Wilde at Heart (11 page)

“Uh-huh. Just like I don’t tell Alicia her cooking sucks, but I’ll defend it until my dying breath if anyone else says so. Welcome to married life.” Dylan levered his gym-honed body out of the chair. “When will we get to meet her?”

“She’ll be at the party tomorrow night.”

Dylan scowled. “I still say we don’t need to impress that old blowhard James. We just need to lose the dead weight of your brothers’ security company. Cut them loose and then we can take DMW public—”

Sighing heavily, Reece sat back in his chair. “We’ve had this discussion. We’re not ready to go public.”

“Maybe not, but we’d be a hell of a lot closer to ready if you quit playing Dick Tracy. You’re not a private investigator, Reece. We’re computer geeks and number crunchers. Stick to what we’re good at, and DMW will flourish.”

“I’m not abandoning my brothers. You know I can’t do that.”

“I know.” Dylan walked to the door, but paused before leaving and glanced back. “But, Reece, if it came down to it, would you choose your brothers over all the people who rely on us for their paychecks? Would you really give our employees their pink slips to save your brothers’ struggling business?”

The answer felt like a betrayal and clogged his throat. It took a hard swallow before he was able to give it voice. “No. I wouldn’t. But it doesn’t matter because I’m going to secure this deal with James. It will keep DMW in the black and give Wilde Security the time it needs to get its legs back under it.”

“I don’t know about that, buddy.” Dylan shook his head. “I’m a gambling man…but Wilde Security is a risk even I wouldn’t take.”

Same old discussion, different day. Reece turned to his computer, signaling the end of the conversation. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“All right.” Dylan tapped his fist lightly against the doorjamb a couple times. “I look forward to meeting your bride. Don’t look forward to kissing James’s saggy ass.”

Reece stared at the door for a long time after it shut behind his VP. Dylan was 100 percent against this deal with James, but would he actually stoop to blackmail to sabotage it and force the choice between DMW and Wilde Security?

Reece’s heart said no, but he still pulled up the spreadsheet he’d started and added Dylan’s name under the column labeled “suspects” then took a minute to fill in the other columns, including “motive” and “opportunity” with the information he had. Then he studied the mostly empty sheet. Yes, Dylan had a motive, but where was his opportunity? He hadn’t been in Vegas, but it was possible he had hired someone. He couldn’t be eliminated.

And that hurt.

Dammit.

Reece sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Dylan was right about one thing. He was no Dick Tracy. In fact, he was so out of his element with this, he was at a loss as to where to start. He usually let his brothers handle the investigating part of Wilde Security while he dealt with the finances and the occasional home security installation. But he couldn’t very well hand this problem over to them. There was something going on with Greer, and Reece feared the big guy was silently falling apart. Vaughn was obsessed with finding Lark. Cam was a newlywed, and Reece wasn’t about to dump a problem like this in his lap so soon after the wedding. And Jude…

Well, Reece could admit to himself in the quiet sanctity of his office it was pride keeping him from asking Jude for help. Last summer they’d taken the first steps toward mending the rift that formed between them after their parents were killed, but they still had a ways to go yet. He wasn’t comfortable enough to take a problem as personal as blackmail to Jude.

He closed the spreadsheet and sat back in his chair. Dick Tracy or not, he was on his own with this investigation.

Chapter Eleven

S
helby had heard the front door open an hour ago, but continued unpacking without so much as peeking out into the living room. She figured she wasn’t Reece’s wife—legally, yes, but not really, not at heart, where it counted—so she didn’t have to meet him at the door with a drink and dinner in the oven.

Right?

Crap. She had no clue. The only thing she knew about marriage was what she’d seen on TV. Her mother had been married on and off throughout the years, but those relationships had been toxic, more like a how-not-to-do-marriage guidebook than a good template.

Not that this was a real marriage, she reminded herself as enticing scents started drifting under her door. Her stomach rumbled, and she pressed a hand to it to quiet it.

Speaking of having dinner in the oven, she hadn’t eaten all day.

All right. She couldn’t hide in her room forever.

Sucking in a breath, she pulled the door open and followed the yummy scents to the kitchen.

