The Worst Best Man(53)

Dessert. The word brought dozens of images of Frankie’s naked body to mind.

“Gelato, Kilbourn. I see what you’re thinking.”

The server returned with Frankie’s change. “I’m leaving the tip,” Aiden announced, laying down a bill roughly the value of the entire tab for dinner.

“Show off.”

They rose, and he helped her into her coat. It was a wool trench that had seen better days. “You’re missing a button,” he said sweeping into his own cashmere coat and eyeing the gap in her coat’s closure.

“Ugh, I know. I lost it last winter when my brothers dared me to sneak out of my old bedroom window at my parents’ house and shimmy down the tree like I used to. In my defense, we were three bottles of wine into Thanksgiving dinner. Still can’t find the button.”

“So, where’s this gelato place?” Aiden asked. He was pleased when she took his hand as they exited the restaurant. He wanted to ask her what she had in mind after dessert. He had an overnight bag in the car and a respectable stash of condoms. He was just being prepared… and maybe a little hopeful.

Frankie led the way around the block. “Did you work today?” she asked.

He nodded. He hadn’t been planning to. Hell, he wasn’t supposed to have flown home from Barbados until this morning, but Franchesca had changed that plan when she left his bed. “I did. Had to make sure nothing catastrophic had happened while I was gone.”

“Did you decide what you’re going to do about Elliot?” Frankie asked.

He tensed, wondering if this was a trap. Another excuse for her to go back to hating him. “I hit him where it hurts the most.”

“His broken nose?” Frankie asked.

Aiden laughed. “No, but he has two black eyes and can’t breathe, so that was entertaining to see as he groveled to our father.”

“You went to your dad?” Frankie asked.

“Elliot was always a problem child. He makes rash decisions, often with large amounts of money. He was given a position in the company because it was only fair in my father’s eyes. But Elliot’s money is tied up in a revocable trust. My father didn’t want him gambling it away or loaning it to a prostitute to start her own brothel.”

“Or a girl who dances like a stripper,” Frankie said, batting her lashes at him.

Aiden nudged her shoulder. “I’m sorry for that. I’d had a long day, and the last thing I wanted to do was spend my evening at a party with friends trying to hook me up.”

“And you had a migraine.”

“That too.”

“Do you get them often?”

“Only on special occasions. Usually when dealing with Elliot.”

“So, what did your father consider a punishment for committing a felony?” Frankie asked.

“He froze Elliot’s accounts for a month.”

Frankie stumbled. “Your brother kidnaps someone in some whack job power move, and your daddy takes his allowance away?”

Aiden wasn’t about to tell her he’d had a similar reaction when his father had meted out the punishment. It was private family business.

“My father felt that was what the situation called for.”

“And what do you feel like ‘the situation’ called for? Keep in mind your answer will determine if you get past the gelato portion of our evening.”

“In that case, I’d like to bring back tarring and feathering.”

“You’re learning, Aide. You’re learning,” she said, eyes twinkling. It was a victory sweeter than any in recent history. And without thinking, without maneuvering her into it, Aiden pulled Frankie against him.

“Do I get to kiss you anytime I want now that we’re dating?”

She looked up at him, hooking her fingers into his lapels. “Within reason, I suppose.”

He saw the heat in the narrowing of her eyes, the parting of her lips. And when he brought his mouth to hers, he tasted that victory again. Franchesca Baranski had submitted, temporarily. She was his to kiss, to fuck, to tease. And he wasn’t going to waste a second of their time together.

She was backing up, and he followed her until her shoulders met the cold brick of the building. Holding her there, Aiden cupped her chin in his hands and seduced her mouth. Her lips were full and oh so soft. He remembered them sliding over his dick, remembered them going round in the shock of her release. And now they were feeding hungrily on him.

Her hands moved from his chest inside his coat to his hips. She pulled him against her and groaned when she felt his erection.

“How married are you to gelato?” she asked, breaking free of his mouth.

“I hate gelato.”

“My apartment is three blocks from here.”

“I have condoms in the car.”

“I have some at my place.”

His father’s warning to his teenage son echoed in his head. Rich kid rule number seventeen. Never use a woman’s condoms. She may be trying to trap you by getting pregnant.

“Let’s go.”





Chapter Twenty-Eight


Three blocks felt like miles when her clit was swollen with need and there was a sexy man holding her hand who could do something very efficiently about it. They barely spoke, the tension between them skyrocketing by the second.