Too Close to Resist

“Okay, that sounded gross, but you get what I mean. The only person I’ve ever seen eat generic bran flakes is Grandpa. Do you buy them on double-coupon day, too?”

“No.” Her syrupy sweet voice was meant to bait him, and no matter how raw he was feeling this morning, he would not give in to the urge to bite. “You know, on days we run a business here it would be best if you got at least half dressed before leaving your room.” Okay, apparently he was going to bite.

“Not a morning person, then?” She lifted a heaping spoon to her lips, but his eyes were drawn to her pretty much bare leg swinging back and forth while the other was curled under her. Could those things she was wearing really count as shorts?

Kyle concentrated on pouring milk onto his cereal. “I prefer solitude in the morning.”

“It’s true. I usually can’t get a word out of him before ten. Even for business. He’ll just email me a memo.”

Grace rolled her eyes, kept swinging that damn leg. “I bet Kyle sends a lot of memos.”

“Thank God for email, or I’d be drowning in paper.”

It took a lot more effort than it should have to tear his gaze from Grace to Jacob. “So from here on out should I expect the two of you poking fun at me to be my morning greeting?”

Jacob grinned. “It is the McKnight way.”

“Wonderful.” Kyle poked at his cereal. He wasn’t remotely hungry. Nor was his edgy mood from his dream assuaged any by Grace’s and Jacob’s teasing. So he would focus on what would. “The Porters sent pictures this morning. I uploaded them onto the website.”

“You don’t even take Sunday off from talking about work? What about it being the day of rest and all that?”

Kyle gave Grace a bland look. “Time is money. The more time I work, the more money I have to put into this business.”

“Work, money, work, money.” Grace dismissed it with a wave. “Snore.”

“Yes, I’m sure doing your little paintings and calling it art is quite scintillating, but some of us do have to make a living.” He knew the words were too harsh the minute they were vocalized. This was exactly why he preferred to be alone in the morning. Time and quiet to shore up his defenses.

“So is this what I have to look forward all month? You two going at each other?”

“I thought it was the McKnight way.” Kyle rubbed his temple, where a headache was brewing. A perfect addition to the unsettled stomach and gritty-eyed lack of sleep.

Jacob shook his head and made a tsk-tsk sound. “Banter is the McKnight way. We poke fun at your anal-retentiveness. You don’t fight back with an insult. You should make fun of my dating history or Grace’s hair. You know, unimportant stuff.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with my hair?”

Jacob gave his sister a doleful look. “You’ve got a freaking rainbow in there.”

Grace snorted. “It’s called self-expression. At least I don’t look like some low-end catalog model.”

“See.” Jacob grinned at Kyle. “Banter.”

Kyle failed to see the appeal. Or the difference. “Yes, well, like I said, some of us have a business to run.”

“I hope it keeps you warm at night, Kyle.” Grace pushed away from the table. “Or maybe you’re just part robot. A very lifelike C-3PO.” With that parting comment, Grace sashayed out of the kitchen, hips swinging in those foolish tiny shorts.

He wondered if she did it on purpose, the skimpy clothes, the hip sway. Just another level of torture to go along with her “banter.” Oh, hello, Kyle, not only am I wild and unpredictable, but look at my perfectly toned ass. I know you’d like to get your hands on it.

“Kyle, do me a favor.” Jacob clamped a hand on his shoulder, scattering Kyle’s less-than-honorable thoughts. Jacob squeezed. Hard. “Don’t look at my sister’s ass.”

Heat flashed up Kyle’s face as he tried to argue with Jacob’s retreating back. “I wasn’t—”

But Jacob had already taken to the stairs, and unfortunately, the argument would have been a lie.

Damn it, he had been staring at Grace’s ass.

* * *

TEN HOURS LATER and Grace was still fuming. Kyle had the nerve, the nerve, to call her painting “little.” To roll his eyes at what she loved, what she slaved over, her passion. Because he was so much smarter with his business and money and blah, blah, blah.

She’d show him where he could shove his time-is-money speech.

Grace sat on the second-story balcony cross-legged, watching the street below. At first she’d forgotten about the insult, but then Jacob had left and Kyle had informed her he was going for his evening run and he’d set the security alarm.

Being alone in the big house had led to thinking about Barry. Had he gone back to Carvelle? Did he hold a grudge against the woman who’d testified against him?

Grace shuddered. That was when she’d begun to focus on Kyle’s insults, on exacting revenge. Because it was way better than thoughts of Barry. Every once in a while a smidgen of conscience would poke through, reminding her Kyle wasn’t 100-percent jerk. He’d come to her room after her bad dream to check on her, even offered a weird kind of comfort.

But if she let herself be rational, she started thinking about Barry. So here she was, waiting for Kyle to come back. He’d already been gone twice as long as the night before. Where the hell was he? She was good and ready to show him just how childish she could be.

Her phone buzzed. She looked down at the text display, relieved it was Jacob, not Mom or Dad. Will you call me around ten and demand I come home? Grace rolled her eyes. Jacob needed to grow a pair when it came to his less-than-charming dictator of a girlfriend.

Balls. Get some. When he only texted back a curse, she smiled. At least there were some ways her little brother still needed her.

Grace checked the time. She’d been waiting for forty-five minutes now, and neither parent had texted. One day and things were already different. Maybe it was a sign she should just let it go. Prove her point in some less silly way, just be happy this little plan of getting out of Carvelle was working. She stood for one more scan of the street and grinned.

There he was, in the distance. She purposefully focused on the two buckets she had on the patio table. Watching him run could be...distracting, and she wasn’t going to be distracted.

She picked up one bucket of lemonade, and when he was close enough, she put her plan into action.

“Hey, Kyle?”

Right as he looked up, she upended the contents of the bucket over the balcony. He tried to move out of the way, but surprise allowed most of the contents to hit their target. When he didn’t move, instead just stood there holding his arms out as liquid dripped off, she upended the other.

“Damn it, Grace. This is not funny.” He shook his fist at her, which made him look even more ridiculous, and she doubled over in laughter.

“By the way,” she said, struggling to stop laughing enough to speak, “it’s not water.”

When he dropped a very loud F-bomb, Grace laughed even harder.

He peeled off the wet shirt, cursing impressively for a repressed suit. But her humor was short-lived when the chorus of oh, craps returned. Because she hadn’t exactly expected him to take off his shirt and give her a firsthand view of the hard plane of his chest or the slight ridges of his abs.

And his shoulders without a stupid polo or button-up were quite impressive, and that tattoo? Well, that was—

Wait a second.

“You have a tattoo!”

He quickly flung his wet T-shirt over his shoulder, hiding the black mark of ink before she had a chance to make out what it was. “No.”