The Best Man (Alpha Men 2)

“Why?” she asked before she could stop herself. She heard the muffled sound of fabric against fabric and pictured him making himself more comfortable in his chair. She imagined him lounging, legs stretched in front of him and thighs spread. Again she found herself wondering what he was wearing. It was pretty late; he must have had a shower by now. Once more the image of him bare chested and in boxers floated to mind, and she swallowed down the saliva that suddenly flooded her mouth. Why was she salivating at the thought of Spencer Carlisle’s bare chest and thighs? She needed serious help.

“Well, I was trying to find the funds to fix the plumbing at the community center.”

“Why is that your problem?” she asked curiously.

“The youth outreach program,” he replied succinctly. “Our last couple of meetings were washed out by the rain and the community doesn’t appear to have enough money to fix it, so I figured maybe I could work something out.”

Of course. It had been stupid of her to ask; everybody knew how strongly he felt about that program. In fact, he was the one who had taken it to where it was today. Over the last four years, since he had started helping Oom Herbert with the program, three at-risk kids had gone on to college or technical school, thanks directly to Spencer’s influence and help. He was doing admirable work, but until now, Daff had only been peripherally aware of it.

“It doesn’t seem right, using your own money to fix the community center. It belongs to the town—surely there are funds allocated toward maintenance?”

“This isn’t your run-of-the-mill maintenance job. Looks like all the pipes will have to be replaced. They’re over a hundred years old and should have been sorted out long before now. There just isn’t enough money in the budget for it.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m on the town committee.”

“I thought only old people were allowed on that committee,” she mused.

The high school principal, the Catholic priest, the township minister, the librarian, the alderman, and also Daff’s dad, the vet, were all middle-aged or older. Daff couldn’t picture a strapping thirty-four-year-old like Spencer sitting on that committee.

“I have an old soul,” he quipped, and she frowned. Who the hell was this witty guy? She didn’t like feeling so completely wrong-footed by him, it was too unsettling.

“Well, good luck with that. I have to get back to what I was doing.”

“Cleaning out your closet, you mean?” Why did he have to make it sound like a metaphor?

“Yes. Good night.” She severed the connection before he could respond and stared blindly at the lit screen of her phone for a few long moments.

CHAPTER FOUR

The following afternoon, Spencer showed up at the boutique just after twelve. This time Daff was ready for him; she didn’t have her novel out, instead she was industriously changing Maggie—one of her trendy silver mannequins—into a ridiculously expensive designer dress. She enjoyed this aspect of her job. Window dressing, marketing, trying to attract clients. In summer she consistently had the best-dressed windows on Main Road, and the boutique had won the best Christmas store display three years in a row.

“Hey,” he greeted casually as he dragged the same spindly chair as yesterday over to the checkout counter.

“I’m really busy today, Spencer,” she grunted, dragging the mannequin’s arm up in an attempt to shove it through the dress’s armhole. It was an exercise in frustration, since the dress was stupidly strappy and Maggie’s splayed fingers were getting caught on the straps.

“Hmm.” The low, rumbling sound could have been interpreted as agreement. She kept her attention on the task at hand but was fully aware of his every move. He ignored her while he unpacked plastic containers and plates and cutlery from the big brown paper bag. Once he had everything laid out to his liking, he refocused his attention on her.

“Need help?” He drifted over to where she was building up a fine sheen of sweat, struggling to get Maggie’s stupid fingers untangled from the millions of spaghetti straps.

“I’m fine. Just super busy.”

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, hanging back to watch her. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and rocked slightly back and forth on his heels. His silent perusal unnerved her and made her clumsy.

“Shit,” Daff hissed when she seemed to be making absolutely no progress. The dress, dripping with sparkly beads and sequins, weighed a mother-loving ton, and Maggie was starting to wobble precariously. It would look amazing in the window display, but Daff was starting to regret her decision to start this task just before she knew Spencer would arrive. She had wanted to look busy, not completely clumsy and incompetent.

“It has nipples,” Spencer suddenly said, his deep voice layered with incredulity. “Why the fuck does it have nipples?”

“What?” She stopped what she was doing and met his wide green eyes over one of Maggie’s narrow shoulders.