The Fairest of Them All. Leanne BanksЧитать онлайн книгу.
his hair had been bright red. The years had toned it to a dark auburn. His craggy, mobile face had the ability to both intimidate an opponent and charm the panties off his current conquest. But although he was an outrageous flirt, he kept his practical heart under lock and key.
“My mother always gave my brothers milk and cookies for consolation,” she said sweetly. “I can have some sent up from the galley.”
“You’re breaking my heart, Carly.”
“You’ll survive.” She glanced around the noisy dining room to make sure everyone was having a good time. The graduation party was going off without a hitch, she thought, then turned back to Russ. “By the way, I’ve had a special request for your services next Thursday night at an anniversary party. Can you make it?”
“You’ll have to play me for it,” he replied, loading the simple statement with challenge. “Then we’ll negotiate.”
This was an old routine between them. When she first started the riverboat cruises, she couldn’t afford to pay Russ, so they’d played a hand of poker and she’d won. Now, every time she asked him to play the piano, they still played poker and she won every time.
“You’re on, Bradford. Get ready to lose. Tomorrow night at the potluck at Aunt Bitsy’s, okay?”
Russ looked at Carly while she ran a hand through her short, black, attractively mussed hair. Her violet eyes were fringed by spiky dark eyelashes that didn’t need mascara. The color in her cheeks came from her emotions, he knew. He’d teased her often enough to cause his share of blushes. She might have bothered to powder her nose that morning, but it was shiny now. She’d probably nibbled the lipstick off her lips five minutes after putting it on. Russ figured he could take care of her lipstick removal in about ten seconds. His mouth buzzed just thinking about it.
He had plans for Carly Pendleton. The way her sultry eyes danced with a daring light made him want to teach her things she’d never learned before. “Tomorrow night’s okay. But one of these days,” he said roughly, “a man’s gonna take you up on your reckless challenges.”
The growl in his voice brought an involuntary flutter to her stomach. Carly shook it off. Fighting attraction to Russ was as natural as breathing. In her opinion, a prudent woman brushed her teeth, paid her bills, and took Russ Bradford’s provocative masculinity with a grain of salt.
“He’ll have to be fast and smart. I’m too busy taking care of business right now.” She checked her watch. “We’re about to dock, so I’ll see you later.”
Carly greeted a few guests on her way outside, then stole a moment to enjoy the evening breeze and star-filled night. She felt a rush of affection for her boat and nourished her secret wish of full ownership of Matilda’s Dream. Sharing it with her seven loving, but overbearing older brothers would try a saint’s patience. Somebody up there was giving her a temporary break, though, since three of her brothers were taking a camping trip on the Appalachian Trail.
Carly knew full ownership was more of an emotional issue than a financial one. Her childhood had left her with an aching private need for something or someone to call her own. Someones tended to be unreliable, so Carly had chosen Matilda’s Dream.
Watching the boat dock, Carly thought of her distant, unreachable father and her remote stepmother. Even now, the pain cut deep. Some dreams, she’d learned, never come true.
As Carly finished setting the redwood table in the backyard for dinner, she looked up at the threatening clouds and worried. She had a full boat tonight. If it rained, the galley crew would be pulling extra duty.
Russ strolled up beside her. “What are you scowling at?”
“If it rains, it’ll flood the galley.” She twisted her hands. “They’ve got a full boat. I should be there.”
“Are you telling me your crew doesn’t know what to do with buckets and mops?”
“Well, no.” A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. When he put it in such a matter-of-fact way, her anxiety seemed ridiculous.
“Then don’t worry.” He took her elbow and ushered her toward the dessert table set up under a weeping willow. “Enjoy your family. Enjoy the food. Enjoy me.”
Carly stumbled and felt a flush steal across her face. “I think I’ll start with the brownies,” she said dryly and scooped up one from the table. “Three more groups have asked you to play the piano at their parties within the next two months. Do you think you can do it?”
“I’ll play poker for it.” Russ stole a large crumb of her brownie and put it in his mouth. Then he licked his lips.
Watching the agile motion of his slick tongue, Carly felt a tug of curiosity. His mouth was wet and clever. And Russ was probably equally clever in the ways of using his mouth to steal the breath and sanity from a woman. For an instant, she wanted to know how it would feel to have his undivided sensual attention.
Feeling his gaze on her, she looked into his caramel eyes. He stared at her for a long moment.
Her throat grew tight. Could he possibly know what she was thinking? How humiliating, she thought. Forcing her mind back to business, she cleared her throat. “Let me get some cards. Is the living room okay? The kitchen’s busy right now.”
“The living room’s fine.” He rested his hand on her shoulder and rubbed the nape of her neck with a callused thumb. “Lead on.”
He walked close enough for her to feel the heat from his body, and that small movement of his thumb had her breath coming too quickly. Russ didn’t usually touch her this much, or maybe she’d never noticed before.
“Watch that croquet bracket,” Russ said in a low voice that rumbled along her nerve endings. He wrapped a steadying hand around her rib cage, brushing the underside of her breast. Carly nearly fell flat on her face. A gasp locked in her throat. A couple of inches higher, she thought, and he’d be palming her breast, rubbing her nipple.
Carly clenched her jaw, fighting his effect on her. She’d always been able to shake off her awareness of Russ. Why couldn’t she now?
By the time she sat across from Russ in the living room, she felt rattled. She thrust the cards at him. “You deal.”
He nodded. “Same as usual. Whiskey poker. One hand.” He shuffled and dealt the cards one at a time to her, to the “widow” in the middle and then to him.
Carly noticed his hands, the broad square fingers and rough calluses. With his shirtsleeves rolled up, her attention was drawn to his forearms, brown and muscled, dusted with light sun-bleached hair. She’d felt those arms around her and never realized how…
“Carly,” Russ prompted. “Don’t you want to pick up your cards?”
Carly blinked, then quickly gathered the cards from the table. The hand wasn’t great, but she’d beat him with worse. He was terrible at poker. Carly always won. She kept the two fours and traded the other three cards.
She tried not to grimace at what she got.
Russ traded two of his cards and thoughtfully rubbed his chin.
She traded two cards. The result brought her another four. Not bad, but she didn’t trust him. He wasn’t joking or talking as he usually did when they played.
It was Russ’s turn, and he knocked on the cherry table.
Carly raised her eyebrows. Knocking meant she had one more chance to trade before they showed their hands. After trading, she drew one more four. A rush of adrenaline shot through her. She would beat him again.
“I hope you’re keeping brushed up on anniversary songs,” Carly said confidently and laid down her cards with a flourish. “Four of a kind.”
The barest hint of a smile played around Russ’s eyes. He didn’t look at his cards as he turned them over. He watched Carly’s face instead.
Carly