- Book info
- Sample
- Media
- Author updates
- Lists
Synopsis
A professor and a professional baker have nothing in common—except a magnetic attraction—in this sexy romance by “an author to watch out for” (RT Book Reviews).
Some people follow the rules . . .
A professor of forensic anthropology, James Donovan is the reasonable sibling among the passionate, impulsive Donovans. But there’s nothing reasonable about his reaction to baker Gracie Roberts. She’s all wild curls and mouth-watering curves, as deliciously tempting as the sugary treats she’s famous for—and twice as irritating. But before long, James decides that getting a taste of her is one indulgence he can’t pass up . . .
Some people play to win . . .
Independent, smart, and sexy Gracie’s year-long dry spell has her itching for a man. Responsible, health-obsessed James? Not in a million years! She needs a guy who knows how to let loose! But when James sets out to show her just how satisfying a disciplined man can be when pleasure is at stake, she learns just how sweet—and spicy—he really is. Have James and Gracie found the recipe for love?
“Tantalizing sex scenes and innuendos add sizzle, but the real strength of the characterization is revealed in their human need for understanding and empathy.” —Publishers Weekly
Some people follow the rules . . .
A professor of forensic anthropology, James Donovan is the reasonable sibling among the passionate, impulsive Donovans. But there’s nothing reasonable about his reaction to baker Gracie Roberts. She’s all wild curls and mouth-watering curves, as deliciously tempting as the sugary treats she’s famous for—and twice as irritating. But before long, James decides that getting a taste of her is one indulgence he can’t pass up . . .
Some people play to win . . .
Independent, smart, and sexy Gracie’s year-long dry spell has her itching for a man. Responsible, health-obsessed James? Not in a million years! She needs a guy who knows how to let loose! But when James sets out to show her just how satisfying a disciplined man can be when pleasure is at stake, she learns just how sweet—and spicy—he really is. Have James and Gracie found the recipe for love?
“Tantalizing sex scenes and innuendos add sizzle, but the real strength of the characterization is revealed in their human need for understanding and empathy.” —Publishers Weekly
Release date: January 1, 1949
Publisher: Zebra Books
Print pages: 352
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
Reader buzz
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
Author updates
Close
The Name of the Game
Jennifer Dawson
“How can you drink that stuff?” Gracie Roberts wrinkled her nose at the offending protein shake in James Donovan’s hand. Of course, his drink of choice wasn’t her business, but whenever she was around the stuffy professor of forensic anthropology for more than five seconds, she couldn’t resist the urge to antagonize him. In her defense, as a baker, his obsession with health food went against her nature.
How could she trust a man who didn’t eat sugar?
One brown brow rose as he stared at her, not speaking. Behind black, wire-rimmed frames, his cool, evergreen eyes studied her in a way she could only describe as dismissive. The standard expression he wore in her company.
When they’d met eighteen months ago, they’d taken one look at each other, and it had been instant dislike.
Which was strange. In her thirty-three years she’d rarely met a person she didn’t like. She loved people and people loved her right back. Her momma had always said she’d been born with more charm than should be legal.
Why, Gracie hadn’t had a nemesis since the eighth grade, when Katie Womack told Greg Holbert that Gracie had lice, so he’d take Katie to the spring fling instead. But in the end that turned out to be a godsend because now Katie was saddled with five screaming children and Greg cheated on her with a bottle blonde in the next town over.
Good riddance.
She eyed the professor with matching disdain as they squared off, prepared for yet another battle. Living hundreds of miles apart meant she should be able to avoid him, but he came with her best friends. Since Gracie loved her friends she was stuck with James. When she’d volunteered to come up to Chicago and help Cecilia Riley move into the fabulous house she’d bought with her fiancé, she’d known she’d have to endure the presence of her nemesis, but it didn’t make it any easier.
She sighed. The things she suffered for friendship.
She glared at him. “What are you looking at?”
A flickering once-over. “Not a thing.”
She shouldn’t engage him, but found it impossible this bright, sunny morning. Everything about him irritated her. He’d forsaken his normal geek-wear of tan slacks and a polo shirt, which made him look like a customer service rep for GEICO, for jeans and a vintage-inspired, faded blue Empire Strikes Back T-shirt. The cotton stretched over his broad chest and flat abs, emphasizing all those hard muscles he’d worked to hone.
She planted her hands on full hips she’d been told belonged on a 1940s pinup model, and glared at his offending drink. “Why don’t you drink chalk? I’m sure it tastes better.”
“This drink contains the perfect blend of protein, carbohydrates, and vitamins.” James eyed the powdered-sugar doughnut resting on a paper plate at her fingertips. “Which is more than I can say for that fried, sugary monstrosity you’re calling a breakfast.”
How dare he?! Doughnuts were universally loved. Only sickos and crazies didn’t like them. Gracie opened her mouth to blast him, but before she could, his older brother came to his rescue.
Shane held out his hands like a referee breaking up a couple of prizefighters. “Let’s not start another round of the food wars. It never ends well and it’s going to be a long day.”
Next to him, Cecilia, nodded. “We appreciate the help this weekend, but it’s only been an hour and you’ve bickered nonstop.”
Disgruntled, Gracie pointed at James. “He started it.”
He gave her the disapproving scowl he reserved for her. “You started it. I was standing here minding my own business.”
“You insulted my doughnut!” A stray blond curl flopped into one eye and she pushed it behind her ear even though it never stayed put.
“After you turned your nose up at my shake.” James crossed his arms over his chest and his biceps rippled.
For a second, the corded muscles running the length of his arms distracted her, but she quickly regained focus and snorted. “Shake! That’s an insult to shakes. Real shakes are made with actual ice cream. And I’m not talking low-fat frozen yogurt either. I’m talking—”
A loud, piercing whistle filled the air and Gracie covered her ears.
Cecilia’s four-carat diamond ring flashed, nearly blinding Gracie, as she sliced a hand through the air. “Please. You two are giving me a headache.”
Shane slid a big hand around Cecilia’s waist, pulling her close. “And I’m the only one allowed to make her upset.” He leaned down and kissed his future wife’s neck.
