“Or should I say, different from who?” Sydney handed a check to Lucian. “Thanks, Lucian. The countertop is perfect.”
“Anytime you need anything,” Lucian said smoothly, “anything at all, Syd, just give me a call. You have my home number?”
Reese understood perfectly well that Lucian was goading him, but it still didn’t ease the desire to grab his brother by the scruff of his neck and shove him out the door.
“That shouldn’t be necessary.” She smiled. “I’m sure I can find you if I need you.”
Reese gritted his teeth, decided to rough his brother up later for setting him up like this.
“Thanks for the coffee.” Lucian handed Sydney back the cup, slid a grin at Reese as he passed him. “See ya.”
Reese nodded stiffly, watched Lucian stride casually out the front door, whistling as he stepped out into the cool November air.
“What did you mean, ‘I’m different’?” Sydney asked, dragging Reese’s attention from his brother back to her.
He moved toward her, backed her against the countertop and braced one arm on either side of her. He covered her mouth with his, felt a surge of hot satisfaction at the soft moan he heard rise from deep in her throat.
“Mmm,” he murmured. “You taste like coffee and cream.”
“Stop trying to distract me,” she said, then slid her hands up his chest and gently nudged him away. “How am I different?”
“Your hair, for one thing. You cut it.” He knew enough about women to never say you didn’t like a new hairdo, but in this case he did like it. It made her eyes look bigger, her face softer. “Very sexy.”
Pleasure shone in her blue eyes, and he felt something shift and move inside him, an unfamiliar tilt to his equilibrium that had him tightening his grip on the countertop to steady himself. Lack of sleep, he decided. He hadn’t had much of that this past week, between making love at night with Sydney, or wanting to.
“That’s what Frederico said,” she said, her voice breathy.
“Who?”
“The stylist who cut my hair.”
“Oh.” He felt the tension ease from his shoulders. “I was beginning to think I was going to have to beat up every guy in town, including Lucian.”
Especially Lucian, he thought, remembering the way his brother had drooled over Sydney’s legs.
“Reese, Frederico is a happily married man, with two children.” She laughed at the surprise on his face. “And Lucian? You’re actually jealous of your own brother?”
There was that damn word again. “Protective,” he said, deciding he liked the neutrality of that word.
“Of me?” She stared at him in wide-eyed wonder. “Why?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked irritably, uncomfortable with the shift this conversation had taken. Why did women have to make things so complicated? Pick every thought and word apart and analyze it?
“Well…” Her gaze dropped to his chest while she busied one fingertip circling a button on his denim shirt. “I realize that we’re sleeping together, but I never—”
“Just stop right there.”
He took hold of her arms, narrowed his eyes as he looked down at her startled face.
“We’re not just sleeping together,” he said through clenched teeth, then eased up on the tight grip he had on her. “I think I deserve better than a comment like that, and so do you.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.” Her fingers stilled, then she asked carefully, “So what are we doing, then?” she asked carefully.
Oh, hell. Too many damn questions, when all he wanted to do was drag her upstairs to her apartment and make wild love with her all afternoon. “We’re…seeing each other, Syd. Exclusively. In spite of what you may have heard about me, I’m not with a different woman every night and while I may not be a saint, I sure as hell haven’t slept with all the ones I have gone out with. Not even close. Got that?”
He’d never explained himself to any woman before, Reese realized with annoyance. It surprised him, as much as it aggravated him, that he felt the need to do so now.
“All right.” She spread her fingers on his chest, her expression thoughtful. “So you like my new haircut?”
His annoyance dissolved, in its place a heat built where her fingers had begun to move over his chest. “Yeah, I do. And you know what else I like?”
“What?” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his throat.
“This skirt.” His pulse quickened when she nipped lightly at the base of his throat. “I especially like this skirt.”
His hands slid the fabric up and slipped underneath to reveal the tiniest sliver of black satin. He moaned softly, reached behind her and cupped her firm buttocks, lifted her up to fit snugly against the growing ache in the front of his jeans.
“I was hoping you would,” she murmured, slipping her arms around his neck and pressing herself even closer, moving her hips in a way that made his heart slam like a fist in his chest.
He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted her, didn’t understand the need that rocked him to his very core. Didn’t want to understand it.
Right now, he only understood the urgency racing through his veins to possess her completely, thoroughly, mindlessly.
He scooped her up in his arms and carried her upstairs to her tidy, organized apartment, laid her down on her feather mattress, felt the last of his control snap when she held out her arms to him and pulled him down beside her.
“Just for the record,” she said, gasping when he pushed her skirt up around her waist, “I’m not interested in Lucian.”
“Sydney—” he skimmed the edge of her panties with one curious fingertip, felt masculine satisfaction at the sound of her sharp intake of breath and the upward thrust of her hips “—I don’t want to talk about my brother right now.”
“Okay.” The blue of her eyes darkened with desire when he palmed the soft mound between her legs. She moved against his hand, closed her eyes on a moan. “What shall we talk about? The weather?”
“I heard there’s a storm coming in.” Just watching her squirm underneath him set Reese’s blood boiling. He moved over her, inched her sweater upward with one hand while he caressed her intimately with the other. “You might want to stay inside to keep warm.”
