Busted (Barnes Brothers #3) (18 page)

She had other thoughts, too. Like how much she loved his smile. And how much she missed seeing him and Clayton. And of course, the occasional worry wiggled its way in—mostly about Neeci. She was spending the night with Ressa’s aunt, Neeci’s “Granny Ang” and although Neeci loved Granny Ang, sometimes things didn’t always go well when she didn’t sleep at home.

Which meant she needed to warn Trey about a potential problem. She suspected Trey, more than most, would understand, but just the thought of it made her gut clench, and yet again she thought that maybe she should just cancel the date.

Cut and run, because she could see herself falling for Mr. Trey Barnes, in the worst sort of way.

Fall for him, then end up walking away, or crawling away, when things ended badly or she ended up battered and bruised, brokenhearted.

Coward
.

But really, did it hurt to have a real date with him?

Maybe once they had that one real date, she’d realize they didn’t really have that much to talk about. Sure they were combustible, but she’d had heat before.

Doubt started to niggle inside her and she went to sit down, but her gaze landed on the clock. Twenty minutes. She only had—

The phone rang. Panic grabbed her belly. He wasn’t calling to cancel, was he?

If he does, I’ll hurt him
.

And then that bubble of panic popped as she recognized the number. With a jaded eye, she studied it, then without a blink, ignored the call.

Talking to Kiara always put her in a bad place.
Always
. She had to coach herself into going to visit her, into calling her. Sending her quick little notes wasn’t possible, although she did write—there was just nothing quick about it. It took three or four days to get the right words down, the words that said . . .
I love you, but I don’t want to talk about the past anymore.

“You ought to be the one in here!”
The sound of Kiara’s voice, even now, still echoed in her ears. That wound was mostly scarred and it helped that Kiara had mostly come to accept the truth, but still, the rawness was still there.

The phone went silent as she moved to stand in front of the mirror.

Catching sight of the little clock she kept near her bed, she swore. Down to eighteen minutes. Her hair was done, her makeup was done, but she really should have something on when he knocked on the door.

Swearing, she grabbed a red dress off the hanger. She’d just
ordered it and other than trying it on, she hadn’t worn it yet. Pulling it on, she smoothed it down over her hips and went to the mirror. The embellished design of the bodice accentuated her curves there and also left her tattoos bared. She fingered it absently, half thought about wearing something with a higher neckline, even as she gave the rest of her reflection a critical look.

The nipped-in waist definitely met with her approval and the skirt flared out in a way that flattered her full hips. She looked curvy rather than frumpy—that was good. She’d been hoping that would be the effect with the dress. She’d gotten pretty good at picking out the right styles, but shopping online could still be hit or miss. The fabric worked, too.

Frowning, she turned a little, eying the embroidery on the shoulders—each shoulder featured a cheekily grinning pin-up girl.

The cut of the dress was almost conservative.

A few months ago, if somebody had told her she’d be going out to dinner with Trey Barnes,
conservative
was exactly what she would have suspected would suit him. Of course, she’d have laughed her ass off, and then gone out of her way to find something completely
not
conservative.

But with the way the dress
fit
her, the dip of the bodice over her breasts, the sassy little pin-up girls and how it exposed her tattoos . . .

“Well, it’s sure as hell me,” she mused.

She turned away from the mirror.

Nothing in the closet was going to work any better.

Except maybe that wiggle dress, but if she put that on, she might as well issue an invitation for him to come on in and stay awhile. She’d bought it in a mood, not too long after that weekend she’d never been able to forget. She’d been thinking about him when she’d bought it.

Thinking. Missing. Wanting.

If she put it on, she’d do nothing but think about him peeling it off.

The phone started to ring again while she was pulling on a pair of heels, but she lunged for it this time. Farrah—it was the ringtone she used for Farrah and she needed her nerves soothed. Balancing on one foot as she fought one-handedly with the strap, she answered. “Make me feel better,” she ordered.

“Why?”

