Seducing the Bridesmaid

The look she gave him would have made a lesser man feel like he was two inches tall. “What part of ‘let’s go’ do you not understand, Scarlett?”

Christ, she was prickly. He released her arm and crossed his own over his chest. “I’m trying not to jump to conclusions. Spit it out.”

“I’m more of a swallowing kind of girl.”

Holy hell.

Her grin sent all his blood rushing south. She stepped back and reached up to unbutton her shirt, giving him a flash of purple lace. “That was an invitation, in case you were wondering. So why don’t we get this show on the road and inside a room?”

He followed her, moving even though his mind argued that this was a mistake. She already thought he was a piece of shit playboy. Sleeping with her wasn’t going to help that belief. But Christ, that didn’t stop him from wanting to. “You don’t even like me, darlin’.”

“Who says that’s necessary?” Another button opened, highlighting the swell of her breasts. They were magnificent, and she knew it.

He fought back a growl. Liking the person he slept with was necessary to him. He wasn’t so goddamn desperate that he’d cozy up to a woman who thought he was a joke. “Most people don’t fuck people they dislike.”

If he thought she’d flinch at his language, he was sorely mistaken. Regan sidled closer and ran a perfectly manicured nail down his chest. He tensed, waiting for the spice that seemed to come whenever she did something even partially sweet.

“Well, darlin’, I fuck who I want to, when I want to. And right now, that’s you.”

There it was.

Even as he cursed himself for questioning this, he said, “Why?”

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” Before he could question her further, she reached down and cupped him through his slacks, the contact nearly making him moan. “This is all I’m worried about right now. My room or yours?”

He stared at her mouth. This was stupid. He should tell her to fuck off and go back into the bar. Sleeping with anyone else would be better than going upstairs with Regan. It didn’t matter if their chemistry was off the charts. She obviously thought he wasn’t fit to kiss her bright-pink shoes—and he was going to have to spend the next week in close quarters with her. Even knowing that, he found himself saying, “Mine.” At least if they were on his territory, he’d maintain control of the situation.

She went up on her tiptoes and nipped his chin. “Perfect.”

Chapter Two

Regan almost felt bad about the confusion on Brock’s face when she propositioned him. Almost. But hadn’t this been exactly what he was aiming for when he tried to walk her back to the hotel, then moved in on her at the bar? She was just cutting through the bullshit and doing it on her terms. It just figured that he wouldn’t know what to do with a woman who owned her sexuality instead of falling all over herself to dance around it until he decided to make a first move. She took a step back and crooked a finger at him. “Try to keep up.”

She put a little more swing in her walk, well aware of how closely he watched her. The man might be totally unsuitable for dating, but he made her toes curl just by looking at her. From the expression on his face, he was probably more than willing to drag her into some shadow and nail her against the nearest wall. It was too bad she had no intention of handing over the reins tonight.

She was going to fuck that country grin right off his face.

It wasn’t until they were in the elevator and he’d pushed the button for his floor that he spoke again. “I don’t understand you, darlin’.”

“What’s to understand?” Even as she grinned at him, she tried to ignore the twinge inside her. There was nothing wrong with having a little fun, but fun wasn’t the be-all and end-all it’d been a few years ago. Her flings were few and far between these days, and that wasn’t even getting into the last man she’d actually tried to date. Hell, she hadn’t bothered to pick up a guy at a bar in longer than she cared to remember, and it wasn’t as if she could date any of the men she worked with since it’d be a conflict of interest. When she took away the ability to meet people at work and the local watering hole, she didn’t have a whole lot left to her.

It wasn’t that she wanted a husband and two-point-five kids right now, but she was lonely. And hell, she did want to end up with someone before she hit thirty. Her parents were still going strong thirty-five years in, and she was delusional to hold out for a love like that. That said, it would happen on her timeline—all part of her plan.

But ever since she’d found out Kady was engaged, the feeling of being unsatisfied had gotten worse. Her friend was moving into the next stage of life, the one where she shared her life with another person. As much as Regan loved her independence, it was her parents she called first when she got good news or nailed an intro interview with a prospective client. She couldn’t decide if that was great, or really, really sad.

Hell, with Kady caught up in the frenzy of planning a wedding, Regan had actually put some thought into letting her friend Addison set her up on a couple dates. Addison owned one of the premier matchmaking companies in New York, and she’d been joking about getting Regan involved for years.

That was what her life had come down to? Finding a man through a freaking matchmaking service because she couldn’t do it on her own?

“You’re thinking awfully hard over there.”

Shit. She hadn’t meant to be mentally waxing poetic about her shitty personal life. Regan shrugged, hoping he was more concerned with getting up her skirt than inside her head. There was only one reason she was spending any time with Brock, and it didn’t have to do with his brains. “Just considering if I’m going to let you get to the bed or take you against the door.”

“You kiss your mama with that mouth?”

“Every time I see her.” And thinking about her parents was the last thing she wanted to do right now. They’d fought for every scrap of food on their table, and to give their daughter whatever she needed to succeed at life. It didn’t take much imagination to guess how different Brock’s life had been, born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

She hooked a finger through his belt loop as the doors opened, and towed him into the hall. “Enough with the chitchat. Which room is yours?”

“You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you just want me for my body.” He pulled her to a stop in front of a door near the end of the hallway. As he unlocked it, she cast a glance around, hoping no one from the wedding party happened by. It was that risk that had her shoving Brock into his bedroom—that and she couldn’t get enough of the surprised look on his face that showed

up every time she did something he wasn’t expecting.

As soon as the door shut behind her, she pointed at the rolling chair tucked into the desk. “Take off your shirt and sit.”

His eyebrows rose, but he obeyed. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re pushy?”

“I prefer assertive.” She took the opportunity to drink him in. As she’d suspected, he was completely ripped. This was a guy who worked for his physique, though she’d be curious to find out exactly what he did to earn that delicious ridge of muscle over his shoulders. “You’re right. You really are pretty.”

“That’s my line.”

He still hadn’t figured out that his charm had no place here. This was happening on her terms, because she wanted it to—not because he’d said or done anything to sway her.

Anything except seduce her just by standing there.

She gave herself a little shake. Show no weakness. “Here’s the deal—you do what I say, when I say it, or I leave.”

If anything, his eyebrows rose higher. “Do all your sexual encounters start with negotiations?”

Only the ones she felt in danger of losing control with. Even now Regan had to concentrate on not moving closer to him. She wanted to run her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, to strip naked and let him have her any way he wanted.

Which was exactly the reason she couldn’t.

She finished unbuttoning her black top and peeled it off, leaving her only in her white skirt. From the way Brock’s gaze dropped to her chest and stayed there, she pegged him for a boob man. Good. She had fantastic breasts. As she started to unzip the side of her skirt, she paused. “You have condoms, right?”

“Nightstand. Top drawer.”

Thank God. She turned, letting her skirt drop as she did, and stepped out of it. There was no mistaking the strangled groan he made as she bent over to dig through the drawer. A Bible, a box of condoms, a phone charger, and an e-reader.