Zara hung her towel on the knob of her closet door. No way was she going back out to the bathroom. While the water had been nice and hot, the room itself was an icebox. There was no master bath in this house, but the bathroom was right outside her bedroom door. Still, given she was damp and her hair was still drying, that would make for one cold walk.
Grabbing her brush from the dresser, she took a seat on her bed and crossed her legs as she pulled her hair over her shoulder and started working out the tangles at the bottom.
That kitten darted out from beneath her bed, and Zara just knew that thing was making a litter box out of the space. Once again the bundle of fur slid against Zara’s ankles and feet, purring as he went. Even though she’d never had an animal, she honestly didn’t mind that it was in her house. She may not have a clue how to care for a pet, but she didn’t want the thing outside freezing to death. Okay, and maybe she kind of liked knowing something was looking to her for care and support. She didn’t necessarily love it, but she had a kernel of like.
The bedroom door opened as Braden came sliding back in. Immediately he went to the fire and peeled off his wet socks once again. Zara sighed, tapping the brush against her thigh.
“Why don’t you go hop in the shower and warm up your feet? And when you’re done, I’ll give you a pair of my socks. They’re small, but they’re warm and dry.” When he didn’t say anything, he merely turned and stared at her, she went on. “Maybe stop going outside. Whatever you need, I can go. I at least have taller boots.”
Raking a hand through his hair, Braden strode back out the door. Apparently he was taking her up on the shower. But what had happened in the time he’d walked out until now? He seemed quiet, wouldn’t quite look her in the eyes. Something was wrong.
The O’Sheas were mysterious and closed off, so she’d never know. But she didn’t want him upset or angry. It was freezing, they were stuck. Oh, yeah, and sexually frustrated. That made for a nice combo.
While he was gone, Zara got an idea and snuck out to the kitchen. Finding exactly what she needed, she raced back up to the bedroom. The shower was still running, so she had time to set up. Apparently he’d found towels and was making himself at home. Granted, all she had were floral specialty soaps, but she’d not exactly prepared for male guests.
Zara moved the chaise back closer to the wall to open up the middle of the floor. She settled down, crossing her legs and had the necessary items in front of her just as Braden came back in...wearing only a towel.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.
Without a word, he crossed the room and laid his clothes out in front of the fire. “Unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of throwing on different clothes. I’ve been wearing these since yesterday morning.”
She glanced over and seriously wished she hadn’t. Were those...yeah. He was a black boxer brief man. No tighty-whities for this alpha male...and seeing his underwear made it crystal clear he was commando beneath that terry cloth.
Braden cleared his throat, and she realized he’d turned and was staring at her. Great. Way to really hold her ground about not getting intimate when she’s caught staring at the man’s underwear.
“What’s this?” he asked, motioning down to her stash.
She ignored the items she’d brought up from the kitchen and continued to stare up at him as if having a conversation wearing only a towel were perfectly normal.
“So you’re going to be like this until your clothes dry?” She motioned with her finger up and down his body.
Clutching one side of the towel over one very muscular, very exposed thigh, Braden shrugged. “I can lose the towel, but I thought you’d be more comfortable like this.”
Zara rolled her eyes. The man was proving to be impossible to resist, and she truly didn’t know how much longer she could hold out.
“I’m comfortable with your clothes on,” she muttered. “Anyway, I thought we could play cards, and since I’m not one to gamble, I brought up pretzel sticks we can use instead.”
He quirked a brow. “You play poker?”
Zara laughed. “You didn’t know my grandmother. That woman could outwit the best of the best when it came to seven-card stud. She taught me how to play when I was still learning how to write my name.”
Braden quirked his brow, then headed over to the chaise and pulled off the blanket she used to sleep with. He wrapped it around his waist and sank to the floor in front of her.
That bare chest with dark hair and just a bit of ink showing over his shoulder held her captive, and she would have to concentrate on this game if she wanted to control her urge to rip that blanket and towel from his deliciously sculpted body.
