The Way We Play (Bradford Boys #2)

Chapter 9

9

Zane

“ I ’ve decided I want a Christmas tree this year.” Miss Gina’s hand is on my forearm as we walk through her Italian-style mansion.

The entire place is beige marble and wrought iron. It’s all hard edges and slippery surfaces only softened by the sofas and Persian rugs expertly arranged in each well-appointed room.

You’d think it would be a nightmare for a blind person, but she navigates it with ease having grown up here.

I’m pretty sure it’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen. Dylan’s been in love with it all her life, and we actually met Miss Gina because my little sister was so obsessed with this place, she insisted we bring whoever lived here some cookies when she was briefly a Girl Scout, before she started dancing twenty-four-seven.

I drove her here, where we met the sunniest, most optimistic blind lady who was thrilled to have the company of “two nice young people with cookies.”

Back then, she lived here alone with her elderly gardener Stephen and a nurse from Birmingham, where her niece lives, but after that day, everything changed. We’ve been dropping by, visiting, and now caring for her ever since.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to move anything.” Whenever I tease her about not really being blind, she says she can see it all in her mind—and never, ever rearrange the furniture.

I pause, and she continues ahead of me, crossing the massive living room to the twelve-foot windows facing the front of the house.

“We could put it here, so it can be seen from the road.” She turns in my direction, sweeping her hand around the vacant space. “I’d like it to be big, and get one that fills the house with scent.”

“I’ll get you the stinkiest tree on the lot.”

“Zane Bradford!” Her horrified cry breaks on a laugh.

A grand piano sits in the corner, and a balcony circles the room above us with bookshelves full of books lining the walls.

Thick beige silk and satin curtains cover the windows, and she slides her hand down a sheer moving it aside.

“Would you like it to be decorated?”

Her lips press together, and her brow furrows. “I don’t have Christmas decorations. They always seemed too risky to me.”

“I agree.”

“Do you think it would be okay to have only lights on the tree? Is that boring?”

“I think it would be beautiful.” Rachel’s soft voice joins us in the room, and my body tenses. “What made you decide to get a tree?”

My eyes move over her hair hanging long down her back with little pieces curling around her chin and jaw. She’s wearing peach-colored wide-legged overalls with a thin, long-sleeved shirt underneath.

She’s seemed slightly on edge since we were at the stables yesterday, and she’s been very focused on talking to Dylan. My little sister, by contrast, has been slammed getting ready for the Christmas program.

“I’m sure it’s old-lady sentimentality, but I feel like I’m missing out on something important.” Miss Gina’s lips press into a half-smile, and it’s the closest I’ve ever seen her get to unhappiness. “Something the whole world joins in together.”

“You’re not being left out this year.” Rachel steps closer, sliding her hand through the old woman’s arm. “We’ll make this place look and smell so good, it’ll be like Santa’s workshop.”

“Don’t add anything besides a tree, though.” Miss Gina’s brow furrows.

I take a step closer. “Don’t worry. I know the rules.”

“Hmm…” She pats her bony finger against her thin lips. “Is Edward in the garden? I think I have a job for him.”

“Want me to walk you?” Rachel takes her hand.

“No, no!” Miss Gina lifts it, waving her away. “I can find him. You two stay here and sort out the details.”

She scurries away in her long, beige cardigan, and my eyes move to Rachel. She seems almost afraid to look at me, but eventually she tears her eyes away from the direction our employer went.

Her chin dips before she looks up at me through thick lashes. “I think she did that on purpose.”

“What would be the purpose?” Her body feels too close, so I take a step away.

“She’s an old lady. Old ladies love to play matchmaker.” Rachel turns and walks to the wall of mahogany bookshelves. “Just look at these old things. Aren’t they amazing?”

She slides out a small, fabric-bound tome, lifting it to her nose before turning it in her hands.

I look up at the skylight far overhead. “No telling what all’s on these shelves.”

“ Silas Marner .” She opens the cover and reads aloud. “The Weaver of Raveloe. It has handwriting inside. Look.”

Excited eyes meet mine, and I relent, walking over to see what she wants to show me. On the front page in a shaky old cursive, it says Tuesday and Thursday.

“I didn’t think you were allowed to write in textbooks.”

“I wonder if it’s Miss Gina’s. Maybe she was homeschooled since she’s blind. This could be her tutor’s handwriting.”

