The Wingman

by Natasha Anders

  OTHER TITLES BY NATASHA ANDERS

  A Ruthless Proposition

  The Unwanted Series

  The Unwanted Wife

  A Husband’s Regret

  His Unlikely Lover

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2017 Natasha Anders

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503943155

  ISBN-10: 1503943151

  Cover design by Eileen Carey

  I dedicate this book to my wonderful mother, Freda, for her strength, positivity, and unwavering spirit. Rest in peace, Mommy. Words cannot express how much I love you and how much you mean to me. I’ll miss you every single day for the rest of my life.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  Mason Carlisle sucked in a bracing breath of icy cold air, and then, ignoring the heavy pool of dread that settled in his stomach, stepped into Ralphie’s Pub. A wall of humidity and noise slammed into him and stole the clean air from his lungs in an instant. He hadn’t set foot in this place in over a year; it wasn’t really his scene. Not anymore.

  “Hey, Mason. Long time, buddy. What can I get for you?” the heavyset bartender said as Mason sat down at the end of the bar. Mason dipped his head in greeting and cast a glance around the unusually full local pub. He couldn’t recall ever seeing the place this busy before, and he wondered what the occasion was.

  “Just a beer, thanks, Ralphie,” he said. “It’s really pumping in here tonight.”

  “Yeah, hey? A hen party.” Ralphie pointed his double chins toward a corner of squealing, giggling women, and Mason frowned. Ralphie’s wasn’t the sort of place to attract hen parties—or women, for that matter—so their choice of venue was perplexing to say the least.

  “Who’s getting married?” Mason asked, running a hand over his stubbled jaw, absently noting the need for a shave. He wasn’t particularly interested in Ralphie’s answer but was killing time until his brother, Spencer, showed up.

  “Andrew McGregor’s girl, the pretty one. Marrying some fancy rich guy.”

  The local veterinarian, Andrew McGregor, had three daughters, and just about every guy in high school—Mason included—had had a crush on the pretty one, Dahlia. Daffodil, the cute, older one, had been in Mason’s class. He recalled her being obnoxious and sarcastic. He didn’t really remember much else about her or the other, youngest one.

  Mason didn’t particularly care to dwell on McGregor’s girls right now; he was more interested in where the hell his brother was. Spencer had begged Mason to join him at Ralphie’s and now couldn’t be bothered to show up on time. If not for the fact that Spencer was going through a rough spot after his separation from his long-time girlfriend, Tanya, Mason would have ditched his ass and headed home. He had a dog that needed walking, a six-pack that wanted drinking, and a classic eighties action movie to watch.

  Yeah, all things considered, he’d much rather be at home.

  A scandalized squeal coming from the corner had him swiveling his head instinctively to the rowdy crowd of women just in time to see a huge green dildo being passed around.

  “Seriously? That thing looks like the Hulk’s cock. Talk about placing unrealistic expectations on a guy. I hope her groom can compete.” Spencer’s voice came from behind him, and Mason turned to glare at his brother.

  “You’re late,” he groused.

  “Yeah, sorry,” Spencer said, rubbing his hand tiredly over the nape of his neck. “A couple of tourists came in for some hiking equipment. It was a big sale; I couldn’t just close up shop.” Spencer owned a successful sporting goods store in the center of town.

  “So why’d you want to meet?” Mason asked, cutting to the chase as he took a thirsty pull from his beer. “It sounded urgent.”

  “It is . . . I need a favor, Mase.” His brother looked so damned serious that Mason sat up straight, alarmed.

  “Anything,” he promised, somewhat rashly.

  “They’re having Lia McGregor’s hen party here tonight,” Spencer pointed out unnecessarily, and Mason spared an impatient glance at the gaggle of giggling women before slanting his gaze back to his brother.

  “Get to the point, will you?” he prompted, and Spencer shrugged.

  “That kind of is the point,” he muttered, his voice so low Mason barely heard it above the chatter of the crowd and the overloud laughter of the women in the corner.

  “I want to spend some time with Daff tonight. You know I’ve always liked her, and if she’d given me the time of day back when, I would probably never have hooked up with Tanya. I was too damned stupid to really try in the past, but I won’t let the opportunity slide by again. The McGregor sisters hardly ever hang out in the same places we do. This could be my last chance.”

  “Yeah, they don’t hang out where we do because they think they’re too bloody good to spend time with the likes of us,” Mason scoffed. “Spence, we’re hardly their type. They go for the preppy guys with the right backgrounds. A guy like you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  The Carlisle brothers had been the rebels at school, the troublemakers from the wrong side of town. They had both long since outgrown that reputation and, despite their tough upbringing, had made successes of their lives. Spencer, with a rugby scholarship in hand, had graduated debt free. After a relatively successful amateur rugby career, he’d gone on to obtain his MBA and had returned home a local sports hero, capitalizing on his reputation by opening his sports store.

