The Wrong Man (Alpha Men 3)

PROLOGUE

Dahlia McGregor was trying to avoid a guy. Not just any guy, but the sinfully sexy man she’d stupidly fallen into bed with a week ago. He definitely wasn’t her type; she wasn’t sure why she’d done it. He was way too . . . everything. Too sexy, too arrogant, too male, and way too alpha. Lia liked nice guys, the quiet types who shied away from confrontation. After being engaged to a pompous, selfish, vain peacock of a man, Lia was looking for someone sweet and pleasant and comfortable.

But there was no avoiding someone when you were in the same bridal party. When he was head groomsman to your head bridesmaid. He stood opposite her in the church, beside her in every picture, and would soon be sitting next to her at the wedding reception.

“So last week was fun,” Sam Brand, the guy in question, murmured into her ear, his gravelly voice more than a little smug. Lia shot him an appalled look. How could he be bringing that up here while they were posing for the group picture? Where anybody could hear him?

The ceremony had been beautiful, of course. Perfect and romantic, everything that Lia had once hoped hers would be. Lia’s youngest sister, Daisy, and her new husband Mason’s vows—which they had written themselves—hadn’t left a dry eye in the crowd. Lia was happy for Daisy, yet she couldn’t help but feel a stab of envy as well. If Clayton had been a better man—the right man—Lia could have been the one exchanging vows with someone who treasured her and loved her above all else. Instead, this was her sister’s wedding and Lia was saddled next to this man—who was interested in nothing but bedding her—for the duration. And he kept making excuses to touch her and breathe on her and rub against her, and now he was speaking to her.

About something that he’d promised never to talk about again. The biggest—okay, maybe second-biggest—mistake of Lia’s life.

“We’re not discussing that here,” she whispered, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “Or ever again.”

“C’mon, Dahlia. I’m leaving tomorrow, and since Daisy and Mason are moving, it’s not likely you’ll ever see me again. I’m single, you’re single—”

“So help me, if you say ‘Let’s mingle’—”

“Let me make you tingle,” he finished, ignoring her interruption. She gasped, fighting back unwanted images of her stupid, drunken mistake last week. It was completely uncharacteristic, and she was not going to repeat it. No matter how great he smelled right now, how enticing that roguish grin was, or how mind-blowingly fantastic his body was beneath that tuxedo.

None of that mattered. Lia learned from her mistakes, and there were a lot of truly nice men here today. She glanced over at Sam Brand and caught him staring at her breasts and fought the urge to cover herself up with her hands. Lots of nice men here who were interested in more than just her boobies.

The photographer now wanted shots of just the bridal couple, and as the rest of them heaved relieved sighs and turned to walk away, Sam placed his palm in the small of her back, ostensibly to lead her through the departing group. She shivered at the intimate warmth of his hand resting so close to her butt and tried to glare at him, but it was a bit demoralizing when you were trying to freeze a guy with a glare and he reacted by smiling. Thankfully, he dropped his hand and turned to face her.

“You’re so cute when you try to look stern, princess. You should get a pair of those half-rim glasses just so that you can glower at me over the tops. God, this is becoming a fully realized fetish,” he groaned in dawning self-recognition. “But I don’t even care. It’s hot. You’re hot. Let’s go somewhere and fuck.”

“You’re just so . . . ugh. The other night shouldn’t have happened,” she snapped, her voice low.

“The other night was awesome,” Sam recalled with a nostalgic smile. “I lost track—how many times did you come? Four times? Five? We could try for seven tonight. After all, I have to give you something to remember me by.”

“Mr. Brand . . .” He sighed, the first sign of annoyance he’d shown her.

“Sam. Or Brand. Drop the ‘mister.’ It’s weird since you’ve had my cock in your—”

“Oh, please stop.” She held up both hands and his mouth snapped shut. “I don’t usually sleep with strangers. It’s not who I am. I’m Dahlia McGregor. I teach Sunday school, volunteer at animal shelters, I want to be a kindergarten teacher, for crumbs’ sake. I don’t have these kinds of conversations with men.”

“I get it,” he said, his voice placating. “You wanted to break out of your shell for a night. Be a bad girl. But here’s the deal, princess, I’m not a stranger anymore. So it’s okay for us to have one more night. And tomorrow I’m out of your life for good. And you can go back to being Miss Priss and teaching the homeless to play harpsichord or whatever the fuck it is you usually do in your boring suburban daily life. But why not take this one moment out of time and walk on the wild side? With me.”