Page 32 of In Bed with Mr. Wrong

She wasn’t sure she could. But as soon as that thought hit, Bri knew the answer. “The kids. I’ve set up several programs for young readers, and I can’t begin to express how happy it makes me. I love recommending books to kids and seeing that click when they fall in love. It’s priceless—something I never get tired of.”

“What kind of book would you have chosen for me?”

He really had a gift for putting her on the spot. “I don’t know. It’s hard to say, not knowing what kind of kid you were.” But she knew. She’d known the second they slipped from constantly arguing into something much more vulnerable.

“Come on, Bri. Just play the what-if game. What if I’d come in there and asked for a recommendation?”

“Pirates,” she blurted out.

Ryan started clearing the tiles from the board and dumping them back into the box. “Pirates?”

She took a few seconds to really think about it, but her answer remained the same. “Yes. The adventure and exploration and treasure seem like something that’d appeal to you. Not to mention taking it one step further and mapping out the sunken ships. It’d be a grand adventure.”

His slow smile made her heart skip a beat. “When we get back into town, I’d like to see those books.”

“Why?”

His grin widened. “I happen to have a thing for pirates.”

Just like that, she could picture him in mismatched clothing, with a bandana over his head and a captain’s hat. He’d look roguish and more than a few women would throw themselves at his feet. Goodness,shewanted to do so right now. Bri bit her lip and looked out the window.Change the subject. Change it right now before you go off the deep end and tell him that you’re losing the battle with yourself over everything that is Ryan.

He saved her from making an ass of herself. “Want to play again?”

Again? She wasn’t sure if she could handle another heartfelt confession like she’d just given. Bri rubbed her arms, trying to work away a chill she was pretty sure existed only in her mind. Her options lay before her, as clear as the bright blue sky outside. She could play again and, if the last game was any indication, actually enjoy herself. Or she could run back to the room and deal with the consequences of ripping open that particular emotional wound.

“Sure. Let’s go again.”

…

Bri’s words played in Ryan’s head through two more games of Scrabble. Drew had mentioned she hadn’t grown up easy, but he hadn’t gone into details. It was no wonder she didn’t let anyone in—the two people who were supposed to be there to care for her and see her grow up had died when she was just a little kid. He hadn’t had the best childhood ever, but he’d always had a safe place with Drew. Looking back, his older brother had borne the brunt of their father’s failures. Drew was the one who stepped up and made sure they were taken care of, even if he had to go without to make it happen. Bri hadn’t even had that.

“Quint.” She lay down her tiles with a grin. “With a double letter and triple word score, that’s seventy-two.”

Ryan made a face. “You whooped my ass this time around.” He counted up his tiles and shook his head. After being pretty damn close the last game, she had nearly doubled his score. “How about some dinner?”

“As long as it’s not corn bread and chili, I’m in.” She smacked a hand over her mouth. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. That was so rude.”

He laughed. “Hardly.” The fact that she apologized immediately after saying it let him know she was as aware of the change developing between them as he was.

And she didn’t want to go back to fighting, either.

He climbed to his feet and cracked his neck. “See, today wasn’t so bad.”

“No, it really wasn’t. The egg disaster aside.” She took his offered hand and let him pull her to her feet. “I almost feel bad for beating you so soundly that last time.”

He headed into the kitchen and started rummaging through the cabinets. “Probably as bad as I feel about beating you the first two times.”

“Probably.” She laughed again and went to the fridge. “How about a salad?”

“Do we have the makings for chicken Caesar?”

She bent over to pull open the produce drawer, giving him a heart-stopping view of her ass. Ryan turned away before she looked over, fighting for control of his body. Things were going so well, he didn’t want to fuck them up, and nothing made a situation quite as awkward as sporting a cock-stand in sweats.

When he could turn around without embarrassing himself, he moved over to where she had pulled precooked chicken out of the fridge. “I’ll get this if you want to chop the tomatoes.”

“You mean you’re actually going to let me touch a knife?” She gave him a strange look, but nodded. “Deal.”

Ryan opened the package, doing his damnedest to focus solely on chopping the meat into smaller pieces and not how she was so close he could reach over and run his hand down her spine. They worked in a comfortable silence, and he chopped the chicken and dumped it into the salad before he finally spoke. “I always felt like I was a day late and a dollar short as a kid.”

---