“Can you play?” she asked, pulling the cards from the box.
Piercing eyes held hers. “I can play whatever game you want.”
Of course he could, and he could make everything sound sexual with that low, intense tone that had her stomach doing flips.
When she offered the cards to him to shuffle, he waved a hand. “Ladies first.”
Shuffling them with quick, precise movements, Zara finally felt comfortable. Cards was something she could handle, something she could somewhat control. A hobby of hers from long ago, she hadn’t played for a while, but she needed the distraction, and there was only so much they could do stuck in this room.
“What’s the ante?” he asked, tearing open the bag of pretzels.
“Your choice.”
“Ten.”
Zara dealt their first hand while he counted out twenty pretzel sticks for each of them. As soon as she laid down the door card, she smiled when his was lower than hers.
“Your bet,” she told him.
He smirked. “I’m aware of the rules.”
“Just making sure you know you’re dealing with a professional.”
There. Maybe if she kept throwing verbiage out like that, he wouldn’t be so determined to cross territory they could never return from.
Braden raised the bet, but Zara didn’t think he had anything worth raising for. She’d call him on his bluff. He had a poker face, that was for sure. No doubt he’d used that same straight, stoic look in the business world. As the oldest son of the late Patrick O’Shea, Braden had big shoes to fill, and being the powerful man he was, he’d have no problem at all, Zara knew.
By the time the last card was dealt, Zara was looking at a full house with aces on top. Not the best hand, but still better than whatever he was lying about.
“I’ll raise you,” she told him, throwing in three more sticks.
When he flipped his cards over, Zara gripped her cards and simply stared. Seriously? She’d dealt him a flush? There hadn’t been a gleam in his eye one time during the entire game, and she’d thought he’d been bluffing.
Narrowing her eyes, she tossed her cards down as he raked in his pretzels. The kitten chose that time to dart over and walk right through the cards and the pretzels as if he owned the place. He swatted at a pretzel and kept swatting it until he was moving too close to the logs. There was a screen around the fireplace, more for looks, but she still didn’t want the little guy rubbing against it and singeing his fur.
Zara reached out, stretching to grab hold of him and his pretzel, then deposited him on the other side of her away from the heat.
“I believe it’s my deal,” Braden stated with a smirk. “Hold tight. We’re about to take this to a whole new level.”
She tipped her head in a silent question.
“We’re playing for answers now,” he told her as he reached down, grabbed a pretzel and popped it into his mouth. “Whoever wins the hand can ask the other player anything, and they have to answer.”
Still eyeing him skeptically, Zara asked, “Just questions? No touching, no clichéd strip poker?”
Shuffling the cards, he smiled. “I’ll touch and strip if you want. Hell, that can even be one of your questions. Up to you, so ask what you want.”
Mercy, the man was incorrigible, and she was finding that she loved every second of his quick wit, his flirty side and the fact he made no secret that he wanted her.
Thankfully, she won the next hand with a pair of kings, beating out his jacks. Zara reached to push the cards back in order to shuffle them as she pondered her question.
Staring down at the cards as they shuffled and fell into place, she asked, “If you believe in marriage and family so much, why are you still single?”
That sexy laugh filled the room. “I’m so glad you didn’t ask something as boring as my favorite color or movie.”
Risking a glance, she looked him in the eye. Okay, fine, her eyes may have lingered a little longer on his bare chest, but they eventually hit his eyes, where she saw amusement staring back at her.
“Well?” she asked, raising her brows as she started dealing.
“Haven’t found the right one.”
He studied his cards, offering nothing else with his response. Zara gritted her teeth. If he was going to be vague, then so could she when the time came...though she didn’t intend to lose.
As she stared at her cards, though, a pit grew in her stomach. Unless she was dealt something spectacular in the next round, she was going to be answering a question, and she was almost afraid to see what he’d come up with.