The Guardian Groom: Texas Titans Romance Page 5

  Bree’s house was the fourth one on the right, blue with white trim and overflowing flower boxes under the front two windows. He cruised into her driveway and cut the engine in front of the one-car garage. The small lawn was mowed and the flower beds free of weeds and full of mulch. The concrete walkway was cracked in several places.

  Bree sat on her front steps, shaking her head as her eyes roved over the bike and him on it. Maybe the fact that she was out here waiting for him meant that she was excited too. Sweet. He shouldn’t be excited, but he had this feeling that if they could get past the awkward introductory things, they would gel.

  “I figured I’d get a bike you didn’t have to pedal.”

  “Ha. Ha.” She stood up and dusted off her backside. She wore a pair of coral skinny jeans that gave her more curves than the good Lord had provided and a gray tee with a Native American design screen-printed in white on the front. Her delicate collarbone was graced by a silver chain, and on her feet were a pair of off-the-sale-rack flats. Her hair was long and loose.

  He glanced down at his limited-edition Nikes. There were under three hundred of these pairs made, and only twenty in his size existed in the whole world. Normally he didn’t wear them, but he’d needed a confident boost to get out the door—for whatever reason. He wasn’t looking too closely at all that. This was supposed to be a fun day with a friend exploring the countryside. “And I thought you’d enjoy a ride.” His breath hitched momentarily—if she didn’t like motorcycles …

  “You’ve overestimated my experience with motorcycles.”

  “How many times have you ridden?”

  “Um …” She counted on her fingers and then dropped her hand and grinned. “None.”

  He returned her smile. As they grinned at each other, he finally had a title for one of her qualities he enjoyed: innocence. She was the type of person who could have fun doing just about anything, be it a ride in the country or playing a board game at the kitchen table. Scratch that. She was a librarian, and he hated to lose—he would never play Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit or Risk with her. But he was looking forward to taking her on a ride, even more so now that she hadn’t run away from the bike.

  He handed her the helmet he’d strapped to the seat behind him. She used a hair elastic that she’d retrieved from her pocket to put her hair in a low ponytail and then slipped the helmet on.

  He waited as she fumbled with the clasp, and finally couldn’t take watching her struggle. “Here.” He hooked his finger in her belt loop and pulled her closer.

  She came willingly, her hip leaning against his knee. If the team doctor could see his heart rate now, he’d have him benched.

  “It’s confusing when you can’t see the buckle!” she yelled.

  He cringed against the reverb in his ear. “There’s a communication system inside the helmet so you don’t have to yell.”

  Her cheeks dusted pink, and he had to look away lest she think he thought she looked cute. Which she did. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  He patted the top of her helmet and jerked his head toward the seat behind him. “Ready?”

  She nodded and climbed on, and climbed was the appropriate word. She placed a hand on his back for balance, the heat from her touch infusing him with the ability to block out all that was going on around them and just feel her. She smelled lightly of something pretty—jasmine, maybe. Her touch was sure and made him feel taller.

  Her short stature had her using the footrest like a stirrup to get on a horse. Her legs settled just behind his with a few inches of space. Her hands rested easily on his sides, where she could grab on if needed. “Is there a trick to riding safely? If I’d had more notice, I could have checked out a book—or Googled it.”

  He smothered his smile. She didn’t like it when he found her cute, but he couldn’t seem to help it. She was downright adorable wanting to read a book on how to ride motorcycles.

  Her voice came through the helmet speaker loud and clear. Riding a bike with any other woman was a great way to keep her from talking his ear off. Bree was someone he wanted to hear more from and about.

  “Lean into the curves. You don’t weigh enough to shift the bike.”

  “Well, aren’t you the sweetest thing.” She laid on the Texas drawl, and his heart did more crazy pounding. He’d had a physical at the end of the season and knew the organ could take all that Bree could dish out. He hoped she kept it coming. This feeling of freedom and lightness was exhilarating.