Reece had a bowl tucked in the crook of his arm and was in the process of whisking the hell out of the mixture inside. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his muscled forearms sprinkled lightly with dark hair, and his shirt was partially unbuttoned, the light smattering of hair on his chest peeking out. He was wearing glasses—funny, she hadn’t known he needed them before now—and looked more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. All calm and…

Sexy as sin.

And she was staring. She shook herself and walked toward him. “You’re…cooking?”

“You sound surprised,” he said, barely glancing up at her.

“I guess I am.” She wandered around the island to take a peek into the oven. She had no idea what was in there, but it smelled spicy and delicious and made her mouth water for a taste. “Most of the bachelors I know can’t even boil water.”

He returned his attention to his task, pouring the mixture from the bowl into a saucepan. He grabbed a bottle of wine from the counter and splashed some in, then reached for a pair of glasses in a cupboard overhead and poured them each a healthy dose.

He handed one glass to her, clinked the rims, and tasted his wine before setting it aside. “Technically I’m not a bachelor anymore.”

She smiled and tasted her wine. “For the next two months at least.”

This situation wasn’t so bad, after all. Not the least bit awkward like she feared it would be. With all of the angst and uncertainty of the past few days, she had forgotten how truly easy Reece was to get along with. They had always just…clicked, right from the beginning.

And, let’s be honest, it didn’t hurt he was a gorgeous specimen of a man who apparently knew how to cook.

Nursing her wine, she leaned against the fridge to watch him. She had no idea what he was doing, but he moved like a man confident in his skills.

“Seriously,” she said after a moment, “I’m impressed. To tell the truth,
I
can barely boil water.”

“Yeah, well. My brothers and I…we were five teenage boys basically living on our own. Someone had to learn or we were going to starve.” He took down a couple plates and started scooping portions of a veggie mix onto each. Then he opened the oven and used a towel to pull out the main entree. Chicken, she noted as he forked a portion onto each plate and slathered the breasts in the sauce he’d just finished.

“It’s done. We can sit here at the breakfast bar.” He brought the plates over and she chose one of the four high-backed chairs pushed in under the bar. He set one plate in front of her, opened a nearby drawer, and produced a pair of forks.

When he handed one to her and their hands brushed, she tried not to think about the sizzle of pure lust that flared at the contact. Yeah, they’d always just clicked. That was, when they weren’t sparking off each other like fireworks.

She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

And there was the awkwardness again.

They both ate in silence for the first few minutes. The food was really good, and she thought she should tell him, but every time she opened her mouth to say so, she shoved in another bite of chicken instead.

Man, she didn’t like this tension, or how she was hyperaware of his every move. There was no denying the intense sexual attraction, and even though he’d laid down the no consummation rule—well, wouldn’t it be easier to just jump each other’s bones and get it out of their systems? They weren’t going to fool anybody into believing they were husband and wife when they shied away from touching each other.

Shelby drew a breath and took a sip of her wine for courage. “So…” She twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers. “I’ve been thinking. Since the money thing wasn’t working for either of us, maybe we can also reconsider the no-sex rule?”

Reece fumbled his glass, and wine sloshed down the front of his shirt. “No.”

Okay, that sounded final. She watched him blot at the stain, then finally give up and pull the shirt off. Underneath he wore a tank top that showed off his carved biceps and broad chest, which did nothing to help calm her libido. He had such a drool-worthy body, with a slim waist and washboard abs dipping into a sharp V at his hips, and she desperately wanted to tie him up and make him beg again. Or he could tie her up.

Either way, they’d have a fun time together.

“Why not?” she asked.

Without looking at her, he stood and grabbed some paper towels to clean up the spill on the counter, then picked up his plate and took it around to the sink on the other side of the island. “Because.”

“Because you’re the boss and you said so? That doesn’t work with me and you know it.”

He rinsed his plate and placed it in the dishwasher, but he still avoided facing her. “I don’t want—”

She pointed her fork at him. “You better not say you don’t want me, mister. I’ll know for a fact you’re lying.”

