The Name of the Game Page 7

  Unfortunately for James, she was surprisingly quick. He waved at her, and being a bad nephew, veered down a long corridor leading to the elevators.

  She called after him, “James. Oh, James, dear.”

  The old woman had a slight case of dementia that was acting up this evening. No matter how many times he told her he was a PhD, not an MD, she kept getting confused. Thirty minutes ago she’d cornered him to discuss her bunions. God only knew what she’d bring up next, and James didn’t intend to wait around to find out.

  “Be right back, Auntie.” He disappeared around the corner, jogged to the exit sign, and slipped through the door before she rounded the corner.

  He stepped into the stairwell and froze in surprise.

  Gracie sat on the steps, her head in her hands. She lifted her face and James frowned at the faint shadows under her lashes.

  She blew out a long breath.

  The door closed with a resounding thud.

  She was as gorgeous as ever and made his throat go dry.

  Their gazes locked, then slid away.

  “Are you following me?” She shifted and crossed her legs, smoothing the wrinkles from the clingy fabric.

  A sudden urge came over him to slide his hands up her dress to stroke across her thighs. To spread her legs, fall to his knees on the step below her and scrape his teeth along her skin. He pressed against the door, the cool metal seeping through his dress shirt and bringing him back to the subject at hand. “I’m hiding from my great aunt.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Shane called me doctor and now she thinks I’m, well, a doctor.” He slid his hands into his pockets, fingering the sharp edge of his keys. “She has a list of ailments I definitely don’t want to discuss.”

  Gracie’s gorgeous lips tilted slightly at the corners.

  “What are you hiding from?” he asked.

  She bit her bottom lip. “Why do you think I’m hiding?”

  They were alone. For the second time in twenty-four hours. The small space was filled with the tension that had plagued them all day. He shrugged. “Since I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you be anything but the life of the party.”

  She stared at him for several long moments before she finally tilted her head to the side, sending her wild mane of curls tumbling over her shoulder. “What did Declan’s dad mean when he said you used to be like him?”

  Out of all the things she could have asked him, this was the last thing he expected. He paused; this wasn’t something he liked to discuss. He pointed to the spot on the stairs next to her. “May I?”

  Her throat worked as she swallowed hard before nodding. “It’s a free country.”

  Maybe he’d been wrong before. Maybe it was time to stop avoiding the situation. Maybe he needed to start applying the same principles with her that he utilized in his relationships with other women.

  He’d been playing her game since he’d met her, but maybe it was time to stop. “What’s changed since yesterday?”

  It was the type of direct question he would have asked any woman. He didn’t do well with hints and suggestions, instead preferring direct communication.

  She started, as though he’d slapped her. She shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  He raised a brow. “Really? Because you haven’t called me a geek in the last twenty-four hours, and I’m sure that’s a new record.”

  Her knuckles whitened as she clasped her hands tighter. “I’m abiding by our agreement to call a truce.”

  He dropped his attention to her mouth, lingering there longer than was polite. “You didn’t make any sarcastic comments when I passed on dessert at my mother’s.”

  Her pink tongue snuck out to swipe along her bottom lip. “It’s your body. What do I care if you treat it like a temple?”

  He chuckled, and her blue eyes darkened as she crossed and recrossed her legs. He grinned. “I ran ten miles today.”

  Her shoulders straightened and her expression flashed with her customary fire. “That’s disgusting. You’re sick in the head.”

  He laughed, and straightening from his position against the wall, took a step toward her.

  She sucked in a breath. “What are you doing?”

  He gestured to the space next to her. “I’m sitting down.”

  Another faint flush stained her cheeks. “Oh . . . okay.”

  He took a seat on the step and his thigh brushed hers. She tensed, but instead of giving her space, he decided not to move.

  She didn’t shift away, but he suspected that was more pride than instinct, because every muscle in her body seemed taut.

  She watched him defiantly, a challenge in her eyes, but her chest moved in shallow, rapid breaths.

  He could kiss her and she’d let him. The tension was so off the charts, all hell would probably break loose. The image was all too vivid and he pushed it away. Sex would not solve anything. If she was an ordinary woman maybe he could let passion take over, but that wasn’t possible. Gracie’s life was too intertwined with his own.

  But what they were doing wasn’t working, and someone needed to be the logical one in their non-relationship. He placed his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together. “I’m having a difficult time finding my way in this truce of ours.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He looked at her, but she stared down at her tan heels as though they were the most fascinating shoes she’d ever seen. In a soft voice, he said, “I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”

  Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Me either.”

  He opted for as honest as he could manage at the moment. “But I don’t know how to be friends with you either.”

  She glanced at him before looking away. “What does it matter if we like each other?”

  “We’ll be seeing each other for years to come. Wouldn’t you prefer they weren’t filled with animosity?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I would.”

  “So we want the same thing?”

  “Yes.” Next to him, her thigh muscle was rigid. He resisted the urge to stroke her leg and soothe all that tension obviously beating away inside her. “Have any ideas on how to be friends?”