“Because my cousin just called and I didn’t talk to her and now I feel guilty and he’s going to be here soon,” she said in a rush.

There was a faint pause, and then Farrah said, “Fuck her. Half the time I don’t know why you even bother.”

“Because it’s my fault.”

“No,” Farrah said, her voice cold and hard. “No, it’s not.”

Ressa sighed. “Logically? I get that. Emotionally? Different story. Look, she’s my cousin. I love her. Now, tell me something to make me stop thinking about her,” she said, moving to deal with the other shoe.

“Are you ready?”

“No. I’m still buck-nekkid, with my hair in rollers and I’m shoving my face full of ice cream,” she said tartly. Her belly gave a demanding grumble. Maybe ice cream wouldn’t be a bad idea. Take the edge off. Ice cream made everything better, right? If she ate something now . . .

“Yeah, right. What are you wearing?”

“That red baby-doll dress I showed you a few weeks ago.”

“That?” Farrah’s disappointed tone did not go unmissed. “Why not that sexy black number?”

“Because that sexy black number says one thing—
Do me
. We’re going out for dinner.”

“Any reason you can’t have both . . . him
and
dinner?” Farrah sounded sly now.

“Whatever happened to the girl who was teaching me caution a few days ago?” Ressa asked wryly.

“Well, I want you to be cautious. Don’t get your heart broken. But if you can manage to have fun with him while it lasts and
not
get your heart broken? Go for it.”

Fun . . . while it lasts
. Odd that even thinking that way made her feel kind of funny inside. Like she was already setting herself up for a heartbreak.

“I plan on having fun. Without jumping back into bed with him the very first time we actually have a date.” Rolling her eyes, she stretched out her feet, studied the shoes. They worked.

Then she glanced toward the hall, thought about that pint of ice cream she kept on hand for emergencies.

This wasn’t really an emergency, though.

Sighing, she turned her back on the thought of ice cream and made herself focus.

“Talk yourself out of a bite or two of ice cream?” Farrah asked.

“Yes. Damn it.” Ressa pressed a hand to her belly.

“Good. The dress fits perfectly now. Don’t go getting the nervous eats, okay? We don’t want to do another fitting. Now . . . how do you feel?”

“I’m nervous. I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous about a date.” Ressa grimaced.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this nervous about a guy.”

“Oh, I’ve been this nervous,” she said quietly.

There had been a guy. Ressa had cared about him. Enough to come clean with him about her past. He’d said he loved her. But when he learned about her past, he’d walked.

“He never really loved you. He just loved what he thought he knew,” Farrah said quietly. “You ready to go that route again with Trey? What if he’s the same way?”

The question had Ressa tensing. She had to focus, had to concentrate to make her muscles relax. Leaning forward, she scowled at the faint smudge in her eyeliner. She used one of the sponges to fix it before she answered. “It’s not the same thing;
he’s
not the same.”

“If that’s the case, then you see all the problems ahead of you, too, right? I mean, assuming this thing turns out to be anything . . . you know what kind of mess you could be asking for?”

“What problems?” She forced a light note into her voice. “Let me think . . . well, other than the fact that he’s this hugely successful author who is still dealing with some baggage—” That was a safe way to explain it, she figured. “He’s a widower with an adorable kid. Or maybe you’re talking about my mess.”

“There’s that,” Farrah said, her voice flat. “And other things. He’s white, you’re black.”

“Really.” Ressa eased away from the mirror, studying her reflection once more. “I never noticed.”

“That could be a problem . . . if it got serious. That, and a couple of things. Have you thought about that?”

“Yes.” Sighing, she turned away from the mirror. She didn’t want to think about serious. Not yet. Not right now. “You and I both know I’d just be hiding from the truth if I said otherwise. If . . . look, if we think we’ve got something, his skin color isn’t going to matter to me. I won’t care. I don’t think
he
will, either.”

“It affects more than just the two of you, though. It’s Neeci, it’s his little boy,” Farrah said quietly. Her sister had married a white guy. Her parents supported her . . . but the guy’s family? They’d cut him off. It had caused some rough spots.

