The Name of the Game (2 page)

He wished for the thousandth time she'd meet someone. She dated plenty, but as far as he could tell, discarded men like used tissues during the heart of flu season.

When she'd stopped seeing the sheriff she'd been involved with when he'd first met her, James had been sure she'd hook up with one of his brothers. Women like Gracie
always
went for guys like his brothers. At first he'd assumed Shane, because they'd hit it off so well, but that hope had been dashed as soon as Cecilia had shown up.

At his sister Maddie's wedding, his younger brother, Evan, had been all over Gracie, but to James's surprise she'd rebuffed his advances with that good-natured charm she turned on everyone but him. James still didn't understand why. Evan hadn't heard the word no since he was fourteen. His brother was a six-five, star NFL wide receiver. He'd been to the Pro Bowl. And while she flirted with him shamelessly, she hadn't acted. Gracie remained stubbornly unattached. Which irritated him more than if they were actually sleeping together; if Evan had sex with Gracie, she'd be off the table and his problems with her would be solved.

“Are you going to do something about that?” Shane's voice interrupted his thoughts.

James jerked his attention away from the staircase Gracie disappeared up and rested his palms against the marble countertops. “I don't know what you mean.”

His older brother's green eyes narrowed. In that moment, with that particular expression on his face, he looked the spitting image of their father, and James experienced the dull ache of loss that never went away, no matter how much time passed.

“The tension between the two of you is becoming annoying.”

“It's not tension,” James said in a cool, well-modulated tone. “It's dislike. There's a difference.”

Yes, they might have an undercurrent of chemistry, but it was crystal clear neither wanted anything to do with it.

He certainly didn't. He liked his women rational.

“Bullshit. Stop beating around the bush and take care of it before you get a permanent case of blue balls.”

“Charming as always.” James kept his face relaxed and impassive. He'd made damn sure no one knew the extent of his lust for Gracie, but of course he didn't fool Shane. “In case you haven't noticed, she's not a fan.”

“For a smart guy you sure are stupid.”

It was easy for guys like his brothers. They saw something they liked, and they went for it, consequences be damned.

James liked a little more planning than that. And while he'd put the insecurities of his youth to bed years ago, he was careful about his relationships. James raised a brow at Shane. “At a bare minimum I require my partners to respect me.”

Shane grinned. “Respect is overrated. Take her to bed and get it out of your system.”

An image of tangled sheets and a naked Gracie filled his mind, but James shook it off. “Mind your own business.”

“I don't understand you at all.”

That was pretty much par for the course. James had never been like the rest of them and never would be. Their baby sister, Maddie, might be the tiny one in the family, but she was all fierce and spirited like his brothers. James accepted a long time ago he was the odd man out, and he'd given up wishing he could be like them the night of the car accident, when his father had died and his sister had lain in a coma.

His siblings were impulsive. James was the reasonable one. They didn't get it and he didn't blame them. It was hard to explain to people who thrived on risk that he liked his life orderly. Neat. Discipline and structure had helped him survive and become the man he was today. It had saved him and he had no desire to go back. He liked his life boring and predictable, even if it meant nobody understood him.

Yes, like any red-blooded man, he'd like to go to bed with Gracie and lose himself in her body and all that heat. But he'd examined the situation from all angles and saw no practical reason to satiate his desire. If, on the off chance she agreed—a highly unlikely scenario as she'd made her dislike crystal clear—it would be a disaster. Their personalities were at complete odds and it would end with her hating him more than she already did.

Sex was the only upside.

While it was a considerable upside, in the end it would do more harm than good. Instinct told him that not knowing how she'd feel under his hands and mouth was a good thing. The last thing he needed was the memory of what it felt like to slide inside her. Or how it would feel when she came.

He shook his head to clear the illicit thoughts. In the end, they were oil and water. Incompatible in every way that mattered to him.

“Stop thinking and just do it already.” Shane's exasperated tone matched the expression on his face.

James didn't bother to explain what his brother would never understand. “Don't we have boxes to move?”

