Best Man with Benefits (Wedding Dare, #4, McCade Brothers, #3)(10)
“A what?”
“More like a challenge.” He mentally measured the expanse of lawn leading to the hotel. About two hundred meters. “Race me back to the resort. If you win, I’ll share my stolen beverage with you.” According to Colt, Sophie had a hard time turning down a dare. Logan didn’t know if the trick only worked for her brother, but he was willing to give it a shot.
“And if you win?”
“Then I’m cutting you off.”
She crossed her arms, and he did his best to ignore the mouthwatering swell of her breasts under the thin button-down. Had she always been so…lush? He honestly didn’t know because he couldn’t remember seeing her in anything other than sweatshirts.
“I get a head start,” she said.
“Fine.” He kicked off his Tevas and shoved them in the deep outer pockets of his shorts. “I start when you pass the second light.” He pointed to one of the wrought iron lampposts flanking the path.
She nodded, dropped her arms to her sides and assumed a runner-take-your-mark stance. “Okay.”
“Whenever you’re read—” She zipped off across the lawn. “—dy.” He almost laughed at her hasty takeoff, but damn…she was speedier than he’d anticipated. Winning this thing might actually require him to sprint. He cradled the champagne like a football and ran after her as soon as she passed the designated lamppost.
Luckily, her speed flagged after the first fifty meters. He closed in, enjoying the slap of the cool night air in his face, the smell of the pine trees that grew thick on the peaks surrounding the resort, and the sound of his blood pumping in his ears…and some other sound now. A familiar click followed by a “shhh” noise he couldn’t quite place, but for some reason made him think of the manicured landscape surrounding the Defy Gravity headquarters in Boulder. Oh crap, it was—
Sophie shrieked as their race route turned into a minefield of timer-deployed sprinkler-heads, blasting water from every direction. Cold water.
He quickened his pace with the idea of catching up to her and serving as her sprinkler shield, but just as he came up behind her, she slipped in the slick grass and fell forward. Changing direction was out of the question. He was momentum’s passenger at this point. Reflexes he hadn’t relied on in months kicked in, and he hurdled over her. He landed a few feet in front of her, his system awash in adrenaline. Laughing, wiping streams of water off his face, he turned to Sophie, who sat in the grass now, hissing like a wet kitten while the sprinklers doused her with another wave of cold water.
“You okay?”
She scrubbed at the grass-stained knees of her jeans. “Never better.”
He didn’t notice the dirty pants as much as the way her drenched shirt molded to her chest. The sight made him want to peel the damn thing right off. Instead he thrust the champagne bottle into her hands, and then turned, crouched down, and patted his back. “Hop on.”
“No…there’s no need—” Another wave of freezing water oscillated over them and cut her off.
He shrugged and started to stand. “Okay, but if they’re having a wet T-shirt contest in the lobby, you’re going win first place.”
“What?” She glanced down. “Oh my God!”
The next thing he knew, he had one hundred and twenty pounds of soaking wet woman scrambling onto his back. He stood, hefted her higher, and sprinted toward the resort, trying his best to dodge sprinkler spray and ignore the feel of her thighs clamped around his waist and the soft weight of her breasts bouncing against his back. With those distractions in play, he barely noticed the champagne bottle thumping against his chest.
He could have carried her like that all night, but by the time he burst through the lobby’s automatic doors they were both out of breath from laughing. The few guests and hotel personnel wandering the lobby turned and stared with varying degrees of amusement or irritation. Logan dashed to the elevators.
“Floor?” he asked when the doors closed and they were alone in the wood-paneled space.
“Six,” Sophie whispered, and then giggled when he used her toe to hit the button.
“You can put me down now.” She loosened the arms she’d wrapped around his neck and shifted her hips to signal she was ready for the drop, and he found himself reading the fine print on the elevator inspection certificate to stop from groaning out loud at the feel of her squirming against him.
“Sophie?” He mimicked her hushed voice.
“What?”
“Why are you whispering?”
The question pulled another giggle from her, slightly self-conscious this time. “I don’t know,” she admitted, still whispering. “I don’t want to attract any attention.”
“God forbid.” He loosened his hold on her legs, used his hands to stabilize her descent, and let her slide down his back until her feet reached the floor. The process offered him a highly detailed, but mostly accidental tour of her denim-covered backside. He bit back another groan, waited until they’d achieved touchdown, and then turned to face her.
Bad move. The elevator lights turned her wet shirt into a transparent second skin. He could easily see her white bra, and the truly awe-inspiring curves it supported. Shy, adorable, strictly off-limits Sophie, he mentally recited, while his brain attempted to signal his eyes to look away. His eyes told his brain to f*ck off. As he watched, the chill of air-conditioning—or maybe the heat of his gaze—turned her nipples to hard little points and he pressed his lips together while he imagined testing their resilience with his tongue.