As though she were seeing him for the first time.
Not his body.
Him.
How many years had he wanted Skye Ryder to see him? Not as her brother’s friend, not as someone on the outskirts of her life, not as one of the guys, but as a man in his own right.
He would’ve asked her out years ago, but he could read the signals.
She’d never been interested.
Why put himself out on a limb for guaranteed failure that could’ve also jeopardized the dynamics within his band of brothers?
Wyatt and Amelia’s life hadn’t been easy before their mom had moved them into Beck’s neighborhood. But once they’d gotten settled, once he’d started to get to know the neighbor kids, and especially after that incident in the cafeteria, he’d found where he belonged. Where he fit.
Even now, all these years after he’d moved away from Copper Valley, even with no family left there, he would’ve been on a plane to head home—or anywhere else any of the guys needed him—with one phone call.
And he knew they’d do the same for him.
That friendship, that family, wasn’t something he could put a price on.
And it wasn’t something he’d risk for a woman.
Even Skye.
Bright, funny, determined, smart, sometimes sarcastic, beautiful Skye.
He stepped into the game room, too caught up in his thoughts to realize something was amiss.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
The track lights illuminated the game tables along with the dartboard where Skye and Nicholas had been not five minutes ago.
“Nicholas?” Wyatt said.
The hum of the air hockey table was the only noise in the room.
“Skye?”
He took two more steps into the room. An air hockey puck slid into the side of the table. Someone had scored a bull’s eye on the dartboard.
He’d only been gone five minutes.
What were these two up to?
Memories tickled his brain. Hiding out in the neighborhood tree house, snickering with his buddies while other neighbor kids called for them. Sometimes he’d been with the group who had suggested playing hide-and-seek and then went to someone’s basement to play Nintendo instead of seeking out the hiders. Sometimes he’d been the one left crouched in a bush, not catching on for too long that no one was coming.
They’d all taken their turns at playing the fool.
It was a rite of passage.
Sometimes the pranks had turned into fistfights, and sometimes they’d all laughed it off then hopped on their bikes to ride downtown for ice cream and candy cigarettes.
But their group had never held grudges, and God help anyone who picked on any of them.
And that was what ultimately made Wyatt call all of them brothers.
“I know you’re hiding,” he said to the empty room.
He crossed between the game tables to the closet.
A life-sized cardboard cut-out of Beck in his underwear was tucked in there, but no Nicholas or Skye.
He felt about twelve years old again. In a good way. A fun way.
So they were hiding, were they?
A smile crept up his lips.
Three could play hide-and-seek.
He tossed the grapes and granola bars onto a stool, turned, and started.
Two black figures in old Scream masks charged into the room. “Aaaaggghhhhh!”
Wyatt’s heart leapt into his throat. He stumbled backward.
The dark shadows swarmed toward him, their robed arms swirling, the white masks looming. The back of his thigh connected with the stool, and he stumbled down on it, arms reaching for something to steady himself on.
He knew it was Skye and Nicholas, but he still went down.
Like a big ol’ pussy.
Something squished beneath his pants.
“Fuck!”
“Uncle Wyatt!” the taller, feminine Scream figure chided. “Language.”
He sucked in a breath through his nose, a red haze clouding his vision while cold juice seeped through his pants.
He crossed his arms, gritted his teeth, and glared at the two of them. “Stop.”
The shorter figure stopped.
So did the taller one, though somewhat slower.
Skye gracefully pulled her mask off, green eyes dancing, ruby lips spread in a smile he would’ve appreciated far more two minutes ago. “Aw, we’re just—”
“Uncle Wyatt?” Nicholas’s voice was muffled behind his mask.
“Take. That. Off,” he ordered through his clenched jaw.
Nicholas didn’t move.
Skye’s dancing eyes traveled down to his crotch. Her lips pursed out in an O. She gripped Nicholas by the shoulders and turned him away.
Liquid dripped on Wyatt’s socks.
“So, that was the first part of the fashion show,” Skye said as she pushed Nicholas toward the door. “We’re coming back in as—”
“The maid?” he suggested over his rapidly thumping heart. He rubbed at his chest, breath still coming too fast.
She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a muffled laugh. “Uh, sure.” She said something to Nicholas that he couldn’t hear, and the two of them disappeared out of the game room.
His pulse was slowly ratcheting back into a normal cardio zone, but his temper and his blood pressure hovered somewhere near the murderous zone.
Twelve years in the military, and he’d just been taken down by a childhood nightmare.
In front of his nephew and the woman of his dreams.
This was a nightmare.
He yanked himself off the stool and turned to survey the damage.
Purple grape juice dripped from the dark wood stool onto the off-white carpet. The box of granola bars had spilled all over the floor. He yanked off his shirt and used it to mop the grapes from the stool.
Probably stain the damn thing, but better his shirt than the carpet.
He turned to carry the mess to the nearest bathroom.
Skye was frozen in the doorway.
