The Worst Best Man(49)

“Is that even physically possible?” Pru shrieked. “Wait, hang on.” She leaned over the toilet bowl and blahed again. She bobbed back up, perky as a morning TV show host who hadn’t just thrown up a carafe of champagne. “Five orgasms in one night?”

“Yeah. I think it’s like a super power or something.”

Or something all ridiculously rich dudes could do. Could money buy sexual prowess? No wonder women were always chasing them.

“I. Am. So. Happy. For. You.” Pru stabbed the air with her finger to emphasize every word.

“Again, one-time thing,” Frankie pointed out. “But let’s talk about how happy I am for you, Mrs. Stockton-Randolph.”

“Did you see my ring?” Pru asked.

Frankie had seen it approximately nineteen times since the ceremony.

“I would love to see your ring.”

“What kind of ring do you think Aiden will get you?” Pru asked, closing one eye. She slid down to lay on the marble floor, her dress puffing up around her.

“No ring. No more sex either.”

“But he’s good enough for you, Frankie.”

“Okay, you’re clearly all heart-eyes and alcohol-ed because you’re telling me to marry the guy whose brother kidnapped your fiancé on the eve of your wedding.”

“I forgot about that. But still, Aiden is amazing.”

“He’s also a perennial bachelor who likes to swap out his women every month. And again, brother kidnapped Chip.”

Pru waved a dismissive hand. “Details, details.”

--------

Frankie found herself in the middle seat of the plane wedged between a tiny Asian lady with very nice headphones and a guy whose chest hair was woven around the thick gold chain visible because he had the first four buttons of his shirt open.

The lady smelled like vanilla. The man like half a bottle of Drakkar Noir. It was going to be a very long flight. But at least she’d escaped Barbados without facing Aiden. She wondered if he’d been pissed or relieved when he woke up to find her gone.

She plugged her earbuds into the seatback entertainment and randomly selected a music station. So maybe she was running away. And maybe she was a coward, but had she spent one extra second next to Aiden’s perfect, naked body, she would have literally died. Could one die from perfection? She’d come close. Or maybe it had been too many orgasms.

Frankie knew that had Aiden woken up and brought up the subject of a temporary relationship, she would have sat up and begged like her parent’s cocker spaniel. Out of sight, out of her sore yet satisfied pussy. Mind. She meant mind.

A hasty exit was for the best. Aiden would forget about her and their few hours of mind-boggling, flesh-searing, soul-shattering pleasure.

Chest Hair gave her the side-eye, and Frankie realized she’d moaned out loud. If this is what five orgasms skillfully doled out by Aiden Kilbourn did to her, she couldn’t imagine what a temporary dalliance would do.

Her phone was off, and she had to work tomorrow. It was back to normal… with a few erotic memories that she could relive for the rest of her life.





Chapter Twenty-Six


Aiden took the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding. He’d been revved since waking up that morning. And all those hours in between, he’d been ready to snap.

She’d left him. He’d woken up to an empty bed with no trace of her in his room. And by the time he’d pulled on a pair of shorts and stormed down the hall to bang on her door and drag her back to bed, the maids were already cleaning it. Checked out. Sorry sir.

Franchesca had a thing or two to learn about just how he did business.

This place smelled like mothballs and dust. The stairs creaked ominously under his feet. There was no security on the door, and half the streetlights on the block were dark. And it had taken no more than a “please” to get Mrs. Gurgevich in 2A to buzz him in.

Everything pissed him off.

And that translated loud and clear when his closed fist met the door that stood between him and the source of his annoyance.

“Jesus, break down the door, why don’t you, Gio?”

Frankie’s eyes widened in surprise and, very possibly, fear. She probably would have slammed the door in his face had Aiden not shoved his way inside.

The apartment was small, on the shabby side, but clean. There was a kitchen, a living/dining room, and what Aiden assumed was a bedroom. Her TV, a pathetic thirty-inch, was on, and there was an open beer on the coffee table. The couch was deep and cushioned.

He turned to face her, and he felt it, that magnetic connection. It hadn’t been the tropical setting or the adrenaline. It was the way she reacted to him. He was used to attraction. He used it as a snare when necessary. But what echoed between them? It was elemental. It was the primitive lust of one body desperately needing the other. She didn’t want his money or his family name. She wanted him and how he made her feel. And that was more potent to him than any aphrodisiac.

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” She stood, hands on hips, wearing leggings and a thick sweater that draped over one shoulder. She had her hair pulled up in a thick tail.

He fisted his hands at his sides so he didn’t reach for her and strip the tie out of her hair. “Why did you run?”

“I didn’t run. I had a flight.” She was cocky, self-righteous, and lying.