  The laughter that bubbled from her seemed to surprise her. “Not a one.”

  Their eyes met, and everything stilled between them.

  It was right there, hovering, and he could practically feel his lips on hers. But he didn’t take the opportunity. Instead he said, in a voice far too filled with smoke and desire, “I’ve never made you laugh before. I like it.”

  She yanked her attention away, focusing on the door that led back to the party. “We should go back to the party.”

  “We should.”

  Neither of them moved.

  Along the hard muscles of his thigh, her softness pressed against him. His fingers tightened as he fought the urges pounding away inside him.

  They sat like that, thigh to thigh, breathing jerky and uneven, shoulders touching, for so long he finally understood the expression “cut the tension with a knife.” The air between them was sharp, suspended, as unspoken desire, long checked, roared to greedy, demanding life.

  When he could stand it no more, he stood and turned to face her.

  She looked at him, her blue eyes hungry and confused, mirroring his own knotted emotions. He put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want to argue anymore.”

  “I know. Me either.” She licked her lips. “We’ll have to figure the rest out.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Other people seem to like you, so I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it one day.” She smiled, and it dazzled him just like it dazzled everyone else.

  Christ.

  He cleared his throat. “Enjoy the rest of the party.”

  “You too.”

  They got caught in another long, tangled look that, in the heat department, could rival any sex he’d ever had.

  And, just like that, he understood.

  The anim
osity. The constant arguing. The baiting. He’d assumed it was annoyance due to their many differences and incompatible personalities and the pesky attraction that lurked between them. But he’d been wrong. It was more than mere attraction; the chemistry was powerful, almost tangible. Unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

  It defied reason and logic.

  His gaze dipped to her lush, red mouth, already wet, parted, and waiting for him. Before insanity could consume him, he took the only reasonable path available, and got the hell out of there.

  Chapter Six

  The click of the heavy door reverberated in Gracie’s ears as James left without a backward glance. Without the warm press of his body next to her, the cold concrete seeped through the thin fabric of her dress, making her aware of just how hot her skin was. She blinked at the gray landing.

  What was that?

  They’d been making an effort. Had gone an entire conversation without snapping, but at what cost? Without the animosity, the sexual tension between them was off the charts. Sitting there next to him had made her so hot, at one point she thought she might spontaneously combust.

  She sucked in a breath and blew it out with a long exhale. She couldn’t be his friend. All her normal interactions with men didn’t apply. She couldn’t flirt outrageously.

  She remembered when she’d first met Charlie. As soon as they’d laid eyes on each other, Gracie had known it was on. They’d circled each other, their innuendos increasingly bold, until she’d plopped herself into his lap and whispered an invitation that would make Mae West proud. They’d been in bed about thirty seconds later.

  She tried to envision employing the same tactics with James and cringed, unable to picture it. She couldn’t act like that with him.

  This was James. Even with the heat in his evergreen eyes that made her question everything she’d ever believed about him, she couldn’t imagine it.

  The door opened and she swelled with hope that James had come back to finish what they’d started. How had this happened? Was it only yesterday that she’d been content and secure in their antagonism?

  A second later she deflated when her brother stood in the doorway. He flashed his trademark lazy smile. “I thought I’d find you here.”

  Back home he wore nothing but jeans and T-shirts, but tonight he was quite handsome in black pants and a French-blue dress shirt. She put on her brightest, happiest expression. “Need a break from all the fawning women?”

  As their momma had always said, he had the face of an angel but the devil in his eyes, and women itched to get under his good-natured facade. They never did, but it wasn’t from lack of trying.

  Sam plopped himself down on the steps next to her. “What are you hiding from? It’s not like you to slink away by yourself.”

  She shrugged. “It’s been a long weekend and the crowd is getting to me. I’m ready to go home.”

  “Sounds plausible,” he said, voice a slow drawl. “Now tell me the truth.”

  Shoulders sagging, she sighed. “Isn’t being tired enough?”

  “Sure, if it was true. But I think you finally figured out that you have the hots for the professor, and you’re not happy about it,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

  She wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. God, it sounded worse than she’d feared. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Sam chuckled and swung his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and giving her a noogie. She swatted him away. “Hey! Watch the hair.”

  “There’s not a damn thing I can do to mess up that mop of yours.” He leaned back, resting his elbows on the steps behind them.

  Needing to change the subject, she focused on their genetic disparity. She poked his ridiculously flat stomach. “Do you know how unfair it is that you got the thin genes?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Don’t play that card with me. So what are you going to do about it?”

  “Do about it?” Maybe if they didn’t speak his name she could pretend they were discussing a different man. “There’s nothing to be done. We’re hardly compatible.”

  Sam straightened, scrubbing a hand over his blond stubble. “You’ll feel better if you take some action.”

  “Like what?” James would be in her life forever. It wasn’t as easy as just sleeping with him. As much as she hated to admit it, the idea of him bringing someone like Lindsey Lord to Thanksgiving dinner was like a jab to the stomach. They’d never even kissed and she was already jealous of the shadow woman sure to be sitting across from her one day. She gritted her teeth.