“Maybe I should light a fire.” She sucked in a breath when his hand closed over her breast.
“I’ll do it.”
He slipped his hand under the band of elastic on her panties, then slid into the damp heat of her body and moved in a time-old rhythm, letting her set the pace. She arched upward when he leaned down and kissed her belly, raked her hands through his hair, grasping at his shoulders while his mouth moved lower.
“Reese,” his name was ragged on her lips, a frantic plea.
He took his time, nuzzling the sensitive flesh on the inside of her thighs, softly biting, teasing with his mouth, stroking, loving her.
When she surged upward, gasping, then melted bonelessly back onto the soft mattress, he quickly slid her panties off, still kissing her while he tugged his jeans down. She opened to him, drew him to her. He heard her name on his lips as he drove himself deep inside her, heard the sound of his own hoarse breathing and her soft encouragement.
Insanity, he thought, as his body coiled tighter and tighter. What her hands did to him, her mouth. He looked at her, thought her the most beautiful, exciting woman he’d ever seen. Her eyes, glazed with passion, met his hard gaze; her lips, softly parted and swollen from his kisses, whispered his name.
Pure insanity.
And then he did go crazy, completely, and took her with him.
Ten
The snowstorm hit exactly as Reese had predicted, only three days later. Three days after that and twelve inches later, snow was still falling lightly on Bloomfield County; a pretty picture of white that covered roofs and cars and roads. On any other day Sydney would have appreciated the softly falling flakes and peacefulness. She might have put on her boots and gone for a walk, s
at in front of a fire and sipped a hot brandy. Read a good book.
Any other day but today.
Today was the grand opening of Le Petit Bistro.
She stood at the window of the café in her new white silk suit, stared out at the snow-covered roads and walks. Her heart sank at the sight of the empty streets. Very few people came out on an evening like this, those that did had a purpose or a need. They didn’t usually go out to dinner, especially to French restaurants with pink linen tablecloths and cappuccino machines.
Turning from the window, she scanned the restaurant; candles flickered softly from crystal-cut votives, one fresh pink rose bud on every table, strains of Mozart floating from the sound system. The scent of garlic and herbs filled the room. Everything looked exactly as she’d pictured in her mind.
Well, not exactly. In her mind, there’d also been customers.
The few reservations that had been made had been cancelled earlier in the day, but she’d still hoped until the last minute that the snow would stop and bring people out of their homes. When it hadn’t, she’d simply hoped that people would come out anyway. The roads were still drivable, and the temperature wasn’t as cold as it had been the past two days.
But she’d been open for business exactly twenty-two minutes and so far, her front door hadn’t opened once. Her own grandfather wasn’t even coming. He’d been snowed in at Baltimore airport and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. And Reese had his own business to run, with a short staff to run it. He had told her he’d come by, but he hadn’t said when. If his place was as slow as hers was, she guessed he’d be by in an hour or two, but she knew that in this weather, people would be much more inclined to go out for a casual dinner and a beer than a fancy French meal.
There would be other days, of course. People would come once the snow stopped, she was certain of that. But this day, the first day, was special. A person always remembered firsts, she thought, and touched one soft petal of the pink rose on the table beside her. In spite of everything, she felt herself smile.
When she thought of firsts, Reese instantly came to mind.
But then, he was on her mind most of the time. She’d been too busy this past week taking care of all the last minute preparations to see him. Well, except for two nights ago, when he’d called late at night just to say hello, and the conversation escalated into a scintillating discussion of what she was wearing. As she’d laid back in her bed to describe her pink satin nightie in detail, a knock at her door interrupted her. It was Reese, out of breath from his sprint across the street. The second she’d opened the door he’d pulled her into his arms and made love to her right there, standing against the door he’d kicked closed.
Just thinking about the intensity in his dark eyes, the way he’d lifted her off the floor and she’d wrapped her legs around his waist, made her pulse quicken and her skin heat up.
“Ms. Taylor? Is there anything else you want me to do while we’re waiting? I already folded the napkins.”
Sydney glanced over her shoulder at Becky, her hostess, and smiled. “Why don’t I show you how the cappuccino machine works? When Nell and I get busy with orders and serving, we may need you to fill in for us.” Hope springs eternal, she thought with a sigh.
“Did I hear my name?” Nell popped her head out from the kitchen and glanced around. “Please tell me we’ve got customers. Latona has made a crab cake in some kind of sauce that could bring a grown man to his knees.”
Sydney had worked all week with Latona fine-tuning all the recipes for the café. Most were Sydney’s creations, but what her chef could do with pasta and chicken bordered on genius.
At the sound of the front door opening, all three heads turned expectantly.
Sydney’s heart sank. It was a man wearing a mechanic’s uniform and a baseball cap. “Anybody here call for a tow?” he barked.
Sydney shook her head, considered dragging the man inside and forcing him to sit at one of her tables. He was a lot bigger than her, but she was determined enough she could probably wrestle him into a chair.
Fifteen minutes later, with the snow still softly falling and not one customer in sight, she smoothed the corners of each table for the tenth time while Becky practiced making cappuccinos and Nell received an impromptu cooking lesson in the kitchen from Latona.
