Falling for the Best Man

by Amanda Ashby

  Not my smartest move. Especially the part where his breath against my skin managed to turn my entire body to liquid. And everyone knows no one can make sensible decisions when that happens, which was probably why—

  Enough.

  She managed to pull the metal door shut on that part of her mind. What was the point of being reckless if she was going to spend all this time analyzing it? Right now, something deep inside her just wanted to be lost. To forget about Ivy. Her sisters. The farm. To stop worrying about the future and just exist for now.

  The cottage came into sight and the panic in her belly faded. The place had once been for the farmhands, before Bec had taken it over and filled it with all the strange furniture pieces that never quite fit in the main house. But as she stepped inside, it wasn’t the odd mishmash of faded paint and Bec’s old Nirvana posters that made her blink. It was seeing Christopher’s laptop sitting on the old school desk Emmy had used to do her homework as a child, while up on the peeling wallpaper were numerous Post-It Notes. Somehow it looked right, as if that’s what the cottage had always been missing.

  Is it what I’ve been missing, too?

  Her body filled with desire, but before she could reach him, he coughed and stepped away. His beautiful mouth was a straight line as he titled his head. It was the same look her sisters used when they tried to convince her selling the farm would be a good idea, and that they had her best interests at heart.

  “Emmy. I just want to say if—”

  “No.” She cut him off and tried not to be distracted by the fullness of his lips or the hint of bare chest from where his shirt was missing half of its buttons. Did I do that?

  He frowned. “You don’t know what I was going to say.”

  “Yes, I do. You were going to be a gentleman and give me an opt-out clause. Tell me that, while the whole ‘bridge wants what it wants’ speech was charming, you don’t want to make me do something I don’t want to do. That you shouldn’t have pressured me with the ‘one night’ thing.” She didn’t bother to add these were the things she’d been trying to avoid telling herself. Besides, she’d made her decision. She wasn’t going to change her mind.

  And I sure hope he isn’t.

  “One, that isn’t how I sound, and two, it was a charming speech wasn’t it?” he said, and Emmy’s heart pounded against her ribs. Then he seemed to collect himself. “But I just wanted to check that you’re sure about this. That you don’t want some time. It’s just when we’re together, some kind of crazy seems to overtake me. And if you’re worried about what will happen afterward—”

  “A wise person once told me we should be having the fun first and the serious conversations later.” Emmy ran her fingers along his jawline, shuddering at the feel of faint stubble against her hands. How could that be sensual? It didn’t make sense. Longing exploded in her chest as she reached for him.

  “Are you calling me wise?” His voice was little more than a croak, and he was still smiling as his mouth found hers. Sparks ignited in her body, and by the time she pulled back, she was dizzy.

  “Only in private. I have a reputation as a stern wedding planner to uphold,” she managed to say, the feel of his skin still imprinted on her cheek.

  “I can live with that.” He kissed her again, this time harder, deeper. Emmy groaned as his hands pressed into her back as if wanting to push away all the air between them. “So, we’re really going to have one night together?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” His voice was a caress against her skin. “What are your thoughts on getting rid of these clothes?”

  “The sooner the better,” she urged, as his fingers deftly tugged at the zip of her dress and slipped it from her shoulders. He let out a small sigh as it fell to the ground, leaving her in her plain black bra and knickers. Bec had been horrified to learn Emmy didn’t own anything that wasn’t cotton and designed purely for comfort, but as Christopher ran his hand down the small of her back, she got the feeling he wasn’t of that same school of thought.

  “I have no words for how turned on I am right now.” His mouth became more intense in its kisses, and Emmy’s entire body was flooded with desire.

  “And I thought you were a writer.” Emmy tugged at the belt around his waist as she kissed him again. How had she ever managed to survive without kissing him every second of every day? It seemed impossible to imagine her entire life hadn’t been spent standing in this spot, with this man. Christopher’s face contorted as her hands slid down around his hips and forced his pants to the ground.

