The Best Man (Alpha Men 2)

Daff circled the room restlessly, feeling out of sorts and a little bit moody, like a shark circling the shallows looking for a potential victim. She spotted her prey just a couple of meters away and made her way to his side. He was a big bastard, topping her five foot seven by at least seven inches. He was massively built with shoulders that could block out the sun; he was easily twice her size, but all muscle. She knew he kept fit, always out playing sports, swimming, cycling, and surfing. While Mason had a lean elegance to his gorgeous body, Spencer was all brute force.

“Stop fiddling with that tie,” she said when he tugged at the length of fabric again. “You’ve done enough damage.”

“What do you care?” he sneered, glaring at her from beneath that fall of black hair. He looked like a beast, hulking, menacing . . . His hair fell over his eyes, a wild, sleek mane. It was kind of thrilling how savage he seemed at times. Barely civilized. No wonder he always messed up flirting with her—he had all the finesse of a stampeding bull.

“Fine, if you want to continue looking like an absolute primitive, then by all means, fiddle away.” She continued to stand beside him, sipping her bubbly, while he wavered for a few seconds before his hand discreetly went up to touch the knot of his tie, obviously checking if it was as bad as she’d said. She glanced at the dance floor, where Daisy and Mason were now dancing together, still completely wrapped up in each other.

“So your brother finally popped the question,” she said.

“I think he started asking her about six months ago. She finally said yes,” Spencer corrected, and Daff grinned. The younger couple’s relationship had been anything but ordinary, so the news didn’t surprise her in the slightest.

“And you’re the best man?” She framed it as a question, despite already knowing the answer, and he nodded. “Well, since I’m the maid of honor, we’ll be partnered and expected to do stuff together. I just wanted to be sure you were okay with that.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“We haven’t really been on good terms.”

“I hadn’t noticed. You don’t exactly feature prominently in my life.” Ouch. That hurt.

“Right. Anyway. Bygones?”

“If you say so.” He shrugged, clearly not caring less. Feeling foolish, Daff walked away and wished she’d never approached him in the first place. She was annoyed with herself for allowing him to get the better of her. He wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. Years of repeatedly getting thumped on the head couldn’t be good for the brain, and Spencer typified the term dumb jock. She chose not to acknowledge the fact that he was a successful businessman with a highly lucrative sporting goods business. He had capitalized on the minor fame his short-lived rugby career had generated, and it had resulted in the right doors opening at the right time. He was still that big, sulky brute who had been two years ahead of her in high school. The bad boy with the seemingly delinquent tendencies. A causeless rebel who—she initially believed—had seen her as yet another trophy to be won.

She tossed back her drink and looked around for another tray of the stuff. Finding nothing close by, she put the glass on the closest surface and indulged in one—or several—of the delicious canapés instead.

“Why are you hiding back here?” her middle sister’s light voice asked from behind her, and Daff guiltily turned to face Lia—cheeks stuffed with tiny canapés.

“Hey.”

“Jeez, Daff, hungry?” Lia asked playfully, handing her a napkin. “You have cream cheese on your face.”

Daff took the napkin with a nod and swallowed down the delicious little treats before wiping her mouth. Lia’s finger indicated left, and Daff swiped the napkin across her cheek.

“Got it?” she asked and Lia nodded with a sweet smile. Her middle sister was always sweet and too damned nice for her own good. Just over a year ago, she’d nearly allowed herself to be railroaded into marriage with a guy who was entirely wrong for her, but she had thankfully come to her senses at the eleventh hour.

“So are you hiding?” Lia asked, and Daff shrugged.

“Auntie Ivy had a go at me. I’m old, blah blah blah. Better catch a man before the last of my looks fade, and so on and so forth.” Lia snorted and daintily picked out one of the canapés for herself.

“Aunt Mattie was helpfully informing me that I shouldn’t sulk over Clayton forever. Got to get myself back on the market ASAP. Before my ovaries wither and I die a bitter, childless old maid. Or something to that effect.” She smiled, inviting Daff to share the joke, but her eyes were shadowed as ghosts—barely dead and buried—surfaced to haunt her.