The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(18)

Her head jerks back. “What?”

I know she heard me, so I don’t bother answering. In a perfectly timed display, two fighting cats screech and bolt right between us. Winnie tracks them as they disappear through a doorway. “You can’t be serious.”

I say nothing, just standing here, as Winnie starts to unravel. Her eyes flash. “Now, listen here, you big—”

“Hey, kids. Are we playing nice?” Chevy left a few hours ago, but he’s back, ambling over to Winnie and standing shoulder to shoulder with the woman who is now glaring daggers—no, they’re more like machetes—at me.

“Everything okay over here?” Chevy asks.

“Fine,” I say, and Winnie must really dislike that word because the anger in her face intensifies.

“Right as a ninety-degree angle,” Winnie mutters.

“Good,” Chevy says. “I’d hate to think the two of you weren’t getting along.”

“We get along just fine,” I say.

Winnie’s eyes become slits. Chevy’s phone rings, and he glances down at the screen with a grimace. “Excuse me a second.”

When he walks outside, Winnie and I are left simmering in an electric tension. We stare for a few long seconds, and it feels dangerous to hold her gaze for this long. She must feel the same way, because she looks away as she steps forward, holding out my gloves.

Call me selfish, call me a total Neanderthal, but I want those blue eyes on ME. I grab the gloves but take Winnie’s hand too. She jolts a little, then blinks up at me. Her confusion is evident, and well-warranted. I’ve been careful not to touch her today, even casually, because the attraction I feel without touching Winnie is bad enough.

And yet … I want her close like this. I want her closer.

It’s a terrible one, but before I can convince my thumb of that, it traces a line up the inside of her wrist.

Winnie’s lips part, and she releases a soft exhale.

Something I don’t want to name hangs between us, or maybe it passes between us like a signal or current. For the moment, my headache is gone, replaced by a heady and heavy sense of want. It’s deeper than just a physical connection, though it’s absolutely that too. I feel like some invisible thread has wound its way through me, tethering us together.

“Sorry about that,” Chevy says, walking back inside.

I immediately drop Winnie’s hand, and she jumps. I feel like I’ve been scorched, starting with where our hands met and stretching halfway up my arm. The sensation only stops when I step back. Way back.

I need to regain some semblance of control, of dignity, of normalcy. My thoughts, my body, my everything are all out of whack where Winnie is concerned. And if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s being out of control of a situation.

Even more so—out of control of myself.

Winnie bolts for the door without a backward glance. “See you later tonight, Chevy! Have fun on your date.”

And then she’s gone.

Chevy’s hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes roughly. He raises his brows, a smirk on his face. “Got dinner plans? Because we need to have a word about my sister.”





CHAPTER SIX





James



Chevy hasn’t shut up since we sat down in a booth, but none of the conversation has related to Winnie, and Mari is about to bring out dessert. I’m not sure where the pie will fit after the fried chicken I just inhaled. Knowing how good my birthday cake was, I’ll find room.

So far, Chevy and I have discussed college football, which ended quickly because I’m a Longhorn and he’s an Aggie; pro football, where we both lamented that we don’t have a Texas team we can really get behind; and beer, which ended quickly after Chevy admitted his preferred drink is a big-name light beer.

Mari drops off two slices of pie, bourbon chocolate for me and apple for Chevy. “Was dinner bueno?” she asks, smiling.

“You couldn’t tell by our empty plates?” Chevy asks.

Mari’s laugh fills the room. “A woman is never going to say no to compliments.”

“I thought Big Mo did all the cooking,” Chevy teases, and Mari swats him.

“They’re my recipes. Well,” she amends. “They started as my recipes. The pie is all Mo. He’s quite the baker.”

“The food was excellent,” I say, more to end the exchange than anything. I want to eat my pie, and I want to go home. I’ve had enough people for one day. For several days. Maybe for a week.

Mari slides the check to Chevy. I try to grab it, but he holds it out of reach and already has cash in hand. “Keep the change,” he says, then winks at me. “I asked you out, so dinner’s on me.”

“Does this mean I’ll get a second date?” I ask, taking a bite of pie, letting the flavors explode on my tongue. It is every bit as good as it sounded. No, better.

Chevy chuckles. “That depends.” He grips his fork like a weapon and pins me with a surprisingly intense gaze. “What are your intentions with my sister?”

I choke on my pie. Chevy passes me a stack of napkins, a knowing smile on his face.

“What?” I ask, when I’m finally composed enough to speak.

“I said, what are your intentions with Winnie?”