“I do want you.” He braced his hands on each side of the sink. His shoulders slumped, his head dropped forward, and he sighed. “But I don’t have the experience to…uh, I mean I’ve never…”

He trailed off. Seconds ticked by in silence. Then a few more. His shoulder muscles knotted tighter with each passing beat, and realization struck her with all the shock of a lightning bolt.

No. No way. He couldn’t be.

She left her seat and circled the island to stand beside him. “Are you telling me you’ve never had sex?”

His spine straightened, and he met her gaze. “Yes.”

Whoa. For a solid half minute, her brain fizzled out, and she couldn’t find two words to put together. Her mouth worked soundlessly. “You mean, at the hotel in Vegas…? The oral sex? Was that your first time?”

“No.” Shrugging off the hand she’d set on his forearm, he turned away, but not before she caught the stain of color filling his cheeks. “I’m not a monk, but I’ve never gone beyond oral.”

“How is that even…? You’re a handsome, successful, healthy, thirty-something-year-old male, and you’ve never gotten past third base? With anyone?”

He winced. “Not because I didn’t want to.”

“But…” Crap, she was approaching this all wrong. She shook her head, hoping to clear it. “I’m sorry. I’m not bashing your lifestyle choice. I-I’m just…stunned.”

“Remaining celibate wasn’t a conscious decision,” he said in a carefully modulated tone, as if they were discussing a business matter over a boardroom table. She could almost see him building his walls up, surrounding himself with the supercilious attitude he had down to an art.

That attitude was a shield.

How had she not realized it before? He acted all uptight as a way to protect himself. As someone who was well versed in internal shields, she should have made the connection sooner.

“Okay,” she said. “So if it wasn’t a conscious decision on your part, then why didn’t you find yourself a willing high-society lady and do the dirty?”

“I…” He cleared his throat. “I merely felt there were more important ways to spend my time than pursuing a bedmate.”

“A bedmate?” She snorted a laugh, hoping to break down his wall again. She hadn’t meant to goad him into rebuilding it in the first place, and she preferred relaxed Reece over this uptight version. “Oh, Hershey, you were born in the wrong century, pal.”

“Fine,” he snapped and, yes, that was more like it. “I had more important things to do than look for a fuck.”

“That’s better.” She waited a beat, but when he said nothing more, she prompted, “More important things like…?”

“Like making enough money to take care of my family.”

Not the answer she’d expected. “But your brothers all had their own careers. You didn’t have to provide for them.”

“Yes, I did. I do.” He paced away from her, did a lap around the kitchen. When he circled back, his expression was serious, and was that sorrow lurking in the depths of his eyes? “You have to understand, Greer could have let the foster care system sweep us up, separate us, but he worked his ass off to make sure we stayed together in our own home. He gave up his childhood to take care of us, and he didn’t have to.”

“So you gave up your adulthood.” Her heart cracked, just a bit. She went to him, circled her arms around his waist, and pressed her check against his spine. He was tense, all knotted, and her hug only tightened his muscles more. Wasn’t that always the way? Whenever she tried to help, she only made things worse. But she wasn’t letting go. This time, she knew exactly how to help.

“I didn’t give up anything,” Reece said, again using that restrained tone.

“What about college?”

“I went to college.”

“No, I mean…the whole college experience. Frat parties and questionable one-night stands. You didn’t do any of that?”

He lifted a shoulder. “I was ROTC and worked full time in the school’s IT department for money to send home to the twins and Jude. My free time I spent setting up DMW Systems.”

She huffed out a breath in disbelief. “You really are a workaholic.”

“Yes, I am.” He finally turned and faced her, jaw set. “I promised Greer years ago that I’d make damn sure we never had to scramble to survive again, and I’ve worked my ass off to keep that promise.”

Scrambling to survive. God, she knew how that felt. Their childhood experiences had been vastly different and yet surprisingly the same. And she got it. She got him. Understood why he’d ignored his own wants and needs all these years. It was equal parts dedication to his family and guilt.

But she wasn’t going to let him cast himself aside. Not anymore. She’d simply have to ease him into it. “I want an ice cream sundae for dessert.”