes. “Is that so?” she said, forcing a bored tone to her voice, when she was anything but.
He smiled, then came up behind her, touched the back of her neck with his fingertip. “I prefer contact sports myself. Something that works the circulatory system and strengthens muscle tone. Something that really gets the heart pumping.”
Her heart was pumping furiously. It was one thing to exchange verbal banter with him, but this was something entirely different. Something much more…sensual. She knew that Reese was teasing her, and as much as it aggravated her, it also excited her.
He wanted her to put a stop to his nonsense, expected her to. This was a game to Reese, she realized. He was certain she would yell “uncle” first. He was counting on it. He wasn’t interested in her that way. And she, of course, wasn’t interested in him that way, either.
Well, he started it, she thought with annoyance. Let him be the one to finish it. In spite of herself, she shivered when he slid the tip of his finger over the bare skin on her neck.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you have a pretty neck? And hair, too.” Her breath caught when he moved behind her and brought his mouth closer to her ear. “Do you ever let your hair down, Syd?”
The warmth of his breath on her neck and ear sent ripples of pleasure over her skin. Every warning system screamed at her to run, to get away as fast as she could, but she knew that was what he wanted. He’d know then that he’d won, that he was irresistible to even cold-as-ice Sydney Taylor. And if that ego of his got any bigger, Reese Sinclair wouldn’t even be able to walk through a doorway.
“Of course I let my hair down,” she said calmly, ignoring the dull, heavy thud of her heart against her ribs. “When I wash it, before I go to bed, when I go to the beauty salon for a trim, or there’s this wonderful oil pack that—”
“I’d like to see it,” he said, skimming two fingertips up her neck.
Sydney realized she wasn’t breathing and forced herself to draw in air. “Well, if you really want to. It’s highly irregular, but I’m sure I could arrange it with my stylist. They pour about a cup of hot oil over wet hair, put a shower cap on your head, then stick you under the dryer for about—”
“Your hair down, Syd,” he interrupted. “I’d like to see you let your hair down.”
She’d had no idea how sensitive the skin on her neck was. Reese’s touch was light as a feather, yet it packed the punch of a boxer. As ridiculous as it seemed, her knees were actually weak, her pulse was racing and she felt…hot. Very hot.
“Do you mean that figuratively, or literally?” she asked, then winced at the breathless sound she heard in her voice.
“Both.” He moved closer still, brought his mouth within a whisper of her ear. She shuddered, was furious that she couldn’t stop it and that Reese must have seen, too.
What made her even more furious was that she liked it. What he was doing to her, the way she felt. She liked it a lot. Wanted him to keep doing exactly what he was doing, wanted to keep feeling exactly as she was feeling.
She struggled to breathe, struggled to remain composed and collected when she really wanted to run. Into his arms or for the door, she wasn’t sure which. But if he kept looking at her the way he was, if he kept touching her, she was going to find out real soon.
A knock at the door made her jump.
“Delivery.” The door opened, and a young man with bleached white hair and double nose rings stuck his head in. “Hey, Reese, you wanna show me where you want all these bags?”
Reese gave Sydney one short, intense look, then brushed past her and followed the other man into the tavern. The breath she’d been holding shuddered out and she stumbled over to the desk to steady herself. That was close. Much too close. She’d nearly thrown herself in his arms and begged him to kiss her. Talk about pathetic, she thought with disgust. If she wanted to kiss anybody, it should be that delivery man for interrupting.
But just once, she thought, just once she wished a man would say things like that to her, that she had pretty hair or a nice neck, and he would mean them. Really mean them. It wouldn’t be a game, like with Reese, or a lie, like Bobby. Just once she wished someone would say sweet things to her and it would be sincere.
She sighed, then drew in a long, slow breath and followed Reese out into the tavern. He was signing for the delivery and joking with th
e young man—Jessie—about the multitude of piercings on his body.
Sydney waited for the deliveryman to leave, then cautiously made her way toward Reese, who was staring intently at a four-foot-high pile of large produce bags.
Maybe she should try to get along with him, she thought. There was no reason for the two of them to argue or constantly snipe at each other. Maybe he was right. Maybe she should let her hair down, just a little.