Between Shane and Cecilia getting married, and Gracie’s friends Mitch and Maddie Riley being newlyweds, the constant love fest had started to grate. While she was overjoyed they were happy, it forced Gracie to bear witness to their public displays of affection all too often.
And Gracie was big enough to admit she was a tiny bit jealous. She loved herself a little PDA, only she had no one to PDA with. The year anniversary of her unintentional celibacy had come and gone and she was starting to get twitchy. Abstinence hadn’t been the plan. She loved sex. She’d dated plenty, only no one had flipped her switch enough to get her into bed.
She shot a sidelong glance at the professor, always so proper and reserved. He probably thought kissing in public was as disgusting as doughnuts. Hell, he probably only had sex in the missionary position with the lights off. Anyone that uptight would be a complete dud in the sack. Of that much, she was sure.
Not that she thought about what he was like in bed.
When Shane’s tongue flicked over Cecilia’s skin, Gracie’s brows pinched together. “Hey, stop that.” She jerked a thumb at the professor. “You’re going to give him nightmares.”
Shane sucked on Cecilia’s neck, his teeth scraping over the soft flesh. Gracie couldn’t blame her friend one bit when Cecilia’s eyes practically rolled into the back of her head.
Unlike his brother, Shane Donovan was not the kind of man who fucked with the lights off.
James sighed, a deep, heavy sound of the resigned. “Once again, you’ve managed to lose me.”
Shane lifted his head and grinned at his younger brother. “She thinks you’re a prude, Jimmy.”
James scowled for several seconds, and then shook his head as though Gracie was just too silly for words. He picked up the box labeled “kitchen” off the counter and started toward the door, saying over his shoulder, “You make a gazillion dollars. Why aren’t those movers you hired taking care of this?”
That . . . was actually a good point. “Hey! He’s right.”
“Holy fuck, you agreed with him.” Shane craned his neck and called after his brother. “Did you hear that, Jimmy? She agreed with you.”
“I’ll mark it down in my calendar and drop dead of a heart attack,” James said wryly and out the door he went, thus concluding round 513 of their on-going battle.
“That’s it? That’s all I had to do?” Gracie grinned at Cecilia. “Think of all the time I’ve wasted.”
Shane narrowed his green eyes. At first, Gracie had thought all the Donovans shared the exact same eye color, but James’s were different. A cool, crisp evergreen amongst the rest of the clan’s warmth.
“Do you have to antagonize him?” Shane asked.
Indignant, Gracie placed a hand over her expansive cleavage. “Me? What did I do?”
“Don’t play innocent. You bait him. You’ve been baiting him since the day you met.” Shane slid a hand onto the counter behind Cecilia, and when her friend shivered a little, Gracie suspected he’d worked his fingers under Cecilia’s black top. Again.
Gracie sighed.
Cecilia nodded. “I’m afraid he’s right.”
Gracie rolled her eyes. “Ugh. I miss the days when you guys didn’t constantly agree with each other.”
Cecilia grinned at Shane, her sleek ponytail perfectly in place even though they were doing manual labor. “I’m trying, but I can’t seem to work up a good mad.”
Shane tugged her mane of caramel-colored hair. “I’m sure you’ll think of something soon.”
“How about the fact that you don’t have movers?” Gracie asked. After spending last night hearing way too much, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stomach their ooey-gooey love. Between them and the stuffy professor, her body couldn’t decide if it was stuck in a voyeuristic fantasy or My Fair Lady.
Shane’s hand settled on Cecilia’s neck. “The movers will be here in thirty. Ce-ce wanted to take care of the important stuff herself.”
Determined to show her friends the enthusiasm they deserved, Gracie smiled at the happy couple, pushing aside her pettiness. “It’s hard to believe six months ago Cecilia cried on my couch over you. Now look at you guys, moving in together and getting married.”
Cecilia’s expression held nothing but complete adoration as she gazed at her fiancé. “Pretty crazy, huh?”
Shane brushed a kiss over her lips, and Gracie looked away.
In six months Cecilia had changed her entire life around. She’d gone from a shut off, work-obsessed woman stuck in a job and life she hadn’t wanted, to the vibrant woman she was now. She’d quit her job as her father’s political advisor, disowned said father, made amends with her brother and mom, started a new business as a PR consultant specializing in image repair, and fallen in love with Shane.
Gracie couldn’t even manage to get herself laid. Which was pretty much her fault since she kept turning men down. Good men. Hot men.
She shook her shoulders. Enough of that. She had a great life. Sex and companionship weren’t the key to happiness. She had everything a woman could want: a thriving business, great friends, and a beautiful home she shared with her brother.
She was a self-sufficient, empowered woman. Men were secondary. Nice to have but certainly not vital.
James strolled back into the room, moving with an easy grace that irritated her. She’d be hard-pressed to pinpoint why she’d taken a dislike to him. Other than his addiction to health food and exercise, there wasn’t anything the least bit objectionable about him. Like his testosterone-laden alpha brothers, he was handsome enough—in a bookish sort of way.
At six-two, he was the shortest of the three Donovan boys, and while he had a body that rivaled his brothers’, there wasn’t anything threatening about James. He was an ordinary guy. Nothing exceptional. Nothing objectionable. With most men, especially harmless men, she went out of her way to flirt and flatter, but for some reason she couldn’t do that with James. It was something about the way he looked at her, as though he was on to her. Had figured her out. Only, she couldn’t figure out what he understood that she didn’t.
“What?” James asked, startling her out of her thoughts.
Her stomach did an unwelcome little jump, as it sometimes did when he gave her that hard glare and his jaw got all stern. She waved a hand. “Oh, nothing.”
He pointed at one of the boxes on the kitchen table. “Are you going to get to work, or stand there?”
Gracie huffed. “Um, I was here an hour before you.”
A quirked brow. “But did you do anything?”
“You are such an ass.” Gracie shook her head at the ceiling. How would she survive this day? Let alone the whole weekend?
“You’re getting repetitive.” James cocked his lean hip against the island countertop and took another drink of his disgusting shake. “You’ve already told me that twice today.”