Her dark hair was mussed—she must’ve ripped the robe off in record time—and she had a roll of paper towels in hand.
Her gaze lifted from his waist to his chest.
He looked down.
No grape juice. Not on his chest, not on the front of his jeans.
He didn’t want to think about the back.
“What?” he said.
Her gaze snapped back up to his face, and color flooded her cheeks. “You, ah, need to turn around.” Her voice came out breathy and uncertain.
“Why?” he said.
She made a vague circling hand gesture. “So I can get the…grapes…off your…butt.”
Her cheeks weren’t just a mild pink now.
No, they were closer to fuchsia.
Which he only knew because it perfectly matched what he remembered of her homecoming dress his senior year.
I like your pink dress, he’d told her after he’d untied his tongue that night.
She’d tossed her long chestnut hair with a huff. It’s fuchsia, Owens.
And then she’d rolled her eyes when he asked her if she wanted to dance. So you can show me how? she’d said.
He’d never understood what that was all about, but Beck had appeared, made some comment about beating off the morons who were ogling his baby sister, and Wyatt had grunted something that he’d hoped would convey sympathy at his friend’s plight.
Beck might’ve been the model, but Skye lit up any room she walked into.
When she wasn’t pulling asinine tricks in costumes.
“I’m sorry, okay?” She stamped her foot and pointed to him again. “Turn around so I can get the grapes off.”
Skye Ryder was going to touch his ass.
She’d been checking out his chest, and now she wanted to touch his ass.
And he was standing here keeping her from it.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Obediently, he turned his back to her.
His blood pressure was still soaring, but his anger with himself was receding as quickly as his pants were getting tight in front.
Not that it mattered what happened in his pants.
Not when she’d caught him freaking out over those damn costumes. He could only imagine what she thought of him.
Still, if he hadn’t sat on the grapes, she wouldn’t be touching him now.
Her hand gripped his bare waist, and a jolt of lightning shot through his body.
Had she ever touched him before?
He sucked in a slow breath and forced himself to hold completely still, but he couldn’t entirely control the quivering in his skin.
Another hand swiped at his butt.
Skye was touching his ass.
Blood rushed to his groin, and he pulsed against his jeans. The image of her in the bathtub flashed to the front of his mind, those bubbles on her silky skin, her perky nipples, her supple breasts—
He was going to explode. Right here. In his pants.
He squeezed his eyes shut and made himself think about the grapes on the carpet. “Don’t brush it on the floor,” he gritted out.
“Relax,” she said, though she sounded as tense as he felt. She brushed his ass again, and his erection throbbed. “This is hardly the worst mess this house has ever seen.”
“I don’t trash my friends’ places.”
“There’s a carpet cleaner in the garage. I’ll take care of it.”
“You know how to use it?”
The smack on his ass took him by surprise.
And made the last bits of blood left in his brain surge to his groin.
He spun around.
She straightened. Her eyes lingered on his chest.
Her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips.
Without conscious thought, he dropped his shirt and wrapped his arms around her waist. His lips clamped down over that sassy mouth.
He had to taste her.
He had to touch her.
He had to show her what she was doing to him. What she’d always done to him.
She should’ve pushed him away, but she didn’t. While he was licking and tasting, her body melted into his, her lips parted, her tongue touched his, and her hands gripped his shoulders.
She kissed him back.
Skye Ryder was kissing him back.
She was sweet heaven. Hot and silky and his. Eager. Demanding, going up on her toes, angling her jaw to deepen the kiss, her hips pressing against his.
Except—
He couldn’t do this.
Despite the painful straining in his jeans, he wrenched himself away from her grasp.
She blinked at him, dazedness giving way to horror.
“Skye—” he started.
She stumbled backward. “I told Nicholas to get ready for bed. I’ll go make sure he’s brushing his teeth.”
And with that, she fled the room.
Chapter Five
Fifteen minutes later, Skye stepped into the garage and blew out a breath in the cool air. So much for leaving tonight.
She’d clean the dang carpet tonight, and she’d get out of here first thing in the morning.
And she’d permanently erase that kiss from her memory.
Wipe it clean.
As though it hadn’t happened.
She touched her lips.
How had that happened?
She couldn’t count the number of times Beck and his friends had jumped out and scared her as a kid. And since he’d had his costume party here last Halloween, she’d known he had that closet of costumes in the other basement bedroom.
But what was supposed to be a friendly, funny prank had most definitely not gone as planned.
There was no sense of victory, nothing funny about it.
She was a heel.
And she’d pulled Nicholas into it.
And then she’d nearly forgotten her own name when she’d found Wyatt shirtless again. With rippling muscles in his back and arms, that perfect dusting of hair across his broad, solid chest, and the adorable charm of those grapes smeared across his perfect, denim-clad butt.
She was a heel who had suddenly wanted to know if his skin would be hot or cool under her fingers. If he’d let her feel the ridges of his abs.
How they’d taste if she licked them.
She’d never wanted to lick Steven.
Not like that.
