His Best Friend's Wife (Bachelor Best Friends 2)

She was both incredibly touched and a bit disconcerted by his gesture. Every time she left him here, she wasn’t sure she would be back, but Evan had gone to a lot of trouble on the assumption that she would be here to appreciate his efforts. Was he that confident that she wouldn’t be able to stay away?

Or had he simply hoped she would not?

Evan glanced at his watch. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes.” She was a little nervous about this party but she figured she might as well make the best of it.

He heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I’d rather stay here with you, but I guess I’m ready, too.”

“Knowing how you hate parties, I’m not sure that’s such a compliment to me,” she teased, walking away from the tree.

He caught her around the waist and pulled her to him for a kiss that almost rattled her teeth. “Trust me,” he said huskily when he released her, “it was a compliment.”

Blinking somewhat dazedly, she followed him out the door.

Evan helped her into his truck, then rounded the front to the driver’s door. While he settled into his seat, Renae lowered the passenger-side sunshade mirror to repair her lipstick.

“Did you tell Lucy where you’re going tonight?” Evan asked as he stopped at the exit of the parking lot.

“Of course. I told her I was going to the party where her afghan’s being auctioned.”

“Did you tell her you were going with me?”

Renae cleared her throat. “I told her we were both attending.”

“But not together.”

Lucy had been disapproving enough that Renae would be at the same function as Evan. “He just keeps turning up,” she had muttered. “Like a bad penny.”

“I just want to help raise donations for the scholarship,” Renae had replied, unable to quite meet her mother-in-law’s eyes. “Tate and his wife and sister will be there, too. And a lot of other people.”

All of which had been true, of course. So why did she feel vaguely guilty?

“I don’t really want to talk about Lucy now,” she said, toying with her evening bag.

“Fine. Neither do I.”

“Fine.” Renae gazed out the side window at the passing holiday lights, trying to put her self-recriminations out of her mind and get into the mood for a party.

The event was held in the ballroom of a local country club. It was immediately apparent that the Graingers were a prominent local family. Though Renae didn’t usually travel in these circles, she recognized a few of the faces entering the extravagantly decorated room from local political and society news coverage.

“Wow,” Evan murmured in Renae’s ear. “When Emma said her family was throwing a ‘little holiday party,’ this wasn’t exactly what I pictured.”

A little less confident in her choice of clothing now, she glanced around warily, but finally decided she’d chosen well enough. The fashion choices ranged from dressy denim with sequins to holiday gowns, which put her somewhere in between. Maybe her outfit had come from a clearance rack after last year’s holiday season, but at least it was from a quality line, she assured herself, needing the little private pep talk.

Emma must have been watching for them. With Tate and two other women trailing behind her, she threaded her way through the milling crowd to approach them with a warm smile. She looked stunning in a deep red side-gathered dress with a low neckline. Renae couldn’t help wondering how Evan could have spent so much time around Emma without wanting to be more than just friends, but she supposed there was no explaining sexual chemistry.

Emma raised her voice a little to be heard clearly over the clamor of voices and laughter and the secular holiday music in the background. “Renae, it’s so good to see you again.”

Few people watching would probably guess that Emma had met Renae only fleetingly on one previous occasion, Renae thought, returning the smile. “It’s nice to see you, too, Emma.”

Evan brushed a rather brotherly kiss against Emma’s cheek. “You clean up pretty good, kid,” he teased her.

She patted his arm. “As do you. Renae, you know Tate, of course. This is his wife, Kim, and his sister, Lynette. And this is Lynette’s friend Ken Kelly,” she added, motioning toward a tall, slender man standing a bit back from the rest of the group. “Everyone, say hello to Renae Sanchez.”

The other two women nodded greetings. Kim had wavy, shoulder-length chestnut hair and brown eyes, just a hint of freckles across a cute nose, and a smile that was disarmingly gamine. Lynette had the same hazel-green eyes as her brother, set in a friendly, girl-next-door face. Her hair was loosely curled, the dark red color probably salon-enhanced.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Renae,” Lynette said, studying her with open curiosity. “I’ve heard about you for years, of course, but our paths just never crossed.”