Fifteen minutes later, Skye stepped into the garage and blew out a breath in the cool air. So much for leaving tonight.
She’d clean the dang carpet tonight, and she’d get out of here first thing in the morning.
And she’d permanently erase that kiss from her memory.
Wipe it clean.
As though it hadn’t happened.
She touched her lips.
How had that happened?
She couldn’t count the number of times Beck and his friends had jumped out and scared her as a kid. And since he’d had his costume party here last Halloween, she’d known he had that closet of costumes in the other basement bedroom.
But what was supposed to be a friendly, funny prank had most definitely not gone as planned.
There was no sense of victory, nothing funny about it.
She was a heel.
And she’d pulled Nicholas into it.
And then she’d nearly forgotten her own name when she’d found Wyatt shirtless again. With rippling muscles in his back and arms, that perfect dusting of hair across his broad, solid chest, and the adorable charm of those grapes smeared across his perfect, denim-clad butt.
She was a heel who had suddenly wanted to know if his skin would be hot or cool under her fingers. If he’d let her feel the ridges of his abs.
How they’d taste if she licked them.
She’d never wanted to lick Steven.
Not like that.
And here she was, unable to forget that kiss—that surprising kiss, that kiss that had made her forget her own name, that kiss that she hadn’t wanted to end—and lusting after a man she’d mostly disliked the vast majority of her life.
What in the world was going on with her?
Her family was right.
She wasn’t herself. She hadn’t been taking good care of herself, and now not only was she suffering, she was making others around her suffer as well.
She needed to talk to Wyatt. Apologize. For the kiss, and for startling him. He needed to know the costumes weren’t Nicholas’s fault so he didn’t give the poor boy any grief.
Nicholas worshipped his uncle. It would put a dent in the kid’s confidence if Wyatt went all disciplinarian on him.
Mr. Don’t make a mess. Mr. Everything always in its place.
And who passed up the Chips Ahoy in the cabinets for granola bars and grapes? They were on vacation.
And who kissed men who passed up the Chips Ahoy?
Apparently, she did.
She yanked at the steam cleaner and pulled it into the house. Neither of them had parked in the garage. Wyatt was probably doing the gentlemanly thing and leaving it open for her—manners were paramount to everything else back home. However, she hadn’t wanted to get blocked in so she could get out of here without having to ask him to move.
As if it mattered.
She was definitely staying tonight.
At least she’d have one more opportunity to enjoy the whirlpool.
And she’d be locking the door this time.
Her mind flashed to the image of a shirtless Wyatt again—the way his back muscles rippled beneath his taut skin, the innate grace of his movements, his thick biceps and corded forearms moving in an erotic dance.
And that kiss—hot and hard and demanding.
She’d wanted more.
She’d lost her freaking mind.
And now her breathing was shallow again, and the heat in her face, in her neck and chest and stomach, had nothing to do with the warmth in the garage.
It was all about Wyatt.
Wyatt Owens.
Pain in her butt, tormenting her all her life, Mr. Don’t Make A Mess, anal-retentive Wyatt.
Was six months long enough to get over a broken engagement?
Or was this weird vibe happening between them simply because she hadn’t dated anyone since Steven walked out of her life?
She lugged the steam cleaner down the hall to the game room where she attacked the grape residue with an initial squirt of stain-remover. All seemed to be quiet upstairs, so she assumed the guys were getting tucked in for the night.
Or probably Wyatt was showering.
Naked.
She fanned her cheeks. Hoo, boy. Thinking about Wyatt naked was wrong.
And also hot.
His time in the military had been good to him. He’d always been tall, but he’d also been lanky. Not like he was now, sculpted like a chiseled Greek god with a chest that she wanted to rake her fingers down and an ass she hadn’t gotten to grab.
Yep, she was out of here first thing in the morning. She’d get a hotel in Tahoe, download one of those hook-up apps, and have some fun.
Dip her toes back into normal dating waters.
With someone other than one of her brother’s best friends.
Decision made, she turned to head back to her room to unpack for the night while the stain remover soaked into the carpet.
And came face-to-shoulder with Wyatt.
He’d changed into a navy T-shirt that made his eyes darker and more intense, and instead of his perfectly fitted jeans, he wore gray athletic shorts. She ducked her head while she took a step back, surreptitiously studying the sculpted muscle in his calves and the hint of the solid plane of his thighs above his knees.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then forced herself to look up at him as if all was normal. “Nicholas asleep?”
“He’s reading. Look, Skye, I’m—”
“You didn’t yell at him, did you?”
Irritation flickered in the depths of his eyes. “You think I’d yell at a kid?”