Gracie searched her mind for a proper comeback only to find herself flummoxed. Another reason he irritated her. While she’d never admit it in a million years, she often got tongued-tied around him. She made men like him nervous, not the other way around.
Ignoring him, she whirled around to Cecilia. “Do you see what I have to put up with?”
Cecilia pressed her lips together to suppress a laugh.
Shane, however, did not have the same problem. “You did kind of start it.”
Cecilia elbowed him in the ribs and shushed him before crooking her finger at Gracie. “Come on, let’s go start on the bedroom.”
Shane grabbed Cecilia’s wrist and tugged her back, bending down to whisper something that made color splash onto her cheeks before letting her go. Cecilia wobbled, then righted herself, a secret smile on her lips. “We’ll just have to see about that, now won’t we?”
Shane gave her a long, slow once-over. “Yeah, we will.”
Gracie rolled her eyes. God help her. See, this was why she had sex on the brain. It was their fault.
Cecilia spun on her heel, head held high. “Come on, Gracie.” As she passed, Shane smacked her on the ass and she yelped. “Hey!”
Shane laughed and Cecilia glowered, although the huge grin on her lips gave her away. Gracie sighed, a bit wistful, as she followed her friend up the back staircase.
Nobody had smacked her ass in, like, forever.
James Donovan watched Gracie climb the back stairs, her fantasy-inducing ass encased in a pair of tight jeans that clung to her showgirl legs, in annoyed awe. The sentiment pretty much summed up his yearlong, animosity-filled acquaintance with her. The tight red T-shirt she wore displayed her hourglass figure in all its lush glory, and he’d about broken into a cold sweat as soon as he saw her.
If it was just her body it would be one thing, but her face was equally compelling with those dancing cornflower-blue eyes and wild mess of blond curls that refused to stay tamed no matter how many times she tucked it behind her ears. She was an odd mix of heart-stoppingly cute and wickedly sexy.
His jaw clenched. The kick of desire he felt bothered him. James’s mind and body had been under control for a long time, and his attraction to the blond sex goddess was a reminder of parts of him better left behind.
He wished for the thousandth time she’d meet someone. She dated plenty, but as far as he could tell, discarded men like used tissues during the heart of flu season.
When she’d stopped seeing the sheriff she’d been involved with when he’d first met her, James had been sure she’d hook up with one of his brothers. Women like Gracie always went for guys like his brothers. At first he’d assumed Shane, because they’d hit it off so well, but that hope had been dashed as soon as Cecilia had shown up.
At his sister Maddie’s wedding, his younger brother, Evan, had been all over Gracie, but to James’s surprise she’d rebuffed his advances with that good-natured charm she turned on everyone but him. James still didn’t understand why. Evan hadn’t heard the word no since he was fourteen. His brother was a six-five, star NFL wide receiver. He’d been to the Pro Bowl. And while she flirted with him shamelessly, she hadn’t acted. Gracie remained stubbornly unattached. Which irritated him more than if they were actually sleeping together; if Evan had sex with Gracie, she’d be off the table and his problems with her would be solved.
“Are you going to do something about that?” Shane’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
James jerked his attention away from the staircase Gracie disappeared up and rested his palms against the marble countertops. “I don’t know what you mean.”
His older brother’s green eyes narrowed. In that moment, with that particular expression on his face, he looked the spitting image of their father, and James experienced the dull ache of loss that never went away, no matter how much time passed.
“The tension between the two of you is becoming annoying.”
“It’s not tension,” James said in a cool, well-modulated tone. “It’s dislike. There’s a difference.”
Yes, they might have an undercurrent of chemistry, but it was crystal clear neither wanted anything to do with it.
He certainly didn’t. He liked his women rational.
“Bullshit. Stop beating around the bush and take care of it before you get a permanent case of blue balls.”
“Charming as always.” James kept his face relaxed and impassive. He’d made damn sure no one knew the extent of his lust for Gracie, but of course he didn’t fool Shane. “In case you haven’t noticed, she’s not a fan.”
“For a smart guy you sure are stupid.”
It was easy for guys like his brothers. They saw something they liked, and they went for it, consequences be damned.
James liked a little more planning than that. And while he’d put the insecurities of his youth to bed years ago, he was careful about his relationships. James raised a brow at Shane. “At a bare minimum I require my partners to respect me.”
Shane grinned. “Respect is overrated. Take her to bed and get it out of your system.”
An image of tangled sheets and a naked Gracie filled his mind, but James shook it off. “Mind your own business.”
“I don’t understand you at all.”
That was pretty much par for the course. James had never been like the rest of them and never would be. Their baby sister, Maddie, might be the tiny one in the family, but she was all fierce and spirited like his brothers. James accepted a long time ago he was the odd man out, and he’d given up wishing he could be like them the night of the car accident, when his father had died and his sister had lain in a coma.
His siblings were impulsive. James was the reasonable one. They didn’t get it and he didn’t blame them. It was hard to explain to people who thrived on risk that he liked his life orderly. Neat. Discipline and structure had helped him survive and become the man he was today. It had saved him and he had no desire to go back. He liked his life boring and predictable, even if it meant nobody understood him.
Yes, like any red-blooded man, he’d like to go to bed with Gracie and lose himself in her body and all that heat. But he’d examined the situation from all angles and saw no practical reason to satiate his desire. If, on the off chance she agreed—a highly unlikely scenario as she’d made her dislike crystal clear—it would be a disaster. Their personalities were at complete odds and it would end with her hating him more than she already did.
Sex was the only upside.
While it was a considerable upside, in the end it would do more harm than good. Instinct told him that not knowing how she’d feel under his hands and mouth was a good thing. The last thing he needed was the memory of what it felt like to slide inside her. Or how it would feel when she came.
He shook his head to clear the illicit thoughts. In the end, they were oil and water. Incompatible in every way that mattered to him.
“Stop thinking and just do it already.” Shane’s exasperated tone matched the expression on his face.
James didn’t bother to explain what his brother would never understand. “Don’t we have boxes to move?”
“Chicken shit,” Shane said.
“Smart,” James corrected.
“Well, if you won’t do anything about the situation, at least stop rising to the bait. She wants a reaction.”
