Power Play (Play Makers Book 4) (10 page)

“No, dear. I want
you
to.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she promised,
admitting to herself that that sounded pretty good. They would have
time alone during the ninety-minute return trip, of course, but
this place provided a more relaxed—almost magical—venue, especially
compared to a rental car.

Descending the steps, she forced herself to
seem as casual as he did when she met him halfway. “Who won?”

“Do you have to ask?” he demanded. Then he
admitted, “Danny’s getting better and better. Next time I might not
be so lucky.”

“How did the girls do?”

“Annie caught a touchdown pass. Do you know
which one she is?”

“I know all of them,” she assured him,
adding hastily, “They’re very social.”

“Yeah.” He eyed her warily. “What did you
and Bea talk about?”

“You, of course. She guessed this was a fake
date, but I denied it.”

His jaw tensed. “Why does everyone keep
saying that? I mean,” he relaxed enough to add, “you’re
good-looking, but not like a hooker or anything.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So what are we doing wrong?”

She laughed. “Seriously? They want some
kissy-kissy. Otherwise it looks like a business deal.”

To her surprise, he scowled again. “It’s
supposedly our first date. Do they expect us to make out right in
front of them?”

“Bea wants you to take me to the stable and
re-live her make-out sessions with Tony.”

He gave a reluctant chuckle. “Yeah, I’ve
heard those stories. They lived with their in-laws for years so
they didn’t have much privacy.”

“Their in-laws were
your
great-grandparents, remember? I guess you never met them?”

“No.” He gave her an appraising look. “So?
Should I kiss you right here? Where everyone can see us?”

“What?”

“We didn’t go through all this for
nothing.”

She wanted to glare at him, but the prospect
of a kiss seduced her. So she took him by the hand and tugged him
in the direction of the garden. “Come on.”

When he didn’t resist, her heart began to
pound. Did she actually dare do this? Make him kiss her in such a
romantic spot? The stable sounded tempting, and the orange grove in
the distance was pretty too, but the garden had captured her
imagination. The low stone wall, so worn it had to be at least a
century old. The vine-covered trellises. The hint of color from red
blossoms on the chili pepper plants and huge yellow ones that would
soon be crookneck squash.

Pulling him behind the tallest trellis, she
suggested impishly, “Do it here.”

“Bea can’t even see us,” he complained.

“That’s the genius of this plan. It looks
like we’re trying to kiss in private, but trust me, Annie and Gail
are on the case. Everyone will know within minutes.”

“Did you just call yourself a genius?” he
drawled, his steely eyes laughing at her. Then he gave a confirming
nod, said, “Let’s hope they’re watching,” then rested his hands on
her hips and pulled her against him.

She hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly,
and heard herself gasp as his mouth covered hers. There was such
gentleness to the insistence of his lips, like they had all
afternoon. Maybe all night.

Swaying against him, mostly because he
continued urging her closer, she kissed him back, her tongue
playing with his as her nipples went wild from the pressure of his
hard, muscled chest. On instinct, she slipped one hand behind his
neck, steadying herself, then tangling her fingers in his thick
dark hair. If he had tried to go further, she would have easily
agreed, but instead, he was savoring rather than consuming.
Romantic rather than wanton.

And it was driving her wild. She wanted him
to drag her to the house so they could say good-bye, hop in the
car, drive a safe distance down the road, then really get down to
business.

Then he released her, his expression
unaffected, as though it had been a fake kiss to go with the fake
date. But his eye color told her something else. She had thought
she imagined a hint of cobalt behind the steely gray on the plane a
time or two, but now there was no doubt. They were almost purely
midnight blue.

And seductive as hell.

Then he said briskly, “That should do
it.”

“Definitely,” she murmured, not trusting
herself to say more.

“Come on.” He headed toward the house with
her half-running to keep up with him. “We’ve still got cake to
contend with,” he reminded her. “And gifts and stories. Then we’re
done.”

Done?

After
that
kiss? It seemed almost
laughable, but Wyatt definitely wasn’t laughing. His stride told
her he wanted to get this over with. To meet the last of his
obligations.