  He started up the bike and Bree yipped in his ear, grabbing on to his waist and unbalancing him internally. He needed to keep a clear head to drive, and if she kept that up, that may not happen. He was beginning to rethink how good of an idea this was. Pulling it together, he didn’t hold back his smile as he glanced over her shoulder. “You ready?”

  She nodded. “Can you do me a favor and go out the way you came in?”

  “Why?” He scooted to the end of her driveway.

  “Because my mom lives three houses that way.”

  “She wouldn’t approve of you on my bike?”

  Bree tipped her head as she thought. “Probably? I don’t know for sure, but I’d rather not have a hundred questions waiting for me when I get home.”

  His heart pounded again, but for a whole different reason. He was suddenly transported back to high school, when he’d have to sneak Tammy through the neighbor’s yard and give her a boost to climb into her bedroom window so her parents wouldn’t know they’d been out together. Her parents had been crazy controlling, and they didn’t like the football player who rode a motorcycle—no matter that he couldn’t afford anything else and had reclaimed the thing from a junk dealer. “Is your mom …” How could he phrase this? “Tough?”

  “What?” She giggled. “No, she just likes to stay involved.”

  Owen nodded, then turned back around. Her answer wasn’t sitting right with him. Bree was an adult; what parent needed to keep tabs on their grown daughter? Granted, Bree had her own place, but to be so close to her mom … he couldn’t miss the neon warning sign.

  Shoving aside his unease—after all, this was just a ride through the country with a friend; he wasn’t proposing to Bree—he took the same route out of the neighborhood that he’d taken in. He and Bree were friends and were going to spend time together as friends. Like him and Kyle. Although Kyle never rode on the back of Owen’s bike, and he most definitely didn’t trail his fingers over Owen’s lower back, sending shivers along his skin.

  Once they hit the main area of town, Bree asked, “Have you had the grand tour?”

  “There’s a tour?”

  “Yes, and it’s quite grand.”

  “By all means.”

  “If you head down Simpson, you’ll find the Farmers Feed store.”

  He turned where she indicated and found a brick store with a small sign out front and silver silos running down the length of the lot.

  “Fascinating, isn’t it?” she said.

  “Where to next?”

  “Loop back around to Main Street.”

  He did, noting that she leaned into the turns as he’d instructed. He liked the way their bodies moved in fluid motion together. And he really liked that she fit so easily against him. Her hands were tight, indicating that she wasn’t quite comfortable with the adventure, but she wasn’t backing down.

  On the left-hand side of the road was a block of stores. They shared walls, with each store being a different height. Some were made with lighter brick, and others were red. The red had faded to adobe, the grays to slate. Small homes lined the right side of the road, with a few trees in their yards to shade the porches.

  “And there you have it. The grand tour.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know, right?”

  “I’m blown away right now.”

  She sighed in contentment. “I never get tired of it.”

  He laughed. “Don’t get too comfortable back there.” They’d reached the end of the city speed limits and were on the
open road. With a twist of the handlebar, he opened up the throttle and they shot forward.

  Bree’s hands tightened around his middle, her chest coming flush with his back. Electricity shot all the way through to his fingertips. He pushed the bike harder and faster, hoping to outrun the feelings Bree created inside of him.

  Chapter Ten

  Bree leaned into Owen’s back as they cruised down lonely stretches of highway lined with vineyards and open fields. Initially, the speed had been too much, but now that they were the only people on the road, she liked going fast.

  She also liked leaning into Owen. Not because she needed the support or because she was scared, but because doing so added a whole new level to the experience. Owen’s presence stirred things inside of her that had heretofore remained unstirred by the men she dated.

  She was the quintessential librarian with her no-makeup Mondays, glasses, conservative clothing, and love of reading. What was the point of going on dates when book boyfriends were so much better than real men? However, the man sitting in front of her was everything physical that books claimed men could be. And she had her arms wrapped tightly around him. The whole encounter blew her mind.