“I’m fairly certain she doesn’t want anything from me.” James turned around and picked up a box, thinking through Shane’s statement.
Why did he fight with her? He didn’t fight with anyone else. As far as he could tell he was the only person Gracie didn’t get along with. Was arguing a way to engage her? To hold her attention?
He couldn’t dismiss the idea entirely. Not when he thought about how her sharp tongue made him hard. She might lay down the kindling, but he added the flame.
He must have a motive for engaging in repartee with Gracie. A motive he’d have to analyze at a later date when she wasn’t around to distract him.
But to Shane’s point, not rising to her bait was a concrete action he could take. He’d be around her the whole weekend. More than enough time to see the cause and effect of being cordial. He could be nice and polite for forty-eight hours. He turned the idea over in his mind, examining it from different angles, and couldn’t see the harm. It would be a good test of her reactions, and his own. To see if the antagonism between them was habit, or the only way to deal with the subtle and inconvenient attraction that he fought against and she flat-out ignored. Once he conducted his experiment, and examined the outcomes, he’d come up with a reasonable hypothesis and course of action.
He’d ignore Gracie’s barbs and be pleasant to her. He managed civility with colleagues and students at his university downtown every day; surely he could apply the same strategies here.
It was only a weekend. How hard could it be?
Five hours later Gracie was exhausted, and cursing Cecilia’s big closet. She eyed the shoebox on the top shelf in the back corner, hovering out of her reach. She stood on tiptoes, stretching her five feet, six inches to maximum height. Her fingertips brushed the box, which pushed it farther out of her reach. “Shit!”
She tried again but the shoes stayed firmly out of her grasp.
“Here, let me,” a deep voice said from behind.
She screeched, whirling around to see James leaning against the doorframe. She placed a hand over her pounding heart. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” He straightened. “Let me help you.”
She eyed him with suspicion. “Why?”
His jaw hardened, his mouth opened, but then he shook his head and his features relaxed. “Because I’m taller than you and thought it would fulfill my daily chivalry quota.”
She resisted the urge to stick out her tongue. Childish, but he brought out the worst in her. She cocked a brow. “I bet you do have a quota, along with a checklist.”
“Correct. I store it in my analytics software.” His voice was totally deadpan.
“You know what’s sad?” She planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t think that’s a joke.”
“I never joke. I have no sense of humor.” Expression stoic, he crossed his arms over his impossibly broad chest.
“So I’ve noticed.”
He shrugged. “It’s not on the checklist.”
Not quite the response she’d been looking for. She frowned. When forced to spend time with the professor, their sparring matches were the one thing on which she could depend.
But he hadn’t risen to the bait since their argument that morning.
The man had been downright nice. Which, strangely, turned out to be as irritating as when he argued with her. More so, if she was honest. She couldn’t start being nice to him now; it threw off their whole dynamic, and then where would she be?
She gave him an overly sweet smile. “Do you think I need a big, strong man to come to my rescue?”
“No. Just a taller one.” His voice was so mild it raised the fine hairs at the nape of her neck.
“Don’t be cute.” Wow. Now didn’t she sound petulant? She should be rejoicing in his cease-fire, but instead she kept pushing his buttons, hoping for some kind of reaction she knew what to do with. She should have him lapping out of the palm of her hand, but he never played by the rules.
He straightened and his chest seemed to expand, spreading the Empire Strikes Back logo on his T-shirt ominously over his broad muscles. With a sigh, he took a step toward her.
The urge to step back roared to life. How silly. She had nothing to be nervous about. He was a geeky professor.
He advanced on her with a look in his evergreen eyes she’d never seen before. He looked . . . determined.
She gulped.
His long legs ate up the floor separating them and her heart rate sped up, her mouth going dry as she fought the desire to retreat.
This was James. The most harmless man on the planet.
He’d eaten a salad for lunch. A salad! With lemon juice and olive oil for dressing, while the rest of them ate Italian beef sandwiches.
She squared her shoulders, tugging at her top. She was not nervous. She didn’t get nervous.
He stopped inches from her. He was close. Closer than he’d ever been. And they were alone. She couldn’t even hear the distant sounds of the movers.
She didn’t know how the silent pact started, but they had always made sure they were never left alone together. And here he was, changing the rules.
She sucked in a breath. Oh no. He smelled good. Like work and leather and man. They’d been doing manual labor for hours; how could he smell so good? Suddenly he seemed too tall. Too broad. Her vision of him expanded as he stretched outside the box where she kept him. Throat dry, she swallowed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m being helpful.” He smiled, and to her shock one dimple deepened his left cheek. Where had that been hiding?
It occurred to her she’d never seen it because he never smiled at her. He only glowered. The glower she could handle, the dimple she could not.
Heat radiated off him, warming her from head to toe, making her stomach jump, suspiciously like arousal. This was not a turn-on. If he turned her on she needed to have sex ASAP. She frowned. “Stop it. You’re being annoying again.”
His gaze met hers. This close, his eyes were startling green mixed with hints of blue, thus explaining their cool undertones.
His attention drifted to her mouth, and to her dismay her breath caught. She crossed her arms over her chest to hide what felt like nipple tightening, tapped one foot, and pointed at the shoebox. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
His lips quirked. “I thought my help annoyed you.”
If he could play it cool, so could she. She shrugged. “You’re here. Might as well make yourself useful.”
“I suppose you’ll have to suffer through the torture.” He shook his head, his full mouth creased in feigned sympathy. “However will you sleep tonight?”
With a scornful twist of her lips, she said, “I can assure you, when I’m lying in bed at night, you’re the last person who comes to mind.”
It was a lie. She did think of him sometimes, but only to ruminate on how much he maddened her. Nothing else. Well, okay, she had, on occasion, imagined how horrible he must be in bed. But that barely counted.
He didn’t speak, just stepped closer, his expression filled with a healthy dose of skepticism.
Was he trying to intimidate her? Because it wouldn’t work.
She had years of practice handling men. A skill she’d developed quickly when she’d turned fifteen and developed double-D breasts seemingly overnight. The first time a man hadn’t been able to tear his gaze from her cleavage, her momma had sat her down and they’d had a long talk about how Gracie had to be careful. She had taken the lesson to heart and learned to stay one step ahead of men ever since.
