Reese's Wild Wager

by Barbara Mccauley

  “What the—”

  An avalanche of peanuts flowed from his office.

  Thousands, millions of peanuts consumed him, swept him up in a torrent and carried him along. He struggled to gain his ground, then went down and under, cursing and sputtering. Like lava flow, they kept coming, spilling into the narrow hallway outside his office and scattering across the hardwood floor.

  When at last it stopped, he lay there, flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, wearing a blanket of peanuts. He narrowed his eyes.

  Somebody was going to die.

  When that somebody leaned over him, he stared up at her.

  “I guess I forgot to mention I ordered a few more bags of peanuts.” She raised her brows in mock concern. “You did say I should handle it, and since I wasn’t sure where to put them I went ahead and—”

  Sydney squeaked when Reese’s hand snaked out and grabbed her down and on top of him. In one swift, fluid move, he rolled and had her pinned underneath him. Peanuts crunched and crumbled. Eyes wide, mouth still open, she looked up at him, saw the murderous glint in his eyes.

  And the broken bits of peanut shells covering his head and clothes.

  She couldn’t help it. She started to laugh.

  A muscle jumped in Reese’s temple as he stared down at her. Revenge glistened in his deep green eyes. A slow, sinister smile touched his mouth.

  Uh-oh.

  Sydney struggled to stand, but Reese would have no part of it. He straddled her, then scooped up handfuls of peanuts and dumped them on her.

  A peanut war ensued.

  Lying on her back with Reese towering over her, Sydney had the disadvantage, but she held her own. Peanuts flew like popping corn. Sydney shrieked, ducked one large armful he attempted to throw on her, then scooped up two handfuls and flung them at him. They were both spitting out salty chunks of peanut shells, laughing and thrashing around on a thick, crunchy blanket of peanuts.

  She snatched up another handful, but he grabbed her wrists and held her arms at her sides. She tried to break free, but his grip only tightened. He was much too strong to throw him off, and she knew she would only embarrass herself if she tried.

  “Had enough?” she asked breathlessly.

  He raised his brow at the absurdity of her question. Considering the current circumstances, she was hardly in a position to ask him that.

  Reese shook his head and fragments of peanut shell floated down from his hair. “You want to tell me—” he drew in a deep lungful of air “—how you managed this little trick by yourself?”

  “Lucian helped.” She knew her smile was smug, but she didn’t care. “We climbed in your office window, emptied all the bags from the delivery truck. Jessie helped, too, he’s such a sweetheart—and then we went out the window again.”

  “My brother, my own flesh and blood, was part of this evil plot? And Jessie, too?” Reese’s dark frown didn’t make it to his eyes. “A triple murder in Bloomfield County. This will definitely be breaking news on the television tonight.”

  Her smile widened. “Lucian wanted to stick around for the show, but he had an appointment.”

  “Is that so?”

  Reese’s breathing had eased, but her chest still rose and fell sharply as she struggled for air. As he stared down at her, Sydney felt an imperceptible shift in the mood. She became increasingly aware of the fact that Reese was straddling her body. His large hands circled her wrists and held her captive.

  Her heart skipped, then started to race. She blew a strand of loose hair from her eyes, reminded herself that they were simply having a little fun; it didn’t mean anything.

  But his body lying on top of hers was so intimate, so sexual….

  “I—I’m supposed to give a detailed report to him later.” She told herself that the breathless quality to her voice was merely a result of her struggling to escape, but at a very deep, instinctive level she knew it was much more than that.

  “I’ll give him a report,” Reese said. “Right after he picks his teeth out of his tonsils.”

  “I claim full responsibility for my actions,” she said emphatically. “I insist that all consequences be directed at me.”

  “You insist, do you?” His voice turned husky. “All consequences? You sure about that, Syd?”

  She wasn’t sure about anything at the moment. In fact, she was finding it difficult to think at all. She’d never been more aware of a man in her entire life. Reese’s body was long and hard and muscular. The angles of his face were sharp now, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed and dancing with the devil. His strong mouth was pressed into a smirk, his dark hair tousled, dusted with flecks of peanut shells. A vein pulsed at the base of his throat, and for the life of her, she couldn’t take her eyes off that spot.

