Reese's Wild Wager. Barbara McCauley
Читать онлайн книгу.
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 woman was unbelievable.
“Tours don’t begin until ten.” Reese glared at her. “You can purchase tickets at the front desk.”
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