She raised a brow. “Is there any particular reason you’re standing right on top of me?”
One large hand slid onto her hip, making her jump. The heat of his palm seemed to sear right through her, leaving an imprint on her skin through her jeans. “You’re in my way.”
“What?”
His fingers squeezed her hip, sending a jolt of something she refused to name ping-ponging through her. He bent his head, and when he spoke his voice was low. “You’re in my way.”
And then he pushed her to the side.
She swayed, the imprint of his hand still branding her skin. With ease, he picked up the box and handed it to her with what looked a hell of a lot like a smirk.
Her mouth fell open, but before she could say anything, Cecilia called out, “Gracie?”
Heat fanned over her neck, splashing onto her cheeks.
A moment later Cecilia stood in the doorway of the closet, cell in hand. She glanced back and forth between the two of them. “What’s going on?”
Gracie held the shoebox with an iron grip. “Nothing. Nothing at all. What could be going on?” The words tumbled too quickly from her lips, making her sound guilty when she had absolutely nothing to be guilty about. He’d helped her. That was all. She cleared her throat. “What’s up?”
A small smile on her lips, Cecilia’s . . .
How could she trust a man who didn’t eat sugar?
One brown brow rose as he stared at her, not speaking. Behind black, wire-rimmed frames, his cool, evergreen eyes studied her in a way she could only describe as dismissive. The standard expression he wore in her company.
When they’d met eighteen months ago, they’d taken one look at each other, and it had been instant dislike.
Which was strange. In her thirty-three years she’d rarely met a person she didn’t like. She loved people and people loved her right back. Her momma had always said she’d been born with more charm than should be legal.
Why, Gracie hadn’t had a nemesis since the eighth grade, when Katie Womack told Greg Holbert that Gracie had lice, so he’d take Katie to the spring fling instead. But in the end that turned out to be a godsend because now Katie was saddled with five screaming children and Greg cheated on her with a bottle blonde in the next town over.
Good riddance.
She eyed the professor with matching disdain as they squared off, prepared for yet another battle. Living hundreds of miles apart meant she should be able to avoid him, but he came with her best friends. Since Gracie loved her friends she was stuck with James. When she’d volunteered to come up to Chicago and help Cecilia Riley move into the fabulous house she’d bought with her fiancé, she’d known she’d have to endure the presence of her nemesis, but it didn’t make it any easier.
She sighed. The things she suffered for friendship.
She glared at him. “What are you looking at?”
A flickering once-over. “Not a thing.”
She shouldn’t engage him, but found it impossible this bright, sunny morning. Everything about him irritated her. He’d forsaken his normal geek-wear of tan slacks and a polo shirt, which made him look like a customer service rep for GEICO, for jeans and a vintage-inspired, faded blue Empire Strikes Back T-shirt. The cotton stretched over his broad chest and flat abs, emphasizing all those hard muscles he’d worked to hone.
She planted her hands on full hips she’d been told belonged on a 1940s pinup model, and glared at his offending drink. “Why don’t you drink chalk? I’m sure it tastes better.”
“This drink contains the perfect blend of protein, carbohydrates, and vitamins.” James eyed the powdered-sugar doughnut resting on a paper plate at her fingertips. “Which is more than I can say for that fried, sugary monstrosity you’re calling a breakfast.”
How dare he?! Doughnuts were universally loved. Only sickos and crazies didn’t like them. Gracie opened her mouth to blast him, but before she could, his older brother came to his rescue.
Shane held out his hands like a referee breaking up a couple of prizefighters. “Let’s not start another round of the food wars. It never ends well and it’s going to be a long day.”
Next to him, Cecilia, nodded. “We appreciate the help this weekend, but it’s only been an hour and you’ve bickered nonstop.”
Disgruntled, Gracie pointed at James. “He started it.”
He gave her the disapproving scowl he reserved for her. “You started it. I was standing here minding my own business.”
“You insulted my doughnut!” A stray blond curl flopped into one eye and she pushed it behind her ear even though it never stayed put.
“After you turned your nose up at my shake.” James crossed his arms over his chest and his biceps rippled.
For a second, the corded muscles running the length of his arms distracted her, but she quickly regained focus and snorted. “Shake! That’s an insult to shakes. Real shakes are made with actual ice cream. And I’m not talking low-fat frozen yogurt either. I’m talking—”
A loud, piercing whistle filled the air and Gracie covered her ears.
Cecilia’s four-carat diamond ring flashed, nearly blinding Gracie, as she sliced a hand through the air. “Please. You two are giving me a headache.”
Shane slid a big hand around Cecilia’s waist, pulling her close. “And I’m the only one allowed to make her upset.” He leaned down and kissed his future wife’s neck.
Between Shane and Cecilia getting married, and Gracie’s friends Mitch and Maddie Riley being newlyweds, the constant love fest had started to grate. While she was overjoyed they were happy, it forced Gracie to bear witness to their public displays of affection all too often.
And Gracie was big enough to admit she was a tiny bit jealous. She loved herself a little PDA, only she had no one to PDA with. The year anniversary of her unintentional celibacy had come and gone and she was starting to get twitchy. Abstinence hadn’t been the plan. She loved sex. She’d dated plenty, only no one had flipped her switch enough to get her into bed.
She shot a sidelong glance at the professor, always so proper and reserved. He probably thought kissing in public was as disgusting as doughnuts. Hell, he probably only had sex in the missionary position with the lights off. Anyone that uptight would be a complete dud in the sack. Of that much, she was sure.
Not that she thought about what he was like in bed.
When Shane’s tongue flicked over Cecilia’s skin, Gracie’s brows pinched together. “Hey, stop that.” She jerked a thumb at the professor. “You’re going to give him nightmares.”
Shane sucked on Cecilia’s neck, his teeth scraping over the soft flesh. Gracie couldn’t blame her friend one bit when Cecilia’s eyes practically rolled into the back of her head.
Unlike his brother, Shane Donovan was not the kind of man who fucked with the lights off.