“You looked mad enough to skin a baby rabbit.” She leaned a hip against the pool table, actively practicing the beautiful art of avoidance even while she couldn’t keep her gaze from drifting to his lips. “Considering how many times you boys scared the shit out of me when we were kids, I thought you would’ve taken the costumes better.”
“We’re not kids anymore, Skye.”
They most definitely weren’t. “I’ll get the carpet clean tonight so you don’t have to worry about it. And I’ll get out of here first thing in the morning.”
“You don’t have to go.”
After that kiss? Yes, she did. “I was leaving anyway.”
“Beck said—”
“Please. Does Beck ever know what he’s talking about?”
He regarded her with his straightforward, sniffing-out-the-bullshit look. “You doing okay?”
His chest seemed broader now than it had been an hour ago, if that was possible. And instead of being irritated by his cocky, I will bend the world to my will arrogance, she wondered if it were possible for him to channel his No, this is how you’re supposed to shoot a basketball rigidity into some Yes, Skye, you are strong enough to go home confidence.
Or perhaps that kiss—the one they were both apparently pretending hadn’t happened—had fried her brain.
“Never been better,” she lied.
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, those eyes—blue as Lake Tahoe—boring into her. “What happened?”
“With what?”
“Heard you didn’t get married.”
Her shoulders hitched up to her chin. No, Skye, that’s not how you get a guy to marry you. This is how you’re supposed to be a fabulous fiancée and wife.
He inclined his head to the pool table. “Play you for it.”
“Excuse me?”
“You win, I tell you why I almost flattened you and Nicholas because of a costume. I win, you tell me about the douchebag.”
“You didn’t almost flatten anybody, GI Joe. You were cowering in your shorts.”
He lifted a brow.
A that’s what you think, pompous, I’m trying to save face by making you think there’s a story brow.
And I can pretend longer than you can that that kiss didn’t happen brow.
Maybe if they both pretended, it really wouldn’t have happened.
“Are we playing for real?” she asked.
His eyes narrowed. “I’m not rusty at pool.”
So he said.
* * *
He watched Skye study her shot from every angle. They were down to three balls left on the table—two of his and the eight-ball.
Gone was the amenable woman who had giggled with his nephew over losing a game of pool two hours ago, gone was the woman who had kissed him back as though he were her oxygen—which he needed to stop thinking about—and in her place was the sexiest competitor he’d ever had.
He’d never played pool with just Skye before. Sure, he’d played against her, but never when there weren’t at least three other guys standing around watching. Before last night, he wasn’t sure he’d ever been alone with her at all.
Her green eyes lit with a laser focus while she prowled around the pool table with an innate feline grace. And she was making him wish he’d put on another pair of jeans.
Not that denim would’ve been comfortable in his current state but at least it would’ve hidden his reaction to her better.
He shouldn’t have come down here.
But he couldn’t stay away.
“Prepare to spill your guts, Owens.” She stretched out over the table, her breasts brushing the pool table, her curvy ass framed in worn denim, her limbs impossibly long and sexy. She’d pulled her thick dark hair back in a complicated knot thing, and he had an overwhelming desire to yank it out and sink his hands into the silky locks.
He shifted onto a stool—a clean stool—and settled his arms on his thighs to block her view of the tent in his pants.
Kissing her had to be the stupidest move he’d made in his entire life.
Now, not only could he still taste her cherry lip balm, but he was back to remembering how he’d found her last night.
While she was soaking in the bathtub.
Miles and miles of bare Skye skin, those beautiful breasts, her wide, emerald eyes…
The crack of the stick against the ball pulled him back to the present.
The cue ball flew across the table, knocking the eight ball at exactly the right angle to transfer just enough force to it to propel it into the corner pocket.
Skye’s cheeks flushed as she thumped the end of her cue on the carpet. “I win.”
“Didn’t hear you call the pocket.”
“Get your hearing checked,” she said with a cheeky grin.
Had she called the pocket?
He’d been so distracted by the sight of her stretched across the table, she could’ve said damn near anything, and he wouldn’t have heard her.
“So?” She gripped the top of her pool stick with both hands, hips swaying, and he had to swallow hard. Because watching her hold the stick like that made him think of poles, and dancing, and Skye’s bare legs wrapped around—
“Why did you scream like a girl?” she said. “And don’t give me some half-assed story, or I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re terrified of scary movies.”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
He didn’t stand a chance with her. She was smart, she was gorgeous, she was worldly, and she’d probably never see him as anything beyond one of her brother’s friends.
She’d already obviously forgotten that he’d had his tongue in her mouth just an hour ago.
So what did it matter if he completely blew it with her by telling her the truth?
She was still waiting for an answer, still swaying with the pool cue, her hips moving in a hypnotic rhythm while green sparks lit her eyes.