  “Are you hungry?” His voice was like honey through the speakers in her helmet.

  The sun was going down, casting golden light over the fields. Wasn’t there a song about that, something about fields of barley and true love or finding love? With her heightened sense of awareness when it came to Owen, she had a hard time remembering what was real and what was a dream. “Sure.”

  “Great.”

  He didn’t ask her where she wanted to eat. There weren’t that many options in town. They weren’t dressed for the steak house. She was pretty sure her hair would have more than a few knots.

  A little while later, Owen steered them down a long paved driveway with twists and turns. Trees lined both sides, giving the air of mystery that always surrounded unknown forests and sending a shiver down her back. She hugged tighter to Owen, drawing on his body heat. She could cozy up to him any winter day and be perfectly warm and content. Whoa there, girl, no need to get big ideas.

  He cut the engine, the sound fading into the night and taking with it the spell that had allowed her to let down her guard and hold on to him as if she had the right. Embarrassed that she’d plastered herself all over him—and liked it!—she tried to get off and fell. The beautiful stone patterned driveway came up fast.

  Owen caught her arm before she hit the stamped concrete, saving her from skinned palms and pain.

  “Thanks. I’m usually not that clumsy.”

  He set her upright as if she didn’t weigh a pound. She wasn’t used to being touched by men, let alone manhandled. But his grip was tender and his attention was kind.

  Her heart fell a little for him in that moment. She shouldn’t let it, but it had slipped before she could stop it, and now there it was, waking up the butterflies in her stomach and thickening the air between them with desire.

  “No worries. I’m good at catching things.” He winked and withdrew his hands, releasing the heat between them like he’d opened a window. He took off his helmet and set it on the seat. His short hair was flat and sweaty.

  She grimaced, thinking what hers probably looked like. There was no away around it: she couldn’t eat in the helmet. So she unlatched the chin strap and pulled it off. With quick movements, she let her hair down and ran her fingers through the tangled tresses.

  Owen watched her, a look of apprehensive awe on his face. He cleared his throat and turned away. “Come on. Food’s inside.”

  Bree followed him, taking in the plush landscaping, the tall trees, the strategically placed boulders and accent lighting that got brighter as the night grew dark. She hadn’t seen the front of the house when they’d pulled in, because she was taking in the gardens and forest. The building was done in brown brick and cream stucco, and there were lights on upstairs and down. “This is your house?”

  “Yeah.”

  She hesitated at the doorway. As a rule, she didn’t date strangers, and as a double rule, she didn’t go into a stranger’s house. Especially one who could pick her up, throw her over his shoulder, and do whatever he wanted.

  He stopped, holding the door for her. She looked right into his eyes, hoping to ferret out nefarious motives. All she found in his brilliant blue eyes was a hint of interest, a dash of curiosity, and an eagerness to share this space with her. If he was a closet serial killer—and yes, she read just as many thrillers as romances to know that they existed—then he was a master at concealing his motives.

  She stepped inside and gasped. The door led right into the kitchen. She scanned the space, feeling as though she’d stepped into the good ol’ 747 “interior decorating” section of the Dewey Decimal System. She laughed right out loud.

  “What?” Owen asked, a bemused smile teasing his lips.

  “I can honestly say I’ve never been inside a professional football player’s home. It’s not what I expected.”

  He swaggered to the fridge. “What did you expect?”

  She wrinkled her forehead. “A frat house?”

  He wagged his head. “Sorry. Wrong professional football player.” He opened the fridge and pulled out a plate of food, prepared and ready for grilling.

  His nickname popped into her head: The Lone Ranger. She’d seen it on his Instagram account and pondered over it once or twice. Or thrice. “It’s nice.” She lifted a hand, indicating the Italian marble flooring, the high-end appliances, the light paint colors that created a sense of air, and the brass lighting fixtures. What really took her breath away were the large, clean windows overlooking the valley behind the house.

