by Elise Faber
Fingers in her hair making her shiver, making her hate herself for that shiver. Brad tugged out a pin she’d missed and set it on the counter. “I—” he began.
“Will you just fuck off?” she snapped, slapping her hands down onto that granite and glaring at him in the mirror again. “I get I was an easy fuck a few months ago, but I’m not going to be one again. I get that it was good, but what I don’t get is how it’s always so fucking easy for men to walk away from me.” She blinked, wishing she could take that last part back. Unfortunately, since she didn’t possess time-traveling abilities, she pressed on. “A note,” she said. “That’s all it would have taken. Just a simple goodbye, rather than skulking off before the sun rose like I’m some little dirty, shameful secret.”
Hazel eyes holding hers in the reflection.
He had a colored streak of frosting on his left cheek, though his white shirt was almost pristine. Probably because his suit jacket had taken the brunt of the purple and cream-colored cake.
Stupid men. Could just strip off their jackets and look perfectly normal.
“You’re right,” he said after a long, tense moment. “I’m sorry. I should have left a note or said goodbye.”
An apology.
Just like that.
Then he smiled—slow and hot and thigh-quiveringly sexy. “But in fairness to me, I’ve had some . . . unpleasant morning interactions.” A shrug. “Sometimes it’s better for everyone if I just leave.”
And just like that, back to the cocky asshole.
She stifled a sigh. “Goodbye, Brad.”
Then she focused all her attention on the towel and the sink and not the man behind her, nor on her nipples that were perky in memory of the horizontal yummy time, nor on her vagina that was feeling empty and neglected because she was ignoring its urges.
“I—”
“Goodbye.”
After several moments, he released a breath and she watched him out of the corner of her eye as he left the bathroom, the door clicking closed softly behind him.
“Thank God,” she whispered, going back to work with the towel and warm water, and by the time her cell buzzed with the alert that the delivery driver was approaching with the cake, she had at least managed to de-frosting her hair. Her dress was hopeless. She’d scraped everything off, but the buttercream had left greasy stains all over the bodice and skirt.
Dry-cleaning might salvage it, but she didn’t have a change of clothes at her disposal.
So, she was embracing the stains.
Stashing the dirty towels in the basket next to the sink, she turned to the door, opened it, and—
Froze.
A white dress shirt was hanging on the outside of the knob, a note peeking out of the breast pocket.
Can’t change the past, but maybe this note will help.
-B
Her heart did that squeezing thing, but she shoved it down again, ignoring the stutter, pretending she hadn’t even had it in the first place. This didn’t mean she was going to forgive the man, and she certainly wasn’t going to give him a second chance.
No fucking way.
But she was going to use the shirt to cover the worst of the stains. She slipped it from the hanger, buttoned it up, not fully appreciating how much bigger Brad was than her until the starched cotton was surrounding her, engulfing her in his spicy, male scent, the fabric soft against her skin and hanging to her knees, the sleeves draping past her fingertips. It was intoxicating to be wrapped up in him, in the shirt that was still warm from his body.
“It’s probably not even his,” she muttered, rolling up the sleeves.
But something inside her knew it was, and that inclination was confirmed when she walked out into the area where the reception was being held and saw him dancing with Cora, clad in just a skin-tight white T-shirt.
Ignoring the dance floor, she slipped out to the front of the building, meeting the delivery woman, and then thinking perhaps she went overboard with the cake ordering. Still, she managed to heft the three huge sheet cakes—chocolate, lemon, and vanilla, her attempt to recreate the flavors of the deliciousness she’d toppled—thanked the woman who was her savior, and headed back to the wedding.
Arms slipped around her, Brad deftly—somehow—scooping the cakes out of her hold before she could react or protest or dodge away.
The cakes were worth their weight in gold at this point.
But before she could snatch them back or demand . . . he do something, there were hot words in her ear.
“You look good in my shirt.”
Words that left her gaping.
And shivering with remembered pleasure, dammit.
Brad was a No Fuck Zone. She’d learned her lesson. Or at least she should have learned her lesson.
But nonetheless, she shivered again when those hot hazel eyes met hers and he said, voice husky and feeling like roughened velvet brushing over her skin, “For the record, I wish I’d stayed.”
Three
Brad
He should have stayed.
He’d known he would regret slipping from beneath those soft cotton sheets, out from Heidi’s embrace, moving away from her even softer skin.
But he’d also needed to go.
Not even because he’d had a flight to catch—which he had because he always had a flight to catch. He traveled every spare day, spent every extra dollar he had to fly around the world, visiting every sight that had ever caught his fancy. And he’d had a great freaking time doing so, never wanted to stop.
But Heidi was the first woman he’d ever spent any time with that made him want to stay.
To stay forever.
So, he’d gone.
Had returned to the postage-stamp apartment he kept for the infrequent times he was in town, having decided that if he were going to be paying for a home he was hardly in, it might as well be filled with California sunshine rather than Midwest humidity and snow. Then he’d packed his usual bag, grabbed his passport, and had flown to Croatia. But as he’d walked through gorgeous coastal cities and explored mountain lakes and appreciated the beautiful agriculture, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of the gorgeous brunette with hazel eyes that were more green than brown.