The door opened again.
A customer. A living, breathing customer.
Well, at least, sort of. It was Griswald Mantle, who’d had his eightieth birthday party last week at the tavern. His wife had passed on last year, and he spent most of his time at the tavern now.
For a moment Sydney thought maybe he was confused and had mistakenly walked into the wrong place, but he shuffled directly to a table without even waiting for a flustered Becky to seat him, handed her his coat, then sat, tucked his napkin into his shirt and asked for some bread.
Well, it was a beginning, Sydney thought and started toward his table to welcome him. Then the door opened again. This time it was Margaret and Jimmy Metzer, who owned the dry cleaners three stores down. Sydney seated them while Nell brought a basket of bread for Griswald.
Pandemonium struck five minutes later when the Sinclair-Shawnessey clan arrived. Cara and Ian, Callan and Abby, Gabe and Melanie and Kevin.
“Sorry we’re late.” Cara unwrapped the scarf from around her neck and shook the snow from her hair. “The roads slowed us a bit. Oh, Sydney, this is so beautiful.”
“You shouldn’t have come out in this weather.” But she couldn’t help being pleased that they all had. While Sydney hung their coats on the rack inside the door, Becky and Nell hurried about with breadbaskets and water glasses.
Lucian showed up next with Louise Wittmeyer on his arm, the pretty brunette office manager from Do-Right Lumber; Ken and Jan Stockton, local horse ranchers came in after them.
And so it went. They trickled in, shrugging out of coats and hats, filling the tables that had been empty just a short time ago. Sydney offered free samples of hors d’oeuvres and champagne, while Nell took orders and Becky helped serve.
For the first time in her life, Sydney felt completely alive. Whole. As she bustled about, she watched her customers enjoy the food she’d prepared, smile and roll their eyes with approval, and her chest swelled with joy.
And then Reese walked in.
Her hand tightened on the unopened bottle of wine she’d just removed from the rack under the countertop; she sucked in a breath at the sight of him. Flakes of snow dusted his dark hair and the shoulders of his brown leather bomber jacket. His gaze scanned the room, then stopped when he saw her.
He smiled.
Her heart skipped, then raced.
Never mind the room was crowded, filled with the sounds of people talking and enjoying a meal, and that she was supposed to be serving her customers. Suddenly the only two people in the world were Reese and herself.
And then she simply knew.
She loved him.
She supposed at some level she’d known that she loved him since that first time he’d taken her to his bed. No, before that, she admitted to herself. When she’d hit him in the nose with that door then held his face in her hands and looked into those amazing eyes of his, that’s when she’d really known.
But she’d refused to accept it, and even after they’d made love, she’d told herself she could handle their relationship without letting her heart get involved. The “new” Sydney wasn’t looking for a commitment, she’d convinced herself. A man like Reese didn’t play for keeps, he simply played, enjoyed the moment and the woman he was with at the time.
Well, the “new” Sydney was just as big a fool as the “old” Sydney. She’d fallen in love with a man who would never love her back the way she wanted. The way she needed.
Or could he?
The way he looked at her right now, as if she were the most beautiful woman, the only woman in the room—in the world—made her hope for things she shouldn’t hope for. That she didn’t dare hope for.
&nb
sp; His gaze slid away then, looked at Becky who was staring at him as if he were a giant ice-cream cone she’d like to gobble up. He had that affect on women, Sydney knew, herself included. Only she thought of him as a potato chip and she wanted the whole bag. Every last, tasty morsel.
He shrugged out of his jacket and moved toward her then, still smiling, his intense gaze locked on hers. He looked incredibly handsome in a dark blue dress shirt, new jeans and—good Heavens, she never thought she’d see it—a tie.
“Congratulations, Ms. Taylor. Le Petit Bistro is a hit.” He took her hand, brought it to his mouth. His compliment, as well as the touch of his warm lips on her suddenly cold fingers made her breath catch.
“You made it.” She smiled at him, pushed away all the worry and doubt and just let herself enjoy. “Can you stay for a while?”
“The burners are out at the tavern, and we were slow anyway because of the storm. I decided to close down.”
She should feel bad that he’d had to close down his business, but she was thrilled. “You mean I have you for the night?”
He kept her hand to his mouth, discreetly touched the tip of his tongue to her knuckle. “All night,” he whispered, his voice heavy with promise.
“All night?” She raised a brow. “That’s an ambitious endeavor, Mr. Sinclair. Are you sure you’re feeling up for it?”
He gave her a wicked grin. “I’m certain I will be.”
Heat shivered up her arm. “I set a place for you at your family’s table, just in case you made it,” she said softly. “But I’m busier than I expected so I may not be able to give you as much personal attention as I’d hoped.”
“You can make up for it later, darlin’. In fact—” he kissed her hand again, nibbled this time “—I’m counting on your very personal attention.”
The glint in Reese’s eyes made Sydney’s heart pound. With a wink, he walked away and joined his family. She stared after him, reminded herself to breathe. Lord, but the man was a distraction, she thought with a smile. A wonderful, sexy, exciting distraction.
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