Talk to Tony? Check. Five minutes for each
of the other Bournes? Check. A token football game with the adoring
nieces and nephews? And apparently an obligatory kiss to complete
his impersonation of an actual human being.

All that was left was the nightmare of cake,
presents and stories.

The last item distracted her from her
disappointment. “Wyatt?”

“What?”

“What do you mean by ‘stories’?”

“You’ll see,” he assured her grimly.
“Hopefully they won’t drag it out.”

They had reached the steps and he started up
ahead of her, then turned and motioned for her to precede him. As
she scooted past, he murmured, “Thanks again, Darcie. You really
did me a favor today.”

“It’s a family party, Wyatt. Not the
Inquisition.”

He chuckled. “Are you sure?”

It sounded so ungrateful. Didn’t he know how
lucky he was? His great aunt worried that he was lonely so far from
home, but this guy actually didn’t seem to need, or even
want,
this sanctuary.

Maybe he is a jackass after all,
she
decided sadly.
Too bad, because the guy can seriously
kiss.

• • •

Most of the family members were already in
the living room and had claimed an assortment of recliners, sofas
and loveseats, along with some rocking chairs brought in from the
porch. Tony was still in his seat in front of a roaring fire and
had been joined by Bea, who sat in a comfortable upholstered
rocking chair. On the nearby dining table was the magnificent
three-tiered anniversary cake decorated in pink and white roses.
Around it, the little cakes, decorated by amateurs, had been
arranged.

The first thing that caught her eye was the
prominent position given to her silly soda-can masterpiece. The
second thing she noticed was the empty loveseat in the middle of
the room. It didn’t take a genius to know it had been reserved for
Uncle Wyatt and his date.

But Wyatt didn’t see it. Or maybe he
intentionally avoided it, choosing instead to plop his tall, lean
body into a large leather recliner. To make matters worse, there
weren’t any empty seats nearby, which meant Darcie had three
choices: sit far away from him; humiliate herself by dragging a
chair closer; or sit alone on the loveseat. Also humiliating.

Furious, she walked over to him and sat on
the cushy arm of
his
chair, pretending not to notice his
scowl. She was too pissed to make it seem romantic, but still, she
knew the Bournes were staring, so she flashed a cheerful smile and
said brightly, “The cake looks so yummy.”

Aunt Jenny sprang into action, insisting
that everyone sing “Happy Anniversary” to the tune of “Happy
Birthday.” The group did so with love and gusto, bringing tears to
Bea’s eyes, and a soft smile to Tony’s face as well.

Mary, the chief baker, started slicing the
cake, and without prompting, Annie and Gail began delivering pieces
to the partygoers. The little girl who had been sitting with Tony
insisted on bringing plates to him and to Bea. Luckily, Danny was
positioned nearby to gently take Tony’s away before he dropped it.
Darcie noted that the future football star leaned down to tell his
great-uncle something that made the old guy chuckle.

Nice family,
Darcie realized for the
tenth time that day.
Too bad the jackass doesn’t appreciate
them.

She hadn’t bothered to look at him, not
because she was afraid he was angry, but because she truly couldn’t
stand the sight of him. Sure he was gorgeous and famous. Talented
too. And yes, he could kiss like Sean Decker.

But as a human being? This guy was one big
fail.

“Open your gifts, Grammie Bea,” one of the
little boys cried out as though he just couldn’t contain himself
anymore.

The whole group laughed, then Bea started
unwrapping a flat package that appeared to be a framed print of
some sort. Instead, once displayed, it was a collage of handprints,
each in a different color, each signed by one of the
great-grandchildren. Even little Nathan had scrawled a squiggly
N
next to his.

And so it went with one gift after another.
Bea would open something, make a fuss, then hand it to Tony, who
would smile, say “Thank you,” and hand it to Danny. And there were
so many gifts. Each and every one of them handmade with love. A
quilt from the three daughters, chocolate-chip cookies from Annie
and Joe, a footstool made by Jenny’s son, and so on.