  She wasn’t even a jealous person.

  Sam shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I know you. And you’ll feel better if you stop stewing. You never were a good stewer.”

  Gracie couldn’t see a solution. She blew out a long breath.

  Sam bumped her shoulder, and pointed toward the door. “We should go back to the party.”

  She sighed. “Oh, all right.”

  Two minutes later they stood talking to Shane and Cecilia, but Gracie was already distracted, searching the crowd for James.

  Damn it.

  In a blink of an eye he’d become her center of focus. Which was crazy, but she found herself unable to stop. She bit her bottom lip when she spotted him across the room, talking to Charlie, of all people. They were locked in some sort of discussion.

  Well, now, wasn’t that every girl’s fantasy come to life. The cop and the professor. All that stern authority. The hard, measured stares. She shivered. How many of James’s female students had fantasies about him? Pictured him turning all that careful control on them?

  Throat dry, Gracie swallowed hard.

  Charlie nodded his dark head in agreement to something James said, and then laughed. Were they talking about her? Probably not.

  Unobserved, she could drink James in, following the lines of his broad shoulders, the lean back, and flat abdomen.

  “Excuse me,” a man said.

  She jerked her attention back to the conversation to find Sam, Shane, Cecilia, and an older man she didn’t recognize all staring at her. She straightened, ignoring the heat filling her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

  The unnamed man held up a piece of cake. “Did I hear Cecilia correctly that you made this cake?”

  Gracie cast a questioning glance at Cecilia, who nodded. She turned back to the man. “Yes, I did.”

  “This is the best cake I’ve ever had.” He took another bite as though to emphasize his point.

  She never got tired of compliments about her baking, especially considering she was self-taught. When she’d been younger she’d had dreams of going to pastry school, but she’d never had the chance. She smiled broadly. “Thank you. I’m so glad you’re enjoying it.” She held out her arms, presenting her friend. “You can thank Ce-ce. It’s her favorite.”

  Cecilia shook her head. “I picked the flavor, the rest is on you.”

  The man juggled his plate into one hand before reaching into his pocket to pull out a business card. “I’m Ron Sorenson. My daughter is turning sixteen and I’d like to talk to you about doing a cake for her birthday party.”

  “Gracie Roberts.” She took the offered card, running her finger along the edge, her heart swelling with pride. “Thank you, that’s a lovely offer, but I don’t live in Chicago.”

  “I don’t care,” the man said, a determined expression sliding over his face. “I’ll pay extra for the delivery. My wife insisted I find out who you were and demand your services.” He smiled and gave her a wink. “She’s not a woman you say no to.”

  Gracie laughed, slipping the card into her small purse. “I’m sure we could work something out. How about I give you a call on Monday to discuss the details?”

  “Wonderful.” He took another bite of the white raspberry cake and his eyeballs practically rolled in pleasure. He turned to Shane and Cecilia. “You’re lucky to have found such a gem.”

  Cecilia nodded, looking sophisticated and elegant in a shimmery blue-white dress, her
hair piled on top of her head. “We love her too, and not just for her baked goods.”

  “Thank you,” Gracie said, smiling. “My momma taught me everything I know.”

  “You’re not professionally trained?” Ron asked.

  It was one of her biggest regrets, but such was life. She’d made her choices and wouldn’t change a second of the time she’d spent with her mom. “I suppose that depends on your definition of trained. But I didn’t go to culinary school. I’ve always done my own thing.”

  “You do it quite well.” He pointed to her purse. “Don’t forget Monday.”

  “I won’t.”

  He walked away and Gracie turned to Shane and Cecilia. “Ha. Look at that. Knowing you guys is paying off already.”

  Cecilia pointed after the man. “Do you know who that is?”

  “It’s Ron Sorenson,” Gracie quipped.

  Shane slid his hand to rest on Cecilia’s hip. “He’s the mayor’s chief of staff.”

  “Oh, well, that’s fun.” Gracie got the impression she was supposed to be impressed, but, knowing little about Chicago politics, his name didn’t have much impact. “I promise to make his daughter a birthday cake she’ll never forget.”

  Cecilia shook her head. “You don’t understand. His daughter’s sweet sixteen party will have two hundred of the most influential people in Chicago attending. This could be huge for your business, Gracie.”

  The implications finally struck her and she glanced at her brother.

  He smiled. “Sounds pretty cool.”

  Gracie’s brows furrowed. “But I don’t live in Chicago. My business is in Revival.”

  “Maybe it’s time to expand,” Shane said, with all the practicality of a man who’d never encountered a business problem he couldn’t handle.

  “It’s one cake.” Besides, she wasn’t equipped to handle a large influx of customers. She’d designed her business around Revival. She worked out of her house in her lemon-colored kitchen with all the commercial appliances she needed. She made cupcakes for little girls’ birthday parties, and cookies for the PTA. Her business was successful, profitable, and small. The way she liked it.