Rubbing her thumb along the lines of the tattoo on her chest, Ressa said, “Mama Ang won’t care who I fall for, Farrah. All she ever wanted was for us to be happy.”

“Yeah . . . it looks like your cousin really got
that
memo.” Farrah’s voice was thick with sarcasm.

“Please.” Ressa closed her eyes. “Don’t. Okay? Just . . .”

“I won’t, honey. Although Kiara makes me crazy. Mama Ang, she tried so hard—Bruce, God bless him,
he
tried. You tried. Anyways . . . it’s not just about you all, you know that. Kids change everything.”

“We’re talking about things that might not even be an issue. For all I know, we’ll go out and we’ll bore each other senseless.” Plus . . . her gut started to twist, and as much as she didn’t want to think about Kiara, her cousin started to creep back into her mind.

Kiara.

The things that Ressa had done her best to overcome, to move past.

But they were still a part of her.

Shit
.

The doorbell rang. “I’ve got to go. I think he’s here.”

“Honey, you already know you’re not going to bore each other senseless. That’s why you need to be careful . . . and maybe why you should put on that black dress and get him out of your system, now. While you can still can.”

Trey knew what it was like to have the breath knocked out of him. Normally, he didn’t associate the sensation with good things. He’d felt that way when he’d fallen out of a swing when he was a kid—when he’d gotten knocked on his ass time and again in middle school during his very, very brief interlude with school sports. Maybe he’d enjoyed basketball when it was one on one, or when he was playing with his brothers, but team sports had never been for him.

That hadn’t kept Travis from nagging him into trying out for football one year. Trey had given it a shot—for that one year. During that time, he’d spent so much time getting tackled, knocked down, thrown around, that he’d ended up feeling like the ball himself.

He’d given it up—he was more for individual sports. Swimming was his thing and even then, he’d known what it was like to feel breathless—or worse, like he was drowning. Like when he’d gotten a charley horse while swimming a few times.

Then there had been the day he’d gotten the call about his wife . . . when they wheeled her in the surgery. Those unending moments when the doctor came out and told him the news.

His first look at his son, hooked up to a vent as he struggled to live.

Trey knew all about how it felt to have the air knocked out of him, but he generally associated it with pretty shitty things.

He didn’t think it had once felt like this.

Ressa opened the door, standing there in the doorway with light spilling out around her while she wore a dress of red that cupped her breasts and skimmed in over a waist that dipped in and all but begged for him to curve his hands around it, before flaring out over those lush, round hips.

She’d twisted her hair up and back in a way that made him think of a time gone by—drive-ins and diners and girls in poodle skirts and muscle cars. Her mouth was once more painted red and made him think of sin and sex while his mind went blurry and hot. Her eyes were smoky, smudged, and as he tried not to gape at her, she lifted one brow, an almost-amused expression on her face.

“Hello.”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then he tried again and had to clear his throat before he managed anything more than “. . . Uh . . .”

Now a smile curved her lips and she leaned against the doorway. “What’s the matter, Trey? Cat got your tongue?”

It was the smile that did it.

He should have a little more class than that, more subtlety, better moves or something.

Considering what was going on with him, he should’ve had a little more
fear
. But as she continued to stand there, grinning at him like that, his mind just clicked off and instinct clicked on and he moved, caught her around the back of the neck.

A startled noise escaped Ressa—she might have been trying to say something but by the time his mouth slanted across hers, it became a moan and her hands curled into the lapels of his shirt as she rose up onto her toes to meet him.

It was like the past few weeks had fallen away. Nothing else mattered in that moment as he fell into a spell of lust, heat, and need. He licked at the seam of her lips and then pushed inside, craving more.

She opened for him and he banded an arm around her waist,
hauling her close. The taste of her—sweet, sweet woman and coffee—flooded him and he thought he just might go crazy if he ever had to wait so long to kiss her again.