  “I’ve got no idea what you’re thinking right now, but please, keep thinking it,” he said, barely moving his mouth away from hers.

  “Don’t think, do,” she whispered as she turned her attention to his shirt. There were only two buttons still done up, and she tugged until they both flew away in the air. Buttons she could sew back on tomorrow; all that mattered was getting as close to him as possible.

  “And now you’re talking Jedi with me? Emmy Watson, where the hell have you been all my life?” He let out a soft growl as he lifted her straight into the air and carried her to the bed.

  “You know exactly where I’ve been, Christopher,” she said he carefully laid her down. The cotton of the familiar comforter was soft against her cheek. “I’ve been here.”

  “Right now this is the only place in the world I want to be,” he said. Then, without another word he brushed her face with his fingers, as if she was the most precious thing in the world, and this time as his mouth met hers, the world disappeared and she was lost.

  Chapter Eight

  Christopher slowly opened his eyes and looked around. He was in the small cottage at the bottom of Wishing Bridge Farm, and tangled up with him was Emmy. A drowsy smile formed on his lips as he studied the way her dark hair curled around her exposed shoulder. He was tempted to kiss her soft skin, but the faint purple smudges under her eyes convinced him not to. Especially since it had been late enough by the time they’d finally fallen asleep in each other’s arms. Desire raced through his body, and he almost overruled his decision not to kiss her when his cell phone rang in the other room.

  He swore as he recognized Trent’s ringtone.

  His agent was the last person Christopher wanted to speak to, but if he didn’t answer, Trent would just keep calling. And I have other plans for the morning. His skin prickled at the thought.

  Emmy didn’t stir as he reluctantly unwound himself from her sun-kissed limbs and reached for his jeans, which were slung over an armchair under the window. The floorboards were cool under his bare feet as he scooped up the cell phone and went outside to the rickety porch. The early morning sun was already burning away the soft dew from the grass, and judging by the pale blue sky, it was going to be the perfect day for a wedding.

  He answered the call.

  “Seriously, have you fallen off the face of the planet?” Trent demanded by way of greeting. “Why haven’t you returned any of my calls or messages? Wait. Don’t answer that. Just tell me you spent last night whispering sweet nothings into your fake girlfriend’s ear and that the whole thing’s settled.”

  “Not exactly.” Christopher recalled the dark looks Pandora and Nancy had given him for most of last night. It probably didn’t help that when he didn’t show up for their date yesterday, Nancy had gone outside and seen him talking to Monsieur Lafayette. Turned out that not everyone was impressed with Christopher’s ability to speak fluent French.

  “What?” Trent barked from down the other end of the cell phone. “But what about the hot blonde? Or the other one?”

  “I think they’re more angry than hot right now,” Christopher confessed. He’d spoken to each of them separately and apologized for his behavior, and they’d both made it clear they were no longer interested. Not that he could blame them. After all, who wanted a fake boyfriend who couldn’t keep his eyes off the wedding planner?

  He sucked in a lungful of air.

  I’m so screwed.

&nbs
p; “Actually, I’m not so sure I even need to take a fake girlfriend.”

  “What?” Trent exploded. “Have you not listened to a single word I’ve been telling you? Without a nice, wholesome girlfriend these producers are just going to think you’re trouble in the making. I can’t believe you want to give this up after everything we’ve worked for.”

  “No one’s giving it up.” Christopher sat down on the top step of the porch and traced the splintered wood with his finger. “It just doesn’t feel right to take someone I hardly know.”

  “How come it felt right two days ago?” Trent demanded.

  Because two days ago I hadn’t been reunited with Emmy Watson, and now the idea of pretending to be involved with anyone who isn’t prepared to kidnap a best man or learn French to get some doves leave me cold.

  It seemed his extreme tastes extended past his travel destinations.