James sighed, a deep, heavy sound of the resigned. “Once again, you’ve managed to lose me.”
Shane lifted his head and grinned at his younger brother. “She thinks you’re a prude, Jimmy.”
James scowled for several seconds, and then shook his head as though Gracie was just too silly for words. He picked up the box labeled “kitchen” off the counter and started toward the door, saying over his shoulder, “You make a gazillion dollars. Why aren’t those movers you hired taking care of this?”
That . . . was actually a good point. “Hey! He’s right.”
“Holy fuck, you agreed with him.” Shane craned his neck and called after his brother. “Did you hear that, Jimmy? She agreed with you.”
“I’ll mark it down in my calendar and drop dead of a heart attack,” James said wryly and out the door he went, thus concluding round 513 of their on-going battle.
“That’s it? That’s all I had to do?” Gracie grinned at Cecilia. “Think of all the time I’ve wasted.”
Shane narrowed his green eyes. At first, Gracie had thought all the Donovans shared the exact same eye color, but James’s were different. A cool, crisp evergreen amongst the rest of the clan’s warmth.
“Do you have to antagonize him?” Shane asked.
Indignant, Gracie placed a hand over her expansive cleavage. “Me? What did I do?”
“Don’t play innocent. You bait him. You’ve been baiting him since the day you met.” Shane slid a hand onto the counter behind Cecilia, and when her friend shivered a little, Gracie suspected he’d worked his fingers under Cecilia’s black top. Again.
Gracie sighed.
Cecilia nodded. “I’m afraid he’s right.”
Gracie rolled her eyes. “Ugh. I miss the days when you guys didn’t constantly agree with each other.”
Cecilia grinned at Shane, her sleek ponytail perfectly in place even though they were doing manual labor. “I’m trying, but I can’t seem to work up a good mad.”
Shane tugged her mane of caramel-colored hair. “I’m sure you’ll think of something soon.”
“How about the fact that you don’t have movers?” Gracie asked. After spending last night hearing way too much, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stomach their ooey-gooey love. Between them and the stuffy professor, her body couldn’t decide if it was stuck in a voyeuristic fantasy or My Fair Lady.
Shane’s hand settled on Cecilia’s neck. “The movers will be here in thirty. Ce-ce wanted to take care of the important stuff herself.”
Determined to show her friends the enthusiasm they deserved, Gracie smiled at the happy couple, pushing aside her pettiness. “It’s hard to believe six months ago Cecilia cried on my couch over you. Now look at you guys, moving in together and getting married.”
Cecilia’s expression held nothing but complete adoration as she gazed at her fiancé. “Pretty crazy, huh?”
Shane brushed a kiss over her lips, and Gracie looked away.
In six months Cecilia had changed her entire life around. She’d gone from a shut off, work-obsessed woman stuck in a job and life she hadn’t wanted, to the vibrant woman she was now. She’d quit her job as her father’s political advisor, disowned said father, made amends with her brother and mom, started a new business as a PR consultant specializing in image repair, and fallen in love with Shane.
Gracie couldn’t even manage to get herself laid. Which was pretty much her fault since she kept turning men down. Good men. Hot men.
She shook her shoulders. Enough of that. She had a great life. Sex and companionship weren’t the key to happiness. She had everything a woman could want: a thriving business, great friends, and a beautiful home she shared with her brother.
She was a self-sufficient, empowered woman. Men were secondary. Nice to have but certainly not vital.
James strolled back into the room, moving with an easy grace that irritated her. She’d be hard-pressed to pinpoint why she’d taken a dislike to him. Other than his addiction to health food and exercise, there wasn’t anything the least bit objectionable about him. Like his testosterone-laden alpha brothers, he was handsome enough—in a bookish sort of way.
At six-two, he was the shortest of the three Donovan boys, and while he had a body that rivaled his brothers’, there wasn’t anything threatening about James. He was an ordinary guy. Nothing exceptional. Nothing objectionable. With most men, especially harmless men, she went out of her way to flirt and flatter, but for some reason she couldn’t do that with James. It was something about the way he looked at her, as though he was on to her. Had figured her out. Only, she couldn’t figure out what he understood that she didn’t.
“What?” James asked, startling her out of her thoughts.
Her stomach did an unwelcome little jump, as it sometimes did when he gave her that hard glare and his jaw got all stern. She waved a hand. “Oh, nothing.”
He pointed at one of the boxes on the kitchen table. “Are you going to get to work, or stand there?”
Gracie huffed. “Um, I was here an hour before you.”
A quirked brow. “But did you do anything?”
“You are such an ass.” Gracie shook her head at the ceiling. How would she survive this day? Let alone the whole weekend?
“You’re getting repetitive.” James cocked his lean hip against the island countertop and took another drink of his disgusting shake. “You’ve already told me that twice today.”
Gracie searched her mind for a proper comeback only to find herself flummoxed. Another reason he irritated her. While she’d never admit it in a million years, she often got tongued-tied around him. She made men like him nervous, not the other way around.
Ignoring him, she whirled around to Cecilia. “Do you see what I have to put up with?”
Cecilia pressed her lips together to suppress a laugh.
Shane, however, did not have the same problem. “You did kind of start it.”
Cecilia elbowed him in the ribs and shushed him before crooking her finger at Gracie. “Come on, let’s go start on the bedroom.”
Shane grabbed Cecilia’s wrist and tugged her back, bending down to whisper something that made color splash onto her cheeks before letting her go. Cecilia wobbled, then righted herself, a secret smile on her lips. “We’ll just have to see about that, now won’t we?”
Shane gave her a long, slow once-over. “Yeah, we will.”
Gracie rolled her eyes. God help her. See, this was why she had sex on the brain. It was their fault.
Cecilia spun on her heel, head held high. “Come on, Gracie.” As she passed, Shane smacked her on the ass and she yelped. “Hey!”
Shane laughed and Cecilia glowered, although the huge grin on her lips gave her away. Gracie sighed, a bit wistful, as she followed her friend up the back staircase.
Nobody had smacked her ass in, like, forever.