What if maybe, just maybe, he had actually felt something when he’d been teasing her?
She moved beside him, ready to be pleasant and agreeable, even if it killed her. He turned when he saw her, looked at her with an expression that could only be described as sheer joy.
She smiled back and relaxed a little. “Reese—”
“Ah, there you are,” he said, grinning. “This might take a while, so you better get started.”
“Take a while?” she repeated dumbly.
He slapped a hand on top of the bags. “I thought it was a great idea you had, sort of give the tavern a rustic ambiance.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” She stared at him in confusion, then looked at the bags under his hand.
Peanuts. Bags and bags of peanuts. Hundreds and thousands of peanuts.
“You can start shelling these for the floor and throw the nuts into a container. We’ll serve them at the bar.”
She stared at him, blinked. “This is a joke, right?”
“No joke,” he said easily. Gone was the dangerous, sexual predator she’d nearly thrown herself at. Frivolous, life-is-a-game Reese Sinclair was back.
“You really expect me to shell all these nuts? By hand?”
“Don’t know any other way to do it, and since it was your idea, I figured you’d want to be in charge.”
What a fool she’d been to let her guard down with this man! An idiot. Well, it wouldn’t happen again. Folding her arms, she lifted her chin and pointed it at him. “This isn’t nearly enough peanuts to evenly distribute and create the proper illusion of ‘rustic’ as you called it. If you’re going to do something, Reese, you should at least do it right.”
He cocked one brow and gave her his most charming smile. “Well, Syd, I’m sure I can trust you to handle this project all on your own. You have carte blanche, sweetheart, and since you’re only here three hours, I suggest you get started right away. This is a whole lotta nuts.”
Whistling, he snatched up his truck keys from the bar counter, then left her in the tavern, alone.
Sydney hurried across the tavern and stared out the front window, watched Reese get into his truck and drive off.
The nerve of him! It would take her hours to shell all these nuts. Days. She knew that wasn’t really what he wanted. He was making a point here, hoping she’d back down. Give up. Throw in the towel.
Well, Sydney Taylor didn’t give up. Not by a long shot.
Across the street, she saw Lucian come out of the front door of her building and head back toward the tavern. He stopped in the parking lot to talk to Jessie the Peanut Boy, who was standing inside the back of his delivery truck, moving bags of peanuts.
She watched the two men for a moment, then glanced back over her shoulder at the mountain of nuts she’d been left to shell.
A smile spread slowly across her face.
Shoulders squared, chin up, she went out to the parking lot.
Five
Reese stayed away from the tavern for the next two hours and fifteen minutes. He’d had several errands to run: the bank, Harry’s Hardware, Sav-More Stationery, the post office, and garden center. He disliked errands as much as he disliked paperwork, but today he’d actually had a smile on his face as he’d strolled through the aisles of the stores and waited in line at the bank. Several times, to the confusion of anyone standing close to him, he’d even started laughing out loud.
The stunned look on Sydney’s face when he’d told her she had to shell all those peanuts—Lord, it was priceless. He’d cherish that moment forever.
That oughta take a little starch out of that high-and-mighty collar of hers, he thought as he pulled his truck into a space in the front parking lot of the tavern. And a little lesson in humility certainly never hurt anyone.
He would have loved to stick around and watch her shell peanut after endless peanut, but after their little…encounter…in his office earlier, he had thought it best to keep his distance from her for a while. He seemed to be having continuous lapses of sanity when it came to the woman.
He’d never admit it to a living soul, but Sydney Taylor made him nervous.
Women never made him nervous. He loved the female gender and everything about them: their mysteries and idiosyncrasies, the way they smelled, the way they moved. The curve of their legs and the sway of their hips. He’d always been comfortable with the opposite sex. Completely in control. If he was attracted to a woman, and she was attracted to him, it had always been easy to take it to the next step. He certainly didn’t sleep with every woman that he dated, but he always enjoyed their company.
Simple and uncomplicated, that had always been his motto.
Then along came Sydney.
