Seducing the Bridesmaid Read online

  God, what was she thinking? He probably did practice that grin in the mirror. Regan made a shooing motion with her hand. “Go on now, Scarlett. I already have a drink.” Did I seriously just call him Scarlett? As in Scarlett O’Hara? What the hell is wrong with me?

  “I might be pretty, but I don’t have the shoulders to pull off a hoop skirt.”

  Brock turned to the bartender, giving her the opportunity to eyeball the way his button-up white shirt hugged said shoulders and, holy shit, those back muscles were nothing to sneeze at. He’d gotten rid of the suit jacket he’d been wearing during their walk, and the tucked-in shirt only served to accent his slim hips and an ass that probably had lesser women salivating. Because she most certainly wasn’t. Much.

  She’d gotten herself under control by the time he turned around, but it was a close thing. For his part, his grin hadn’t slipped. “Generally when a fella asks to buy a lady a drink, she doesn’t respond so vehemently.”

  Probably not when he asked.

  She’d dealt with Southern good ol’ boys more than once in her line of business, and she’d never been anything but cool and professional. Fifteen minutes alone with this man and she alternately wanted to slap that grin off his face and bite his shoulders. Get a hold of yourself. She took the offered drink. “I heard you had a reputation with the ladies.” It wasn’t exactly true. But she didn’t have to be a genius to realize most women would have problems being in the same room with this man without throwing themselves at him. As hot as he was, she’d never been a fan of being one of the faceless masses.

  Brock leaned against the bar, entirely too close. “You seem to have heard a lot.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “I’d like to.”

  Regan took another sip of her drink, only now registering that it was a cosmopolitan. One of her favorites. Obviously he’d been watching her for longer than she’d realized before rushing out to play her knight in Gucci armor. She propped a hip on the bar. “I bet you don’t hear no a lot.”

  “It’s a dirty word. I’m not a fan of it.”

  Of course not. Though he sure as hell was charming, he was also the last person she wanted to be talking to right now. Damn Logan for disappearing when she would have made her move. Yes, Brock was gorgeous, but from what she could figure out from chatting with Kady, he was content to spend his life riding on his daddy’s coattails. The man was more charm than substance.

  “If you’re looking for some company, I know just the man for the job.” He leaned forward, his grin widening. “And he doesn’t have a problem with short screws.”

  She just bet he didn’t. She needed to get rid of him. Now. “It just so happens that I’m looking for my friend Christine.” She’d been really quiet since they showed up here yesterday, and teasing aside, Regan was worried about her. Quiet tended to be Christine’s gig, but something had changed. She wasn’t happy. It might be the upcoming move to Maine throwing her off, but Regan didn’t think so.

  “The little redhead? I think I saw Kady’s brother follow her out of Spago.”

  Tyler? Now that was interesting. Maybe the torch Christine had been carrying for years wasn’t one she was carrying alone.

  She shook her head. She couldn’t afford to get distracted with potential pair-ups when Brock was right in front of her, taking too much space. He exerted an almost magnetic pull, so strong it was an effort not to take that last step between them and see if his muscles felt as good as they looked. From the way the women around them were staring, she wasn’t the only one feeling that urge.

  That realization shocked her back to herself. He was working her, plain and simple. This man was used to getting what he wanted, and right now he had his sights set on her. She couldn’t afford to get caught up in this.

  Could she?

  No, that was a bad idea. Regan knew bad ideas. They always started out sounding really reasonable and totally logical and, next thing she knew, she was half a bottle of tequila in and riding a mechanical bull in a miniskirt. Or spending a whole six weeks dating that douche Danny Levitz because he had lickable abs. Or… The list went on and on.

  “Come on, darlin’.”

  “There will be no coming on anything.”

  “Killjoy.”

  “Look at you and your fancy words. Your daddy must be so proud.”

  Brock’s grin dimmed, but he reclaimed it almost instantly. “A week without is enough to make anyone cranky. I can only imagine what it would make you.”

  She gave in to the urge to give his biceps a squeeze. The tense muscles beneath her hand almost made her groan. The man obviously spent an inordinate amount of time in the gym. She could appreciate that, even if the personality it represented was less than impressive. “Why, Scarlett, are you calling me difficult? I seem to remember you making irrational claims about my not being as mean as I acted.” Take that, you arrogant ass.

  “God, no. I’m just pointing out that you have a mammoth stick up your ass.” He reached for his drink, effectively removing her hand from his arm. “Since I’m petitioning for saintly status, I’m willing to help you remove it.”

  She set the glass down a little harder than necessary. “That’s not a stick, but it only makes sense that someone as rudderless as you wouldn’t recognize ambition if it slapped you in the face.”

  He gave her a knowing grin. “Try me. The offer’s still on the table.”

  God, was there no dissuading this guy? Normally, this level of dogged determination would be enough for her to dump her cosmo on his head and march out the door. “You want me to tie you up and make you call me Daddy? Maybe a little whips and chains and handcuffs. Why, Scarlett, I am positively shocked.”

  He pushed the shot she’d just ordered toward her. “I’m just offering up something you desperately need. Like I said—I’m practically a saint for being willing to shoulder that burden.”

  Sleeping with her was a burden. Even knowing he was trying to get a rise out of her, the she-devil on her shoulder made her want to push Brock over the edge and make him beg for mercy. Julie had always said that imaginary little bitch was going to get her into trouble, and Regan was beginning to think she was right.