James Donovan watched Gracie climb the back stairs, her fantasy-inducing ass encased in a pair of tight jeans that clung to her showgirl legs, in annoyed awe. The sentiment pretty much summed up his yearlong, animosity-filled acquaintance with her. The tight red T-shirt she wore displayed her hourglass figure in all its lush glory, and he’d about broken into a cold sweat as soon as he saw her.
If it was just her body it would be one thing, but her face was equally compelling with those dancing cornflower-blue eyes and wild mess of blond curls that refused to stay tamed no matter how many times she tucked it behind her ears. She was an odd mix of heart-stoppingly cute and wickedly sexy.
His jaw clenched. The kick of desire he felt bothered him. James’s mind and body had been under control for a long time, and his attraction to the blond sex goddess was a reminder of parts of him better left behind.
He wished for the thousandth time she’d meet someone. She dated plenty, but as far as he could tell, discarded men like used tissues during the heart of flu season.
When she’d stopped seeing the sheriff she’d been involved with when he’d first met her, James had been sure she’d hook up with one of his brothers. Women like Gracie always went for guys like his brothers. At first he’d assumed Shane, because they’d hit it off so well, but that hope had been dashed as soon as Cecilia had shown up.
At his sister Maddie’s wedding, his younger brother, Evan, had been all over Gracie, but to James’s surprise she’d rebuffed his advances with that good-natured charm she turned on everyone but him. James still didn’t understand why. Evan hadn’t heard the word no since he was fourteen. His brother was a six-five, star NFL wide receiver. He’d been to the Pro Bowl. And while she flirted with him shamelessly, she hadn’t acted. Gracie remained stubbornly unattached. Which irritated him more than if they were actually sleeping together; if Evan had sex with Gracie, she’d be off the table and his problems with her would be solved.
“Are you going to do something about that?” Shane’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
James jerked his attention away from the staircase Gracie disappeared up and rested his palms against the marble countertops. “I don’t know what you mean.”
His older brother’s green eyes narrowed. In that moment, with that particular expression on his face, he looked the spitting image of their father, and James experienced the dull ache of loss that never went away, no matter how much time passed.
“The tension between the two of you is becoming annoying.”
“It’s not tension,” James said in a cool, well-modulated tone. “It’s dislike. There’s a difference.”
Yes, they might have an undercurrent of chemistry, but it was crystal clear neither wanted anything to do with it.
He certainly didn’t. He liked his women rational.
“Bullshit. Stop beating around the bush and take care of it before you get a permanent case of blue balls.”
“Charming as always.” James kept his face relaxed and impassive. He’d made damn sure no one knew the extent of his lust for Gracie, but of course he didn’t fool Shane. “In case you haven’t noticed, she’s not a fan.”
“For a smart guy you sure are stupid.”
It was easy for guys like his brothers. They saw something they liked, and they went for it, consequences be damned.
James liked a little more planning than that. And while he’d put the insecurities of his youth to bed years ago, he was careful about his relationships. James raised a brow at Shane. “At a bare minimum I require my partners to respect me.”
Shane grinned. “Respect is overrated. Take her to bed and get it out of your system.”
An image of tangled sheets and a naked Gracie filled his mind, but James shook it off. “Mind your own business.”
“I don’t understand you at all.”
That was pretty much par for the course. James had never been like the rest of them and never would be. Their baby sister, Maddie, might be the tiny one in the family, but she was all fierce and spirited like his brothers. James accepted a long time ago he was the odd man out, and he’d given up wishing he could be like them the night of the car accident, when his father had died and his sister had lain in a coma.
His siblings were impulsive. James was the reasonable one. They didn’t get it and he didn’t blame them. It was hard to explain to people who thrived on risk that he liked his life orderly. Neat. Discipline and structure had helped him survive and become the man he was today. It had saved him and he had no desire to go back. He liked his life boring and predictable, even if it meant nobody understood him.
Yes, like any red-blooded man, he’d like to go to bed with Gracie and lose himself in her body and all that heat. But he’d examined the situation from all angles and saw no practical reason to satiate his desire. If, on the off chance she agreed—a highly unlikely scenario as she’d made her dislike crystal clear—it would be a disaster. Their personalities were at complete odds and it would end with her hating him more than she already did.
Sex was the only upside.
While it was a considerable upside, in the end it would do more harm than good. Instinct told him that not knowing how she’d feel under his hands and mouth was a good thing. The last thing he needed was the memory of what it felt like to slide inside her. Or how it would feel when she came.
He shook his head to clear the illicit thoughts. In the end, they were oil and water. Incompatible in every way that mattered to him.
“Stop thinking and just do it already.” Shane’s exasperated tone matched the expression on his face.
James didn’t bother to explain what his brother would never understand. “Don’t we have boxes to move?”
“Chicken shit,” Shane said.
“Smart,” James corrected.
“Well, if you won’t do anything about the situation, at least stop rising to the bait. She wants a reaction.”
“I’m fairly certain she doesn’t want anything from me.” James turned around and picked up a box, thinking through Shane’s statement.
Why did he fight with her? He didn’t fight with anyone else. As far as he could tell he was the only person Gracie didn’t get along with. Was arguing a way to engage her? To hold her attention?
He couldn’t dismiss the idea entirely. Not when he thought about how her sharp tongue made him hard. She might lay down the kindling, but he added the flame.
He must have a motive for engaging in repartee with Gracie. A motive he’d have to analyze at a later date when she wasn’t around to distract him.
But to Shane’s point, not rising to her bait was a concrete action he could take. He’d be around her the whole weekend. More than enough time to see the cause and effect of being cordial. He could be nice and polite for forty-eight hours. He turned the idea over in his mind, examining it from different angles, and couldn’t see the harm. It would be a good test of her reactions, and his own. To see if the antagonism between them was habit, or the only way to deal with the subtle and inconvenient attraction that he fought against and she flat-out ignored. Once he conducted his experiment, and examined the outcomes, he’d come up with a reasonable hypothesis and course of action.
He’d ignore Gracie’s barbs and be pleasant to her. He managed civility with colleagues and students at his university downtown every day; surely he could apply the same strategies here.
It was only a weekend. How hard could it be?
