His Best Mistake (Shillings Agency)

by Diane Alberts

  He didn’t say anything, just stared straight ahead.

  His profile was flawless.

  Messy hair. Hard jaw. Dark stubble. Dimpled chin.

  “So.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Now what?”

  “After this wedding, there’s no reason to think we will ever see each other again…at least not until another one of them actually does the deed, and has their own wedding.” He nodded at the bartender and tipped him. Then he picked up their drinks, handing her hers. “So, I guess we go back to avoiding a blind date with one another…though we’re not blind anymore.”

  “No. We’re not.” She was very not blind to all the things about him that she found attractive…but she wasn’t blind to the one thing she didn’t, either. She took her soda, and their fingers brushed. That all too familiar magnetic draw between them only strengthened with the skin on skin contact. “Thank you.”

  “Can we start over?” He held his hand out, locking eyes with her. She could lose herself in those brown depths, if she let her guard down long enough. And, God, she wanted to. “I’m Mark Matthews.”

  “Daisy O’Rourke.” She slid her hand into his, shaking it, smiling despite the electric zing of his skin on hers. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too.” He let go of her and lifted his drink to his mouth. She did the same. After he finished, he turned and faced the room, his arm pressed against hers. It was an innocent enough touch, but from him, it was anything but innocent. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Oh, crap. She hated questions. “You can ask anything you’d like. I’ll decide whether or not to answer once I hear it.”

  “How’d you really break your arm?”

  She laughed, because that wasn’t what she was expecting. “I was chasing a perp on a rainy fire escape, and I slipped. I fell, and my partner got him at the bottom.”

  He didn’t say anything. Just flexed his jaw.

  “So…a kid, huh?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He frowned down at his drink. “She’s three.”

  “And likes Elsa,” Daisy said softly. “Lauren told me. Her mother…?”

  “Died in Afghanistan when her convoy was ambushed.” He finished off the glass, and she stiffened, because in that moment, with loss coloring his voice and an empty glass of booze in his hand, he reminded her of her father. And that terrified her. “Ginny was seven months old.”

  Daisy pushed her soda away, her chest tightening painfully. “That’s horrible.”

  “Yeah.” He studied her still full glass. “Done with your drink already?”

  She nodded. “I’m not thirsty anymore.”

  “Do you like kids?” he asked, eyeing her.

  “Yeah.” She laughed again, tucking her hair behind her ear, because she had a feeling that this question meant a lot more to him than what was on the surface, and that scared her even more than his resemblance to her father. “I don’t have much experience with them, but they’re cool enough, I guess. The few I’ve spent time with.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “That’s not why I didn’t—” she started.

  “Do you want to dance with me?” he said at the same time.

  She hesitated, because being in his arms was a bad idea. Horrible. Stupid, even. But… “Yes, I’d love to dance with you.”

  A seductive smile lit up his face, and he held out his hand. “Excellent.”

  She slid her hand into his, and one thing echoed in her mind.

  This is either the biggest mistake of my life…or the best.

  He led her out to the dance floor, and a slow song started. He pulled her into his arms, his hand burning a hole through her dress at the small of her back. His other one held on to her good hand, and he urged her even closer, until her breasts brushed his chest. As they started to sway, she glanced toward Lauren—and saw her watching them with wide eyes.

  Steven was next to her, frowning.

  “They’re watching us,” she muttered.

  “They’ve been watching us all night.” He glanced their way, too, his grip on her hand tightening. “Steven is always watching me, though, so don’t worry so much.”

  “Why?” she asked curiously.

  “He thinks I want to steal Lauren from him.”

  Daisy choked on a laugh. “As if that’s possible.”

  Mark shrugged.

  “Do you?” she asked slowly. “Want to steal her?”

  If he had an unrequited crush on her best friend…

  “No, but Lydia set us up on a blind date back when it was still a secret that they were dating, and he’s hated me ever since.” He dipped his gaze over her, taking in everything he could. “He shouldn’t worry so much. I prefer redheads with bright green eyes and smiles that can light up even the darkest room.”

  She swallowed hard. God, he was good. “That was you?”

  “You heard about it?”

  He splayed his hand over her back, his fingers touching bare skin since she had a low cut dress on. She sucked in a breath, because it felt good. Too good.

  Focus, O’Rourke. He’s still no good for you.

  “I did.” She glanced up at him through her lashes. “I can see why he’s worried.”

  He smiled. She needed to stop making him do that. He was too handsome for his own good…and hers. “Daisy-Scarlett, was that a compliment?”

  “Maybe.” She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe not.”

  “Then let me return the favor…maybe.” He chuckled and rested the side of his cheek on the side of her forehead. She felt so small in his arms. So petite. It wasn’t necessarily a feeling she liked. “You look absolutely stunning in that dress.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Literally. “Thank you.”

  “All I could think about throughout the wedding and the dinner was your panties.”

  She let out a surprised laugh. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s true. I wanted to slowly lift up that long skirt of yours and find out what color they are today.” His pointer finger drew a slow circle over the skin of her back. “Maybe they’re yellow. They were black last night.”

