Best Man with Benefits (Wedding Dare, #4, McCade Brothers, #3)
Samanthe Beck
To all of us who’ve ever felt like ugly ducklings.
Look a little closer.
Chapter One
Logan McCade never considered himself an ass man, but the heart-shaped one packed into snug black jeans practically begged to be kissed, licked, bitten, and quite possibly spanked. The distraction in question snagged his attention as he approached the Beaver Creek Resort concierge desk, which made all of the above highly unfeasible.
Still, the soaring ceilings, dark wood beams, and huge river-rock fireplace of the resort’s lobby couldn’t compete with the tight, round handful traveling in close company with toned legs that gave the impression of going on forever. A nice illusion, considering the woman leaning against the marble-topped counter looked about five foot nothing in her flat black sandals—even when she rose onto her tiptoes to speak to the resort manager.
He couldn’t catch the full conversation, just her quiet, halting voice saying, “I-I think I’m going to hyperventilate.”
As she finished speaking, she rocked down on her heels and took a half step back from the desk. Now that she wasn’t leaning on the counter, the hem of her oversize white shirt settled below her hips, curtaining the world’s most bitable backside.
Keep walking, he told himself, because thanks to a call from his CFO about some issues they’d hit with a potential acquisition, he was already late to the official kickoff dinner for Colton and Kady’s epic week of wedding fun. As best man, he ought to be on time for shit like that, but something about the damsel in distress talking to the concierge—and, okay, maybe it was her sweet little ass in those jeans—had him detouring to the desk.
A shower of light from the chandelier splashed auburn streaks through chin-length dark hair that had been ambushed by restless hands a few too many times. Something about the texture and color set a flare of familiarity firing in his brain. He couldn’t see her face from this angle, but he heard the resort manager reply, “…our sincere apologies, Miss Brooks. Please don’t hyperventilate. Rest assured, we’ll locate your dresses and have them sent to your room as soon as possible.”
Miss Brooks? As in…
“Sophie?”
She whirled to face him, and he fell into a pair of big brown eyes he remembered belonging in the slightly rounded face of a girl…teenager…whatever. Not a full-grown woman with high cheekbones and an actual jawline—both of which a man could spend days sculpting with his fingertips, or his tongue. The only plump thing about her face was her full, unpainted lips, currently parted in what he figured to be surprise at his interruption, but his imagination whispered, This is what she looks like when she comes…cheeks flushed, eyes wide and dazed, and those soft pink lips parted.
The flush darkened from pink to flaming red, and a voice just a note deeper, and a hint huskier than the one from his memories, said, “Logan?”
“Hi, Sophie. What’s up?” Holy shit, besides your dick. You’ve been fantasizing about giving your best friend’s shy, adorable, strictly off-limits little sister an ass hickey. Of course, the last time he’d seen her, “little” had been the operative word. She’d been what…eighteen? Nineteen? Definitely still a teen. Now she was all woman.
Colt’s request from earlier in the day replayed in his mind. You know what a hermit Sophie can be. Last night at the bachelorette party, she bailed as soon as she could sneak away. Do me a solid and look after her this week. Make sure she doesn’t bunker in her room and miss all the fun.
“Logan,” she repeated and backed up, sounding distinctly uncomfortable and looking like she’d dearly love to bolt to her room right that moment. She had the bolting thing down cold, because he couldn’t remember seeing her at all last night when Colt and the rest of the groomsmen had invaded Kady’s bachelorette party. And based on the way his body reacted to grown-up Sophie, he would have remembered. Then again, thanks to work he’d been functioning on a handful of hours of sleep all week. He’d spent most of last night on autopilot.
“Hey,” he smiled and leaned against the counter, aiming to throw as much relaxed and casual at her as he could muster to counteract all her skittishness. “Are you on your way to the dinner at Spago?” Her outfit suggested she was not, and he was suddenly bound and determined not to let her slide under everyone’s radar and skip it. Because you promised Colt. “Walk over with me.”
She shook her head and lifted a hand toward the hotel manager, enlisting his support. “I can’t go. I have nothing to wear. I sent my dresses…oh, goodness, including my bridesmaid dress”—she added as if that particular realization had just hit her—“to get the wrinkles steamed out, and they’ve disappeared.”
“Temporarily misplaced,” the manager interjected, aiming an apologetic look at them both. “We’re very sorry. This has never happened before.”
Sophie stretched her pretty lips into a pained smile. “Things like this happen to me all the time. I’m cursed with bad luck. But this is particularly awful because I can’t be a bridesmaid without the bridesmaid dress.” She paused as the ramifications of her words sank in, and then her tense expression cleared into a look of pure relief. “Darn it, I won’t be able to stand in front of a packed chapel while my brother and Kady exchange vows.”