  She took her shot. “You’re really that eager to be ruined.”

  “I think you’ll be surprised.” He didn’t touch her, didn’t move to close that last few inches between them, didn’t do a damn thing but lean against the bar and watch her, but her body heated under those dark eyes. He was looking at her like she was a sure thing. It had obviously been too long since she’d blown off some steam, because she was seriously considering taking him up on what he was offering.

  There was no way he could live up to his talk. In her experience, the men who talked the most had the most to prove. Even knowing that, it was a fight to stop herself from leaning into him. Taking him up on his offer was a stupid idea, she-devil on her shoulder or not.

  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 fuck 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 fuck 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 fuck 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 fuck 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.”

  She put a little more swing in her walk, well aware of how closely he watched her. The man might be totally unsuitable for dating, but he made her toes curl just by looking at her. From the expression on his face, he was probably more than willing to drag her into some shadow and nail her against the nearest wall. It was too bad she had no intention of handing over the reins tonight.

  She was going to fuck that country grin right off his face.

  It wasn’t until they were in the elevator and he’d pushed the button for his floor that he spoke again. “I don’t understand you, darlin’.”

  “What’s to understand?” Even as she grinned at him, she tried to ignore the twinge inside her. There was nothing wrong with having a little fun, but fun wasn’t the be-all and end-all it’d been a few years ago. Her flings were few and far between these days, and that wasn’t even getting into the last man she’d actually tried to date. Hell, she hadn’t bothered to pick up a guy at a bar in longer than she cared to remember, and it wasn’t as if she could date any of the men she worked with since it’d be a conflict of interest. When she took away the ability to meet people at work and the local watering hole, she didn’t have a whole lot left to her.

  It wasn’t that she wanted a husband and two-point-five kids right now, but she was lonely. And hell, she did want to end up with someone before she hit thirty. Her parents were still going strong thirty-five years in, and she was delusional to hold out for a love like that. That said, it would happen on her timeline—all part of her plan.

  But ever since she’d found out Kady was engaged, the feeling of being unsatisfied had gotten worse. Her friend was moving into the next stage of life, the one where she shared her life with another person. As much as Regan loved her independence, it was her parents she called first when she got good news or nailed an intro interview with a prospective client. She couldn’t decide if that was great, or really, really sad.

  Hell, with Kady caught up in the frenzy of planning a wedding, Regan had actually put some thought into letting her friend Addison set her up on a couple dates. Addison owned one of the premier matchmaking companies in New York, and she’d been joking about getting Regan involved for years.

  That was what her life had come down to? Finding a man through a freaking matchmaking service because she couldn’t do it on her own?

  “You’re thinking awfully hard over there.”

  Shit. She hadn’t meant to be mentally waxing poetic about her shitty personal life. Regan shrugged, hoping he was more concerned with getting up her skirt than inside her head. There was only one reason she was spending any time with Brock, and it didn’t have to do with his brains. “Just considering if I’m going to let you get to the bed or take you against the door.”

  “You kiss your mama with that mouth?”

  “Every time I see her.” And thinking about her parents was the last thing she wanted to do right now. They’d fought for every scrap of food on their table, and to give their daughter whatever she needed to succeed at life. It didn’t take much imagination to guess how different Brock’s life had been, born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

  She hooked a finger through his belt loop as the doors opened, and towed him into the hall. “Enough with the chitchat. Which room is yours?”

  “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you just want me for my body.” He pulled her to a stop in front of a door near the end of the hallway. As he unlocked it, she cast a glance around, hoping no one from the wedding party happened by. It was that risk that had her shoving Brock into his bedroom—that and she couldn’t get enough of the surprised look on his face that showed
up every time she did something he wasn’t expecting.

  As soon as the door shut behind her, she pointed at the rolling chair tucked into the desk. “Take off your shirt and sit.”

  His eyebrows rose, but he obeyed. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re pushy?”

  “I prefer assertive.” She took the opportunity to drink him in. As she’d suspected, he was completely ripped. This was a guy who worked for his physique, though she’d be curious to find out exactly what he did to earn that delicious ridge of muscle over his shoulders. “You’re right. You really are pretty.”

  “That’s my line.”

  He still hadn’t figured out that his charm had no place here. This was happening on her terms, because she wanted it to—not because he’d said or done anything to sway her.

  Anything except seduce her just by standing there.

  She gave herself a little shake. Show no weakness. “Here’s the deal—you do what I say, when I say it, or I leave.”

  If anything, his eyebrows rose higher. “Do all your sexual encounters start with negotiations?”

  Only the ones she felt in danger of losing control with. Even now Regan had to concentrate on not moving closer to him. She wanted to run her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, to strip naked and let him have her any way he wanted.

  Which was exactly the reason she couldn’t.

  She finished unbuttoning her black top and peeled it off, leaving her only in her white skirt. From the way Brock’s gaze dropped to her chest and stayed there, she pegged him for a boob man. Good. She had fantastic breasts. As she started to unzip the side of her skirt, she paused. “You have condoms, right?”

  “Nightstand. Top drawer.”

  Thank God. She turned, letting her skirt drop as she did, and stepped out of it. There was no mistaking the strangled groan he made as she bent over to dig through the drawer. A Bible, a box of condoms, a phone charger, and an e-reader.