  She swallowed a moan. “Were they? I don’t remember.”

  “I do.” His grip on her hand tightened. “I’ll never forget. Every time I see you, I’ll remember last night.”

  She glanced over her shoulder nervously. His voice was low, but if someone heard him… “Good thing we won’t be seeing a lot of each other, then, huh?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” He locked eyes with her, and something told her his words didn’t quite match his feelings, which was awfully ironic, because no matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise, neither did hers. “It’s a great thing.”

  They stared at one another.

  Neither spoke.

  “You’re doing it again,” he said, his voice dipping dangerously low.

  “Doing what?”

  “Challenging me with your eyes,” he said, lowering his mouth to her ear, just a breath away from touching her skin with his lips. “And, Daisy, if you keep issuing unspoken challenges like that, I’m going to forget that we were only supposed to have one night together, and I’m going to want to fuck you again. So I suggest you watch what you start, before it’s too late.”

  Who was he kidding?

  It became too late the second she agreed to dance with him. Heck, it became too late when she told him he could stay in the seat next to her at the bar.

  But instead of saying all that, she just cocked a brow and kept on staring.

  That was answer enough, in her opinion.

  “Why didn’t you want to meet me?” he asked, not breaking eye contact. “What was your reason?”

  She stiffened because this went well into the territory of personal crap she didn’t want to talk about. She hadn’t even told Lauren about her father and the abuse he’d put her through before she was old enough to leave, or the stuff he still put her through, even now, so she sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Mark. “Why di
dn’t you want to meet me?”

  “Besides the fact that I’m not really looking for a relationship in the first place?” He shrugged. “I don’t like that you’re a cop.”

  She reared back. “Is that a sexist comment about how women can’t be cops? Because if so, I’ll—”

  “Easy,” he interrupted, frowning. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Then what?”

  “Ginny already lost a mother. If and when I decide to open myself up to the possibility of another relationship, one that would involve my daughter learning to love another woman as well as me, then it has to be someone who isn’t going to get shot at work”—he swallowed, not meeting her eyes—“like her mother did. No matter how much I like a woman with a job like her mother, Ginny can’t go through that again.”

  And neither could Mark, she was guessing. And he had a very good reason for not wanting to be with her. One she couldn’t even find fault with. “I don’t like military men.”

  A laugh escaped him. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. I refuse to date one.”

  “Why?” he asked, frowning.

  “History.”

  His eyes lit up with understanding. “Let me guess? Asshole ex?”

  “Something like that,” she muttered, biting her lip. “Also, I’m not looking to date right now. I prefer to focus on work.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “So. Now we know.”

  “Now we know.”

  “The problem is…” He leaned down again, his mouth resting on her ear this time. She shivered, tightening her grip on him. “Even knowing? I still want you, Daisy.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  Bit her tongue to hold the words back.

  The words she should never say.

  “So, what do we do?” He ran his hand up her back, trailing it over her smooth skin. “Pretend I don’t want you, and keep our distance?”

  “I guess so,” she said, swallowing hard as the song ended. “I think that’s best for all involved.”

  “Are you so sure?” he asked, slipping his hand under the edge of her dress, right above her butt. “Because, I don’t know about you, but it doesn’t seem like the best idea to me right about now.”

  It was way too hard to step out of his arms. A lot harder than it should have been. Probably because she didn’t want to back off. She wanted to get closer. Much closer. But her brain was outweighing their chemistry, and she refused to set herself up for something that would only hurt her in the end. He had a very valid reason for not wanting to be with her. It was admirable of him to put his daughter first, even. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—fault him for that.

  And she wouldn’t put him in a position where he’d have to choose.

  “Look. Last night was fun.” She smiled, wrapping her arms around herself, and took another step back. “But let’s leave it at that, so no one gets hurt.”

  He fisted his hands at his sides. “Is this good-bye, then?”

  “It is. Thanks for last night. It was…it was wonderful. And I choose to remember you like that…and not ruin it by what comes next if we continue down this path.”

  He flexed his jaw. “All right. Good-bye, Daisy.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  Just walked away.

  Chapter Eight

  This was a huge mistake. A stupid one. But that didn’t stop him from doing it anyway. He walked down the hallway, reading the numbers until he found the one he wanted. He stopped in front of room 708, frowning. It was after one in the morning, and he’d gone to bed over an hour ago, shortly after Scar—Daisy—left the wedding. He used that expression loosely, because he hadn’t actually made it to bed. He’d just been pacing in his room, trying to talk himself out of doing this.

  It, clearly, hadn’t fucking worked.

  Because here he was. Standing outside her door.

  Like an idiot.

  He shoved his hand through his hair, laughing at himself. What the hell was he even doing? Since when did he stand outside a girl’s room, hesitating? Since when did he care so damn much whether or not he made a good impression? He wasn’t this guy. He didn’t play games. He believed in honesty, and he appreciated a clear-cut plan more than any other man out there.

  But with Daisy?

