Seducing the Bridesmaid (Wedding Dare, #3)(2)
He could admire the sentiment, even if her methods were suspect. “Then why not just, I don’t know, open your mouth and say something? You don’t seem to have a problem shoving your opinion down people’s throats. Mine, for instance.”
“You chased my ass out here. I didn’t ask for help.”
Yeah, he didn’t get the idea that she asked for help all that often—or ever. “Maybe you should.”
She laughed. “Because you’re going to be the one to save me from myself, right? For at least as long as it takes to get into my pants.”
Well, hell. He wouldn’t mind getting into her pants—or up her skirt, as it were. But she wasn’t even going to give him a chance. He could trot along, verbally sparring, or he could change the game. Brock slid in front of her, blocking her way. “Darlin’, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were thinking about sexing me up.”
Her eyebrows rose, though he didn’t miss the way her gaze coasted over his body. “It’s a good thing one of us knows better then, isn’t it?”
“It’s okay that you’re scared. You’ve never met a man like me.”
It was hard to tell in the dark, but he thought he could see a blush spreading across her chest. Until she laughed in his face. “Please. There are a thousand men like you. But it’s cute that you think you’re so special. Did your mother tell you that?”
There had been enough praise in the McNeill household for only one son, and Brock wasn’t him. But he wasn’t about to say as much to Regan. She was a shark, and she’d sniff out any weakness and exploit it without a second thought. He’d never found ruthlessness particularly attractive in a woman, but combined with her sharp tongue, it was an intriguing mix.
He leaned in and lowered his voice. “It’s okay that you’re intimidated by my overwhelming masculinity. I promise to take good care of you.”
“How sweet of you.” She walked her fingers up his chest, inch by slow inch, the briefest contact that sent heat pulsing through his body. Regan stopped at the hollow of his throat and smiled.
Then she flicked his chin. “But let’s be honest. I’d ruin you for other women, and I’m just too nice to do that to an adorable little thing like you.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“Maybe in another life. You’re hot, but pretty is as pretty does.” She stepped around him and headed for the hotel, trailing her perfume behind her. He closed his eyes and inhaled—something expensive, subtle, and intriguing. Too bad the woman herself was only two of those three.
He turned and followed, catching up to her in two large steps. “I’m not that easily ruined.”
“You haven’t been with me.” She glanced at him and then jerked back to look straight ahead. “And you aren’t going to be.”
Then why did she sound like she was trying to convince herself? He watched her as they walked, and sure enough, she shot another look at him a few steps later. For all her bluster, the woman could barely keep her eyes off him. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“You’re dangerously delusional.”
He laughed. “And you’re not as mean as you pretend to be.”
She stopped just outside of the light cast by the hotel lamps on either side of the door and glared at him, her hands on her hips. “As delightful as this has been, I can take it from here. I don’t need a white knight and I sure as hell don’t need you to try to charm my panties off.” She turned and walked to the door. “Besides, I’m not wearing any.” Her last comment floated over her shoulder, almost taking him out at the knees.
Holy shit.
Brock rubbed his hand over his mouth. If he had half a brain, he’d stay as far away from Regan as possible for the rest of the week. She thought she had him all figured out, and he had enough of that shit in his life without adding yet another person who’d be continually reminding him of what a f*ckup he supposedly was.
He grinned. On the other hand, it would be a hell of a lot of fun to poke at her and see what lay beneath the polished and poised exterior. Who was he kidding? He was going to seek her out again the first chance he got.
…
Twenty-four hours into this destination wedding, and Regan Wakefield wasn’t sure if she was the greatest friend ever—or the worst.
She leaned against the bar and stared into her drink. It had started last night at the bachelorette party. She could blame the dare on the alcohol, the altitude, or the seriously hot choice of groomsmen, but the end result was a promise to hook up with one of said groomsmen this week. Her sorority sister Julie had thought it was a brilliant idea, and both Christine and the groom’s sister, Sophie, had gone along with it. More or less. Regan had agreed at the time—a no-brainer since she had come up with the idea.
That was before that smart-ass Brock had shown up and tried to charm her while she made her way back to the hotel. He was the groomsman who wasn’t Sweet, wasn’t Brooding, and wasn’t the Full Package. The one who practically reeked of Old Money and the life of ease that came with it. He’d riled her up so much, she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of heading back to her room alone. So she’d come here, to the same bar they’d all been in last night.
She tended to be excellent at reading people and situations. Her reputation as a headhunter depended on recommending the right people for the right jobs—keeping them in said jobs long enough to get her bonus meant knowing it’d be a good fit going in. And Brock wasn’t even close to acceptable.