“Chicken shit,” Shane said.

“Smart,” James corrected.

“Well, if you won't do anything about the situation, at least stop rising to the bait. She wants a reaction.”

“I'm fairly certain she doesn't want anything from me.” James turned around and picked up a box, thinking through Shane's statement.

Why
did
he fight with her? He didn't fight with anyone else. As far as he could tell he was the only person Gracie didn't get along with. Was arguing a way to engage her? To hold her attention?

He couldn't dismiss the idea entirely. Not when he thought about how her sharp tongue made him hard. She might lay down the kindling, but he added the flame.

He must have a motive for engaging in repartee with Gracie. A motive he'd have to analyze at a later date when she wasn't around to distract him.

But to Shane's point, not rising to her bait was a concrete action he could take. He'd be around her the whole weekend. More than enough time to see the cause and effect of being cordial. He could be nice and polite for forty-eight hours. He turned the idea over in his mind, examining it from different angles, and couldn't see the harm. It would be a good test of her reactions, and his own. To see if the antagonism between them was habit, or the only way to deal with the subtle and inconvenient attraction that he fought against and she flat-out ignored. Once he conducted his experiment, and examined the outcomes, he'd come up with a reasonable hypothesis and course of action.

He'd ignore Gracie's barbs and be pleasant to her. He managed civility with colleagues and students at his university downtown every day; surely he could apply the same strategies here.

It was only a weekend. How hard could it be?

Chapter Two

Five hours later Gracie was exhausted, and cursing Cecilia's big closet. She eyed the shoebox on the top shelf in the back corner, hovering out of her reach. She stood on tiptoes, stretching her five feet, six inches to maximum height. Her fingertips brushed the box, which pushed it farther out of her reach. “Shit!”

She tried again but the shoes stayed firmly out of her grasp.

“Here, let me,” a deep voice said from behind.

She screeched, whirling around to see James leaning against the doorframe. She placed a hand over her pounding heart. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He straightened. “Let me help you.”

She eyed him with suspicion. “Why?”

His jaw hardened, his mouth opened, but then he shook his head and his features relaxed. “Because I'm taller than you and thought it would fulfill my daily chivalry quota.”

She resisted the urge to stick out her tongue. Childish, but he brought out the worst in her. She cocked a brow. “I bet you do have a quota, along with a checklist.”

“Correct. I store it in my analytics software.” His voice was totally deadpan.

“You know what's sad?” She planted her hands on her hips. “I don't think that's a joke.”

“I never joke. I have no sense of humor.” Expression stoic, he crossed his arms over his impossibly broad chest.

“So I've noticed.”

He shrugged. “It's not on the checklist.”

Not quite the response she'd been looking for. She frowned. When forced to spend time with the professor, their sparring matches were the one thing on which she could depend.

But he hadn't risen to the bait since their argument that morning.

The man had been downright nice. Which, strangely, turned out to be as irritating as when he argued with her. More so, if she was honest. She couldn't start being nice to him now; it threw off their whole dynamic, and then where would she be?

She gave him an overly sweet smile. “Do you think I need a big, strong man to come to my rescue?”

“No. Just a taller one.” His voice was so mild it raised the fine hairs at the nape of her neck.

“Don't be cute.” Wow. Now didn't she sound petulant? She should be rejoicing in his cease-fire, but instead she kept pushing his buttons, hoping for some kind of reaction she knew what to do with. She should have him lapping out of the palm of her hand, but he never played by the rules.

He straightened and his chest seemed to expand, spreading the
Empire Strikes Back
logo on his T-shirt ominously over his broad muscles. With a sigh, he took a step toward her.

The urge to step back roared to life. How silly. She had nothing to be nervous about. He was a geeky professor.

He advanced on her with a look in his evergreen eyes she'd never seen before. He looked . . . determined.

She gulped.

His long legs ate up the floor separating them and her heart rate sped up, her mouth going dry as she fought the desire to retreat.

This was James. The most harmless man on the planet.