  Nothing was clear-cut.

  Cursing under his breath, he lifted his fist and knocked.

  Enough bullshit.

  The door swung in almost immediately. Daisy wore a pair of faded pajama pants, an ugly green T-shirt that was twice her size, and no makeup.

  She was breathtakingly beautiful.

  When she saw him standing there with his shirt undone and no shoes on, she started to shut the door in his face.

  “Wait!” He called, inserting his bare foot in the crack. “I know I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Then why are you?” she asked angrily.

  “Because I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about you, and about how amazing last night was, and I’m going to be honest, Daisy. I don’t do this. I don’t obsess over women.”

  She frowned. “Lucky me.”

  “You don’t get it. Most of the time, I’m fine with just me and my little girl, and I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything by not having a woman in my life. When I need a little relief, I find someone who is of a like mind, who isn’t looking for more than one night. But right now? Knowing you’re in the same building with me, and that tomorrow we’ll both go back to our separate lives?” He swallowed hard, knowing he was laying it all on the line, but that was how he rolled. “I feel like I’m missing out on one more night with you.”

  She pressed her lips into a thin line, hesitation furrowing her brow. “Mark…”

  “We don’t make sense on paper. Mark and Daisy make no sense at all.” He reached out and cupped her face through the crack of the door. “But Scarlett and Chris do.”

  She stared at him, leaning into his hand. “So you’re proposing…?”

  “One more night for Scarlett and Chris. One more perfect night together, before the sun comes up.” He removed his foot from the crack and let go of her. “And then we go back to being Mark and Daisy, who don’t want anything to do with one another, and we never do this again.”

  She stared at him, not closing the door in his face, but not widening it, either. A door behind him opened, and he glanced over his shoulder. By the time he looked back, Daisy’s door was shut.

  And she was gone.

  Guess he got his answer.

  He stared at it for a second, disappointment filling him, then turned on his heel and started for the elevator. He only made it two steps before her door opened again. Daisy came running out, skidding to a halt when she saw he hadn’t made it far yet. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then grabbed his open shirt, yanked him close, and kissed him.

  That was all the invitation he needed.

  Growling, he picked her up, and she effortlessly wrapped her legs around his waist, opening herself up to him. He walked her into her room, his mouth never leaving hers, and kicked the door shut behind them. Backing her against the wall, he ran his hands over every inch of her delicious body he could reach. She slipped her hands under his shirt and pushed it off, writhing against him seductively, rubbing against him without shame.

  It was the hottest damn thing he’d ever seen.

  Her using his hard cock to get off.

  Shrugging, he helped her shove his shirt off his shoulders, and then he slipped his hands under her shirt and closed his palms over her breasts. She didn’t have a bra on, so the skin on skin contact was enough to drive him insane. He squeezed her nipples, playing with them, and she rocked against his cock harder. Faster.

  He repositioned himself between her legs and thrust against her, making sure to hit her where she needed it most. A broken moan escaped her when he did it again, and she broke the kiss off, gasping for air.

  “Oh my God, yes. Mark, I—” She tensed, her eyes closing, her lips parted in rosy-c
heeked ecstasy. “Mark.”

  Hearing his name—his actual name—on her lips as she came was enough to make him lose control now. He slammed his mouth down on hers as her fingers fumbled with the button of his pants, which was already undone, because he hadn’t bothered to fasten it when he’d come to her room. She tapped his shoulders impatiently, breaking off the kiss. “Put me down.”

  He did so immediately. If a girl said to put her down, you put her the fuck down. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt—?”

  “No.” She dropped to her knees and shot him a look as she undid his zipper, and let his pants hit the floor. “Is there something wrong with me doing this?”

  The sheer seduction in her eyes, in her soft, pouty mouth, was enough to send a grown man to his knees. She was a goddess, and he wasn’t worthy.

  “No,” he choked out as she removed his boxers.

  He threaded his fingers into her soft red curls. He’d never really had a thing for hair, and he didn’t particularly care if it was blonde, red, brown, curly, or straight. But now? Shit, he loved red curls. Especially when his fingers were covered in it.

  She smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

  “You don’t have to—” She leaned in and flicked her tongue over the head of his cock. He let out a strangled groan and threw his head back. “Jesus Christ, Daisy.”

  Letting out a sexy laugh, she closed her lips around him, slowly sliding his cock inside her mouth. The muscles in his stomach clenched tight, and sweat immediately broke out on his forehead because it felt like heaven, and it was going to take every ounce of control not to come. She knew what the hell she was doing down there, and that made him equal parts grateful and jealous…maybe a little more of the latter.

  Rolling her tongue over him, she sucked harder, closing her hand around the base. Her fingers teased his balls, touching them gently, and he gritted his teeth, trying to think of something—anything—that would distract him from the torturous pleasure she was giving him. Baseball. Football. His fantasy football league. Who Elsa’s spirit animal was.

  Nothing worked.

  “Enough,” he growled, tugging her off by the hair and dropping to his knees in front of her. “I can’t take it anymore.”