The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

“I think it’s a lovely idea,” Daisy defended. “The weekend itinerary will help orient guests, the water and snacks are practical, and you know how expensive hotel minibars can be.”

“I’ve never actually been to a wedding; is it always this . . . involved?” Mason asked, taking a sip of the beer Mrs. McGregor had kindly furnished him with earlier. He pulled a face; it was flat. He’d been so preoccupied with the seating arrangements he hadn’t touched it in over an hour.

“Never?” Daisy asked as she got up to get him another beer. He took it with a grateful smile, his eyes lingering on her tired face. She looked absolutely exhausted.

“Never,” he affirmed. “Busy day?”

“Hmm, emergency op on a bull mastiff. Poor thing was hit by a car.” Mason winced.

“How’s he doing?”

Her eyes went bleak, and he knew the answer before she spoke. “I tried my best, but the damage was catastrophic.”

Mason set his beer bottle aside and gestured for her to turn around. He was standing with his butt braced against the granite countertop next to the fridge, and he widened his stance slightly to accommodate her. When she didn’t move, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her so that she was facing the kitchen table where Daff was watching them with a hooded gaze. He pulled her back against him until the small of her back nestled against his crotch. He settled his hands on her neck and proceeded to knead, massaging down toward her shoulders and back up to the tight muscles in her neck. Daisy groaned and relaxed into him, her spine melting against his abdomen and torso.

“I’m sorry about the dog,” he whispered into her hair. He felt hot, much too hot, and that immense heat just rolled off him and enveloped her. He felt her breathing quicken when the hotness hit her.

“It’s part of the job.”

“Yeah, but it can’t be easy.” He heard his words slur and was amazed he could form a coherent sentence with her this close and with him so turned on.

“It isn’t. Some days it just feels so much worse than others. We also had to put down an elderly cat and a sick puppy today. The mastiff was the last straw.”

He dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck, adoring the soft, scented cove. He concentrated on the knot that had formed there, digging his thumbs in and loving the contented little moans she made in response.

He was hard—of course he was hard—and trying his damnedest not to grind against her. There was no way she didn’t feel his erection prodding against her back, but she refrained from acknowledging it, probably best with her sister sitting there glaring at him like he was the worst kind of monster. Which was fair enough, considering what she thought she knew about him.

“No need for pretense here,” Daff said, her voice dripping with disdain, and Mason felt Daisy tense against him as she recalled where she was. He sent Daff a malevolent glare; surely the bitch could see that Daisy was upset after her traumatic workday?

“Your sister is distraught and exhausted, why not allow me to comfort her?”

“I don’t need any demonstrations of your fake relationship, Mason,” she sneered. “We all know what this is about. Save it for some other gullible patsy.”

Daisy slipped out of his hold, and Mason held on to her arm to keep her in front of him until he got his raging hard-on under control. Daisy understood the silent command immediately and remained where she was, but she tugged her arm out of his hand and maintained a slight distance between them. His body mourned her absence, and his mind raged against it.

When he had himself back under control, he stepped out from behind her and stared at her averted profile until she reluctantly lifted her gaze to meet his.

“You should go home and get some rest. It’s late, and you have the clinic tomorrow.” The thought of the clinic still sent cold shudders down his spine.

“It’s not that late,” she protested, glancing at the digital display on the microwave. “Not even nine thirty yet.”

“Daisy . . .”

“Oh my God, you’re not the boss of her,” Daff snapped. “You’re not her boyfriend or fiancé or husband. Stop trying to tell her what to do.”

“Daff,” Daisy’s voice was equally short. “I can speak for myself!”

“So vocal with me, aren’t you, Daffodil?” Mason injected lethal amounts of ice into his voice. “Why aren’t you this outspoken with your sister’s douche-bag fiancé?”

“Because that’s an actual relationship, and prying could do a lot more harm than good. You don’t have anything remotely similar with Daisy!”

“Enough!” Daisy barked. “I’ve had enough from both of you. Daff, stop interfering and back the hell off!”

Her sister’s eyes widened, and Mason fought back a grin at the look of sheer incredulity on her face. Their baby sister had claws, and none of them seemed to actually know it.