  “Thanks. Grill’s this way.” He motioned for her to follow him out to the deck. He carried a platter of food in one hand.

  With the flick of a switch, gas lamps ignited, casting a romantic glow over the brick floor and glass-topped patio table. She whistled low. “When you do something, you do it right.”

  He picked up the tongs that hung on the side of the grill and waved them in a circle. “I didn’t decorate, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Who did?” She pulled herself up onto a barstool-height swiveling chair so she could watch him cook. She was usually the one cooking for a date. This was a nice change. He was a nice change. Different from the accountants and feed salesmen she’d dated in the past.

  “I hired a company from LA. Showed them a few pictures.”

  “And they put this all together for you?”

  He smiled shyly. “Yeah.” As fast as the smile was there, it was gone again. In its place was a wall of aloofness that pushed against the attraction rising up within her chest. He turned his back to her, cutting off all conversation.

  The change from friendly guy to grumpy guy was as confusing as it was abrupt. She retreated, staring down at the table and rubbing her arms for warmth even though the temperature was warm. Why did he bring her here if he didn’t want her in his home?

  “I hope you like salmon.” The grill hissed and popped to life. Blue flames licked the air.

  “I do.” She gripped the edge of her seat, wondering what she’d done to make him angry. Her earlier insecurities about spending time with someone so different from her resurfaced.

  “Good. This should be ready in a few minutes. There’s a bathroom that way if you’d like to freshen up.”

  She would. “Thanks.” She walked through the kitchen and down a small hallway. The bathroom was the first door on the left. Her bathroom at home had enough room for a tub, a toilet, and a vanity two inches wider than the sink. She could have done ballet in this bathroom. The rugs were furry, and she was tempted to take off her shoes and walk around just so she could feel them against her feet.

  A large basket full of soaps and washcloths sat on the counter. She wet one of the cloths under the faucet and blotted her face and the back of her neck. What was with Owen? He’d shut off like the faucet. She wasn’t the typ
e to pander to a guy; had she hurt his feelings by not fawning over him? He didn’t seem like the type to need constant ego boosting, but she didn’t really know him all that well. She patted her cheeks with the cool cloth. She was so out of her depth with a guy like him.

  Well, the evening wasn’t going to end any faster with her hiding out in the bathroom. She took one more look at herself in the mirror. Her hair wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. She finger-combed it before rummaging through the drawers to find a brush. No such luck. At least her mascara had held up. She could get through a meal and then ask him to take her home. Yep. That was the plan.

  When she got back to the deck, Owen was at the grill. His hair was damp but styled and his long-sleeved black biking shirt was replaced with a short-sleeved polo. As she walked by, the smell of men’s soap tantalized her senses. The cheater showered and looked incredible while she could use another coat of lipstick and a lash-curler.

  So. Out of. Her Depth.

  * * *

  Owen shouldn’t have brought Bree to his house. She looked too right walking through his kitchen. Too perfect. They were supposed to be friends, or becoming friends, and he had all these ideas that had nothing to do with friendship and everything to do with making her a part of his life.

  Bree shouldn’t want him, but he could see the desire in her eyes. She had zero filters thanks to that innocence she wore like a barrette in her hair. And the way she’d leaned against him during the ride had brought more than friendly feelings to the surface. He wanted her in his arms, wanted to hold her to his chest, kiss her to oblivion, and then start all over again. That’s why he’d taken a quick shower. Showers were quick mental resets. He could be worn to the bone after two-a-day practices, take a shower, and be refreshed for the ride home.

  Bree wasn’t making it easy to stay friends—not with her disheveled appearance, like she’d woken up from a nap, rested, refreshed, and totally kissable. He needed to get kissing off his mind. They were in his home, his sanctuary, and his defenses were down. And he couldn’t come up with a single thing to talk about.