Best Man with Benefits (Wedding Dare, #4, McCade Brothers, #3)(3)
Confidence. Something she lacked. Not that she never accepted a challenge or took a dare. She had an adventurous side—one she’d recently set a specific goal to nurture—and it had itched to speak up last night, deal her into the bridesmaid pact, and stake a claim to Logan. Instead, she’d opted out under the guise of avoiding putting her brother in the awkward position of having his little sister hook up with his best man during the wedding week festivities. But that wasn’t the real reason she’d held her tongue. In reality, well…she’d set fitness goals, too, and stuck to them, but logging her three miles every morning was never going to turn her into an elite marathoner. Going head-to-head against those other girls for Logan’s attention constituted the sexual equivalent of Olympic-level competition. In the end she’d get laughed off the course, and hurt.
A hand landed on her shoulder at the same time a low, thrillingly masculine voice, asked, “Ready?”
She looked up to find Logan standing over her, smiling like a co-conspirator, and momentarily lost her powers of speech. Gone were his crisp white dress shirt, silk tie, and light-gray trousers. Instead he wore an olive-green T-shirt that molded to the hard planes of his chest and turned his hazel eyes to jade, paired with wash-worn khaki cargo shorts that left his tanned calves bare. God, even his feet are gorgeous, she thought as she inspected his brown leather Tevas.
“Ready, Soph?” He gave her shoulder a playful—perhaps prompting—squeeze, and she had a shockingly vivid fantasy of surging to her feet, tearing his shirt off and running her hands all over his warm, naked skin. Well aware her face was on fire, she forced her eyes back to his, and swallowed to ease the dryness in her throat.
“Ready for what?”
Chapter Two
“Oh my God, we couldn’t be more out of place if we’d worn our pajamas.”
Logan simply tugged his reluctant companion through the door and into the sleek, elegant restaurant. “I doubt that, seeing as how I don’t wear pajamas.”
A strangled sound served as Sophie’s reply. Curiosity had him craning his neck around to see if he’d made her blush—and why the idea of bringing heat to her cheeks gave him such a charge, he couldn’t say—but a familiar figure standing by the bar talking to a group of guests caught his attention before he could satisfy his curiosity. Colt.
Whoa there, Romeo, get yourself in check. You just flirted with your best friend’s shy, adorable, strictly off-limits little sister.
“Hey, there’s your brother. Want to go over and say hello?”
Sophie stared at the bar for a moment, clearly debating, and then shook her head. “No. He’s talking to people I don’t know, and I’m not dressed for introductions. I don’t want to embarrass him. You go ahead, though. He wouldn’t feel the need to make excuses for you. I’ll just hang out here.”
Yeah, right. She’d leave the second he turned his back. He’d gotten her to the party, but getting her to relax and have a good time was going to take more effort. A drink seemed like a good place to start, but he didn’t want to force her to accompany him to the bar and into an interaction that would make her more self-conscious. “How about we find a place to sit? Then I’ll go over and get us some drinks, and let Colt know we’re here.”
Her eyes darted left, and then right at his suggestion, like someone seeking an escape route, but she simply nodded and beelined to a booth for two in a dim, comparatively quiet corner of the restaurant. Out of the way, he noted, just like the seat she’d chosen when she’d waited for him in the hotel lobby. She had a knack for blending into the background. Something to keep in mind for the rest of the week.
Once she’d settled herself into the most recessed corner of the booth, he handed her the card key to his suite. “Would you hold on to this for me while I get our drinks? I lost mine last night and had to get a replacement from the reception desk. I’m hoping to do better with this one.”
He expected reluctance, since agreeing to be his key-master meant relinquishing any escape plans she’d hatched, but the odd look she gave him made him wonder if she knew something about what had happened to his key last night. All she said, however, was “Sure,” as she took the small plastic card.
“Thanks. What can I get you to drink?”
“Maybe some water.”
Maybe not. He doubted the power of H2O to chill her out her and get her into the party spirit. “How about some champagne? It’s a celebration, after all.”
“Um.” She glanced around again, as if to confirm others were drinking. “Okay. I guess. If that’s what you’re having.”
After the day of business calls he’d endured, he’d planned on something with more kick, but he suspected three fingers of Johnnie Walker Black, no water, no ice, would put Sophie under the table. “Two champagnes, coming up. Guard that.” He pointed to his card key. She’d picked it up and was absently sliding the pad of her index finger back and forth over one rounded corner. A disconcerting image hijacked his brain…of her, running that same soft fingertip along the center of his chest, over his abdomen and down his— “I’ll be right back.” Self-preservation sent him striding to the bar before his imagination embarrassed him.
He’d been working too hard these last few weeks, and ignoring certain basic human instincts. That had to be the reason he suddenly couldn’t get his head out of his pants. “Jesus, I need a drink,” he muttered under his breath.