heads together.
God, he hated weddings. Especially this one, with its boatload of pseudo-Scottish junk, outrageous number of bridesmaids, and way too many people smiling and pretending to be thrilled for Kyle.
Thrilled? Ha! His brother was making a huge mistake. Colossal. What else could you call it when a great guy like Kyle signed up for a life sentence with a twenty-one-year-old bimbo with a hot bod and the brains of a twig?
Ian wasn’t that fond of the idea of marriage, anyway. As far as he was concerned, you traded a few minutes of pleasure for a lifetime of effort and commitment, boredom and compromise. He hated compromise. Even his parents, who looked like a flawless match on the outside, had had their share of ups and downs. It seemed like a full-time job for his dad to keep that marriage humming.
He loved his mother and his sister dearly, but they were often on some other planet he couldn’t—and didn’t really care to—understand. He just wasn’t sure he could ever put that much work into something as mercurial and infuriating as a woman.
Besides, as he’d watched friends get married over the past few years, they’d so often seemed to be doing it for the wrong reasons—because somebody’s parents were pushing it, or the girlfriend wanted a baby, or he was the right age, or she had a nice smile, or he was lonely, or all their friends were married…
It didn’t take long for one or the other to be miserable. It didn’t take long for Ian to run in the other direction. The merest hint of matrimony on the mind of a woman he was dating had him saying goodbye.
And he was even more convinced he was right now that he’d seen Steffi in action. Sure, he’d tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, and he’d been kind of amused by her sister, the sneezy redhead. At least she seemed like a real human being. But when he’d brought Lucie back for family pictures, snotty little Steffi had acted ruder than rude—to her own sister.
“Half sister,” he said under his breath.
Fine. A bimbo, a social climber and a bitch, and she’d just married his brother. Wonderful.
What the hell was Kyle thinking, marrying Steffi? “She must be something special in the sack,” he muttered, taking a long swig of his drink. Forget champagne. He’d turned to Scotch on the rocks a long time ago. Well, hey, at least it fit the theme.
“Ian, Ian, Ian, what are you doing all alone?” a silky female voice purred.
He glanced up. Ah, yes. The maid of honor. What was her name again?
The leggy blonde perched herself on the chair next to his. “Lucky I ran into you.”
She’d apparently slipped upstairs to her room at the Inn long enough to change her clothes. All he had up in his room was an extra pair of jeans and a T-shirt to wear home tomorrow, or he would’ve gotten rid of his own kilt hours ago. But this nubile young thing had planned ahead, shedding her long wool skirt and hot jacket for a slinky little cocktail dress. He had to say, it looked good on her. And partially off her.
Although Ian was fully aware the maid of honor was cut from the same cloth as the bimbo bride, he also knew she could be useful for a few hours. She’d already telegraphed her interest, and then some. She might be feeling no pain at the moment, but she’d been perfectly sober when she tried to trap him in the coat room at the rehearsal dinner, and then pinched his butt as they walked out of the church after the ceremony.
The way he figured it, he was bummed and she and her bubble-headed beauty were a distraction. Where was the harm in that?
“Can I get you a drink, um…?” Damn. He really could not recall her name.
“Feather,” she finished for him.
How could he have forgotten anything that silly? “Feather. Right. Let me get one of the waiters.”
Feather downed several more Cosmopolitans (which was exactly what he would’ve guessed she’d drink) as she gossiped about Steffi and the other bridesmaids. “I think Steffi should’ve cut back to about five attendants and only picked the really good-looking ones, y’know?” She sat up straighter, only slightly wobbly. “A person has to have standards.”
What was he supposed to say to that? Sure, have all the standards you want. Who cares? He raised his glass to his lips, preferring not to comment.
“Did you know that Steffi and I are soro…soror…sorory sisters?” She tried to get a grip on her drink, giggling when it sloshed over its rim and splashed red liquid onto the white linen tablecloth. “Oopsie! What was I saying? Oh, yeah—me and Steffi. We are just like that.” She squinted, trying to focus long enough to put her index fingers together. “Like that.”
“I got it.”
Tipping over to one side, she propped herself up on an elbow. “You are so cute, y’know?”
“Uh, sure. Whatever.” When she waited expectantly, he hastened to add, “And you, too. You’re beautiful. But you already know that.”
“Well, duh. Come on, don’t I see myself in the mirror? Like, news flash.”
Okay, not even for a few hours could he put up with this. He started to rise.
“Hey, where you goin’? Am I invited?”
He tried to remind himself that he wasn’t looking for conversation, just one night of guilt-free seduction, nothing too taxing, nothing too clingy, just fun and a few fireworks. What was he going to do otherwise? Go back to his room by himself, drink the other half of the bottle of Scotch, and fall into a depressed stupor. Yeah, that sounded enticing.
Feather gave him a sly wink, winding her tongue around a cherry she’d plucked from someone else’s drink. After fooling with it for a few seconds, she popped it out of her mouth with the stem neatly tied in a knot. “Everybody has to have a talent,” she giggled.
Ian sat back down.
“LUCIE,” DELILAH ANNOUNCED, “I think we need to find some guys and fast. You and I—and especially you—need a fling.”
“A fling?” By this time, Lucie had ditched her shoes under the table and rolled up her sleeves, and she was feeling much better. She’d also switched from champagne to strawberry margaritas, and she swirled sugar onto her tongue while she considered her fellow bridesmaid’s idea. “You mean like a one-night stand? Why exactly do I need that?”
“Dying on the vine, my dear. Dying on the vine. I mean, here we are, bridesmaids at this big, ugly ol’ wedding with a million guys running around, and what are we doing? Talking to each other.” Delilah shook her head sadly. “We need to get out there and find us some guys. You know, for overnight. Or maybe not even overnight, just a couple of hours. Heck, just a couple of minutes!”
“You are so bad,” Lucie returned in a stage whisper. She said with determination, “If I’m doing it, I’m not settling for a couple of minutes. Not tonight.”
“You go, girl!”
“Darn right.” Lucie lifted her chin. “Did I tell you it’s my birthday? And not just any birthday. The big 3-0.”
Delilah’s mouth dropped open. “Get out! You’re thirty? Today? Okay, now I know I’m
