Reese's Wild Wager. Barbara McCauley

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      Sydney smiled. “I’m sorry. It’s just so overwhelming to be in the legendary Sinclair den of carnal delights. I expected to be stepping over the writhing bodies of scantily clad women.”

      “The maid cleaned up already this morning,” he said dryly. “But there might still be a couple in the closet if you’d care to look.”

      She was actually heading for his closet when she stopped suddenly at the floor-to-ceiling bookcase he’d built beside an existing brick fireplace.

      “Books!” she exclaimed. “You actually have books in here. Grisham, King, Follett—oh!” Her eyes lit up. “Dickens and Shakespeare, too. Were they all left here by the previous owner?”

      The sarcasm under that sweet smile of hers had Reese bristling. It wasn’t bad enough she’d invaded his bedroom, now she was insulting his intellect. He’d read every one of those books, even had a signed copy of Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby and Steinbeck’s Cannery Row. His most recent purchase, though, and his most prized, was a first edition, leather-bound Alexandre Dumas The Three Musketeers. It had cost him a bundle, but it was worth every penny.

      Still, he did have an image to maintain.

      “Yeah, well, my comic books didn’t take up much room and I needed something on the shelves.” He sat, bent one knee while he stretched his arms wide. The comforter slipped down to his stomach. Sydney looked in his direction, and to his smug satisfaction, her eyes widened and she gasped.

      Ha. That ought to send her running.

      “Reese,” she whispered, her voice filled with reverence. “How magnificent!”

      Good Lord. Reese felt his face warm. He pulled the comforter back up as she hurried across the room toward him. Geez. He’d heard a lot of compliments, but never had a woman been quite so…exuberant.

      “It’s Louis XV, isn’t it?” She stopped at the foot of his bed, touched one corner of his four-poster bed and ran her fingers over the dark grain. “Black walnut, right?”

      “Ah, yeah.” She was enthralled with his bed, for God’s sake. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or annoyed. He watched as she stroked her fingertips over the round top of the smooth wood and made a small O with those pretty lips of hers.

      His throat went dry.

      “These rose carvings are amazing.” Her fingers glided over the intricate petals and leaves. “Has it been refinished or is this the original stain?”

      He dragged his gaze from those slender hands of hers and swallowed hard. What had she asked him? If the bed had been refinished? He had no idea. He’d just bought it last month at the Witherspoon estate auction after Cara had insisted it would be perfect for the inn. On a whim, he’d kept the bed for himself instead. Sydney was the first woman who had been in his bedroom since he’d set it up, but if it had this effect on all females, he would have to give his sister his undying gratitude.

      Somehow, though, he couldn’t imagine any of the women he’d invited here—and there weren’t nearly as many as the gossipmongers proclaimed—noticing the grain of wood on his bed. He did know, however, that not one woman had ever commented on his book collection before.

      He frowned as he remembered that Sydney’s comment had been less than complimentary. And he certainly hadn’t invited her here, either.

      She bent on her knees and leaned closer still to inspect the carving, her hands moving over the post. Stroking. Up, down. Reese felt an arrow of liquid heat shoot straight to his groin.

      Good God, as ridiculous as it was, the woman was turning him on!

      “Gee, Syd—” Reese feigned a lightness to his voice, even though his entire body was wound up tighter than a steel spring “—now that you’re such good friends, maybe you’d like me to leave so you can be alone here with Louis.”

      Sydney’s head shot up as she obviously realized how…intimate her inspection of his bedpost had been. Her blue eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then she quickly dropped her hands and turned her lips up in what Reese could only call a smirk.

      “Why, Reese Sinclair, you’re upset because I got more excited over an old bed than you.” She tilted her head to the side and touched her chin with her finger. “Don’t take it personal, but you’re just not my type, that’s all.”

      Oh, was that right? Not her type, huh? She was just so damn pompous, Reese couldn’t resist messing with her. Resting an arm on his bent knee, he lifted one dark brow and grinned at her. “You sure about that, Syd?” he said huskily. “If you’d let yourself loosen up just a little bit, I bet I could tip your tiara.”

      “Not a chance, Sinclair. But thanks for the offer, anyway. I’m sure you considered it quite generous on your part.” With that, she turned on her heels and headed for the door. “By the way, I have some great ideas on improving the efficiency of your kitchen. Shouldn’t take me more than a couple of days, then we can talk about developing a new menu. You really could use a little more variety.”

      She waltzed through the bedroom door in that regal manner of hers and Reese almost felt as if he’d been dismissed. The woman was enough to make a man chew nails and spit rust.

      He frowned. What the hell did she mean, develop a new menu? He had a terrific menu, with plenty of variety, if he did say so himself. Why fix it if it ain’t broke? And besides, she was supposed to be doing what he said, not messing with his menu or improving the efficiency of his kitchen.

      Oh, no. The kitchen. If Sydney started rearranging things in the kitchen, Corky would kill him. He had to get down there before the woman caused too much trouble or any blood was shed, though that blood was probably going to be his own, Reese knew.

      Whatever Corky did to him—and it was probably going to be painful—Reese figured he’d earned it. It was his own stupidity that had started this ridiculous bet. He’d made his own bed, so the saying went, and he’d have to sleep in it.

      But the thought of beds brought his mind back around to the look in Sydney’s eyes as she’d admired his. Those lips of hers that had gone soft, those long, slender fingers moving on the bedpost….

      Dammit! He bet she’d done that on purpose, just to get to him. Well, he refused to let Sydney Taylor get the better of him. He wasn’t interested in her like that, anymore than she was interested in him.

      But now that he thought about it, when she’d told him that he wasn’t her type, she’d tilted her head and touched her chin. Exactly what she’d done last night every time she’d bluffed.

      Nah. Reese laughed at the possibility of anything more than an adversarial relationship with Sydney. Besides, as annoying as it was, it was also great fun sparring with her. Why spoil a good thing?

      Boomer chose that moment to come bounding through the open bedroom door. With a shrill bark, he jumped on the bed and slipped his head under Reese’s hand.

      “Thanks a lot, pal.” Reese rubbed the dog’s ear. “This is all your fault I’ve got Sydney the Hun driving me insane.”

      Boomer slapped his tail on the blanket.

      Shaking his head, Reese chuckled as he slipped out of bed. If there СКАЧАТЬ