The Best Man's Plan

Bryan shifted back into his own seat, carefully lifting himself away from the gearshift that must have been digging into him during their embrace. “I think I’m getting too old for make-out sessions in a sports car,” he murmured. “Maybe I should buy a mini-van.”

Her hands were shaking when she lifted them to her tumbled hair. “Don’t bother on my behalf. This is not going to happen again.”

“You’re probably right. From now on, we’d better keep our kisses behind closed doors. We never know when a tabloid photographer might pop up.”

She groaned at the thought of seeing a front-page tabloid snapshot of herself and Bryan groping each other in his car. And then, after processing everything he had said, she shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. From now on, unless it’s necessary for the sake of our public act, there will be no more kisses. Period.”

“And why is that?” he asked genially.

“Because there’s no purpose in it. No future to it. You and I will be going our separate ways in a few weeks, and I’m not interested in a temporary dalliance during that time.”

“And if I were to reply that I’m not interested in a temporary dalliance, either?”

Was he implying that he was thinking long-term? That he wasn’t planning to disappear from her life when the wedding was behind them and the need for deception was no longer an issue?

If so, he needed to be set straight about that, too. “Then I would say, good. I’m glad you aren’t going to be giving me any problems.”

He studied her in a way that made her wonder if he could see the nerves shimmering just beneath the surface of her deliberately stern expression. “I’m not sure you understood what I meant.”

“Maybe you’re the one who isn’t understanding,” she countered.

“And maybe we should wait and have this discussion another time. After the wedding, perhaps, when some of the pressure is off.”

The only thing she intended to say to him after the wedding was, “So long, Bryan. It’s been interesting.”

Keeping that thought to herself, she reached for her door handle. “I’ll see you Friday night at the rehearsal. I’ll be pretty busy until then.”

“I understand. You need some time to think about what’s happening between us.”

“Nothing is—” She stopped and drew a deep breath, aware that nothing would be accomplished by an argument now. Not while her emotions—and presumably his—were still running so high. “Good night, Bryan.”

“Good night, Grace.” He didn’t offer to walk her up, most likely because he knew she would refuse. She grimly suspected that he would know when she arrived safely at her door. He probably had someone posted in her hallway to report to him.

She climbed out of the car and started to close the door behind her. With a sigh, she paused and looked back inside. “Are you okay to drive? Your arm, I mean.”

His smile made her sorry she’d given in to the impulse to ask. Obviously he’d misinterpreted her very natural concern. “I’ll be fine, darling. But thank you for asking.”

She stepped away from the car and shut the door firmly. She didn’t slam it—no matter how irritated she was with Bryan, she couldn’t bring herself to mistreat that beautiful vehicle—but she made her frustration clear. And then she turned on one heel and marched toward the elevator, her chin high, her shoulders squared.

“Do a guy a favor and look where it gets me,” she muttered beneath her breath, stabbing at the call button with her forefinger. “I sat through that gosh-awful boring meal with his parents, I smiled for that stupid photographer so they could pretend to be a happy family and what do I get for my kindness and generosity? A headache, that’s what!”

Massaging her temples, she stepped into the elevator and leaned against the back wall. It wasn’t only her head that ached, she thought with a scowl, rubbing at another ache in the center of her chest. And that was one pain she was afraid would only get worse during the next few days.

Donovan was unbelievably calm on his wedding day. Bryan watched his friend in amazement, wondering why he wasn’t sweating or stammering or something.

Bryan knew his old buddy didn’t like dressing up or being the focus of attention. And yet here he was, dressed in a tux and preparing to step out in front of a church full of people—and he didn’t even look nervous.

He actually looked happier than Bryan had ever seen him.

“You’re sure you want to go through with this, Donovan?” Jason Colby asked as he adjusted the sleeves o

f his own tuxedo jacket. “I can smuggle you out of here before anybody catches on.”

Donovan chuckled. “Thanks, but I haven’t changed my mind. I’m staying.”

Jason heaved a heavy sigh and looked at Bryan. “She’s brainwashed him, boss. Got him thinking he wants to give up his freedom.”

“I’m thinking Donovan’s not giving up anything. But he’s gaining a hell of a lot.”