Unwrapping the Best Man

by Rachael Stewart

  ‘Thank you, Bates.’ I take a sip and lift my brows, suitably impressed. The mix of rum, tonic, star anise and ‘...marmalade, right?’

  ‘Yup, and mandarin juice to go with the slice.’

  ‘It’s delicious.’

  Coco takes a sip and murmurs her agreement. ‘It’s perfect.’

  He smiles and walks away to serve another client who’s waiting. Max, I think, if my memory serves. I give him a wink, which he returns, and I sense Jackson frown as he catches the little interchange.

  Not ignoring me any more, are you?

  I smile around my straw. At least that part of my plan is coming together. Not so much the heartbreak part or the fact that he takes a seat at the far side of the bar, tucked away but very much still in the room...

  What is he doing?

  I stop the frown that starts to form. I expected him to run. To go back to his office, or his place upstairs, knowing that I’m here dressed like this and having fun. The kind of fun that Blacks is famous for in our circles, only I’m not because, let’s face it, I’ve not wanted anyone in that way since Mr Grinch himself.

  And having him settle in for the entire show wasn’t part of my plan. But as he opens the lid of a laptop I haven’t spied, I realise he’s making himself comfy.

  ‘Okay, Naughty Elf, spill!’

  I look back to Coco and weigh up the very last barrier: I told Jackson I would keep it a secret. But that was before he broke our pact and blanked me. He doesn’t get to make demands of me now.

  I’ll be making them of him later though. I’m not leaving without an explanation.

  And if I have to pin him down to do it, so help me God, I will.

  * * *

  I stare at my screen harder, hovering over the keypad like my work is the most important thing in the world. And all because the person who actually wears that crown is sitting at the other end of the bar and driving me crazy.

  I’ve not touched the whisky I poured. I’ve consumed the one drink Bates poured and won’t dare touch another drop because Cait is drinking enough for the two of us.

  The only saving grace is that they haven’t left the bar...and I use that term loosely because, although it means Cait is still with Coco and just Coco, every time she wants to be served my vantage point treats me to her thrusted cleavage angled over the bar top and I swear to God it’s intentional.

  She wants to wind me up. She wants to tease. She wants to have me sitting here rock-hard for her. The way she pinches her lower lip with her teeth as she makes her next cheeky request of my bar staff and sends me a grin to match shows she knows exactly what she’s doing. And the more I know it, the more I try to resist looking. But hell, I can’t.

  And I know she’s filling Coco in on what went down. I know it. Despite our agreement to keep it between us. Four months she keeps it to herself—I know she has because Ash would have collared me already—and then she comes in here and chooses now to confess.

  I want to think Cait’s filtering out the worst, but with the drinks she’s consumed and the way Coco’s green gaze glitters at me too frequently to miss now, I’m not so sure she is. Fuck.

  I should leave. Now. Nothing worse than a scorned woman, several cocktails under. No, make that a scorned woman with her best mate and they’re both several cocktails under.

  I definitely need to make myself scarce and save the face-to-face for a private showdown because there’s no way Coco’s going to let me off lightly. I’m surprised Cait hasn’t come knocking long before now, just to put me in my place. Hell, maybe that’s what worries me most. When I put aside my own feeling of loss, maybe what really has me worried is that confident, outspoken, kick-ass Cait shied away like some wallflower and I did that to her.

  I roll my head on my shoulders, trying to ease the tension pulling my shoulders together and the dead weight settling in my gut.

  Leave.

  I can’t do it. I deserve whatever I have coming.

  And, if I’m honest, after four months of nothing, being in the same room as her is...exhilarating.

  Exhilarating and risky.

  I may hate Christmas but I have to admit the way the festive duo stand out in the softly lit room with its grey sofas, glass tables and warm wood—no Christmas tree, no baubles, no fairy lights in sight—is eye-catching.

  And that’s before you take into account the appeal behind the costumes.

  Coco, the statuesque blonde with a haughty air that masks the softness inside.

  Cait, the petite redhead with enough fire for two and the most amazing, lithe, supple... My groin fires to life anew. Shit. I need to get this under control.

  She moves again and my eyes lift to her. She’s beckoning Bates over, the fingers of one hand trailing up and down the strap that runs around her neck and down to the curve of her breasts. My eyes trace the move, up and down, a slow, teasing caress that has my mouth drying and my cock throbbing. She can’t seriously need another drink already...

  Bates nods and gets to work. It seems she does.

  Someone else approaches the bar and takes them in. Dex, a new client, an investment banker, and slick with it. I don’t breathe as I wait, my hands fisting over the keys of my laptop. Is he manoeuvring in, or is he purely there for a drink? He won’t have met Coco and Cait before, not unless he knows them outside of Blacks, and either way, he needs to know they’re unavailable.

  But I have no hold over Cait and I deserve this hell. Dex has a right to fill that role. Me, on the other hand... My eyes go back to Dex just an arm’s reach down from Cait, watch him eye her up, and my jaw pulses—

  ‘Boss...’ Pippa, one of our waitresses, leans on the bar beside me, her pixie hairdo blocking my view. She’s worked for me for years and knows me well enough to give the disapproving frown she’s currently directing at me. ‘You wanna stop with the death stare, before you scare our customers away.’

  I shake my head and take a breath. ‘Sorry. Distracted.’

  She flicks Cait a look. ‘Yeah, that much is obvious. And the way she keeps checking you out, she is too. Girl’s got it bad.’