  Mason, in the meantime, had used his dual South African and UK citizenship to join the British military. At just nineteen, Mason had been better at soldiering than he’d ever expected, and after only a year in the military, he had undergone the grueling selection process for the Special Air Service. After leaving the SAS five years later, he had, to the hilarity of his former brothers-in-arms, used his “abs of steel”—so hard-earned in the SAS—in a short-lived and embarrassing underwear modeling career.

  He still cringed when he thought about it and preferred to wipe that year of his life from his mind.

  “Look, I have to grab this opportunity,” Spencer was saying urgently. “I’ll regret it forever if I don’t try, Mase.”

  Mason peered at his brother for a moment before shrugging and waving toward the women with his beer bottle.

  “So go for it,” he said. “I’m not stopping you. In fact, I have no idea what this has to do with me. Am I supposed to hold your hand? Applaud when you score? What?”

  “You know how close the sisters are. Dahlia’s distracted by her friends, because it’s her hen night, but Daff probably won’t allow herself to be diverted by me if the other one is left to fend for herself.”

  “And you want me to what?”

&nbs
p; “Talk to her.”

  “Her who?” Mason asked, genuinely confused.

  “The other one, Daisy . . . distract her. Flirt with her, pay her some flattering attention. Daff will—”

  “See right through that,” Mason completed with a snort. “That’s the dumbest plan you’ve ever come up with, Spence, and that’s saying a lot, considering your history of dumb ideas.”

  “Come on, Mason, you can be convincing. You’re great with women. She’ll be so flattered to get some attention from a stud like you that she’ll probably fall all over herself for the opportunity to hang out with you.”

  “I’m kind of insulted on this chick’s behalf, Spencer. You’re being a dick.”

  “It’s Daisy McGregor,” Spencer dismissed. “She’s used to it.”

  “Doesn’t make it right.” Mason was a little disgusted with his brother’s attitude. He couldn’t believe that people actually treated the poor girl this way. She was a McGregor; she couldn’t be that bad. And if she were, it was still no excuse to be an asshole to her.

  “Come on, Mase, please. It’s Daffodil McGregor. I’ve been half in love with the girl since high school.”

  “Man, this is just all kinds of wrong,” Mason muttered, running an agitated hand over his head. He kept his hair cropped military short. Seven long and eventful years after leaving the army, and it was still hard for him to wear it any other way.

  “I’m asking you to be my wingman, bro,” Spencer pleaded. “I’ve never asked you for anything before. Well, hardly ever . . . but this is important to me.”

  “It’s not going to work.”

  “But can we at least try? There’s no harm in trying, right? If they shoot us down, so be it, but I really need to try.”

  Mason stared at his brother for a few long moments. That bitch, Tanya, had really done a number on him. Spencer had always been a steady guy, had loved Tanya with everything in him, yet she had cheated on him with just about every available guy in town. Worse, after Mason had returned from England, she had tried to seduce him as well. Luckily Spencer had discovered her infidelity before Mason had been forced to tell him about it. But he still felt like a douche for not warning his brother about Tanya before Spencer caught her in bed with two guys at the same time. And it was because of that guilt that he now found himself nodding in response to the plea he saw in his brother’s eyes.

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “Well, they’re still busy with the hen party thing—no boys allowed—but according to Ralphie’s intel, Lia has to leave the party early, so they’ll probably be winding down soon. Daff, the other one, and a few of the ladies will be staying on a bit afterward, so that’s when we should make our move.”

  Mason thought this was all a bit skeevy, but he folded his arms over his chest and nodded, keeping his discomfort with the entire plan hidden behind a blank mask. A thought occurred to him, and even though it pained him to ask, he felt he had to.

  “Spencer, if she rejects you, that’s it, right? You won’t persist?” His brother looked wounded that he had even asked, but Mason had seen enough crazy shit in his lifetime to feel that the question was warranted, even if the guy he was asking was his brother. Spencer had been through so much with Tanya that Mason wasn’t sure if any of his brother’s hatred for the woman had bled over into his dealings with other females. He hoped not, but one could never be certain.

  “I like her, and I just want a chance to prove that to her,” Spencer said. “I won’t go all crazy stalker on her, Mase. Come on.”

  Mason held his hands up and shrugged.

  “So which one is Daisy McGregor?” he asked, changing the subject as he glanced discreetly over at the women.

  “You serious?” Spencer gaped at him, and Mason lifted his shoulders again.

  “It’s been years since I’ve even thought of the McGregor girls. And I don’t think I’ve exchanged a single word with the youngest one. Refresh my memory.”

  “In the corner, next to Dahlia.”

  Mason subtly scrutinized the woman he hadn’t noticed before. She seemed to be hiding in that corner, completely overshadowed by the beauties sitting at the table with her. She didn’t appear to be interacting with them much and kept looking down at her phone. Mason wondered if she were chatting with someone or keeping an eye on the time.

  She seemed as interested in being here as Mason was, which was not at all. It piqued his interest, and he diverted his attention back to his beer.

  “You’re in, right?” Spencer asked, and Mason hesitated, directing another quick look over at the woman in the corner.