“Maybe.” It looks older than that to me.

“Oh, look! The Black Stallion .” She pulls out another hardcover edition with gold print and turns it in her hand. “Edward might like to read this.”

My eyes drift from the book to the curve of Rachel’s cheek. A soft peach color is on the top of them, and I can smell the grape candy in her mouth.

She blinks up at me, and my stomach warms. I take a step back.

“I can’t believe my brother rode a horse yesterday.” Her lips curl with a smile. “You’re helping him so much, opening his world.”

“You’re giving him books.” I nod at the volume she’s holding. “They also open his world.”

“It’s true.” Her eyes flash mischievously. “Books are dangerous. They make you think. They give you the idea there’s something better out there.”

“Or worse.”

“I thought you stopped reading The Sun Also Rises! ” It’s a teasing fuss, and I think of something less depressing.

“It was a dark and stormy night?”

“Better.” She returns the smaller book to the shelf. “Edward loved A Wrinkle in Time .”

“Dylan did, too.” I walk to the bookshelf, surveying the spines.

“She told me you used to read to her when she was little.” Rachel follows me. “I think if I found my little boy reading to my little girl, I’d melt on the spot.”

“Readers are leaders,” I mimic Edward’s tone, and she exhales a laugh .

Reaching up, she slides her finger along the spine of an Emily Dickinson novel. “I used to dream of having a boyfriend like Mr. Darcy.”

“Instead, you had boyfriends like…” The words jump out unbidden.

Why am I asking her about past boyfriends? More importantly, why do I feel like I’m hanging off the edge of a cliff waiting for her answer?

“None.” She sighs as she says it, and her chin drops to her chest. “I’ve never had a serious boyfriend.”

I don’t know how to name the satisfied feeling that flashes in my chest. It’s primal, possessive. It’s new.

“What’s wrong with the guys in Birmingham?” I mean to say it as a joke, but I’m not joking.

She only shrugs, chewing her lip. “They don’t like weird little brothers hanging around all the time.”

I’ve got to get a grip on this. Rachel’s love life is not my business. Clearing my throat, I take a step down the passage, away from the pull of her gravity.

“Well, I wouldn’t worry. You’ve got plenty of time.” The words are bitter on my tongue.

I hate them. I don’t want her out there looking for someone. I want to put my hands on her and claim her. I want to make it clear she’s mine.

Mine .

What?

“Gran always said that, but I’m almost thirty.” She huffs a laugh. “I thought I would’ve at least kissed someone by now.”

Fuck. Me.

“You’ve never been kissed?” I move towards her.

Her eyes squeeze shut, and she puts both hands over her face. “I know. It’s so humiliating. You must think I’m a total loser.”

“I don’t. I just…” Shaking my head, I look at her. “How is that possible? ”

“I mean…” She pffts air through her lips. “It’s possible. Just look at me.”

What does she mean? Is she trying to say she’s a dork? She has no game?

“I am looking at you.” A woman as sexy and beautiful as Rachel doesn’t need game, and being a dork just makes her cuter.

I take a step closer to where she’s leaning against the books looking down, cheeks bright red, eyes blinking fast.

“You’re like Archer.” I lift a finger to slide a piece of hair behind her ear.

She takes a shivering inhale and lifts her chin. Our eyes meet, and our bodies are so close, her warmth radiates against my skin.

“I think maybe I’ve built it up in my mind so much, I’m afraid for it to happen.” Her voice is a rushed whisper.

I put my thumb on her chin. My arm is propped on the bookshelf above her head, and I’m leaning down. She’s standing straight against the books, arching her back higher.

Her full breasts rise and fall rapidly with her pants, and I’m not getting away this time. An invisible force pulls me to her, and my fight has left me.

“Would you like me to kiss you?” My voice is low, and I wonder if I’ve lost my mind.

What I do know is I’ve been going out of my mind thinking about her, and here she is, right in front of me, destroying my willpower.

She lifts her chin, green eyes meeting mine as her pink tongue slips out to wet her bottom lip. My dick tightens. Her hand grips the front of my shirt, and she pulls me closer.

“Yes.”

It’s all I need.

Leaning down, I hold her gaze before blinking down to her parted lips. I cup her cheek in my hand. The other, I move to her waist, sliding it around her lower back to pull her body flush against mine. She feels so good, soft and melting into me, like she belongs in my arms .

