To Have and to Hold (The Wedding Belles #1)(12)

Seriously?

Brooke had no problem taking her clients’ jackets. Or making them coffee, or pouring them champagne, or frankly, jumping through whatever hoops they wanted her to as long as it related to the wedding.

But something about this man’s entitled attitude set her on edge. No, scratch that. Everything about him set her on edge.

She ignored the jacket. “And you are?”

Their eyes locked and held for several moments. God, he was good-looking, in a pretentious, head-of-the-boardroom kind of way.

He tilted his head just slightly, a knowing look on his face as though reading her thoughts. Brooke finally grabbed at his jacket, needing an excuse to turn away from him.

“I’m Seth Tyler,” he said quietly as he watched her hang the jacket on a hook near the door. “Maya’s brother.”

Ah. That explained his sense of entitlement. The man was one of the richest people in the country.

And actually, Brooke was a little surprised she hadn’t recognized him. She followed the social scene fairly closely—there was plenty of crossover between the New York and Los Angeles social elite.

But then again, while Maya Tyler made frequent appearances at all the big-name events and dated a handful of celebs, her brother kept a relatively low profile, at least on the social scene. She’d heard his name, certainly, but never seen a picture. Brooke was certain if she had seen a picture, she would have remembered.

“A bride’s brother,” she said thoughtfully. “That’s a new one. I’ve had sisters tag along before. Mothers are almost a given. Dads, too, given the whole father-of-the-bride thing. But a brother . . . that’s a definite first.”

Seth’s eyes never left Brooke’s. “Maya doesn’t have a sister. Or a mother. And as of eight months ago, she doesn’t have a father, either.”

Brooke forced herself not to look away in embarrassment.

He was trying to make her feel like a jerk, and it was working. She’d forgotten that Maya’s file indicated both parents were deceased. She certainly hadn’t meant to remind him about Hank Tyler’s recent death, but her comment had been insensitive all the same. She was usually much better at details than this.

Still, she wasn’t about to grovel beneath his icy stare, so instead, she gave a small nod. “Well then, Maya’s lucky to have you.”

His eyes narrowed as though assessing her statement for mockery, but Brooke merely smiled. Just let him stew on whether or not she was being sarcastic.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked. “A cappuccino, water, champagne?”

He glanced at his watch. “Champagne? It’s barely past two in the afternoon.”

Ugh. So he was like that.

A total stiff.

Good thing he was a ten physically, because his personality was trending toward the negative.

“It’s also a special occasion,” she said softly. “Your sister is getting married.”

Seth grunted and tore his light blue gaze away from hers, and Brooke’s curiosity spiked. Whatever Seth Tyler’s reasons for being here, they certainly didn’t involve being excited about his sister’s upcoming nuptials.

Brooke tilted her head slightly and considered him. “You don’t want to be here.”

His eyes snapped back to her. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“Really,” she said, crossing her arms. “So you’re telling me that you want to be standing inside a wedding planner’s office right now, gearing up to talk about canapés and bustles and tea-length versus cocktail-length bridesmaid dresses, and coupes versus flutes for the champagne toast?”

Seth’s gaze raked over her before he took a step closer. He was tall, but she was in five-inch heels, which meant she only had to look up slightly to meet his gaze. She didn’t know why, but this man seemed determined to make her feel small. Well, screw him—Brooke wasn’t going to roll over and play dead.

She’d experienced plenty of belittling in the past four months from people she actually cared about. She wasn’t about to let a perfect stranger—no matter how gorgeous—get under her skin.

“You should know something, Ms. . . .”

“Baldwin,” she said evenly.

“Ms. Baldwin,” he said slowly, as though tasting the sound of her name on his tongue. Then he dropped his eyes to her mouth as though wanting to taste more than the sound of her name.

Brooke swallowed and forced herself not to take a step back. “What is it that I should know?” she prompted.

His eyes lifted back to hers, and despite their closeness, despite the heat between their bodies, there was no warmth in his eyes. This was a man who’d long ago mastered the art of perfect, icy control.

“You should know that I never do anything I don’t want to,” he said in that low, husky voice.

“Is that so?” Crap. Now her voice was husky.

“It is,” he said slowly. He moved even closer.

“And what is it that you want?” she asked.

His eyes drifted once more down to her mouth, and Brooke ordered herself firmly not to do anything ridiculous, say, like leaning into a man who was proving to be a pretentious ass.

Except . . .

Except, he smelled good. Really good. Like expensive cologne and man and sex, and despite the fact that Brooke was writing off the opposite sex for at least the next year, she wanted . . . she wanted . . .