Five hours later Gracie was exhausted, and cursing Cecilia’s big closet. She eyed the shoebox on the top shelf in the back corner, hovering out of her reach. She stood on tiptoes, stretching her five feet, six inches to maximum height. Her fingertips brushed the box, which pushed it farther out of her reach. “Shit!”
She tried again but the shoes stayed firmly out of her grasp.
“Here, let me,” a deep voice said from behind.
She screeched, whirling around to see James leaning against the doorframe. She placed a hand over her pounding heart. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” He straightened. “Let me help you.”
She eyed him with suspicion. “Why?”
His jaw hardened, his mouth opened, but then he shook his head and his features relaxed. “Because I’m taller than you and thought it would fulfill my daily chivalry quota.”
She resisted the urge to stick out her tongue. Childish, but he brought out the worst in her. She cocked a brow. “I bet you do have a quota, along with a checklist.”
“Correct. I store it in my analytics software.” His voice was totally deadpan.
“You know what’s sad?” She planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t think that’s a joke.”
“I never joke. I have no sense of humor.” Expression stoic, he crossed his arms over his impossibly broad chest.
“So I’ve noticed.”
He shrugged. “It’s not on the checklist.”
Not quite the response she’d been looking for. She frowned. When forced to spend time with the professor, their sparring matches were the one thing on which she could depend.
But he hadn’t risen to the bait since their argument that morning.
The man had been downright nice. Which, strangely, turned out to be as irritating as when he argued with her. More so, if she was honest. She couldn’t start being nice to him now; it threw off their whole dynamic, and then where would she be?
She gave him an overly sweet smile. “Do you think I need a big, strong man to come to my rescue?”
“No. Just a taller one.” His voice was so mild it raised the fine hairs at the nape of her neck.
“Don’t be cute.” Wow. Now didn’t she sound petulant? She should be rejoicing in his cease-fire, but instead she kept pushing his buttons, hoping for some kind of reaction she knew what to do with. She should have him lapping out of the palm of her hand, but he never played by the rules.
He straightened and his chest seemed to expand, spreading the Empire Strikes Back logo on his T-shirt ominously over his broad muscles. With a sigh, he took a step toward her.
The urge to step back roared to life. How silly. She had nothing to be nervous about. He was a geeky professor.
He advanced on her with a look in his evergreen eyes she’d never seen before. He looked . . . determined.
She gulped.
His long legs ate up the floor separating them and her heart rate sped up, her mouth going dry as she fought the desire to retreat.
This was James. The most harmless man on the planet.
He’d eaten a salad for lunch. A salad! With lemon juice and olive oil for dressing, while the rest of them ate Italian beef sandwiches.
She squared her shoulders, tugging at her top. She was not nervous. She didn’t get nervous.
He stopped inches from her. He was close. Closer than he’d ever been. And they were alone. She couldn’t even hear the distant sounds of the movers.
She didn’t know how the silent pact started, but they had always made sure they were never left alone together. And here he was, changing the rules.
She sucked in a breath. Oh no. He smelled good. Like work and leather and man. They’d been doing manual labor for hours; how could he smell so good? Suddenly he seemed too tall. Too broad. Her vision of him expanded as he stretched outside the box where she kept him. Throat dry, she swallowed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m being helpful.” He smiled, and to her shock one dimple deepened his left cheek. Where had that been hiding?
It occurred to her she’d never seen it because he never smiled at her. He only glowered. The glower she could handle, the dimple she could not.
Heat radiated off him, warming her from head to toe, making her stomach jump, suspiciously like arousal. This was not a turn-on. If he turned her on she needed to have sex ASAP. She frowned. “Stop it. You’re being annoying again.”
His gaze met hers. This close, his eyes were startling green mixed with hints of blue, thus explaining their cool undertones.
His attention drifted to her mouth, and to her dismay her breath caught. She crossed her arms over her chest to hide what felt like nipple tightening, tapped one foot, and pointed at the shoebox. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
His lips quirked. “I thought my help annoyed you.”
If he could play it cool, so could she. She shrugged. “You’re here. Might as well make yourself useful.”
“I suppose you’ll have to suffer through the torture.” He shook his head, his full mouth creased in feigned sympathy. “However will you sleep tonight?”
With a scornful twist of her lips, she said, “I can assure you, when I’m lying in bed at night, you’re the last person who comes to mind.”
It was a lie. She did think of him sometimes, but only to ruminate on how much he maddened her. Nothing else. Well, okay, she had, on occasion, imagined how horrible he must be in bed. But that barely counted.
He didn’t speak, just stepped closer, his expression filled with a healthy dose of skepticism.
Was he trying to intimidate her? Because it wouldn’t work.
She had years of practice handling men. A skill she’d developed quickly when she’d turned fifteen and developed double-D breasts seemingly overnight. The first time a man hadn’t been able to tear his gaze from her cleavage, her momma had sat her down and they’d had a long talk about how Gracie had to be careful. She had taken the lesson to heart and learned to stay one step ahead of men ever since.
She raised a brow. “Is there any particular reason you’re standing right on top of me?”
One large hand slid onto her hip, making her jump. The heat of his palm seemed to sear right through her, leaving an imprint on her skin through her jeans. “You’re in my way.”
“What?”
His fingers squeezed her hip, sending a jolt of something she refused to name ping-ponging through her. He bent his head, and when he spoke his voice was low. “You’re in my way.”
And then he pushed her to the side.
She swayed, the imprint of his hand still branding her skin. With ease, he picked up the box and handed it to her with what looked a hell of a lot like a smirk.
Her mouth fell open, but before she could say anything, Cecilia called out, “Gracie?”
Heat fanned over her neck, splashing onto her cheeks.
A moment later Cecilia stood in the doorway of the closet, cell in hand. She glanced back and forth between the two of them. “What’s going on?”
Gracie held the shoebox with an iron grip. “Nothing. Nothing at all. What could be going on?” The words tumbled too quickly from her lips, making her sound guilty when she had absolutely nothing to be guilty about. He’d helped her. That was all. She cleared her throat. “What’s up?”
A small smile on her lips, Cecilia’s . . .
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
The Name of the Game
Jennifer Dawson
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
