Best Man with Benefits

Once she’d settled herself into the most recessed corner of the booth, he handed her the card key to his suite. “Would you hold on to this for me while I get our drinks? I lost mine last night and had to get a replacement from the reception desk. I’m hoping to do better with this one.”

He expected reluctance, since agreeing to be his key-master meant relinquishing any escape plans she’d hatched, but the odd look she gave him made him wonder if she knew something about what had happened to his key last night. All she said, however, was “Sure,” as she took the small plastic card.

“Thanks. What can I get you to drink?”

“Maybe some water.”

Maybe not. He doubted the power of H2O to chill her out her and get her into the party spirit. “How about some champagne? It’s a celebration, after all.”

“Um.” She glanced around again, as if to confirm others were drinking. “Okay. I guess. If that’s what you’re having.”

After the day of business calls he’d endured, he’d planned on something with more kick, but he suspected three fingers of Johnnie Walker Black, no water, no ice, would put Sophie under the table. “Two champagnes, coming up. Guard that.” He pointed to his card key. She’d picked it up and was absently sliding the pad of her index finger back and forth over one rounded corner. A disconcerting image hijacked his brain…of her, running that same soft fingertip along the center of his chest, over his abdomen and down his— “I’ll be right back.” Self-preservation sent him striding to the bar before his imagination embarrassed him.

He’d been working too hard these last few weeks, and ignoring certain basic human instincts. That had to be the reason he suddenly couldn’t get his head out of his pants. “Jesus, I need a drink,” he muttered under his breath.

“Did I hear something about a drink?” a familiar voice asked from close behind him. “Because I definitely need one of those.”

A quick look over his shoulder confirmed the voice belonged to Brock McNeill. He’d met Brock last night, along with Colt’s other groomsmen, Reed Lawson and Tyler Dresco, shortly before they decided to crash the bachelorette party. Brock, Reed, and Colt went way back—back to the days when Colt had spent summers at his dad’s house in Tennessee. Kady’s older brother, Tyler, and Colt were also childhood friends, having grown up in the same Colorado suburb where Colt’s mom still lived. All of which made Logan the obvious choice for best man. By selecting his college roommate for the honor, Colt honored their friendship—one forged by cramped dorms, cheap beer, all-nighters, and a few spring break incidents best left in the vault—and avoided choosing among the guys with more tenure.

Tyler, an ER doctor at a big hospital in San Francisco, had beaten them to the bar tonight, and sat chatting with Colt. Logan took the empty barstool between them. Brock, vice president of Having the Right Last Name at his father’s company, straddled the barstool on the other side of Colt, and Reed, the cop, sat down next to Brock.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Logan said. Then, mostly to needle Colt, he added, “Refresh my memory. What’s on tomorrow’s agenda? Mountain biking, poker…what was it again?”

“Scavenger hunt. Tomorrow afternoon,” Tyler said. “You ready for some outdoor adventure?”

Logan grinned. Tyler had spent several years visiting some of the less-traveled parts of the globe thanks to a stint with Doctors Without Borders. Maybe Dr. Dresco had never scaled a mountain, but chances were good he knew his way around a nature trail. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re both going to win, because lord knows I’m not about to go traipsing across the mountainside for a prize I can buy myself,” Brock drawled.

Reed stopped staring across the room, trying to burn his brand onto the pretty blond maid of honor, Julie, long enough to incline his head toward Colt’s glass. “What are you drinking?”

“Whiskey,” Colt said, waving at Kady. “But not for much longer. My bride’s beckoning.”

“Nice,” Brock said, sending a smile Kady’s way. Then he signaled to the bartender. “Not before I buy a round of drinks, though.”

Logan followed Reed’s gaze back to Julie, and watched a couple of young stockbroker types abandon their plan to approach her when they sensed Reed’s silent threat from across the room. Logan mentally congratulated them on the wisdom of their decision. He didn’t know if Officer Lawson packed heat at Beaver Creek, but he wouldn’t bet against it.

Julie shot a quick, unerring look directly at Reed. One she probably meant to convey, Back off, you don’t own it, but the unmistakable hint of fascination in her eyes changed the overall effect from shutdown to challenge. You could own it, if you play things right…which you won’t.

He found himself biting back a smile, because he could see where these two were headed from a thousand miles away, but just to mess with Reed’s head, he asked Brock, “Is it from Julie’s company?” Her family distilled and distributed a top-shelf whiskey called One-Eyed Jack. He picked up a pile of coasters and dealt them down the bar like playing cards. “If so, line ’em up.”

Reed’s eyes darted back to the bar and he raised a brow. “They have that here? I want to try some, too.”

“Sure,” Brock agreed, completely unfazed at the prospect of dropping a hundred bucks plus tip on a round of drinks. The bartender came up, and he smiled at her, oozing Southern charm. “Hey, sugar. Can we get a round of One-Eyed Jack Whiskey?”

Logan added two champagnes, which, it turned out, were complimentary for the party guests. When the bartender turned away to get their drinks, he said, “Next round’s on me, but it’ll have to be tomorrow after the scavenger hunt. Tonight I have to drink and run.”

“Why?” Brock asked. “You got a hot date?”

Logan glanced at Colt. “Hotter than you four.”

“Speaking of which…” Tyler eyed Logan’s T-shirt and shorts. “Dude. You realize this is a black-tie event, right? Not a visit to the Outback?”

“Seriously,” Colt interjected. “What the fuck, man?”

“Hey, I wore this for you, big guy.”

“Huh?” Colt frowned.

Logan leaned in and lowered his voice. “Long story, and no reason to get your panties wadded, but I’m dressed like this so your little sister would come tonight. You asked me to keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t hide in her room, and this is what it took.”

Colt shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder. “Okay, I’m not even going to ask. But thanks. You’re the best.”

“It’s nothing.”

Colt looked him in the eye. “Actually, no. It means a lot to me.”

The striking redheaded bridesmaid, Christine, leveled a single scorching look at Tyler from across the room. He didn’t know what the deal was between those two, but clearly there was one. Logan drank up, saluted Colt and the remaining groomsmen with his empty glass, then took his two flutes of champagne and headed back to Sophie, thankful for the comparative simplicity of his mission. Keep her engaged and entertained. Make sure she had fun.

No scorching looks allowed.

…

“How did I let you talk me into this?” Not quite sure why she uttered the question aloud, Sophie handed Logan his card key and then sipped her glass of champagne and tried not to melt into a puddle from the sheer proximity of his body next to hers.

When he’d left her to go to the bar where Colt and the other groomsmen were gathered, she figured he’d forfeited his room key for a clean escape—sort of like a wolf gnawing off his foot to free himself from a trap. She never dreamed he’d be back, or that he’d bypass the seat on the opposite side of the table and slide in beside her instead.

“What?” He brought his mouth closer to her ear to be heard over the din of conversation flowing around them. Her temperature rose another billion degrees. “How did I talk you into going casual tonight? Easy. You wanted to come.”

Boy, did she. But he meant to say she wanted to attend, and honesty forced her to set him straight.

“No.” She sipped again, enjoying the way the champagne bubbles threw a party at the back of her throat. “Before you showed up in the lobby I fully intended to go to my room, order room service, and spend some time working.”

“That’s maybe what you intended to do, but that’s not what you wanted to do.”