It was the sound of a car blasting by that had him jolting to his senses. Common sense told him to put some distance between them.

His cock pulsed against the warmth of her belly and her open door beckoned them. He could have her inside there in just a few seconds . . . naked in just a few seconds more, although really, naked wasn’t necessary, just tug up her skirt and . . .

Stop. Now. Before you turn into a drooling maniac.

Instead, he eased back and rubbed his lips across hers. “I’ve only thought about doing that a thousand times in the past six weeks.”

Her lashes fluttered up. “I’ve only thought about you doing that a thousand times,” she said, her hands still curled into the front of his shirt.

Pressing his brow to hers, he forced himself to let go. It took more willpower than he thought he had, but he was able to manage it, uncurling his arm from her waist, releasing the grip he’d had on her neck.

She was slower to let go of his shirt, smoothing the wrinkles away. Finally, he put a few feet between them and looked around. “So. This is where you live. Nice place.” Then, he added wryly, “Not a bad neighborhood.”

“Well, seeing as how I live about a half-mile away from you, I’d hope you like the general area.” A bubble of laughter escaped her. “I kind of like it myself. You want to come inside, see the place?”

*   *   *

His eyes came to hers and the heat inside them almost turned her bones to mush. Ressa thought her legs would dissolve, she truly did.

Sucking in a slow breath, she casually braced her weight against the wall at her back.

If he said yes . . .

If he said yes, then she’d damn well take him inside and screw the date.

“I want to.” Then Trey’s lashes swept down over his eyes and he stepped back another step. “Which means I’m going to stay right here while you lock up. We’re having a date. Dinner. Conversation . . .”

“Any reason why we can’t do that if you come inside?”

“If I come inside, we aren’t going to leave for a while.” His gaze traveled down to her mouth. “We both know that.” Then, her heart clenched inside her chest as he reached up and cupped her face. “I want to spend time with you . . . get to know you. That means I can’t go inside.”

*   *   *

She’d been prepared for a lot of things.

Ressa had gone on more than her share of dates. First dates weren’t anything new to her. She’d had more than a few where she’d called a friend from the bathroom to help her bail out gracefully because she didn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings, a couple where she just hadn’t
cared
because the guy was such a roach—and a couple of times she’d had to call a friend when one of those roaches had up and decided
You think you can brush me off like that, bitch?

And then there were the dates that had been on the verge of flipping a coin—
Should I let him pay or am I going Dutch
 . . .

She had everything from hot dogs and canned sodas to gourmet meals and candlelight, but she hadn’t known what to expect from Trey Barnes.

It hadn’t been
this
.

Now she’d
heard
about this place, but she had absolutely no thoughts about getting inside—it wasn’t even open . . . yet.

Eying the unlit sign as he held open her door, she held out her hand. “I don’t know if now is a good time to point out that I am kind of hungry.”

“Well, since I did tell you I wanted to take you out to dinner, I was kind of hoping you
would
be hungry.” He grinned at her and shut the door as she shifted her attention back to the not-yet-opened business in front of her.

It was set in one of the older buildings and although she knew they had been working to renovate it, if she hadn’t been
aware of it, she’d think she was looking at the place as it had been built maybe two hundred years ago. Towering, imposing . . . and maybe slightly spooky.

Perfect for the themed restaurant that would open in the next couple of weeks.

As of now, though, the place
wasn’t
open.

“So. . . .” She drew out. “If this place isn’t open, how are we supposed to eat?”

Trey’s grin widened a little farther. “That’s easy.” He slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out a key ring. “I’ve got an open invitation . . . and they are still doing the finishing touches on the final menu. I called earlier and asked if maybe I could come by . . . bring a date.”

Ressa’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the keys.

Then she swung her head around and stared up at
Chillers
.

