Playing With Seduction

“Hey.” Wes grinned. He stood over the grill on his deck in a black sleeveless shirt that showcased the gun show he called biceps. His right arm was covered with a tribal tattoo. A pair of lived-in jeans highlighted his assets.

It was colder outside than she thought. Her nipples beaded, pressing against the fabric of her bra. Bree offered a half-hearted wave, then pulled her sweater tight against her body. “Hey.”

“You eat yet?” His grin widened when she shook her head. “Got your steak on the grill. C’mon over.”

No. No. Tell him no.

Her brain was clear on what to do. Her belly objected, rumbling in response to the delectable aroma. “I’m ordering pizza tonight.”

“Or you could have a home-cooked meal with me.” His voice indicated that his option was clearly the better choice. Her roiling stomach agreed. “Besides, you’re on the road a lot. Home-cooked meals must be a rarity.”

“You’re assuming I don’t cook.”

Wes raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes lit with amusement. “Do you?”

She didn’t, but that wasn’t the point. “It’s getting late.”

“You’re a California girl. It’s still afternoon there. Besides, it’s just a meal. You can leave as soon as we’re done. If that’s what you’d like.” He’d paused before adding that last bit.

Her jet-lagged brain struggled to manufacture another excuse. Nothing came to her. “Okay. I’ll be over in a sec.” She headed toward the door.

“Or you can hop the banister now.” He closed the lid on the grill and held out a hand to her.

Bree chewed her lower lip as she surveyed the banister between their decks. There were wooden benches on either side of the railing. The banister was only a few feet high. She could easily jump it. Still...

She blew out a breath and stepped up onto the bench. Placing her hand in his, she stepped up onto the railing, then down onto the bench on his side. Before she could jump down, Wes planted his hands on her waist and lowered her to the floor. Taken by surprise, she gasped, drawing in his scent—clean man with a hint of juniper and sandalwood.

Bree fought the desire to lean in, her nose pressed to his freshly scrubbed skin, and inhale deeply. She tried not to muse about how delicious it felt to be back in his arms. So close that heat radiated from his brown skin. She stepped beyond his grasp, shaking her head to clear it of thoughts that would only lead to trouble. “So what’s for dinner?”

Wes grinned. “Rib eyes, grilled corn, baked potatoes and grilled onions and peppers. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect. You went all out tonight.”

“Just a little something I threw together.” He smiled. “Can I get you a beer or a glass of wine?”

“Red or white?”

“Pink.” A wide smile spread across his face. “Sampled a great wine at the grocery store today that’ll complement the steak nicely. It’s chilling in the fridge now.”

“I’ll take the wine with dinner.” If she was going to be alone with Wesley Adams for the next hour, she’d better do it mostly sober. “Can I help with anything?”

The buzzer sounded in the kitchen. “Potatoes are done. Can you take them out of the oven and plate them? Oven mitts and plates are on the counter.”

She slipped inside the kitchen and did as he asked, glad to put space between them.

* * *

Bree’s eyes twinkled with an excitement she seemed eager to hide as she surveyed her carefully loaded plate. She picked up her utensils. “Everything smells so good.”

“Tastes even better. Dig in. Don’t be shy.” He couldn’t peel his gaze from her face long enough to carve his own steak, afraid to miss her reaction.

Bree took a bite. An appreciative moan signaled her approval. The deeply erotic, guttural sound triggered an involuntary twitch below his belt. “This is probably the best steak I’ve ever had. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

“My mom is an amazing cook. Taught me everything I know.” He took a bite of the steak. It was tender and succulent. Seasoned to perfection. His mother would be proud.

“It’s good she taught you to be self-sufficient. It’s no picnic being with someone who isn’t.” Her brows knitted, as if a bad memory flashed through her brain.

“Something you know from experience, I gather.” Wes sipped of his beer. He didn’t want to delve deeper into her obvious pain. Yet a part of him was curious.

Bree took a generous gulp from her wineglass. “It was a long time ago.”

He took the hint and changed the subject. “So how’s Rebecca’s shoulder? I read somewhere she’d be sidelined for at least four months.”

“Could be a little longer. She’s going stir-crazy, but her physical therapy is coming along.”

“Good.” He put butter and sour cream on his potato. “Dealing with an injury can be tough. Especially late in an athlete’s career.”

“Were you a soccer player, like Liam?” She dug in to her potato, already smothered in butter and sour cream.

“No, rugby was my sport.”

“Amateur or professional?”

“I played at university, then on a lower tier regional league. Definitely wasn’t in it for the money.” He took another swig of his beer.

“Is rugby as rough as they say?”

“Worse. Got half a dozen injuries to prove it.”

“Were you hurt badly?”

Wes winced inwardly at the memory of his last injury, but shrugged nonchalantly. “Sprains and broken bones. Typical injuries in a high-contact sport.”

“Is that why you quit?” She took another sip of her wine, her expressive brown eyes trained on him.

“Never really had a passion for the game. It was something to do in university and I was good at it. Mostly, it was a great way to blow off steam.”

“Let me guess, you were the misunderstood rebel type.” She speared a piece of steak and pointed her fork at him, then put the morsel in her mouth. His eyes followed the motion. He envied that morsel of beef as she savored it, her full lips pursed as she chewed.

“What gave it away?” He chuckled as she eyed the tattoo sleeve on his right arm, part of a large tribal tattoo that also encompassed the right side of his chest and back. “I didn’t consider myself a rebel. Too cliché. On the surface, I was a pretty affable guy. Had a lot of anger pent up inside. Rugby seemed like the best way to release it.”

Wes cut into his steak and took another bite, chastising himself. He’d invited Bree to dinner to repair the damage he’d caused and build a working relationship. Not to tell her his entire life story.

He seldom discussed his past with the women he dated. And never with the women with whom he did business. He preferred to stick to the casual overview. Fish-out-of-water Southern boy raised in London was usually enough.

So why had he cracked open the door to his past to Bree?

Because there was something about her that put him at ease. Made him feel like he could let down his guard. It was the thing he remembered most about that night. He was attracted to her, of course. She was Bree Evans. Tall. Gorgeous. Miles of smooth, glistening skin the shade of brown sugar. Provocative, yet sweet. She was laid-back and genuine with a smile that could convince an Eskimo to buy a truckload of ice. No wonder sponsors fell all over themselves to get her to endorse their products. Lip gloss, facial cleanser, breakfast cereal and workout contraptions.