Seducing the Bridesmaid

The worst part was that he knew exactly what a woman like Regan would see in Caine 2.0. He was handsome enough, successful, and polished in a way Brock had never quite managed on his best day.

“Yeah,” Logan said, and shot a look toward Sophie. “It’s like someone kicked my ass and left me for dead.” Sophie blushed and hustled over to the group fussing over Christine.

Holy shit, Logan and Sophie? He’d already fantasized about slugging the guy in his too-pretty face, and now the urge turned tangible…except Logan’s eyes followed Sophie across the room, and there was something in his look beyond conquest or lust. Something unsettled and, well, fuck it, captured. Yeah, you recognize it because you stared at the same goddamn pathetic look in your mirror this morning.

He pushed that thought out of his head, and put the impulse to do bodily harm on hold. Frankly, Logan falling for Sophie would simplify things for him. If he’d figured out the dynamics between those two this easily, it wouldn’t be long before Regan learned the score, and then she could back the fuck off Logan’s jock, thus clearing the way for him.

But if Logan broke Sophie’s heart, or gave her a moment’s trouble, Brock would gladly deliver the next ass-kicking, and Golden Boy would be sipping his Starbucks through a straw.

Julie spoke up, pulling him from his violent musings. “We’re going to need flats for all the bridesmaids. We can’t have Christine being the odd one out. Preferably silver to match the dresses.” She looked around. “Where’s Regan? I need my shopping expert.”

Brock was moving before he made a conscious decision to. He stepped forward, putting himself in her path. It was the surest way to get her attention, and if he’d learned anything from being around Julie, it was that once she got moving, it’d take a brick wall to slow her down. “I’ll find her. Silver shoes. Got it. Anything else?”

“N-no. Thank you, Brock.” She patted him on the shoulder and gave him a smile that was so bright it nearly singed his eyeballs. “Bless your heart. I’m sure Regan can figure out sizes.”

Southern women. Sweet as pie until they’re pissed, then it’s all shotguns and setting shit on fire.

“What’s her room number, darlin’?”

She rattled it off, and then she was moving again, turning back to Christine. That was all the dismissal he needed. Doing his damnedest not to examine his motivation too closely, he strode to the elevators and took one up to Regan’s floor. No doubt she’d be asleep at this hour, and with good reason. No one in their right minds got up with the sun when they didn’t have to.

Except when he knocked on her door, she answered it fully clothed and covered in sweat. Apparently she’d taken another trip to the gym. Regan frowned when her gaze landed on him. “If I didn’t make myself clear yesterday—”

“Tyler and Christine spent the night in the woods.”

“I know. I was on my way down to help find them.”

“Don’t worry, they’re back and they’re fine.” He waved that away. “The long and short of it is that Julie sent me to ask you to buy bridesmaids’ shoes in silver. And flat.”

She rubbed a hand over her face. “Shopping. I can do shopping. I need to shower and eat something—no stores will be open for a few hours anyway.”

“Great. I’ll do the same and meet you back here in an hour for breakfast.”

“Not necessary. This constitutes an emergency, and you’ll only slow me down.”

Brock laughed. “If I slow you down, drinks are on me tonight.”

“Stop trying to get me drunk. You got laid once. That’s all there is.” She glanced back into her room as if searching for something, but then sighed. “I don’t have time to argue about this. Be ready, or you’re getting left behind.”

Chapter Eight

Regan managed to power through getting ready and loading up a plate of fruit and yogurt without letting herself think too much. The list of things she wasn’t thinking about only grew as time went on.

About her conflicting feelings over Brock, which led to conflicting feelings over pursuing Logan.

About the fact that not a single one of her friends had thought to call her to search for Christine. It still hurt that no one asked her for help until they needed someone to shop.

She picked at her food before finally shoving the plate away. A smart woman knew her strengths and played to them. Julie knew what she was doing when she asked Regan to take care of the shoes. If Christine couldn’t walk well, heels were out of the question. Regan was the best woman for the job.

But it also made her feel the most expendable. Julie couldn’t afford to leave the resort with the wedding coming up so quickly. Kady was the one getting freaking married. Sophie… Sophie had the nasty tendency to fade into the background, and Regan was pretty damn sure that was just the way the little brunette liked it.

Stop it. You did not just get picked last for the kickball team. These are your best friends. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

Brock dropped into the seat across from her, his plate piled high with waffles, bacon, eggs, and sausage. He nodded, but seemed content to let her eat in peace.

Except she wasn’t eating. She was indulging in a pity party.

Regan really should be too old for this shit. She was a professional. Getting her feelings hurt over something that was probably unintentional was stupid. So she made an effort to push it to the back of her mind and to eat. She needed the calories after all the time she’d spent in the gym the last twenty-four hours.

The reason for all that running was sitting across from her, and he was enamored with his bacon from the look on his face.

This was also her damn fault. If she hadn’t opened that can of worms at the bar with Brock, she wouldn’t be losing sleep thinking about how unbelievably good his chest looked without a shirt covering it, or how easily he made her forget herself when he got his hands and mouth on her. It was those memories—and fantasies—that had driven her into the gym at the tender hour of five-thirty.

By all rights, she should be so freaking exhausted that sex should be the last thing on her mind. It?

??s too bad life didn’t work out like that. Her hormones had minds of their own, and they were currently focused on Brock.

Stupid hormones.

Her fork scraped bare plate, and she looked down in surprise. While she’d been brooding over him and his freakishly sexy smile, she’d finished her food.

“You’re done. Good. Let’s go.”

His plate was clean, too. She stared. “How the hell did you finish that so fast?”

“I’m a growing boy.” He grinned, those laugh lines carving dents in his cheeks. Thank God she was sitting or she might have fallen over in the face of the sheer amusement in his expression. Brock turned those sparkling dark eyes her way. “You’d think you’ve never lived with a man.”

She didn’t figure now was the time to tell him she really hadn’t. For Regan, college had come first, and she’d been too concerned with work and keeping the scholarships that supplemented her parents’ contributions to worry about a boyfriend serious enough to live with. Not to mention if it was a choice between a guy and her sorority, she would have happily turned any boy down.

Then it’d been moving back to New York and fighting her way up in her field. With the eighty-hour workweeks, there’d barely been time to meet her local friends for a drink now and then, let alone hold down anything more serious. For God’s sake, she couldn’t even keep her potted fern alive.

So she pasted a smile on her face and pushed her chair back. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Maybe you’re just developing a soft spot for me.”

No way. She led the way out to the parking lot and looked around at the sea of vehicles. “I don’t suppose you rented a car.” It was a minor detail she hadn’t considered. She’d had a car pick her up at the airport so she didn’t have to bother with one.

She probably should have thought of that before marching out here.

But he pressed his hand to the small of her back, guiding her to the row of cars on the left. “This way.”