  “Things change,” he said drily. “The show’s about traveling to lesser known places, experiencing lesser known things. It’s not about the girl I’m dating. I should let the idea stand or fall on its own merits.”

  “Are you insane?” Trent spluttered. “Where is this coming from? Oh, crap. You’ve met someone inappropriate haven’t you? Let me guess, it’s the mother-of-the-bride. The power of the cougar should never be underestimated.”

  “Okay. Stop.” Christopher gritted his teeth, regretting he’d ever answered the call. Especially since he had no intention of telling his Neanderthal agent anything about Emmy and the night they’d spent together. Or that despite the fact they wanted different things, he was still drawn to her in a way he’d never been with anyone else. “We’re not having this conversation.”

  “Look, buddy. It is no concern of mine who you spend your time with, but this deal’s big news. More to the point, I know what it means to you.”

  “Good.” Christopher clenched his fingers. Why was it so hard for Trent to see that just because he didn’t want to play this ridiculous game, it didn’t mean he wasn’t serious about his career? His feelings for Emmy might’ve changed, but that didn’t mean his desire to succeed had gone. All he wanted to do was change the rules slightly. “So, you’ll tell them I’m flying solo then?”

  “Absolutely not. Look, what you need to do is forget about this inappropriate hookup of yours and get back out there. You’re in prime fake-girlfriend country. You need to make the most of it.”

  “What part of ‘not having this conversation’ didn’t you understand?” Christopher growled. Besides, there was nothing wrong with Emmy. She was perfect. From the way she took off her heels to drive the old pickup, through to her habit of chewing her pen when she was nervous. The only thing she didn’t like was traveling.

  He froze.

  That wasn’t exactly true. Sure she was a homebody who loved the farm, but last night she’d told him the truth about Fiji. It had been exceptional circumstances that had stopped her. His mind whirled.

  She would’ve gone to Fiji, which means she might go to Hawaii…

  More importantly, she’d love it.

  Despite all of her claims of being a farm girl who liked to be in a familiar environment, he’d seen what a thirsty mind she had. She was curious and open to all kinds of new ideas. And he’d watched her march into the diner to confront Monsieur Lafayette despite the fact she could probably speak better Klingon than French. She was so much more fearless and resourceful than she gave herself credit for.

  In short, she’d make the perfect traveler.

  The perfect girlfriend.

  He vaguely remembered their promise to not judge each other for their choices, but he pushed it to one side. If Emmy agreed to go with him, then her eyes would be open to different choices. A whole range of them. After that, if she wanted to change her mind, it would be her decision entirely. As far as he could see, it was a win/win.

  It would let him have his cake and eat it, too.

  “Trent, you’re a genius.”

  “I’ve often thought so. Does this mean you’re going to call up one of the hot bridesmaids?”

  “Nope. I’m going to go make the inappropriate hookup some breakfast.”

  “Well, just don’t screw it up,” Tent growled. “And don’t forget that article. It needs to be in by—”

  “Sorry, you’re breaking up. Can’t hear a word you’re saying.” Christopher finished the call and stuffed the cell phone back into his pocket. He grinned as he walked inside to grab the closest T-shirt he could find. First thing he needed was some breakfast ingredients, and then he could go about convincing Emmy just why she should join him in Hawaii. He was still smiling as he jogged out the door.

  …

  Emmy woke with a start as the alarm on her cell phone went off. She wriggled into a sitting position and tried to work out why she was covered in the old comforter not the pale yellow sheets currently on her bed. Then she let out a groan as she caught sight of Christopher’s compact travel bag sitting on the old dresser under the window and it all came back. She was covered in the comforter because she’d spent the night at the cottage. With Christopher.

  Holy crap. I slept with Christopher.

  Getting to revisit every part of his beautiful, golden body all over again, it was almost like she’d become another person, caught up in the magic of the wishing bridge, his intoxicating presence, and the promise of one amazing night together. Unfortunately, there was no moonlight now. Just the morning sunshine, reminding her that today was the wedding and she still had six million jobs to do.