And here she was, unable to forget that kiss—that surprising kiss, that kiss that had made her forget her own name, that kiss that she hadn’t wanted to end—and lusting after a man she’d mostly disliked the vast majority of her life.
What in the world was going on with her?
Her family was right.
She wasn’t herself. She hadn’t been taking good care of herself, and now not only was she suffering, she was making others around her suffer as well.
She needed to talk to Wyatt. Apologize. For the kiss, and for startling him. He needed to know the costumes weren’t Nicholas’s fault so he didn’t give the poor boy any grief.
Nicholas worshipped his uncle. It would put a dent in the kid’s confidence if Wyatt went all disciplinarian on him.
Mr. Don’t make a mess. Mr. Everything always in its place.
And who passed up the Chips Ahoy in the cabinets for granola bars and grapes? They were on vacation.
And who kissed men who passed up the Chips Ahoy?
Apparently, she did.
She yanked at the steam cleaner and pulled it into the house. Neither of them had parked in the garage. Wyatt was probably doing the gentlemanly thing and leaving it open for her—manners were paramount to everything else back home. However, she hadn’t wanted to get blocked in so she could get out of here without having to ask him to move.
As if it mattered.
She was definitely staying tonight.
At least she’d have one more opportunity to enjoy the whirlpool.
And she’d be locking the door this time.
Her mind flashed to the image of a shirtless Wyatt again—the way his back muscles rippled beneath his taut skin, the innate grace of his movements, his thick biceps and corded forearms moving in an erotic dance.
And that kiss—hot and hard and demanding.
She’d wanted more.
She’d lost her freaking mind.
And now her breathing was shallow again, and the heat in her face, in her neck and chest and stomach, had nothing to do with the warmth in the garage.
It was all about Wyatt.
Wyatt Owens.
Pain in her butt, tormenting her all her life, Mr. Don’t Make A Mess, anal-retentive Wyatt.
Was six months long enough to get over a broken engagement?
Or was this weird vibe happening between them simply because she hadn’t dated anyone since Steven walked out of her life?
She lugged the steam cleaner down the hall to the game room where she attacked the grape residue with an initial squirt of stain-remover. All seemed to be quiet upstairs, so she assumed the guys were getting tucked in for the night.
Or probably Wyatt was showering.
Naked.
She fanned her cheeks. Hoo, boy. Thinking about Wyatt naked was wrong.
And also hot.
His time in the military had been good to him. He’d always been tall, but he’d also been lanky. Not like he was now, sculpted like a chiseled Greek god with a chest that she wanted to rake her fingers down and an ass she hadn’t gotten to grab.
Yep, she was out of here first thing in the morning. She’d get a hotel in Tahoe, download one of those hook-up apps, and have some fun.
Dip her toes back into normal dating waters.
With someone other than one of her brother’s best friends.
Decision made, she turned to head back to her room to unpack for the night while the stain remover soaked into the carpet.
And came face-to-shoulder with Wyatt.
He’d changed into a navy T-shirt that made his eyes darker and more intense, and instead of his perfectly fitted jeans, he wore gray athletic shorts. She ducked her head while she took a step back, surreptitiously studying the sculpted muscle in his calves and the hint of the solid plane of his thighs above his knees.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then forced herself to look up at him as if all was normal. “Nicholas asleep?”
“He’s reading. Look, Skye, I’m—”
“You didn’t yell at him, did you?”
Irritation flickered in the depths of his eyes. “You think I’d yell at a kid?”
“You looked mad enough to skin a baby rabbit.” She leaned a hip against the pool table, actively practicing the beautiful art of avoidance even while she couldn’t keep her gaze from drifting to his lips. “Considering how many times you boys scared the shit out of me when we were kids, I thought you would’ve taken the costumes better.”
“We’re not kids anymore, Skye.”
They most definitely weren’t. “I’ll get the carpet clean tonight so you don’t have to worry about it. And I’ll get out of here first thing in the morning.”
“You don’t have to go.”
After that kiss? Yes, she did. “I was leaving anyway.”
“Beck said—”
“Please. Does Beck ever know what he’s talking about?”
He regarded her with his straightforward, sniffing-out-the-bullshit look. “You doing okay?”
His chest seemed broader now than it had been an hour ago, if that was possible. And instead of being irritated by his cocky, I will bend the world to my will arrogance, she wondered if it were possible for him to channel his No, this is how you’re supposed to shoot a basketball rigidity into some Yes, Skye, you are strong enough to go home confidence.
Or perhaps that kiss—the one they were both apparently pretending hadn’t happened—had fried her brain.
“Never been better,” she lied.
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, those eyes—blue as Lake Tahoe—boring into her. “What happened?”
“With what?”
“Heard you didn’t get married.”
Her shoulders hitched up to her chin. No, Skye, that’s not how you get a guy to marry you. This is how you’re supposed to be a fabulous fiancée and wife.
He inclined his head to the pool table. “Play you for it.”
“Excuse me?”
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