“I don’t like scary movies,” he said quietly.
Her smile started to morph into a smirk. But the pool stick stopped, and a frown creased her forehead. “Seriously?”
It had been almost a quarter of century, but he still found it easier to tell the story to the carpet. “We moved to Copper Valley when my mom left my father. He drank a lot. Fought a lot. Wanted me to be tough. I was about six when he made me watch Friday the 13th. And then he hid a Jason mask in my bed.”
Her lips parted. “That’s horrible,” she whispered.
He shrugged. “As soon as Mom could afford to leave him, she did. Haven’t seen him since. Beck and the guys—they were the best thing to ever happen to me.”
“You guys all went to see Scream together. You snuck out to see Scream together.”
“Peer pressure.” Even though it had been a few years after his mom had moved them, he’d hated every minute of the movie. That creepy feeling on his back, the sense that some big, bad unknown might’ve been lurking with them in the dark theater, the anger at himself for being such a wuss. He’d never told the guys about his father. He hadn’t wanted to give them any reason to suddenly think he was any weaker than he already looked after they’d had to save him from Bucky McMalley at lunch his second week at his new school. “I got jumpier than everyone else during the movie, so a bunch of them thought it would be fun to get costumes and wake me up one night and scare the piss out of me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Was Beck in on it?”
“You ever know him to not be?”
“That—that’s just mean.”
“They didn’t know. And I got ’em all back.” He chuckled to himself. “Actually, I threatened to copy pictures of Beck in his underwear and plaster them all over the school if he told anyone. Ironic, now that I think about it.”
She sighed. “Can we please go one hour without talking about my brother’s underwear?”
He spread his arms. “His underwear has given us this. Who are we to complain?”
“Have you still not learned to not anger a woman holding a pool stick?”
The teasing in her voice, the light in her eyes, the hint of a smile in the corners of her mouth spread warmth through his chest. “Apparently not.”
“Do your military bosses know you’re afraid of scary movies?”
He flexed a bicep. “Baby, now scary movies are afraid of me.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was now an undeniable smile on her lips. Not just a hint, but a full, happy Skye smile. “You are such a dork.”
No sense denying it.
He was one of the guys who drove a desk for the Air Force. He sat behind a computer monitor all day, fighting the evil enemies known as budgets and contractors and aging aircraft. “Dweeb,” he said.
“Okay, fine, you’re a dweeb.”
“No, you’re a dweeb.”
She straightened to her full height. “Excuse you?”
“Okay, you’re a geek,” he said.
She grabbed a square of chalk and hurled it at him with a laugh.
He caught it one-handed. “Still got that arm.”
Her eyes narrowed as though she didn’t believe him.
He didn’t get it. Beck was cool, their parents were cool, everyone who knew her back home adored her. But she still made that face anytime he said something nice to her.
He’d blame her ex, but she’d always made that face whenever he’d gone out of his way to be nice to her.
“It’s a compliment,” he told her.
“Is it?”
He had the sense that they were headed into territory where he’d be over his head and three miles behind at the same time.
She turned from him and put her pool stick away. “Never mind. I need to clean the carpet. The noise won’t wake Nicholas up, will it?”
“Did I say something offensive?”
“No, you—” She straightened and looked right at him. “I’m just not used to you saying nice things to me.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Oh, come on, Wyatt. It’s always, No, Skye, you’re aiming at the wrong pool ball. You’re not flicking your wrist right when you shoot a free throw. Here, let me show you how to throw a dart. My way is always the best way.”
His jaw hung. Sure, he’d offered suggestions over the years, but he’d always done it to help. The guys got rough. She had to be extra tough, extra fast, extra good to keep up. He’d been the weakling before he met Beck and the rest of the guys. He’d never wanted Skye to feel the way he had. “I didn’t mean—”
Her cheeks were rosy. “Sure. I know. We were kids, you were scrawny, but you were still bigger and smarter and stronger than me. Whatever. But sometimes Good job is really all you have to say. Because Let me show you how you’re wrong doesn’t leave the best impression.”
“Skye, I—”
She flicked a hand. “It’s late. I need to get this cleaned up, and you have a little boy to entertain tomorrow.”
“But—”
“We’re good, okay? Let’s just—let’s just forget all this happened. And I promise I’m proficient with domestic appliances.” She pointedly tilted a brow at the door.
He slid off his stool.
One good thing about this conversation—that problem in his pants had disappeared.
He pinched his lips together and slunk across the room.
Did she really think he was that much of an ass?
He paused in the doorway. “For what it’s worth, I always knew you were good. I just liked the excuse to be close to you.”
But she didn’t feel the same.