It’s a tradition,
Darcie marveled.
And Wyatt must have known. He attends these things at least once
a year . . .

She didn’t fault him for not making
something himself. Apparently throwing a football was his only
talent other than being a jerk. But a gift card?

Finally, Bea picked up the silver and white
gift bag, her expression guarded. Something store-bought? It didn’t
fit the homemade category
or
the ungrateful-grandchild
category.

As she scanned the card she sent a confused
glance in Wyatt’s direction. Then she pulled out the music box and
sighed aloud. “Oh, it’s so beautiful.”

“Who’s it from?” Jenny asked.

“Your nephew,” Bea said, a smile forming on
her lips. Then she opened the box and the music started to
play.

After an exaggerated chorus of oohs and
aahs, Bea closed it and handed it to Tony, saying softly, “See what
Wyatt gave us.”

The old man held it in shaky hands, then
opened the lid. Again the music played, and Tony grinned. “From
Matt, you say?”

“From Wyatt,” Bea said gently. “Then she
turned to her grandson. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Darcie picked it out,” he replied
evenly.

Darcie wanted to elbow him, but instead gave
him a sharp look and was surprised by what she saw on his face.
This was torture for him. Not in a snobby way, but something else.
Like he honestly wanted to relate to these people but couldn’t.

Her frustration with him faded into
confusion. Was his lifestyle these days—the super-wealthy
superstar—so remote, so different, he had lost touch with his
roots? Was it honestly that simple?

But he still loves them,
she reminded
herself.
Remember how he was with Tony? He still cares. He’s
just not very good at it.

“Thank you so much, children,” Bea said
sweetly. Then she gave one of the little boys a teasing smile. “Are
we done?”

“No, Grammie, you forgot stories!” he
protested.

She grinned. “You’re absolutely right. Who
wants to go first?”

“I will,” Aunt Jenny volunteered. Then she
gave Darcie a warm smile. “We used to do this at Thanksgiving. Tell
a story about a family member that we were grateful for. But there
are so many Bournes, we have a million stories. Now we do it every
chance we get.”

“You have such great traditions,” Darcie
murmured.

Jenny nodded. “Today, I’m going to tell a
story about my pesky little brother Matt. Something only my sisters
knew until today.”

Mary and Ann chuckled, then Mary assured
her, “Mom’s not going to like it, Jenn.”

Jenny shrugged then launched into a
hilarious story about her “little brother” and his annoying habit
of listening to their private conversations about boys, then
regaling Tony and Bea with them at the dinner table, usually
getting the girls into trouble.

Darcie remembered that Matt Bourne was a
cousin of these three sisters, not a sibling, but had moved in with
the family when his own parents had been killed. Apparently he had
been so well accepted, they actually treated him like a brother in
every way, including locking him in the pig pen as punishment for
spying on them.

Or at least, that’s how the story went.

“You girls,” Bea scolded. “You know he was
afraid of those piglets.”

“It cured him,” Jenny said with a grin. “He
never ratted us out again.”

Charmed, Darcie dared steal another glance
at Wyatt’s face, hoping that a story about his father had mellowed
him, but he still seemed stressed.

Not stressed. Just maxxed
out,
she decided sympathetically.
He said you’d be here for two
hours, and it’s been more than three. Give the guy a break.

Six other family members had prepared
stories, some funny, some just sweet. Things were clearly winding
down, and while Darcie could have done this forever, her loyalty to
Wyatt resurfaced and she knew they needed to get out as soon as
possible.

Then Jenny startled her—and from their
expressions, everyone else—when she arched an eyebrow at Wyatt and
said, “You used to tell stories when you were little, Wyatt. Why
don’t you tell us one now? Something about your dad. There must be
one we haven’t heard.”

“I’ll pass,” Wyatt told her woodenly.

The disappointment in the air was bad
enough, but Darcie had noticed something else. The way Bea’s eyes
had lit up when she thought he was going to talk about Matthew
Bourne. A real gift, now a story?

And then when he gave such a dismissive
response, it had clearly crushed her. To make matters worse, some
of the more clueless family members were actually urging Wyatt to
change his mind.