Reese's Wild Wager. Barbara McCauley

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ a convincing effort to keep order. But as strict and rigid as she’d tried to be, they’d have her laughing and acting silly right along with the rest of them before the meal was over.

      He missed those meals almost as much as he missed his parents. Twelve years had passed since the car accident that had taken them both. Sometimes it seemed like only yesterday, other times it seemed like an eternity.

      Yawning, he rolled into the softness of the mattress and his pillow, cracked one eye open to glance at the bedside clock. Eight o’clock. He frowned and slammed his eye closed again, shutting out the early-morning light that poured through the open slats of his wooden blinds. He was up every other morning by six, but he never woke up before nine-thirty on Sunday. He still had an hour and a half to go, and he intended to savor every minute of it. The cottage he lived in was directly behind the tavern, a redbrick carriage house he’d converted into living quarters after he’d bought the abandoned tavern and completely renovated it four years ago. He was close enough to his business to handle whatever problems might arise, but it offered enough privacy for him to have alone time when he needed it. Or to entertain company.

      Specifically, female company.

      He was a man who fully appreciated women. The female gender, with their exotic smells and delicious curves, fascinated him almost as much as they intrigued him. They were complicated and mysterious; sweet and coy one minute, difficult and confusing the next. An absolute enigma that completely enchanted him.

      Fortunately for him, women enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed theirs. He understood the game well enough to know that, as an unattached male, he was open season for all the single women. But he was honest and up front with every woman he dated: he wasn’t looking for marriage. Still, they had a way of pausing at jewelry-store windows, dragging him to movies that included at least one wedding, and somehow ending up in the department store housewares section, specifically china and silver.

      But he was content with his life exactly as it was. He loved his business and his freedom. No one telling him what to do or when to do it. He never had to answer to anyone. No complications, no problems—

      He buried his head in his pillow and groaned.

      Except for Sydney Taylor.

      Damn.

      Sydney was one big problem.

      He’d really never expected her to take him seriously when he’d made that bet with her, and he’d certainly never expected her to know how to play poker, let alone be so good at the game. But if there was one thing predictable about Sydney, it was the fact that she was unpredictable. He knew he never should have challenged her like that, but once he had, and she’d refused to back down, he couldn’t just walk away. A guy had his pride, after all, and Sydney had tweaked his.

      Knowing the woman, she was probably in the kitchen with Corky right now, telling him what to do and how to do it. Corky would have a fit about that, Reese knew. The man had been in the New York restaurant business for twenty-five years before he’d given up the fast pace of the big city and moved to Bloomfield. He’d applied for the position of chief cook and bottle washer one week before Squire’s Tavern and Inn had opened its doors. For the past four years, Corky had been more like a partner to Reese than an employee, and even more, he’d been a good friend.

      But Corky was particular about his kitchen. He had his own way of doing things. He wouldn’t like Sydney messing with his pots and pans. Reese could see her now, with that stubborn little chin of hers pointed at Corky while she informed him of the proper method of cracking an egg or peeling a potato. That long, slender neck stretched high as she swished him out of her way. That sassy mouth giving orders.

      Reese had known Sydney most of his life, but had never noticed before last night what a perfect mouth she had. Her lips were wide and full, rosy pink. She didn’t know she did it, but every time she’d have a mediocre hand, she’d catch that lush bottom lip of hers between her perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth and nibble. More than once, that little action had distracted him. Then he’d remind himself he was thinking lustful thoughts about Sydney, of all people, and force his mind back to the game.

      But he’d never seen her with that blond hair all mussed up like that, or streaks of mud on that smooth, porcelain skin. And he’d certainly never seen her in a bathrobe. As plain as the garment had been, there’d been something appealing about that red-plaid robe. Something strangely…sexy. Something that made him curious about what she wore under that robe.

      And further still, what was under that.

      Good Lord. He flipped onto his back and snorted. His brothers would have a good laugh if they could hear his thoughts about Sydney. Reese decided he needed to start dating more. He hadn’t had much time for female companionship the past several weeks, and even Sydney was starting to look good to him. And that was ridiculous. Sydney Taylor was not even close to the type of woman he was interested in. Sydney was too uptight, too bossy, too—

      “Are you going to sleep all day, Sinclair, or do you think we can get started?”

      “What the—” On an oath, his eyes popped open. Arms folded, Sydney stood in his open bedroom door, a smile on those lips he’d been so foolishly fantasizing about and a gleam in her baby-blue eyes.

      He was going to strangle her.

      Eyes narrowed, he sat slowly. This was the Sydney he knew. Dressed in tailored black slacks, a pale blue, high-necked turtleneck that made her eyes shine, her hair pulled up tight in a smooth, golden knot on top of her head.

      While, he, on the other hand, was buck naked under his sheets.

      “Have you ever heard of knocking?”

      “I did knock.” Diamond studs sparkled on her ear-lobes as she tipped her head. “Twice, as a matter of fact. Corky told me to come on in if you didn’t answer.”

      He decided he’d strangle Corky right after he finished with Sydney.

      “This is my bedroom. You want to be specific about what it is you’d like to get started?”

      “My duties, of course. What else would I possibly be talking about?”

      He slipped down between the sheets and his white down comforter, plumped his pillow with his fist as he turned his back to her. “I sleep in on Sundays. Corky will show you what to do.”

      “Not a chance, Sinclair. Our bet was that I was to work under your supervision.”

      “Well, Syd, since I’m in my bed, what work under me would you suggest?”

      “Why, Reese Sinclair.” Sydney’s voice dripped Southern debutante. “Sweet words like that do make a girl’s heart flutter.”

      “If the girl had a heart,” he muttered.

      He heard her soft laughter and couldn’t resist glancing over his shoulder to watch as she strolled around his bedroom, first inspecting a baseball trophy from the year his college team had won the state championship—he’d been pitcher—then squinting as she bent over his dresser and closely examined an oak-framed photograph of his sister Cara and her husband Ian that had been taken at their wedding last year, then another picture of his brother Callan and his wife Abby taken at their wedding six months ago.

      She straightened, not even pretending to hide her curiosity as she continued to inspect his bedroom.

      The СКАЧАТЬ