She never had, and she never would.
Not if she couldn’t appreciate his way of showing her he cared.
* * *
How many times had Wyatt Owens left her speechless in the last day and a half?
Skye stared at the door long after he’d left, his words lingering in the air and bouncing through her head.
He’d been a bossy cow so he could get close to her?
He’d liked her?
She slid down the wall beside the grape mess.
Of course.
That’s what boys did, wasn’t it? They pulled pigtails and chased their crushes around the playground.
And they showed off.
Puffed out their chests, got manly, demonstrated how much more capable they were than any of the other cavemen loafing around.
And kissed their women senseless.
She buried her head in her hands.
She was so freaking blind.
And on top of it, she’d been cruel.
She’d shocked him.
He’d honestly had no idea he irritated her.
And until he’d walked out of the game room, defeat slumping his shoulders, his bare feet shuffling on the carpet, she hadn’t realized how much power she’d had to hurt him.
Just like his own father had hurt him.
She’d screwed up.
Horribly.
And she didn’t know how she was supposed to fix it.
Her phone buzzed.
Beck’s face appeared on the screen—just his face, since she’d switched out that picture of him in his tighty whities that he’d changed his photo to the last time she’d seen him.
She put the phone to her ear. “Where are you? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“Paris, and who needs sleep?”
Even when she was irritated with him, and even when she didn’t deserve it, his cheerful voice always put her in a better mood. “Apparently not overpaid underwear models.”
He laughed. “Flying out in a couple hours. Heard I double booked you and Wyatt. Walls still standing?”
“Walls, yes. Carpet, no.”
“Tell Wyatt not to get his panties in a bunch. Kids make messes.”
She’d let Beck think Nicholas was the culprit. She’d already done enough to torture Wyatt tonight.
Which she would not be discussing with her brother. “We’re not worried. You make messes.”
“Touché, little sister.” He barked out a laugh. “Got a break in my schedule. Thinking about going home for a visit.”
She pressed a finger into her eye to stop it from twitching. “I’m sure all of Copper Valley will line up for a parade in your honor. The prodigal Boy Band Son comes home. Thanks for the warning.”
“We’ll grill out, shoot hoops, go swimming. Like old times.”
Twenty minutes ago, old times would have given her a very clear picture.
But after Wyatt’s confessions, some of her childhood memories had a new light.
And she had so much more understanding.
An overwhelming need to hug him.
Which wouldn’t be doing either of them any favors. He had his life moving all over the country for the military, and she was needed back home for her life.
And Wyatt didn’t deserve any more people in his life who would hurt him.
Was she attracted to him?
Undeniably. Surprisingly so.
But did they actually have a future?
No.
So why make things awkward among friends?
“I’m heading back to Sacramento to make sure the walls are still standing at the office there,” she said to Beck. “Thinking about transferring permanently.”
“Skye. Take a damn week off. You’re gonna kill yourself at this rate. And come home. You can take a weekend away. I’ll pay for your ticket.”
“Beck—”
“It’s not his town.”
It took a second for her to realize Beck was talking about Steven, not Wyatt. “He’s the freaking mayor. It is his town.”
“By two points in the last election, and I hear his job approval rating has gone down. Plus, you’ve got us. Team Skye for the win. You want a private jet, or will a first class ticket do?”
Steven’s approval rating was above average, and most of Copper Valley—including many of her friends—still adored him. “Have I ever told you you’re the best brother in the world?”
“Not nearly often enough.”
“Probably because I don’t like to lie.”
Beck laughed again. Despite herself, Skye smiled too. “I appreciate the thought, Beck, but I really am fine. I’m eating, I’m sleeping, and I won’t overwork myself again. The hardest part of getting the office up and running is done. In fact, I—”
“Don’t.”
She dug her toes into the carpet. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t leave Hope Falls. I didn’t want to mention this, because Wyatt swore me to secrecy, but I actually need a favor. He does too. He just doesn’t want to admit it.”
Her heart skittered in her chest. “Help with his nephew?” she said softly.
“What? No. Seriously, Skye? Even I’m not that obtuse.”
She hugged her knees. This was the Beck the world didn’t see. The one who was more than eye candy, the one who had a heart, the one who paid attention to the little things that mattered to the people he loved.
Like not sending one kid who might like her to substitute for another who hated her enough to convince his father not to marry her.
She’d refused to talk to them about it, but she’d heard their whispers. She knew they knew.
“It’s about the military,” Beck said.
She shot another glance at the door.
She and Wyatt might not have ever been the best of friends, but the last two days, there was something there.
And especially in light of realizing she’d misunderstood him her entire life, and in light of realizing what he’d lived through already, if she could help him, she would.