He took a moment to appreciate how the wind molded the brunette’s dress to her perfect little body, then caressed it across her curves. Her long hair was slowly coming loose from whatever clasps had tied it back. He’d gladly help her free the rest of it.
She was easily the most attractive woman at the wedding, but that wasn’t the only reason he’d found his attention returning to her again and again. He’d first noticed her during the ceremony. Rather than sitting with her family, she’d hovered in the shadows on one side of the great hall—every now and then glancing at the door as if wishing she could escape through it.
He hadn’t expected to encounter anyone at the wedding who wanted to be there less than he did. When he’d received the wedding invitation from Eric Westerly, he’d thought it was a mistake—or a joke. His family had a long history with the Westerlys, none of it good.
If the Grinch married Cruella de Vil and spawned children, even that family would seem like humanitarians compared to the soulless Delinda Westerly and her clan—at least according to Bryant’s father.
Turning down the invitation had been a no-brainer until Alessandro Andrade had called to personally ask Bryant to attend. Alessandro was not someone people said no to. He was a large man with a deep laugh and an easy smile, but few were better connected than he was. His eclectic circle of friends probably had him on government watch lists the world over. Dictators? They had his number. Presidents? They had a different one. Royal friends? He’d probably lost count of how many he had. If that wasn’t enough, he was like family.
Bryant couldn’t remember a time when Alessandro hadn’t been in the background giving business advice to his father, attending the major events of Bryant’s life. He’d visited his mother when she was very ill. Alessandro said that his family, those he had by blood and those by choice, were what mattered most, and he lived by those words. During the worst time of Bryant’s life, it was Alessandro who had been a beacon of sanity. His view of how the world should work made sense when nothing else did.
Which made it impossible for Bryant to refuse him anything, but that didn’t mean he didn’t question him. “I don’t understand why the Westerlys would want me there at all,” Bryant had said.
“I asked Eric to invite you,” Alessandro had answered. “It’s time to put the past to rest. Your father still has so much anger in him.”
Bryant had stiffened at the mention of his father. “Will he be there as well?”
“Would you still go if I said yes?”
He had groaned. “For you, I would. Nothing my father does affects my life one way or another anymore.”
In a quiet voice, Alessandro had said, “He won’t be there, but perhaps this will bring the two of you—”
“Like you said, my father has a lot of anger in him. We’re both better off the way things are.”
Rather than addressing that, Alessandro had said, “One step at time, I suppose. For now, I’m glad you’ve agreed to come.”
Bryant’s initial curiosity about why Alessandro had wanted him at the wedding was forgotten as he’d watched Nicolette navigate the event. She seemed happy enough when she spoke with her family, but as soon as they turned away, her smile would fade, and there was a sadness to her that pulled him in. As the youngest Westerly, and a woman, he would have expected her to be spoiled, even a little full of herself.
She didn’t appear to be either.
From across the room, he’d watched the short exchange between her and her grandmother. Although he had no idea what they’d said to each other, it couldn’t have been good. Nicolette had spun away and left her grandmother shaking her head.
Her brother Brett had attempted to intervene, only to be left staring after her as well.
Simply watching Nicolette walk out of the great hall was not even an option for Bryant. He did pause, however, when she stepped into the arms of another man.
If asked, the women he’d dated would likely say he wasn’t the type to get jealous. He enjoyed women and they enjoyed him, but monogamy was something he’d never seen the need for. Relationships went much more smoothly when they were kept honest and open.
No expectations. No explanations required. No problems.
He didn’t know Nicolette, had yet to exchange a single word with her, yet he didn’t like seeing her cling to another man. Even as he told himself she was none of his business, he stood there, watching them.
When they separated, she looked like she might cry, and Bryant’s hands clenched at his sides. He fought the urge to storm over and—what? Demand the man apologize to her? He had no idea what they were even discussing.
After the man had walked away, brushing past as he returned to the reception, Nicolette’s gaze had momentarily locked with Bryant’s. Right or wrong, he knew he had to speak with her. He went to stand beside her and mirrored her stance of looking over the balcony railing. “Trouble with your boyfriend?”
She gave him a look he couldn’t decipher. “No.”
Did she recognize him? “My name is Bryant.” He flashed her his most charming smile.
“Nicolette,” she said, then turned away from him again. The loose tendrils hanging down from her updo tickled at her deliciously long neck. He briefly indulged in a fantasy of how her hair would swing down over her shoulders as she rode him. She was hot as fuck.
She shivered as another cool night breeze washed over her. Despite how it would conceal a delightful view, he slid his jacket off and placed it over her shoulders.
She spun on him and spat, “What are you doing?”
Her reaction took him completely by surprise. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Easy, tiger. You looked cold.”
She ripped his jacket off and tossed it back to him. “I am not cold.”
He caught it with ease. “Sorry, I thought—”
“And who does that? Who just puts their coat on someone else? Tell me, if I were a man, would you have done it?”
“No.” He shrugged his jacket back on. Put that way, he felt like an ass for doing it, but who didn’t want to be cared for?