On a breath, I seal my lips to hers, and a soft whimper escapes her throat. Her fingers curl against my chest, and one slides higher, to my shoulders and into the side of my hair.

Moving her lips apart, my tongue attempts an invasion, but it’s met with an impenetrable force.

Lifting my head, I speak gently. “Open your mouth.”

“What?” Her brow furrows, and she starts to blink.

“Your teeth are clenched.”

“Oh!” She exhales a laugh, trying to get embarrassed. “I guess I’m nervous. I didn’t even?—”

Sealing my lips over hers, I try again. This time, her teeth part, and I’m inside the walls. Our tongues curl together, and she makes another soft noise. It registers straight to my cock, and from there, things pick up speed.

She tastes like grape candy. She smells like tantalizing flowers. Her knees bend, and I hold her tighter against my chest, moving her mouth with mine, consuming her, devouring her.

I turn her back against the books, and she rises higher. I pull her lips with mine before kissing her jaw, her cheek, her ear, then making my way back to her delicious mouth once more.

Both her hands are in my hair, and she tugs me closer. She’s a fast learner, and now she’s nipping my lips, sweeping her tongue with mine and moving her body against me. It’s like a dance only the two of us know.

I’m sure she can feel my erection. Her breasts grind against my chest, and I want to slide my hands under her shirt. I want to see her naked again. Her head tilts as our mouths slide, and she moans. Fuck, this feels too good. I’ve got to stop it. I’m going to fuck her right here in Miss Gina’s nice library if I don’t.

Slowing my movements, I bring us down. I move my mouth to her temple and inhale deeply the flowery scent of her hair. My eyes close briefly as it imprints on my mind.

She’s gripping me and panting, and damn, if the earth didn’t tilt for a hot minute .

When I’m pretty sure I’ve got my bearings, I take a step back.

She’s gorgeously mussed. Her lips are swollen, her eyes are dark and lusty, and those tits rise and fall with her pants. Her nipples point at me, and my lips part.

“I didn’t build it up,” she whispers.

“What?”

“Kissing. I didn’t build it up in my mind.” She blinks hard, shaking her head. “That was… that was really good.”

Moving my tongue around, I realize, I have her Jolly Rancher in my mouth. A silly sense of pride tightens my chest, like I’m back in high school, and we swapped our gum.

And I left my brain in the Jeep.

What the fuck am I doing? I said I wasn’t going to kiss her. Now I’ve kissed her. I said I wasn’t going to bang her…

“I’ve gotta get back to work.” I turn, needing to escape.

I’ve got to get the hell out of here before it’s too late.

Who am I kidding? It’s already too late.

“Wait!” Her voice cracks on the word. “Where are you going?”

“I never fixed that drain.” Lame . My jaw clenches, and I struggle to summon my old anger. I’ve got to rebuild the wall.

“But… But we just…”

“We kissed, Rachel. You’re a little late to the party, but that was a kiss. We’re both adults. Don’t make it more than it was. It was only a kiss.”

Wow, I’m an asshole. Twenty points to Slytherin.

But the truth is, I’m doing this for her. I don’t need pity, and I don’t want help.

I’m better on my own.

Her face flashes, and she pulls her chin back. “It’s like I’m having a deja vu flashback of all the guys I hated. You really fooled me by being nice to my brother.”

“Look, I– ”

“No, no…” She holds up a hand. “You’re right. We’re adults. Thank you for satisfying my curiosity. I’ll see you around.”

She turns on the ball of her foot and walks out of the room so fast, I’m pretty sure the drapes lift as she passes.

Her Jolly Rancher is between my teeth, and I crunch it, picking up the book she left behind. The Black Stallion in black leather with shiny gold print. I return it to its place on the shelf.

My chest is tight and achy, and I put both hands behind my neck, looking up at the skylight. It’s so far away.

What the fuck have I done?

I exhale a growl. It wasn’t only a kiss , and she didn’t build it up. Not even a little.

I’ve kissed girls before, and it was never like that. Hell, that kiss was a full-body experience. It was the kind of kiss where you forget everything around you, the kind of kiss that could go on for hours. The kind of kiss you want to have again and again.

Good thing I know how to push people away. Good thing I know how to break shit. Good thing I’m a fucking adult .

That could’ve gotten serious.