is all Libby’s idea. And believe me, when it comes to being part of the wedding party you just have to park your ego at the door and do what has to be done for the people you love.’
Her voice had softened and her mossy-green eyes had gone a little glassy—making it obvious her speech was heartfelt. He felt an odd flutter in his chest. Love was way too strong a word for what he and Jamie shared. To be honest, he still wasn’t sure why Jamie had asked him to be his best man—or why he’d agreed to do it. But even so, her comment intrigued him.
‘You sound like you’ve done this before?’ he said, wondering how many times she’d gotten stuck with being the bride’s go-to girl. And whether she resented it. Maybe that explained the snotty attitude.
‘You have no idea.’ She rolled her eyes and sent him the first unguarded smile he’d ever seen on her face. The hot, sweet ache in his crotch pulsed, and it struck him she ought to let those smiles loose more often.
‘That bad, huh?’ He smiled back, the loud buzz of conversation in the bar dimming as he got fixated on the curve of her full bottom lip.
‘Put it this way—when I get married I’d rather opt for Vegas and an Elvis impersonator than having to organise all this crap.’
‘That’s weird. I had you pegged as the white wedding type.’
She shuddered. ‘Oh pur-lease. It’s the marriage that’s important. Not the trimmings.’
Yeah, right, he thought, but didn’t argue, intrigued by the flash of passion in the mossy green.
‘And do I look like the sort of person who would throw away thousands of pounds on an event that I’d be far too stressed to enjoy?’ she continued. ‘Did you know that 5 percent of marriages end after the honeymoon simply because of the stress of the big day?’
‘Can’t argue with the stats.’ Or the fact that all the blood was draining out of his head when she quoted figures with that furrow of consternation on her brow.
‘So look, are we good with the first dance thing?’ she asked. ‘Seriously, apart from remembering the rings, giving a crude speech detailing all the most embarrassing things Jamie has ever done in his entire life and making sure he doesn’t puke before Libby gets to the altar, that’s your job over and done with.’
‘That’s all? No one told me about the barfing clause—does that entitle me to hazard pay?’
She laughed, the throaty rumble echoing in his crotch. ‘Just be glad you don’t have to wear five-inch heels and a dress which dips at the back right down to the curve of your bum cheeks!’
Shit.
Why did she have to go and mention her ass? He rubbed his palms on the rough fabric of his jeans to stop the renewed twitching. But he couldn’t resist leaning to one side so that he could direct his gaze under the table. ‘Your bum cheeks, huh? Suddenly, this gig is looking more appealing.’
It was a pick-up line and not one of his best, but she’d given him the opening, so it surprised him when her pale face flushed a bright, glowing red—right up to her hairline. Exactly like it had five years ago in Manchester when he’d told her where he was going to shove his brother’s baseball bat if she didn’t stop directing him like a member of the damn Gestapo.
He’d never seen a woman blush like that before, even then—and he’d found it strangely compelling. As if he was getting a glimpse into her soul she couldn’t prevent. What was uncomfortable and just plain weird, though, was that he found those hot red cheeks a heck of a lot more compelling now.
* * *
Why the bloody hell did you mention the stripper dress?
Sabrina blinked, trapped in the tractor beam of Connor McCoy’s seductive stare, and hoped that the blood throbbing in her cheeks—and not just the ones on her face—wouldn’t be visible in the low lighting.
‘Yes, well…’ She stroked the stem of her margarita glass, then took a steadying sip, trying to regain some of her usual cool and focus on the task in hand instead of the fact that all the oxygen had been sucked out of her lungs with a single crummy chat-up line.
Libby had warned her about her soon-to-be brother-in-law’s phenomenal success with women, but until this moment she really hadn’t thought she’d be susceptible. It was somewhat lowering to realise that despite her phenomenal intellect and feminist sensibilities, she wasn’t completely immune to the moves of a practised player. Taking the softly-softly approach and trying to find some common ground had obviously been a mistake when you were dealing with a tiger who would pounce on any passing prey.
She raised her head to find him watching her in that focused, silent way that made the skin on her spine tingle as if it were being stroked with a vibrator. ‘So you’ll do the second dance with me?’ she asked, struggling for businesslike.
Instead of giving her an answer, he lifted the bottle of beer to his lips and took a leisurely swallow, his gaze riveted on her burning cheeks.
The blush went radioactive as she pictured herself as the gazelle in this scenario—and it occurred to her that slow-dancing with this guy would be fraught with dangers she hadn’t prepared herself for. Like the fact that the large square hand holding the beer bottle would have free range of her naked back thanks to the ridiculously revealing dress Libby had chosen.
The imaginary vibrator caressing her spine hit maximum pulse and stroked down to her bottom.
He lowered his bottle and the soft smack of glass on wood made her jump. ‘Okay, I guess you can count me in.’ His wide mouth curled up on one side in a crooked smile that looked almost boyish. ‘How bad can it be?’
‘Fabulous. I appreciate your cooperation,’ she said, thinking no such thing.
From the dark, challenging look in those lake-blue eyes she had the definite impression that being cooperative was the very last thing on Connor McCoy’s agenda.
2) Knowledge Is Power: Quiz family and friends to gather relevant information about your best man’s skill set.
‘I’m just saying, I don’t understand why Jamie didn’t pick DJ or Vikram to be his best man.’ Sabrina took a sip of her iced coffee.
‘Hmm?’ Libby murmured, not listening as she placed yet another minuscule piece of French lace masquerading as a negligee onto the bed of her cramped apartment overlooking Islington Green—to add to the display of ‘garments to inspire the maximum amount of wedding night sex’ being laid out for consideration.
‘They’re his best friends,’ Sabrina continued, trying to sound nonchalant instead of whiny. ‘And I thought you said Jamie doesn’t know his brother that well.’
Libby lifted her gaze from her contemplation of the options and quirked a perfectly plucked eyebrow. ‘What’s the problem with Connor? I thought you guys met up last night to talk about your—’ she did air quotes with her fingers while sending Sabrina a saucy smile ‘—mutual roles in the wedding.’
‘We did.’ The anxiety tugging at Sabrina’s stomach—ever since her drink with Connor the night before—became a definite yank. ‘This isn’t about him, specifically.’
‘I
