And they were nearly an hour early. Her butt had gone numb from the wooden stool by the time their guests arrived at the club. Fortunately, this head of marketing for the vodka company was still jet-lagged and called it a night early. Ryder had floated the entire drive back, thrilled that he’d nailed the meeting. Despite the exceedingly long drive back to Foothills, he talked the entire way. Claire tuned him out before they even left the city limits. Maybe she didn’t listen to him, either.
She was exhausted by the time they got home. At well past ten, her bedtime had passed hours ago. The adrenaline from the lights and sounds of the club was still raging though, so she left Ryder while he crashed on the makeshift bed on the floor.
Restless, she headed to the kitchen, but she wasn’t hungry. Not for food, anyway. With the rest of the house asleep, she headed down to the entertainment room, considering trying her hand at billiards to take the edge off the edginess she always found after a long evening of entertaining strangers for the sake of Ryder’s career.
Crashing through thecluster of balls and sinking into the corner pocket, Grady’s cue ball was another nail in the coffin of a weird, fucked-up week. His cheek was throbbing, and that wasn’t the half of it.
Watching Claire stroll out, arm-in-arm with Ryder, grinning and downright beaming, was more than he could take.
Then he’d about torn Ryder’s head off. Not Ryder’s fault that Grady couldn’t stop thinking about Claire. But after Becca, he didn’t give a shit about Ryder’s dating habits. Sort of.
He shouldn’t care about romancing Claire right out from under him. But, despite both Hattie and Asher telling him to fight, he wasn’t that guy. If she loved Ryder, he wouldn’t stand in the way.
Rolling his eyes, he recalled his latest awkward moment with his brother. Just as they were leaving for their hot date in Seattle, Ryder stopped in to have about their strangest chat yet. Dressed in a slick outfit with slim black jeans and coordinating shiny black tee, hair styled with flawless attention, Ryder looked the part of the successful marketing schmoozer. “Hey man. I’m sorry about what happened between us before.”
“Okay...” he’d responded.
“She’d said it was already over before anything happened, I swear.” Ryder’s eyes had been wide with regret, and he’d nodded meaningfully.
“Good to know.” Know what, exactly?
“Anyway. Claire said you and I should communicate more. She’s... too good for me.”
Grady stared at his brother blankly.
“We’re done. Just wanted to, uh, you know, get back to the way we were. You know. Talk to each other more. Like brothers.” Ryder had patted him firmly on the back and left Grady oddly confused in the green room, standing awkwardly as he watched his self-absorbed brother heading out with a woman that waswaytoo good for him.
When they got back from the club, Grady hadn’t been nearly prepared enough to handle Claire. Having learned from his mistake with the whiskey that had led to the kiss that had knocked the entire planet off its axis, he planned to keep a clear head until she left. But nothing was as intoxicating as Claire. In that outfit. With that lip parked between her teeth.
At the sound of footsteps that he shouldn’t know as well as he did, that shouldn’t set his pulse into critical rhythm, he turned and felt warmer and fuzzier than all the whiskey in the house could have induced. Claire sauntered into the room. A narrow window of skin was visible between the top of the tall boots and the bottom of the short dress. The drape of the dress revealed a hint of shadow between her breasts.
When his brain recovered enough to shift his gaze up to her face, well, at the sound of her clearing her throat anyway, he tried to hide his breathless ogle. She smiled back at him, her hazel eyes hooded with quiet confidence. Must have had a hell of a night.
Chiding himself and the whisper of hope he’d nearly succumb to, he lowered the cue stick.
“Want a partner?” she asked as she stepped close and slid the cue out of his hand, teasing her fingertips along the smooth shaft.
He tried to respond, but he couldn’t manage to form a coherent thought. Not that it would have made a difference; his tongue was tied into so many knots a sailor wouldn’t have been able to loosen it.
Claire reached into the pocket that he’d recklessly knocked the cue ball into. Without comment, she set it back on the table and took his next shot for him. Across the table, she leaned forward, giving him the closest look at heaven he’d ever seen. A hint of her strapless pink bra peaked out. Just a little more shifting, and those magnificent breasts would be free. With a crack, she nailed it and sank the ball he’d been going for earlier.
Clearing his throat, he found his voice. “Nice time at the club?”
A husky laugh escaped her lips. “I hate schmoozing. My clientele doesn’t care what I look like, as long as I have a soothing voice and a gentle touch. Last time, thank goodness.”
Grady got lost on “gentle touch,” picturing those long fingers of hers gliding along his own shaft.
Last time?
“Grady, I’ve been wondering. Where did you come from? You’re not anything like the rest of your family.” She leaned against the side of the table and held out the cue for him.
He blinked his way back to the present and accepted the offered pool cue. “I appreciate the compliment. Apparently, I have a lot in common with my father.”
“You do look a lot like your mother.”
“Ouch.”
“Seriously. It’s not a bad thing. She’s beautiful. You’ve got her eyes, almost, plus her height and fierce set to your jaw.”
