Breathless Descent Read Free Page A

towel in her hands. “Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”
    Kent chuckled. “You loved it when you were thirteen.”
    “Thirteen,” she repeated, grinding the age through her teeth. “When I played dress-up in Mom’s work clothes.”
    “And transformed yourself into ‘Shay-Shay Va-voom,’” Kent added, needling her.
    “I hate you, Kent,” she said, her teeth still clenched. “Really, really hate you.”
    Kent snorted his approval. “To a brother, that’s the ultimate vow of love. Right, Caleb?”
    “Right,” Caleb agreed. This was going exactly where Caleb had planned. He tipped his beer, but before the bottle made it to his mouth, Shay snatched it, their fingers brushing, electricity darting between them.
    “I’m the youngest,” she said, turning up the bottle. “I get what I want.” The comment, while innocent enough to everyone else, wasn’t innocent at all.
    Caleb took back his beer, the intimacy of sharing with her setting him on edge. “Funny thing about this beer,” he said. “I got it from the kitchen on the way out here. Every time I go into that kitchen, I think about a certain pair of jeans you used to love.”
    Shock slid over her face. “Don’t even go there, Caleb,” she warned fiercely.
    Kent snorted. “Oh, yeah. Those damn jeans.”
    “Don’t you go there either, Kent,” Shay warned. “Or I won’t set you up on that blind date with Anna you’ve been begging for.”
    Bob chuckled. “Then I guess I’ll have to go there for all of us. Why in the world, my little Shay, did you put the jeans in the oven in the first place? Just make me understand. I’ve always wanted to understand.”
    “I’ve answered this question a million times,” she said, her pretty, naturally pink lips pursed in frustration. “I was sixteen when I did that. Sixteen! I’m twenty-eight years old and, I might add, a licensed psychologist who counsels people about the trauma of bad memories. In case you didn’t know, Daddy, this is a bad memory.”
    “The dryer was broken,” Caleb answered, when unnecessary guilt flashed on Bob’s face. No matter how upset Shay acted, she ate up the teasing. And he loved watching her cheeks flush, her eyes light up. “She needed her best jeans for a party.” He’d liked those jeans. Liked them too much, considering she’d been sixteen and he’d been nineteen, about to move into campus housing at the University of Texas. Too old for her. Not that he’d ever be the right age for her. But at the time, he’d been damn glad she wasn’t prancing around in those damn tight jeans anymore, inviting hound-dog teen boys to salivate.
    Shay shot him a scorching look that wiped the smile from his face. He was pretty sure she would have smacked him otherwise.
    Sharon sighed. “Men just don’t understand how important the perfect jeans are to a female,” she said, defending her daughter. “It really was a smart idea, using the oven. It was like a sauna drying room. I think it showed initiative and innovation.”
    Exasperated, Bob’s eyes went wide. “Since when is burning down the kitchen called innovation?”
    “How many experiments do you think Thomas Edison tried that went wrong?” Sharon countered protectively.
    “What was she trying to create?” Bob replied. “The fastest way to destroy her parents’ house?”
    “Maybe if you would have put them on warm, not broil, Shay-Shay,” Kent offered, sipping a beer. “Your va-voom might not have gone ka-boom.” He eyed Caleb. “What do you think, Caleb?”
    “I didn’t put them on broil!” Shay spat, before Caleb could reply, as she shoved her hands on her hips. The towel fell to her waist, and Caleb gulped at the sight of her high, ample breasts, covered by nothing but thin slices of cloth. “I left them on warm when I went to shower. How was I to know they’d go up in flames?” She clutched the towel and waved a hand between Kent and Caleb. “And how is it that every time you two get together,