Local media had been talking about this place for months now and with the opening getting closer, the place was being talked about more and more. She definitely had plans to come—once the madness stopped, but she’d expected that would take a while. It wasn’t every day that a couple of best-selling writers got together and decided to open up a joint like this.
Chillers
wasn’t being billed as a typical restaurant. It was an entertainment venue, complete with private areas for large parties; they were going to have live music, and she thought she’d seen a mention that they were already booked, as far as musical acts went, for the next six months straight.

Chillers
had a bookstore as well—one that would carry mostly genre books, with a heavy focus on thrillers, suspense, and horror—but they weren’t skimping on any of the others, either, and they were also going to be doing author events. The last she’d seen, they already had seven lined up over the next few months, including a local writer who was fairly popular, a big-name romance writer, and a couple of fairly well-known urban fantasy and science fiction writers.

Every time she thought about this place, the book lover in her got a little giddy.

“We get to eat here,” she said slowly. Absently, she reached up to rub her fingers across her lower lip, forgetting about her lipstick. “Tonight.”

“Yep. You were specifically requested to tell them exactly what you thought about the place—from how it looks, to the menu, and anything else you thought might be useful.”

She slanted a look at him. “I take it that you know the owners.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, jerking one shoulder up as he studied the place. Then he canted his head in her direction, a somewhat embarrassed grin on his face. “I . . . ah. Well, this is between us, but Mitch and Guff—when they were putting the plans together before they went to the bank, they talked to some friends about it. Asked some if they’d be interested in maybe offering some money for the start-up. I was—thought it would be a hell of a place to have in the area. So I’ve got a vested interest in seeing it take off.”

*   *   *

This had been a good choice.

Trey had been torn between trying this or a nice little Italian place he knew about or even something more casual—a chain place somewhere close to the mall. It would be easy to keep things nice and casual if they’d gone for the Italian place or a chain restaurant.

Casual was crucial right now because if he had too much time alone with her, it was going to shatter his ability to think. Maybe even destroy his ability to talk. It had taken a lot more focus than he’d thought possible just to drive here, because it had required taking his eyes off her and he just hadn’t wanted to do that.

But here, he’d have some semblance of privacy—not a lot of it because he knew Mitch Watkins and Les MacGuff weren’t going to give him
that
much privacy. Not when he was bringing a date. They got together often enough—BBQs a couple of times in the summer, and both Trey and Guff had boys the same age who got along well. Neither of the men had been able to resist digging for information when Trey had called to ask about maybe coming by. With a friend.

So he’d have to put up with their nosy asses.

But that was fine, because Ressa had just turned to look at him, a smile on her face that was nothing short of delighted.

He didn’t even have time to brace before she launched
herself into his arms. “This has got to be the coolest thing ever,” she said, her mouth moving against his neck.

It sent shivers down his spine and he closed his eyes.

Behave
. It was a stringent command to his body.

But at the same time, part of him wondered
why
it was so necessary that he behave. Well, yeah, clearly it wasn’t a good idea for him to push her up against the closest available surface. Or even the broad, large railing that led up to the veranda.

But really, did they have to be here?

Yes, his mind insisted.

A date.

They were having a damned date.

That didn’t stop the blood from draining out of his head, from churning hot and ready, from pulsing all in one direction—straight toward his cock. To try and get his thoughts on something other than how soft she was, how good she smelled, he said, “Well, don’t say that now. Guff and Mitch are raving about the kitchen crew, but for all I know, we’ll go in there and everything will taste like kibble.”

“I don’t
care
,” she said, pulling back and planting a loud, smacking kiss on his mouth. “You can fix that. Or they can. Fire the crew, hire better kitchen help. But . . . wow. I’m eating here before anybody else.”

He licked his lips, tasting her on them. He was a split second from pulling her back against him, just so he could have another, longer, deeper taste.

But then she turned around and her lids drifted down low, a tiny smile bowing up the corners of her mouth. “I can already tell you, baby, that’s not kibble cooking in there. I smell steak . . . and bread . . . whoa. Let’s go eat.”

She caught his hand and he let her tug him along behind her. He’d go pretty much anywhere she wanted at that point.