  “Sure, why the hell not?”

  Daisy McGregor sat in her corner, quietly sipping her drink while listening to the avid gossip of the other women around the table. She really wished she was at home, cuddled under a blanket in front of the TV with her sweetie, but her sister was getting married. Daisy loved her sisters and would do anything for them, even if she sometimes felt like she had nothing in common with them.

  “Mason apparently sold his stake in the security business last year. For millions.” Sharlotte Bridges, one of her sisters’ friends, said in a stage whisper, referring to the younger Carlisle brother. The women had been all abuzz since spotting the two men at the bar. Mason Carlisle was something of a unicorn around these parts: a mythical, wondrous, and beautiful creature.

  “Can you believe how well the Carlisle brothers have done?” Zinzi—another friend—hissed.

  “Look at them.” Shar sighed, dropping her chin into her palm and making googly eyes at the two huge, gorgeous guys seated at the bar. “They’re so freaking hot.”

  “You’ve always liked the bad boys, Shar,” Daisy’s sister, Daffodil, said, giggling.

  “Well, yeah. Who wouldn’t? They can be so . . . imaginative in bed.” Shar grinned.

  “How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever dated a real bad boy,” Zinzi pointed out skeptically. “And that Mason—from soldier, to model, to bodyguard of the rich and famous—he might be a little too much for you to handle.”

  “I bet I could get one of those two in bed,” Shar said, and Daisy sank farther back into the recesses of the booth. She really disliked Zinzi and Shar, and she couldn’t understand why her sisters were friends with them. They were totally superficial and materialistic. Shar, the gorgeous blonde who was taking bets on whether she could seduce a Carlisle brother, was married, for cripes’ sake. Granted, her husband was three times older than her and rumored to have mistresses on four different continents, but he was still her husband. They could both practice a little bit of discretion, at the very least.

  Zinzi, the daughter of a phenomenally wealthy philanthropist, had dated princes and politicians but routinely slept with her drivers, bodyguards, and fitness instructors. But God forbid she ever openly date one of them. Now Lia seemed to be following them down that same path. She was marrying Clayton Edmondton III, heir to the Edmonton Diamond Company and pretentious asshole of note. Daisy couldn’t stand him, and she knew Daff didn’t care for him either. But Lia firmly believed that she was in love, and nothing her sisters said—or Clayton did—would change her mind. It was painful to sit back and watch Lia make such a huge mistake with her life, but to protest too much would be to alienate her completely.

  The other women were still oohing and aahing over the Carlisle brothers, and Daisy couldn’t help but slide a glance over at the two men. They were definitely good-looking guys, both tall, dark, strapping specimens of hotness. Spencer had the heavy build of a rugby player, not an ounce of fat on him, just big and brutish and entirely savage looking.

  But while Spencer merely looked savage, Mason Carlisle exuded menace and danger from every single pore. He was more sparely built than his older brother and a couple of inches shorter than Spencer’s six foot three, but while Spencer was thick with muscle and seemed to possess brute strength, Mason’s power and strength had a lethal grace. He was perfect, absolutely perfect. And even if Daisy weren’t al
ready familiar with his eight-pack, his beautifully strong shoulders, tight butt, and perfectly sculpted legs—thanks to those revealing underwear ads—she would still have known that utter perfection lay beneath that gray formfitting Henley and those faded blue jeans.

  But not for all the chocolate cake in the world would Daisy ever let on that she found either one of the brothers attractive. The women would all—with the exception of her sisters and their childhood friend, Tilda—tease her mercilessly and cruelly, knowing that she didn’t stand a chance with either man. Daisy was well aware of her so-called shortcomings, and she was resigned to them, but that didn’t mean she would ever give this bunch of bitches any fodder to chew on.

  So she remained hidden away in her corner, pretending to laugh at their stupid comments and have a blast while they played their silly little hen party games in a venue that they had chosen because they wanted to “live dangerously.” Please, like Ralphie’s was such a dive. It was just a regular sports bar, but it was so far removed from these women’s lives that to them it probably seemed like the ghetto.

  Daisy sighed and reminisced about a time when her family had been just normal. A bit more well-off than some, but normal just the same. Their father was a vet, for God’s sake. You couldn’t get more ordinary than that.

  Normalcy had fled after her parents had joined a snooty local country club when Daisy was ten and her sisters thirteen and fourteen. Daisy had watched the other women in her family go crazy after that. Everything became about the right clothes, the right makeup, the right jewelry, the right men . . . and because she would rather hang out with her father and the animals, Daisy found herself drifting apart from her mother and sisters. Her father was as baffled by the transformation as Daisy, and together father and youngest daughter weathered the storm of shopping and pretentiousness that became their new norm.

  The other women were moving on from their previous topic of conversation and were once again focused on Lia’s party.

  “This one next.” Nina Clark, one of their long-standing—and more likable—family friends held up a tiny gift bag. Lia peeked into the bag and squealed when she saw what was hidden beneath the tissue.