Sydney was anything but simple and uncomplicated. She was bullheaded, snooty, condescending and wound up tight as a new Swiss watch. No female had ever gotten under his skin the way Sydney had. He’d never spent hours thinking about any one particular woman, gnashing his teeth in exasperation one minute, then the next, fantasizing about the soft curve of her neck and what it would taste like, what it would feel like under his hands and mouth.
And earlier, when he had touched that lovely neck, he’d wanted to do a hell of a lot more than fantasize. He’d felt her shudder under his touch, and he knew that she wasn’t so disinterested, wasn’t so cool, as she’d have him believe. He could have kissed her right then—he’d certainly wanted to—and she would have let him. It wouldn’t have been a big deal. He’d kissed lots of women, for crying out loud, and while it might have been mutually pleasant, it hadn’t really meant anything beyond that. Just a kiss.
So why, then, hadn’t he just done it?
Why had he held back, been relieved, even, when Jessie had interrupted them?
And the biggest question of all: Why hadn’t he ended this charade? Told her the truth and taken his lumps?
Pride. That’s what it was. Every time Sydney looked down at him, every time she sniffed and lifted that little chin of hers, he couldn’t let it go. He wanted her to surrender. To give up. It was that simple. And stupid, he admitted to himself.
Well, Ms. Sydney Taylor should be sufficiently humbled by now, he thought, climbing out of his truck and heading for the tavern entrance. He could only imagine the snit she would be in after two hours of shelling peanuts.
He grinned at the thought.
He found her sitting at the bar, perched primly on a barstool, her back to him. On the floor beside her was a cardboard box she’d tossed the empty shells into. To her right, on the counter, was a large bowl half-filled with shelled peanuts.
He shouldn’t rub it in, he thought gleefully. There was certainly no need to rile her anymore than he already had.
Yeah, right. Not in a million years would he let an opportunity to ruffle Sydney Taylor’s feathers pass him by.
Whistling cheerfully, he strode into the tavern right up to her. “Hey, Syd, that’s a whole bunch of nuts you got there. Looks like you’ve been a busy girl.”
“‘Idleness is only the refuge of weak minds,”’ she said, blithely quoting Chesterfield.
He leaned close. “‘Beauty stands in the admiration only of weak minds led captive,”’ he quoted right back at her.
Astonishment widened her eyes. “You know Milton?”
“English Lit 102. Professor Lori Hunter. A hot babe I wanted to impress with my term paper.”
Sydney arched one brow. “And did you?”
He grinned at her. “I got an A.”
“I’m sure.”
She turne
d her attention back to her task and he watched her quickly snap and shell the peanuts inside. She had long, slender, delicate hands and he remembered the touch of her fingers on his face the other day. Smooth and soft. Warm. Don’t go there, Reese, he reminded himself.
“You’ve got a natural talent there, Syd,” he said, forcing his mind back to his intention to ruffle her feathers, not stroke them.
“It’s easy once you get into the rhythm.” She didn’t even glance at him, just dropped the empty shell into the box at her feet and reached for another peanut. “It’s actually quite relaxing. Sort of like needlepoint or knitting.”
Relaxing? Like needlepoint? Sure it was, he thought, holding back his grin. She was convincing, all right, but he knew she was bluffing. Trying to get his goat. Not gonna work, Syd.
“Shall I order more?” he suggested. “You didn’t think there would be enough earlier.”
“Won’t be necessary.” She looked up and smiled sweetly at him.
Ha. He didn’t think so. But her smile captivated him, drew his attention to her mouth. She wasn’t wearing lipstick, but still her lips were rosy. He quickly snapped his gaze back to hers. Which didn’t help much. Her blue eyes were sparkling with pleasure.
Not this time, Sydney, he thought with smug satisfaction. No way was she going to distract him. He had no doubt that, inside, Sydney was seething mad. He intended to relish every moment of his conquest. Another ten pounds of peanuts and she’d cave. He was certain of it.
He couldn’t wait.
“Well, Syd, it’s been nice chatting with you. If you need anything—” like a white flag or a towel “—I’ll be in my office.”
She waved a hand, then turned back to the bar and continued diligently with her task.
He had to hand it to her, Reese thought as he headed for his office. She was putting up a really good front. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was actually having a good time. Which, of course, she wasn’t. Chuckling to himself, he opened his office door.
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