He'd eaten a salad for lunch. A salad! With lemon juice and olive oil for dressing, while the rest of them ate Italian beef sandwiches.

She squared her shoulders, tugging at her top. She was not nervous. She didn't get nervous.

He stopped inches from her. He was close. Closer than he'd ever been. And they were alone. She couldn't even hear the distant sounds of the movers.

She didn't know how the silent pact started, but they had always made sure they were never left alone together. And here he was, changing the rules.

She sucked in a breath. Oh no. He smelled good. Like work and leather and man. They'd been doing manual labor for hours; how could he smell so good? Suddenly he seemed too tall. Too broad. Her vision of him expanded as he stretched outside the box where she kept him. Throat dry, she swallowed. “What do you think you're doing?”

“I'm being helpful.” He smiled, and to her shock one dimple deepened his left cheek. Where had that been hiding?

It occurred to her she'd never seen it because he never smiled at her. He only glowered. The glower she could handle, the dimple she could not.

Heat radiated off him, warming her from head to toe, making her stomach jump, suspiciously like arousal. This was not a turn-on. If
he
turned her on she needed to have sex ASAP. She frowned. “Stop it. You're being annoying again.”

His gaze met hers. This close, his eyes were startling green mixed with hints of blue, thus explaining their cool undertones.

His attention drifted to her mouth, and to her dismay her breath caught. She crossed her arms over her chest to hide what felt like nipple tightening, tapped one foot, and pointed at the shoebox. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

His lips quirked. “I thought my help annoyed you.”

If he could play it cool, so could she. She shrugged. “You're here. Might as well make yourself useful.”

“I suppose you'll have to suffer through the torture.” He shook his head, his full mouth creased in feigned sympathy. “However will you sleep tonight?”

With a scornful twist of her lips, she said, “I can assure you, when I'm lying in bed at night, you're the last person who comes to mind.”

It was a lie. She did think of him sometimes, but only to ruminate on how much he maddened her. Nothing else. Well, okay, she had, on occasion, imagined how horrible he must be in bed. But that barely counted.

He didn't speak, just stepped closer, his expression filled with a healthy dose of skepticism.

Was he trying to intimidate her? Because it wouldn't work.

She had years of practice handling men. A skill she'd developed quickly when she'd turned fifteen and developed double-D breasts seemingly overnight. The first time a man hadn't been able to tear his gaze from her cleavage, her momma had sat her down and they'd had a long talk about how Gracie had to be careful. She had taken the lesson to heart and learned to stay one step ahead of men ever since.

She raised a brow. “Is there any particular reason you're standing right on top of me?”

One large hand slid onto her hip, making her jump. The heat of his palm seemed to sear right through her, leaving an imprint on her skin through her jeans. “You're in my way.”

“What?”

His fingers squeezed her hip, sending a jolt of something she refused to name ping-ponging through her. He bent his head, and when he spoke his voice was low. “You're in my way.”

And then he pushed her to the side.

She swayed, the imprint of his hand still branding her skin. With ease, he picked up the box and handed it to her with what looked a hell of a lot like a smirk.

Her mouth fell open, but before she could say anything, Cecilia called out, “Gracie?”

Heat fanned over her neck, splashing onto her cheeks.

A moment later Cecilia stood in the doorway of the closet, cell in hand. She glanced back and forth between the two of them. “What's going on?”

Gracie held the shoebox with an iron grip. “Nothing. Nothing at all. What could be going on?” The words tumbled too quickly from her lips, making her sound guilty when she had absolutely nothing to be guilty about. He'd helped her. That was all. She cleared her throat. “What's up?”

A small smile on her lips, Cecilia's brows rose. She held up her phone. “That was Maddie. They left Revival early and will be here in an hour. We thought it would be fun to go to dinner tonight before the craziness of the weekend starts. Just the six of us.”

The six of them. Mitch and Maddie. Shane and Cecilia. Her and . . . She shot a sidelong glance at the man standing silent next to her.

James.

“What about Evan?” she asked, in a hope-filled voice. If he went too, it would be less like couples and she'd have his flirting to distract her.