He’d thought of her laugh while eating alone.
He’d thought of her shining brown hair fanning out on the pillowcase when he’d gone to sleep at night.
He’d dreamed of her sexy, curvy body night after night, had woken hard and aching every morning for weeks.
Until he’d forced himself to compartmentalize the woman away, not only for his own sanity, but for hers. Because he wasn’t the type of man who stayed, not for a little while, not forever, no matter how beautiful or smart or wonderful the woman was.
And Heidi was definitely all of those.
But still, as time had gone on, he’d almost convinced himself that he’d imagined the draw he felt toward her. After all these months, after making sure to avoid any interaction that might bring them together during the lead up to the wedding, he’d begun to think that perhaps she wasn’t . . . so freaking perfect in every way that mattered to him.
But he hadn’t been able to avoid her forever.
He’d walked into the wedding rehearsal the night before and felt every cell in his body stand up in attention.
She was there.
He wanted her.
Thankfully, the men and women had separated early in the evening, and he’d been able to keep his distance. But today, seeing her in that fucking incredible purple dress and the way it hugged her curves, watching her eyes go damp as her friend spoke her vows, laughing at the way she’d embraced walking that stupid fucking rooster up the aisle with its vest and sparkling leash.
Hell, she’d embraced all of it. The tears, the rooster, even the aftermath of the cake fiasco.
And he’d found he liked her even more.
Fucking hell.
“Give them back,” she growled.
“They’re heavy,” h
e countered. “Let me carry them for you.”
One dark brow lifted. “And you’re saying that me, with my weak, feminine arms, can’t manage to carry them?”
“Yup.” He preemptively bit back a grin, already anticipating her reaction.
Which didn’t disappoint.
She scowled, plump lips pressing flat, and he had the distinct notion that she wanted to stomp her foot.
Either that, or she wanted to kick him in the balls.
Maybe both.
“Where do you want them?” he asked, instead of giving voice to either of those thoughts—or to give her any ideas.
Her scowl deepened, but she just pointed to the former cake table, the one they’d spent some quality time on top of, not long before. The tablecloth had been replaced. The one tier they’d been able to salvage sitting on a plate atop it, along with half of a groom figurine and the bride’s legs.
Heidi growled, plucking the horrific scene from the cake and wrapping the sad pieces in a napkin, which she stashed in the bodice of her dress. He didn’t even bother looking away, not when he had the great privilege to witness the action of her spreading his shirt wide and sticking her hand between the luscious set of breasts he’d once been up close and familiar with. Then she patted the table before buttoning the shirt back up. “Set them here.”
He placed the boxes down.
“My bouquet is on the head table,” she said, opening one lid. “Can you grab mine, Cora’s, and Kelsey’s?”
“Got it.” He turned away.
She snagged his arm, tugged him to face her. “Do not touch Kate’s bouquet,” she ordered, eyes flashing. “She’s saving it, and I will not ruin another thing of hers.”
Brad reached down and lifted her hand, bringing it to his lips. “I won’t. I promise.”
“Good.” She snatched her hand free. “Don’t.”
Then she spun away, giving him her back again, probably not realizing how tempting the line of her nape was with curls teasing the creamy length of skin, nor how her curves were highlighted by the way they pressed against the fabric of his shirt.
He wasn’t going to tell her.
For one, he appreciated the view. For another, he appreciated his balls right where they currently resided.
Dodging the dancers on the rented floor, he made his way to the head table and scooped up the proper bouquets—and not the big one with ribbons and a floofy—was that a technical term? Probably not, but it was the only way he could think to describe the flouncing greenery, ribbons, and flowers. Regardless, it only took him a few minutes to return to the cake table, bunches in hand.
What he returned to was . . . amazing.
Heidi had managed to stack the rectangular cakes on top of one another, angling them artistically. The boxes were on the floor next to her feet, and she’d commandeered another flower arrangement from somewhere and was currently placing the buds around the cakes.
“Um,” he said, setting the bouquets on the table. “Are you a magician or something?”
She stuck a rose into a gap, not looking at him as she continued placing flowers, adding in ones from the bunches he’d brought over. “Nope.”
Okay then. Apparently, this woman could hold a grudge and a half.
Not that he could really blame her.
Most women didn’t appreciate being used—and even if that wasn’t what he’d intended, that was what she’d thought.
So, he knew he deserved the frosty reception.
He just . . . didn’t like it.
Stifling a sigh, he bent and picked up the boxes, folding them and stowing them beneath the table. “Maybe a more appropriate question would be, how did you learn to do that?”
“It’s a hobby.” A beat as she dismantled her bouquet, tucking in tulips and roses at regular intervals.
“What other hobbies do you have?”
Hazel eyes on his, condescension in their depths. “Really?” she asked. “We’re really going to have this conversation?”
“Are you always so prickly?”
A sigh was his only response.
He bit back a smile. “Your hair looks nice.”