  The air shimmered around them. Grew taut.

  She didn’t want this. Didn’t want to cross over any lines that she’d regret. She had enough regrets in her life at the moment, and she had no intention of adding Reese Sinclair to that list.

  The pulsing in her body screamed at her to shut up and offer herself to Reese without question or protest. Thank Heavens she still had a thread of good judgment left.

  “So,” she said lightly, desperately wanting to pull the mood back to playful instead of the dark, sensual tone that had suddenly closed in around them. “Had enough, Sinclair?”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Not even close, Syd,” he said, his voice strained.

  Her body still pinned underneath his, he lifted her arms over her head, then lowered his mouth to hers. At the first light touch of his lips on hers, she held very still, determined not to respond.

  And then that last thread of good judgment she’d been so proud of snapped like a twig in a tornado.

  His mouth was firm and strong, his lips gentle. Her heart slammed in her chest as he nibbled on the corner of her lips. Liquid heat rushed through her body; her skin felt tight and tingly.

  “Reese,” she whispered, her lips moving against his, “I don’t think—”

  “Me, either.”

  Then he completely destroyed her.

  He crushed his mouth to hers. Her senses spun at the fierce demand of his lips, the press of his strong body over hers, the faint masculine scent that was Reese. She’d heard all those silly myths of bone-melting, exploding fireworks kisses, but she’d never believed in them. They simply had been romantic fairy tales and legends.

  They were true.

  She had no defenses against this, against him. His kiss stripped away every argument, every last remnant of reason and logic. Her mind was no longer in control; she could only feel.

  And it felt wonderful.

  He deepened the kiss, and a low, desperate moan rose from deep in her throat. She squirmed underneath him, frustrated that he still held her arms, yet excited at the same time. Intense pleasure sparked in her blood, then burst into flames. When his hands finally released her wrists, then slid down her arms, she trembled in anticipation.

  Needing him closer, she wound her arms tightly around his neck. His mouth moved down her throat, his tongue, hot and wet, tasted and nipped. He murmured something against her ear and his warm breath sent ripples of delight through her. Skillfully he moved his hands down her sides, then lower still, gathering her skirt upward, exposing her calves, then her thighs. His callused hands were rough on her sensitive skin. She shivered at his touch. An ache settled between her legs, and she moved restlessly against him, wanting more.

  Then his hands moved upward and slid under her blouse.

  She gasped when he cupped her breasts, arched upward when his thumbs caressed her hardened nipples.

  He nipped at the base of her throat, murmured her name, then moved lower….

  “Hello! Anybody here?”

  Both she and Reese jumped at the deep, booming voice that echoed from the empty tavern into the hallway where they lay on the floor, practically making love.

  Muttering an oath,
Reese moved off of her, then stood, reached out a hand to help her up. Shaking, she rose on watery knees, quickly smoothed her skirt and blouse.

  “Sydney Marie Taylor!” the voice bellowed again. “Are you here, girl?”

  She swallowed back the panic in her throat, then straightened her shoulders. Reese looked at her, his mouth pressed into a thin, hard line.

  She sucked in a deep breath and called out, “In here, Grandfather.”

  Six

  Judge Randolph “Duffy” Tremaine Howland, Bloomfield County’s most prominent and most wealthy citizen, stood at the end of the hallway leading to Reese’s office. His three-piece steel-gray suit matched the color of his keen eyes. Eyes now narrowed sharply as he took in the peanuts on the floor and the disheveled state of his granddaughter’s and Reese’s clothing.

  Reese gritted his teeth and held back the groan in his throat. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

  “Hello, Judge Howland.” Reese nodded casually, though he felt anything but casual at the moment. His body still tight with need, his blood still simmering, it was all he could do not to snatch Sydney back into his arms, drag her into his office, then shut the door to finish what they’d started. To hell with her grandfather or anyone who dared interrupt them.