This woman, for sure. God, she was beautiful. For a moment, he forgot what they were talking about. There was just her, the defiant tilt of her head, the fire spitting from her eyes, and that gorgeous rack of hers heaving in the most decadent way. He hadn’t felt anything close to this since his first crush in high school. A grown man shouldn’t be so easily floored.
Or he should never settle for less.
She looked down at herself, then back up at him. “This dress is perfectly acceptable.” She poked her finger in his chest. Her words slurred ever so slightly. “If you don’t like it, you can take your pretty little face and that designer watch and go find someone who is impressed by either. I am not.”
He caught her hand in his and simply held it. Drunk. Too bad. In a dry voice, he said, “That’s a lot of anger to direct at someone you just met, princess.”
“I was wrong. You’d be a mistake, too.” She shook her hand free. “Don’t touch me.”
He leaned closer. Her eyes darkened with what looked like desire. Had she also felt a zing from their brief connection? “You touched first.” He straightened and winked.
“I did not—” She stopped, frowned, and said, “Fine, I did. Sorry.”
So serious. So defensive. With a deadpan expression he hoped might lighten the mood, he said, “I wasn’t complaining.”
She searched his face, and in a solemn voice that implied she wasn’t holding her liquor quite as well as she appeared, she said, “If I were you, I’d head back into the reception. The longer you stay with me, the less of a chance you’ll have of getting lucky. The Laid-O-Meter predicted zero probability for me tonight.” She made a circle with her fingers. “Zero. Jordan didn’t even think that score was possible, but that’s what’s in here.” She tapped a finger on her temple.
He barked out a laugh. Although he’d never heard of such a meter, the idea was genius. “That’s a low probability.�
�� On his side as well, since nothing he’d imagined doing with her would happen while her judgment was impaired. He wasn’t that guy. That didn’t mean he couldn’t talk to her, though—find out what had her looking so sad that evening.
She poked him in the chest again. “You think I’m joking. I’m not. I don’t care how blue your eyes are. Are they blue?” She leaned closer. “Or green?”
“My driver’s license says blue, but they’re a mix of both.”
She nodded, swayed, and steadied herself by placing one hand on the railing. “Sorry, I don’t usually get this buzzed from a few drinks.”
“I believe that’s because you’ve been drinking grappa—it’s a brandy that is sipped after a meal to help with digestion, with an alcohol content of about 30 percent.”
She made a face. “It did have a burn. Sneaky little bastards, putting it in wineglasses.”
He fought back a smile. “It’s an Italian liquor, unless tonight’s was English. They’ve been dabbling in production of their own variation and have come a long way.”
“Of course you know that. See, that’s why you belong here.” She waved a finger from him to the others on the balcony. “They probably all know that shit, too. My favorite drinks come in individual bottles with twist-off caps.” She lowered her hand and sighed. “What did you call it? Grapple?”
“Grappa,” he answered absently.
“Brett would know that. I bet even Spencer does.” Her shoulders slumped a little. In a broken voice that rocked straight through him, she said, “I just want to go home.” Then she wiped beneath her eyes and expelled a breath.
“Where is that?” Her accent was American, but that didn’t mean anything. The Westerly family had the funds to live anywhere they chose. He turned to rest his elbows on the railing. Desire to pull her to him warred with his better judgment. She was struggling with more than the liquor she’d consumed.
She looked through him, then out into the darkness. “Nowhere now.”
She wasn’t homeless, but he understood that a house didn’t make a home . . . just like having relatives didn’t mean a person had family. “You seemed to be having a rough time inside.”
Shaking her head in self-disgust, she said, “I hoped I was doing a better job of hiding it. Well, it’s official, this is the shittiest night of my life.” She leaned forward onto her elbows as well. “I should have skipped the wedding.”
Bryant had felt the same way before he saw her. “Because of the guy you were talking to? Did he say something to upset you?”
“Jordan? No. He’s harmless.”
“Good,” Bryant said. Women didn’t fuck harmless.
She scanned his face again. “Who are you?”
“Bryant Taunton.” He waited for a sign that she recognized his last name, but none came. “I’m a friend of Alessandro and his wife, Elise.”
A faint smile stretched her lips. “I like them. Really nice people. Even if they are friends with my grandmother.”
“That’s bad?”
“It’s not good.” She held his gaze. “How well do you know her?”
“This is the first social event we’ve both attended.”
“You’re lucky.” She turned to look out into the darkness again. “That sounds horrible, doesn’t it? I’d say I didn’t mean it, but I am so done with her.” She straightened, and her shoulders squared. “Sorry. I’m happy for Eric and Sage. All I have to do is smile and make it through a couple more hours.”
“And maybe slow down on the grappa,” he added, hoping the joke would make her smile.
She looked like she was about to say something, then decided against it. “Wish you’d said that two glasses ago. It didn’t do anything; then all of a sudden—pow.” The wind blew again, and she shivered. Their eyes met and held, and this time the air sizzled.
Pow.
“Sounds about right.” Being so close to her was dangerous. “They’re serving coffee inside. Why don’t we go get some?”
