Too Close to Resist. Nicole Helm

      CHAPTER THREE

      KYLE TRUDGED DOWN the back staircase, the smell of coffee a shining beacon after a terrible night. If he’d gotten three hours of patchy sleep he’d consider himself lucky.

      Voices drifted up the stairwell, and when Kyle reached the bottom he found Jacob and Grace sitting at the kitchen table laughing over cereal.

      His stomach cramped at the realization that mornings in the McKnight household were likely always like this. Bright, cozy laughter. With last night’s dream still flashing vividly through his mind, it was hard to swallow.

      What had mornings been like in the Clark trailer? Overpowered by the stench of alcohol or drugs and vomit or piss. A quiet so deep and lonely, but safe. Blissfully safe.

      Without greeting, Kyle walked over to the coffeepot and poured himself a mug. He felt too sick to his stomach to take a sip.

      “Hey, man, you okay? Looking a little green.”

      Kyle turned, tried to smile, but knew it came out a grimace as he saw two pairs of brown eyes staring at him. He didn’t want to be studied or worried about at the moment. Especially not by two perfect people.

      Not that either were perfect perfect, but they seemed that way in the aftereffects of a two-nightmare night. His encounter with Grace had left him primed and ready for nightmare number two, and he’d woken feeling vulnerable.

      Kyle refused to do vulnerable.

      “Kyle?”

      “Right. I’m fine.” He forced himself to take a sip from his mug. “Just needed a little jolt.” He lifted the mug, attempted another smile.

      Grace shook a box of cereal at him. “Going to eat?”

      He had no desire to fill his already queasy stomach with sugary cereal to go along with the bitter coffee, but he also didn’t want to appear rude. With a tight smile he retrieved a bowl and his own cereal, sans marshmallows, and took a seat next to Jacob.

      “You even eat anal cereal,” Grace said, shaking her head. She was still in pajamas—that too-thin tank top that allowed the white bra underneath to be visible, and way-short shorts that showed off a mile of pale, smooth leg. Kyle focused on pouring the cereal in his bowl.

      Jacob snorted. “Anal cereal?”

      “Okay, that sounded gross, but you get what I mean. The only person I’ve ever seen eat generic bran flakes is Grandpa. Do you buy them on double-coupon day, too?”

      “No.” Her syrupy sweet voice was meant to bait him, and no matter how raw he was feeling this morning, he would not give in to the urge to bite. “You know, on days we run a business here it would be best if you got at least half dressed before leaving your room.” Okay, apparently he was going to bite.

      “Not a morning person, then?” She lifted a heaping spoon to her lips, but his eyes were drawn to her pretty much bare leg swinging back and forth while the other was curled under her. Could those things she was wearing really count as shorts?

      Kyle concentrated on pouring milk onto his cereal. “I prefer solitude in the morning.”

      “It’s true. I usually can’t get a word out of him before ten. Even for business. He’ll just email me a memo.”

      Grace rolled her eyes, kept swinging that damn leg. “I bet Kyle sends a lot of memos.”

      “Thank God for email, or I’d be drowning in paper.”

      It took a lot more effort than it should have to tear his gaze from Grace to Jacob. “So from here on out should I expect the two of you poking fun at me to be my morning greeting?”

      Jacob grinned. “It is the McKnight way.”

      “Wonderful.” Kyle poked at his cereal. He wasn’t remotely hungry. Nor was his edgy mood from his dream assuaged any by Grace’s and Jacob’s teasing. So he would focus on what would. “The Porters sent pictures this morning. I uploaded them onto the website.”

      “You don’t even take Sunday off from talking about work? What about it being the day of rest and all that?”

      Kyle gave Grace a bland look. “Time is money. The more time I work, the more money I have to put into this business.”

      “Work, money, work, money.” Grace dismissed it with a wave. “Snore.”

      “Yes, I’m sure doing your little paintings and calling it art is quite scintillating, but some of us do have to make a living.” He knew the words were too harsh the minute they were vocalized. This was exactly why he preferred to be alone in the morning. Time and quiet to shore up his defenses.

      “So is this what I have to look forward all month? You two going at each other?”

      “I thought it was the McKnight way.” Kyle rubbed his temple, where a headache was brewing. A perfect addition to the unsettled stomach and gritty-eyed lack of sleep.

      Jacob shook his head and made a tsk-tsk sound. “Banter is the McKnight way. We poke fun at your anal-retentiveness. You don’t fight back with an insult. You should make fun of my dating history or Grace’s hair. You know, unimportant stuff.”

      “Hey, what’s wrong with my hair?”

      Jacob gave his sister a doleful look. “You’ve got a freaking rainbow in there.”

      Grace snorted. “It’s called self-expression. At least I don’t look like some low-end catalog model.”

      “See.” Jacob grinned at Kyle. “Banter.”

      Kyle failed to see the appeal. Or the difference. “Yes, well, like I said, some of us have a business to run.”

      “I hope it keeps you warm at night, Kyle.” Grace pushed away from the table. “Or maybe you’re just part robot. A very lifelike C-3PO.” With that parting comment, Grace sashayed out of the kitchen, hips swinging in those foolish tiny shorts.

      He wondered if she did it on purpose, the skimpy clothes, the hip sway. Just another level of torture to go along with her “banter.” Oh, hello, Kyle, not only am I wild and unpredictable, but look at my perfectly toned ass. I know you’d like to get your hands on it.

      “Kyle, do me a favor.” Jacob clamped a hand on his shoulder, scattering Kyle’s less-than-honorable thoughts. Jacob squeezed. Hard. “Don’t look at my sister’s ass.”

      Heat flashed up Kyle’s face as he tried to argue with Jacob’s retreating back. “I wasn’t—”

      But Jacob had already taken to the stairs, and unfortunately, the argument would have been a lie.

      Damn it, he had been staring at Grace’s ass.

      * * *

      TEN HOURS LATER and Grace was still fuming. Kyle had the nerve, the nerve, to call her painting “little.” To roll his eyes at what she loved, what she slaved over, her passion. Because he was so much smarter with his business and money and blah, blah, blah.

      She’d show him where he could shove his time-is-money speech.

      Grace sat on the second-story balcony cross-legged, watching the street below. At first she’d forgotten about the insult, but then Jacob had left and Kyle had informed her he was going for his evening run and he’d set the security alarm.

      Being alone in the big house had led to thinking about Barry. Had he gone back to Carvelle? Did he hold a grudge against the woman who’d testified against him?

      Grace shuddered. That was when she’d begun to focus on Kyle’s insults, on exacting