  But as reality slowly crept into his dazed brain, as he looked at the judge, then Sydney, with her flushed cheeks and tousled hair, he knew without a doubt that was not going to happen.

  Duffy’s gaze shot from Sydney to Reese, then dropped to the floor and the carpet of peanuts. “What on God’s good earth is going on here?” the elderly man boomed.

  Sydney smoothed her hands over the front of her skirt, then cleared her throat. “We were just, ah, cleaning up a bag of peanuts that spilled. Weren’t we, Reese?”

  Oh, yeah. Everyone cleans up spilled peanuts by thrashing around on the floor in a lip lock, Reese thought. “Right. Spilled peanuts,” he muttered.

  The judge’s eyes narrowed as he studied them both. His mouth pressed into a thin line, Duffy raised one thick, silver brow and leveled a stern gaze at his granddaughter. “Sydney, if you needed money, why didn’t you come to me?”

  “If I needed money?” Sydney frowned, obviously confused by the sudden shift of conversation. “I don’t need any money.”

  “Then why are you working here—in a tavern, of all places, if you don’t need money?”

  Reese crossed his arms and leaned back against the doorjamb. Yeah, Syd, go ahead and tell your grandfather why you’re working here….

  Sydney folded her hands primly in front of her. The pose was truly noble, but Reese thought that the empty peanut shell dangling from her hair spoiled the effect.

  “I would hardly describe my position here as working, Grandfather,” she said, her tone as regal as her demeanor.

  “I was informed you were cleaning tables and serving food here yesterday.” Duffy drew his thick silver brows together. “What would you call that?”

  She started to nibble on her bottom lip. “Well…it’s not, it’s more like—” She hesitated.

  “Spit it out, girl,” Duffy barked.

  “It’s more like a…business arrangement,” she said carefully. “I’m helping Reese out for a few days while he’s shorthanded and—”

  She paused, looked at Reese for back-up. He grinned at her. Sorry, Syd. You’re on your own. As if she heard his thoughts, her lips pressed into a thin line.

  She turned back to her grandfather. “And in exchange he’s, ah, consulting with me. Giving me his expert advice on the efficient management of a restaurant.”

  “Is that so?” Duffy narrowed a dubious gaze at Reese. “Why would you advise the competition?”

  Reese glanced at Sydney, considered giving her a break, then thought of all the peanuts he’d be cleaning up for weeks, probably months, to come. And besides, he couldn’t possibly let this opportunity pass him by. In spite of that mind-boggling kiss they’d just shared, in spite of the fact he wanted to kiss her again, and more, he and Sydney were, after all, still adversaries.

  “Well, sir, in all honesty, when Sydney first came to me, asking for my help, I have to admit that I did turn her down.” Reese shook his head and sighed. “But the sight of a woman’s tears gets me every time. I just didn’t have the heart to say no.”

  “Sydney…tears?” A look of sheer bewilderment shadowed Duffy’s face. Sydney’s face, on the other hand, had a look of sheer fury. Reese half-expected lightning bolts to shoot out of her eyes at him.

  Let her put this in her report to Lucian, he thought smugly.

  “And then I got to thinking,” he went on smoothly. “And I decided that it was actually in my best interest to give Sydney my guidance. After all, it made sense to me that the wider the range of dining choices, the more customers that will be drawn to Bloomfield from neighboring towns and cities, including Philadelphia. So it also made sense that a little hands-on experience in the real world would improve Sydney’s chance at success and in the long run, help us both.”

  “Actually, Grandfather,” Sydney said through clenched teeth, “Reese is exaggerat—”

  “Excellent thinking.” Duffy nodded with approval. “Improved commerce in this town benefits everyone. Have you considered running for city council? This town could use a man with forward thinking like yours.”

  “I leave politics to experienced men such as yourself, sir.” Reese knew he was laying it on a little thick, but the judge didn’t seem to mind. Sydney, however, quite obviously minded a great deal. Her cheeks were flushed—this time not from kissing, but from anger—and he could swear he saw a twitch at the corner of her eye.