Her bottom lip stuck out. “I can’t go back inside. Not like this.” She turned so she was leaning back against the railing and braced her hands on either side of her, tightening the thin material across her breasts, highlighting how cold she was.
Bryant groaned and looked away.
“I really messed up tonight,” she said in a small voice. “I thought I could pretend everything was okay, and then I got here, and everyone was so happy that something inside me crumbled, and I couldn’t do it. If I ruined any part of the wedding for Eric, I will never forgive myself. What is wrong with me?”
Bryant cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you’re going through, but everyone deals with things differently. I’m sure your family understands.”
“You don’t know my family.” She laughed out a sob. “But that’s okay, because I don’t, either. It was all a lie. All of it. But I’m the problem. Me.” She sniffed. “Maybe they’re right and I need to just get over it. I’m trying.”
He made the mistake of looking at her, and the expression on her face had him pulling her to his chest for the hug he knew she needed. He fought against his body’s response to how she fit against him. The scent of her filled his senses, and he was fully aroused even as he told himself not to be.
She tipped her head back to gaze up into his eyes, looking as tempted as he felt. Everyone beyond her faded away. She licked her bottom lip, and he nearly died. “Don’t look at me that way.”
“What way?”
“Like you want me to do this.” He brushed his lips gently over hers. She leaned into the kiss, framing one side of his face with her hand. She tasted like honey, fine liquor, and trouble all rolled into one. He raised his head reluctantly. “I told myself I wouldn’t do that.”
She swayed a little in his arms. “Because I had a few drinks?”
He tucked a loose tendril back into her updo. “Because when you’re with me, and you will be, I want you to remember it.”
The delicate hand that had tapped his chest now splayed across it in the most delicious way. “I bet you say that to all the ladies.”
His mouth twitched with a smile. “All the drunk ones.”
She pouted. “I cannot tell a lie—I may be just a teensy-weensy bit wasted. Don’t hold it against me. I am normally very, very, very, very, very sober.”
“I’m sure you are.”
She gave his chest a pat. “But I am very, very, very, very, very not right now.”
“I noticed.”
“I would probably remember sex with you, though.”
“We won’t test that theory.” He set her back a bit, just enough to give his throbbing cock a little space and cool air.
“That’s probably for the best, because I’m a little nauseous.”
He laughed. “I appreciate the warning.”
“You have a beautiful laugh,” she said, then brought a hand up to his mouth and traced his lips. “And really soft lips.”
He grabbed her hand and brought it back to his chest. “Is there someone who could take you home? Your sister?”
“No,” Nicolette said in loud whisper. “Don’t let Princess Rachelle see me like this.”
“One of your brothers?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Hey, if you don’t want to talk to me anymore, you can go. I don’t need anyone to take me home. I’ll just call a British Uber or something.”
“No. Someone should take you home.”
Her eyes widened, and she wiggled her eyebrows. “You could.”
He groaned. “Not going to happen, sweetheart.”
She waved a hand at him. “That’s rude. I’ve slept with two guys in my life. Count them.” She held up one finger, then another. “One. Two. And I’m twenty-eight years old. That’s less than one guy a decade. Except I started at twenty. Hold on. That’s like one guy every four years. Does that sound like someone you should say no to?” She smiled up at him, and two of the most adorable dimples appeared.
“Yes?” he said with a smile. “Where
are you staying?”
“With my friend Kiki.”
“Let’s call her.”
Nicolette shook her head. “She’s out with her boyfriend. She won’t pick up.”
“Okay, what about another friend?”
She raised both hands over her head. “Just me. I’ve pissed everyone off, ’cause I’m an asshole.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
She spun before him. “Oh yes. Take away the grappa, and I’m 100 percent an angry bitch. Ask anyone who knows me. I’m no fun anymore. Completely unlovable.”
When she steadied herself by placing a hand on his chest again and smiled at him, he didn’t see the woman she described. He saw someone who was hurting and losing to that pain. It brought out the protective side of him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, running her hand up to cup the back of his neck.
“Like what?” He whispered her own words back to her, knowing exactly where this was going but not strong enough to refuse her. One more kiss, then he would deliver her to a member of her family and remove his temptation.
“Like you want me to do this.” She rose onto her tiptoes while tugging his head down, and when their lips met this time, he lost his head. Her mouth opened for his, and he groaned, savoring what she was so boldly offering. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him again—kissing her deeper and with less control this time.
He ran his hands over her hips and moaned as the material moved over her bare skin beneath. It was the kind of dress that should stay on, easy enough to bunch at her waist, thin enough to suckle a nipple through. Bryant reminded himself that there would be a better time and place for everything he was thinking.
He was just about to break off the kiss when she writhed against him, and his resolve weakened. Holy fuck.
“Excuse me,” a female voice said in an authoritative tone that instantly broke the mood. “Could I have a moment alone with my sister?”
Bryant raised his head.
Nicolette stepped out of his embrace breathing as heavily as Bryant was. “Rachelle.”
Runaway Heir Page 3
