Seducing the Bridesmaid (Wedding Dare, #3)(5)
And she was most definitely going to hell, because she couldn’t come up with a single argument to talk herself out of it. Both times they’d talked, he got under her skin in record time. The urge to return the favor was overwhelming her common sense. Truthfully, she didn’t even want to fight it.
But, God, she was tired of thinking so much. Of constantly second-guessing herself and her reactions against what the people around her were doing. She was always on, and it was exhausting. It was time to work off some of her stress.
Regan finished her drink and set it on the bar, plan firmly in place. One night. No strings attached. No complications. “Let’s go.”
…
Brock stared at her retreating back, wondering if he’d heard her wrong. Driven by curiosity and a healthy dose of anger, he followed Regan through the bar. He didn’t bother to keep his eyes off her ass—everything about her, from the snazzy way she dressed to her sky-high pink heels to the calculated sexy tumble of her highlighted dark hair, was designed to draw attention. She knew she looked good, and she flaunted it. He could respect that, which was part of the reason he’d approached her in the first place.
That and the way she’d completely shut him down yesterday, and then again tonight. He’d just been trying to make conversation… Okay, that was a damn lie. When she’d waltzed up to Reed and grinned at him last night, Brock felt like he’d just been struck by lightning. And that was with her barely sparing him a glance when she told him there wasn’t a single thing about her that was sweet.
Hell if she wasn’t right.
He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the woman wouldn’t know sweet if it bit her in the ass. Who the hell summed up a person with three words? She might have been right—to a point—but then she’d had to keep going and call him rudderless. It was the same argument he’d had time and time again with his father. He sure as f*ck didn’t want to have it with a near stranger.
Not to mention she was totally off base calling him the favored son. That role had always been—and would always be—Caine’s. Brock was born second, and had come in second his entire life. There wasn’t a single damn thing he could do to change it, even if he wanted to.
They left the bar, the night crisp despite its being June. Back home, the humidity would be thick enough to cut with a knife and the lightning bugs would be making an appearance right around now. He shook off the strange feeling of homesickness and grabbed her arm. “Hey.”
The look she gave him would have made a lesser man feel like he was two inches tall. “What part of ‘let’s go’ do you not understand, Scarlett?”
Christ, she was prickly. He released her arm and crossed his own over his chest. “I’m trying not to jump to conclusions. Spit it out.”
“I’m more of a swallowing kind of girl.”
Holy hell.
Her grin sent all his blood rushing south. She stepped back and reached up to unbutton her shirt, giving him a flash of purple lace. “That was an invitation, in case you were wondering. So why don’t we get this show on the road and inside a room?”
He followed her, moving even though his mind argued that this was a mistake. She already thought he was a piece of shit playboy. Sleeping with her wasn’t going to help that belief. But Christ, that didn’t stop him from wanting to. “You don’t even like me, darlin’.”
“Who says that’s necessary?” Another button opened, highlighting the swell of her breasts. They were magnificent, and she knew it.
He fought back a growl. Liking the person he slept with was necessary to him. He wasn’t so goddamn desperate that he’d cozy up to a woman who thought he was a joke. “Most people don’t f*ck people they dislike.”
If he thought she’d flinch at his language, he was sorely mistaken. Regan sidled closer and ran a perfectly manicured nail down his chest. He tensed, waiting for the spice that seemed to come whenever she did something even partially sweet.
“Well, darlin’, I f*ck who I want to, when I want to. And right now, that’s you.”
There it was.
Even as he cursed himself for questioning this, he said, “Why?”
“Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” Before he could question her further, she reached down and cupped him through his slacks, the contact nearly making him moan. “This is all I’m worried about right now. My room or yours?”
He stared at her mouth. This was stupid. He should tell her to f*ck off and go back into the bar. Sleeping with anyone else would be better than going upstairs with Regan. It didn’t matter if their chemistry was off the charts. She obviously thought he wasn’t fit to kiss her bright-pink shoes—and he was going to have to spend the next week in close quarters with her. Even knowing that, he found himself saying, “Mine.” At least if they were on his territory, he’d maintain control of the situation.
She went up on her tiptoes and nipped his chin. “Perfect.”
Chapter Two
Regan almost felt bad about the confusion on Brock’s face when she propositioned him. Almost. But hadn’t this been exactly what he was aiming for when he tried to walk her back to the hotel, then moved in on her at the bar? She was just cutting through the bullshit and doing it on her terms. It just figured that he wouldn’t know what to do with a woman who owned her sexuality instead of falling all over herself to dance around it until he decided to make a first move. She took a step back and crooked a finger at him. “Try to keep up.”