  When Judge Howland’s cell phone began to ring, he pulled it out of his pocket. While he spoke on the phone, Sydney turned her back to her grandfather and glared at Reese, silently mouthing a series of names that were extremely unladylike. Folding his arms, he leaned against the doorjamb again and smiled back at her.

  When her grandfather finished his call, she snapped her mouth shut, spun around again and smiled at him. Grumbling, the judge dropped his phone back into his pocket.

  “Is something wrong, Grandfather?”

  “I’m gone less than an hour and my office is already in chaos,” Duffy said irritably. “The copy machine repair man blew a fuse and there’s no power, and the dedication ceremony for Senator Johnson at city hall this afternoon has been moved to tomorrow morning.”

  Peanuts and Sydney forgotten, Duffy turned sharply on his heels. Reese could hear the judge muttering to himself until the tavern door clicked shut behind him.

  Sydney stared after her grandfather, then very slowly turned back to Reese. “Tears?” she said, her voice rising an octave. “I asked you for help and you didn’t have the heart to turn me down?”

  She moved closer and jabbed one long, slender finger at his chest. “The only part of that you got right was the part about not having a heart. How dare you tell my grandfather that I cried to get you to help me!”

  With her flushed cheeks and the blue sparks flying from her eyes, Reese thought that Sydney looked magnificent. He glanced down at her finger still poking into his chest, thought about kissing her again, but—thank Heavens—good sense prevailed.

  “I saved your behind, Syd,” he said evenly. “What would your grandfather say if he knew the truth, that you’d played poker with a lowly tavern owner, lost, and were paying off a bet? You should be thanking me.”

  “Thanking you?” She rolled her eyes and groaned. “After the two-hour lecture I’m going to get from my grandfather on my lack of professionalism in a business situation, then the one-hour lesson on the proper behavior for a young lady alone with a man, I’ll tell you what you can do with any thanks you think you deserve. You’re the only one benefiting from this absurd bet we made, Sinclair, so don’t go looking for any thanks from me.”

  “Any time you want out, Syd…”

  She pulled back when he reached toward her face. He plucked a peanut shell from her hair, and she fro
wned at him. “I finish what I start,” she said firmly.

  He grinned at her. “I’m glad to hear that, Sydney. Very glad.”

  The sudden flush of pink on her high cheeks pleased Reese immensely. He leaned close, brought his mouth within a few inches of hers. Her eyelids lowered; she started to sway toward him. Then she blinked and jerked her head away.

  “Oh, no.” Peanuts crunched under her feet as she stepped back. “That’s one thing we won’t be finishing,” she insisted. “Not gonna happen, Sinclair.”

  She turned and quickly left.

  He watched her go, heard the tavern door close behind her. He stood there for a long moment, staring after her.

  “Don’t bet on it, Syd,” he said softly. “Just don’t bet on it.”

  The beveled glass and oak doors welcomed customers to Le Petit Bistro—or at least it would welcome them when the restaurant had its grand opening in a little over three weeks. The dining area was small, room enough for only ten booths and seven tables, but that suited Sydney just fine. She preferred cozy and intimate, soft music, simple elegance. Her staff was small: a college student named Becky who went to school in the mornings would be her hostess; Nell, a single mother new to Bloomfield County who had been the first applicant to respond to the waitressing ad and had been so perfect that Sydney had hired her on the spot; and Latona, an assistant chef newly graduated from a cooking school in Philadelphia. Sydney had already developed and tested her menu, ordered her supplies in advance and placed her advertisements in all the local papers. Except for the granite countertop that Lucian would be installing for her next week, everything was in place and ready to go.

  Excitement rippled through her.

  Hands locked behind her back, she stood in the middle of the room and smiled. The tables were bare now, but come opening night, there would be fresh flowers on pink linen tablecloths, crystal votive holders, sparkling wine goblets. She could already hear the soft murmur of conversation, the faint clink of forks and knives on china. Smell the scent of fresh herbs and vegetables and melting butter.