She sniffed.
“Heidi.”
She froze, head tilting up to the sky, hair floating behind her like some curly brown cloud, her throat exposed and tempting. His mouth watered, actually watered, remembering how he’d dragged his lips over that gentle slope, how he’d traced his tongue along the silken skin.
“I truly am sorry.”
Her head flopped to the side, tilting enough so she could meet his gaze. “And I truly meant what I said.” She straightened, eyes serious. “I’m not interested. I want someone who wants me enough to stick around.” A shrug. “The truth is that I know you well enough by now to know you’re not that kind of man.”
That stung.
But he couldn’t deny it, couldn’t pretend she was wrong.
He didn’t have staying power.
“I know.”
Her expression changed, and he hated that he didn’t know her well enough to discern the undercurrent in it. At any rate, she focused her attention back on the cakes, and he watched in silence as she turned the supermarket confections into something that belonged in a fancy bakery.
“I wish I’d ordered icing, too,” she murmured, perching a final gathering of blooms on the salvaged tier, which she hadn’t stacked on the others, but had somehow made its separation seem intentional with the way she’d arranged the flowers.
“It looks beautiful.”
She froze, almost as though she’d forgotten he was there.
He was so attuned to her that he didn’t think it would be possible to not be aware of her. Ever since he’d walked into the church the night before—no. Since the moment he’d joined in on that dinner all those months ago, tagging along with Jaime and Kate to meet up with Heidi, Cora, and Kelsey, he hadn’t been able to get this smart, gorgeous woman out of his brain.
Brad couldn’t even say it was because she came in a beautiful package—though he certainly appreciated her curves, her pretty face with those expressive eyes and kissable lips. But his fascination had begun at that dinner and had only grown through the night. When Kelsey had been picked up by her fiancé, Tanner, and Cora had left with Kate and Jaime because they all lived close, he’d offered her a ride ostensibly because his apartment was close to her place, but in truth, because he’d wanted to spend more time with her.
Yes, he was attracted to her.
But that attraction wasn’t just sexual. She was witty and more than once, she’d made some offhand comment that had him bursting into laughter. Beyond that, he could tell she was a good person who cared about the people at that table—including him.
Because he was related to Jaime. Because Jaime was smitten, and because he made Kate happy.
So, he’d had an in, and he’d been attracted to her.
And . . . they’d ended up in bed. And the sex had been incredible. And he’d—
“Ruined,” she murmured.
Brad blinked for a moment, wondering if she’d picked the thought from his mind or perhaps if he’d spoken aloud. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring down at the cake, a sour expression on her face.
Then she sighed and rolled her shoulders, exposing her neck as she stretched her head from side to side again. Tempting him. Again.
“Oh well,” she said, straightening on another sigh. “I’ve done what I can.” She fussed with one more flower then stepped back. “I should find Fuzzy McFeatherston and make sure he doesn’t get within a hundred feet of this.”
“I took him home.”
Her lips parted, and it took everything in him to not taste her. “What?”
“I figured it was safer to get him back to his coop at Kate and Jaime’s.” Which had been convenient, considering the venue they’d chosen to hold the reception at was only twenty minutes from their house.
“You left for forty minutes?”
He g
lanced at his watch. “Fifty-six,” he said, “But who’s counting? Especially when you’re wiping frosting out of your curls.”
Her lips tipped up into a smile that he felt all the way to his cock. Then she sobered, “But it’s your brother’s wedding.”
“I snuck out while they were taking their individual pictures, snuck back in when you and Kate were doing your thing.” He shrugged. “Also, I couldn’t exactly just shove him in the back of my car, could I? And clearly, the cage couldn’t be trusted to hold him securely.”
That much was true.
“Oh.” A beat. “Well, I should—”
The music changed, the heavy beat of a fast-paced dance anthem melting into a slow melody, into an unhurried ballad that coaxed couples to the floor, that made the hot, sweaty atmosphere shift into something intimate and hushed.
“Dance with me,” he said.
She shook her head, those curls bouncing. “I shouldn’t—”
“We’re a bridesmaid and groomsman,” he coaxed, nodding toward Kelsey and Cora, both of whom were twirling with other members of the bridal party, and Jaime and Kate, who were in the center of the mix, looking blissfully happy. “We should be out there.”
White teeth nibbling into a pink-painted bottom lip.
He took a risk . . . and took her hand.
Four
Heidi
Warm fingers laced with hers, a slightly calloused thumb stroking across her palm.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and—
Then she was pressed to Brad’s chest, the heat of his body surrounding her, her breasts tingling as they brushed against the hard muscles of his torso. The sneaky man had maneuvered her into the dance on the back patio of the restaurant Kate and Jaime had rented out without her recognizing it, like a mesmerizing hand-ninja who’d stroked her palm and all of a sudden, she was in his arms, his body coaxing hers into sensually unhurried motion. A shiver skating down her spine when he slid his hand down, the heat of him seeping through the layers of his shirt and her dress, imprinting onto her skin.
“I—”
“I love this song,” he said softly.