Something flashed in James's expression, but it was gone before she could decipher its meaning.

“He's got a team charity event tonight,” Cecilia said.

Ugh! Her mind frantically flew through the names of other friends who might attend, but she kept her mouth shut as it would be too obvious she didn't want to be James's date. She cast another discreet glance in his direction. He studied her with a sharp gaze behind his black frames. She hastily looked away.

She'd spent all day with him. She had to see him all weekend. She didn't want to go to dinner with him too. “I don't have anything to wear.”

“You can borrow something of mine,” Cecilia said.

Ha! Gracie probably outweighed her friend by at least thirty pounds. She eyed Cecilia's small chest. “Let's ignore the fact that I couldn't fit one leg into any of your clothes; they're all packed away.”

Cecilia waved her hand. “We have reservations but we can change them to somewhere casual and you can wear what you have on.”

Gracie wrinkled her nose. “You want me to wear clothes I've moved in all day? No, thank you.”

“Come on, it will be fun. Shane knows the owner of this new place and already got us a prime table. I promise you'll love it.” Cecilia turned to James and held her hands in prayer, her cell sticking out like a steeple. “You're in, aren't you?”

His vision flickered over Gracie, then he smiled at his future sister-in-law. “Sure, I'm in.”

“Great! It's our treat to repay you for all your work.” Ce-Ce beamed a smile at him before shifting her attention to Gracie. “Please? I have a black dress that I'm sure will work.”

Gracie looked her friend up and down. “Does it stretch?”

Cecilia grinned. “Enough to give everyone a heart attack.”

Fantastic. But how could she say no without looking like an ingrate? She sighed. “All right.”

“I'll go call Maddie.” And with that, Cecilia was off, leaving Gracie alone with James.

She swung around to face him. “What did you go and do that for?”

“Do what?” James asked. Was that amusement in his voice?

Gracie pointed toward the now empty doorway. “Do you really want to go to dinner with the love brigade?”

One brow rose up his forehead. “Afraid people will think we're a couple?”

“As if. Nobody in their right mind would think that.”

He stiffened. “This isn't about us. It's about Shane and Cecilia.”

“There is no
us
,” she hissed.

He stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment before shrugging. “Suit yourself. Don't go.”

Then he walked away without a backward glance, leaving her alone in the closet.

Something squeezed tight in her chest. Something that felt a lot like loneliness. Which was silly. She had everything she needed. Her life was perfect.

James sat with Shane and their brother-in-law, Mitch, in the mess of his brother's new living room, surrounded by boxes the movers had left, while they waited for the girls to finish getting ready.

“Nice place you've got here,” Mitch said, examining the spacious room with its high ceilings, his beer clutched loosely in one hand. “Although both of you moving the day before your engagement party seems like biting off more than even you can chew.”

Shane shrugged and glanced up the wide staircase leading to the second floor. “Ce-ce didn't want to wait.”

Mitch eyed him with that speculative lawyer's expression he wore. “My sister is hardly the impatient type.”

Shane grinned. “I guess she couldn't wait to shack up with me.”

Mitch shuddered as though the room had taken on a sudden chill. “I'm not sure I'm ever going to get used to you and my sister.”

Shane cocked his head, grinning. “What are you talking about? I'm the traumatized one. I'm still having nightmares of when you and
my
sister stayed with us last time. Seriously, man, if you're going to do that kind of shit, get a hotel room.”

Mitch laughed, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “Don't pretend you weren't trying to outdo me.”

James shook his head at the both of them. It was just his luck that Mitch and Shane were the two most competitive men on the planet. And now, involved with each other's sisters, James was forced to endure endless discussions about who was more disgusted over the near constant displays of affection exhibited by the couples. They never seemed to grow tired of the game and constantly ribbed each other.

While James was disgusted by both of them, he gave a slight advantage to Mitch, since Maddie was his sister too, after all. He had to agree with Shane that it was rather disconcerting to walk into a room and catch his brother-in-law's hands up his sweet sister's top.