  And I’m naked in someone’s bed.

  She tugged the comforter up and peered around the room.

  There was no sign of him anywhere so she got to her feet and walked through to the small sitting room/kitchen area. It was equally empty apart from her black dress lying in a puddle on the floor. Her face heated up as she scrambled to collect it while trying to figure out if it was a good thing or a bad thing he wasn’t here. Probably a good thing, since morning-after conversations weren’t her field of expertise. She dressed quickly, her body sluggish and tingling from their lovemaking.

  No. Stop thinking about lovemaking. And tingling. And definitely don’t think about how right it felt to be close to him. Because last night was just a one time event. No big deal.

  Now I just need to repeat that a thousand times, and maybe I might even believe it.

  She sucked in her breath and looked around the room. The promise of one night together should come with an invisibility pill to make the transition back into the real world less challenging.

  The real world, where the family farm was at stake and the wedding that would hopefully solve her problems was still far from complete.

  Her stomach churned. What had she done?

  She had one job to do—save Ivy’s legacy. And in that job there had been no mention of sleeping with Christopher. In fact, if she’d bothered to make a list of things not to do, that would probably have been number one.

  What had she been thinking? What if Melinda had had some crisis at three in the morning and needed to be talked down off the ledge, but Emmy wasn’t available?

  The fact her cell phone didn’t contain any hysterical messages from the bride didn’t lessen the tightening in her chest as she walked into the bathroom. However, she was soon distracted as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. A small cry escaped her lips.

  Who was that person?

  All she wanted to see was sensible Emmy Watson, the girl who was going to save Wishing Bridge Farm come hell or high water. What she actually saw was a person with wild hair hanging over her shoulder in untamed curls, with lips chaffed from their assault on Christopher’s entire body. But it was her eyes that scared her the most. They were ringed by last night’s makeup, but despite her lack of sleep they were bright, happy, and contented.

  I look like I’ve been naked all night with a man.

  She scrubbed away the makeup and splashed as much water on her hair as possible so she could smooth it int
o a more manageable ponytail. She still didn’t quite look like a wedding planner, but as soon as she was in the main house she could have a shower and get back to her real life. Then when she had a leisurely moment—after about thirty years—she might allow herself to think back on what happened last night. Besides, it wasn’t like there would be a repeat.

  The wedding was in eight hours, which meant Christopher would be flying out tomorrow, and unless a glacier, a torrent of white water, or a jagged mountain suddenly appeared in the town of Sunshine to capture his adventurous spirit, she doubted he’d ever return.

  Their time together was done, which meant the sooner she transformed back into Emmy Watson, the wedding planner, the better it’d be for everyone. Especially if it would stop her from imagining what it would be like if he were here with her every day, laughing with bad-tempered dove breeders, and teasing Stan for overcharging him, and dragging her into his arms every evening.

  No. She raced out of the bathroom. She really needed to get out of there as quickly as possible. Where were her shoes?

  “Hey, where do you think you’re sneaking off to?” Christopher said, causing her to gulp. He was standing in the doorway, dressed in jeans and an old T-shirt that did absolutely nothing to hide the sculptured perfection of his chest from her eyes.

  Bad eyes.

  Once again she wished she weren’t wearing last night’s dress. She wasn’t sure if the walk of shame included facing the one-night stand, but all the same her cheeks heated up.

  “I’m not sneaking. You weren’t here,” she said as he gave her a long lazy smile that did terrible things to her pulse.

  Do not look at his mouth.

  “Well, I’m here now, and you’re not going anywhere until you’ve had breakfast.”

  Breakfast? That would mean spending more time with him, and he might want to discuss things. Like how she felt. But she didn’t know how to explain the churning, fluttering sensation in her belly, or the need to touch him, or the vague notion that if she didn’t spend all her time with him, she might very well explode.