  My laugh is harsh. ‘Hardly. She’s pissed off with me more like.’

  Pippa shakes her head. ‘What’s she got to be pissed off with you for?’

  ‘Where do I start?’

  She grimaces and reaches for my untouched drink, slapping it down between us. ‘Want my advice? Get that in you, grow a pair, and apologise.’

  ‘Apologise?’

  ‘Yeah, every girl appreciates an apology, so long as it’s heartfelt and, knowing you, it will be.’

  ‘It’s that simple?’ I can’t hide my scepticism, or maybe it’s more that I know I don’t deserve Cait’s forgiveness.

  She shrugs and gives the festive duo one last glance. ‘Damned if I know, but it’s gotta be worth a try.’

  She gets the attention of the team behind the bar, effectively leaving me to my messed-up thoughts and I push up out of my seat, closing my laptop lid.

  Apologise.

  It has to be better than watching Dex as he curves his hand around her bare waist and whispers in her ear.

  No, no, no.

  I’m across the room in a heartbeat, my arm hooking through hers quicker than she can pull back, and I briefly spy Coco’s triumphant grin as I sail past with a fuming Cait in tow. I don’t stop until we are in my office, the door slammed shut behind us.

  She rounds on me, eyes bright, skin flushed. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  I open my mouth, close it again, then open it. What am I doing?

  She shoves against my chest, backing me into the door, her eyes narrowed and flaming hot, stripping me of any coherent thought. Her breasts thrust as she drags in air.

  ‘Have you seen yourself, Cait?’ It’s a tight growl.

  She pops her hip out, her ha
nds fisted at her sides. ‘What? You don’t like it?’

  ‘Like?’ Christ, I can’t even breathe with her this close. Every part of me thrums with the need to reach for her, to crush my lips to hers, to fill the persistent ache of loss that’s hounded me these past four months.

  ‘What is it, Jackson? You don’t want me but no one else can have me? Is that what this is?’

  I shake my head, but hell, she’s right, isn’t she?

  She steps closer, her shoulders back, the move intentional as it thrusts her breasts ever higher and they brush against me. She tilts her chin and looks up at me, her eyes spearing mine.

  ‘Can’t stand the idea of someone else touching me?’ She wets her lips as her hands lift to my chest, smoothing upwards to my neck. ‘Can’t stand the idea of someone else getting to taste me?’ She raises herself up and, God help me, my head bows to bring her closer, those cherry-red lips glossed and begging to be kissed, to be nipped, to be fucked.

  She cups my jaw, her thumb dragging heavily over my lower lip as I play dumb, drunk on her.

  ‘To fuck me?’

  ‘Cait...’ It chokes out of me, my fists pulsing at my sides as I fight the urge to pull her to me, to take control. I know I can’t. I lost the right when I abandoned her. When I walked out on her and betrayed our pact.

  And she knows it.

  She rubs her lower body against mine, teasing herself over my straining, painfully aching cock, and her smile is slow, sultry, satisfied.

  ‘Well, guess what, Jackson? You lost the option to have this when you fucked me and left. Maybe now you’ll understand how it felt.’

  And with that she steps away and yanks on the door handle, forcing me to move out of the way and watch her go.

  Dumbstruck.

  Captivated.

  And instead of frowning, I’m grinning. More alive than I’ve felt in four long, pity-filled months. I adjust my jeans and head straight back out there, ready to fight fire with fire.

  I’m halfway, when I stop dead.

  Voices carry from the entrance, one voice cutting through all else. The hairs on the back of my neck rise up and my blood runs cold.

  Eliza?

  She rounds the corner, all confident and at home, her smooth blonde ponytail flicking over one shoulder as she surveys the room. My cock shrivels back as my gut rolls and my eyes flit from her to Cait and back again.

  This can’t be happening. Cait and Eliza in the same room. No fucking way.

  My legs are like lead as I force them to move, but it’s not Cait I need to deal with now; it’s the unwanted arrival. And the sooner I get her out of here, the better.

  She turns to face me, her crystal-blue eyes narrowing as she smiles. The gesture is small, confident, cold. Very Eliza.

  ‘Jackson, darling, it’s so good to see you again.’

  I’m on autopilot as her hands clasp around my arms and she touches her lips to both of my cheeks.

  ‘Eliza.’ I’m in no mood for platitudes as I step back and grip her by the elbow. ‘Shall we take this to the office?’

  But she’s not ready to leave. She’s too busy watching Cait join Coco back at the bar.

  Her lips quirk as she takes them both in and cocks one brow. ‘How...fun.’

  Her dry remark carries across the room, snagging the festive duo’s attention, and Cait averts her gaze, but not before I glimpse her sudden insecurity, her fire all but snuffed out.

  ‘Office,’ I say between gritted teeth. ‘Now.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I CAN’T STOP my gaze from going back to Jackson and his guest as they walk off into his back office and I hate how inadequate I suddenly feel.

  I’ve gone from feeling empowered, with vengeance and a whole lot more beating hot in my veins, to a very different kind of burn: humiliation. And I know my cheeks flame with it too.

  The blonde is stunning. Older than me—twice my age even—but she’s a classic beauty. Polished, sophisticated, like an older version of Coco, only colder. It doesn’t stop her drawing every eye in the room though. And the way she surveyed the joint and locked onto Jackson, the way her cat-like eyes narrowed, her perfectly glossed mouth lifting into the smallest of smiles...it was so predatory I shudder.

  And I don’t want to think about the way he let her air kiss both his cheeks, how she leaned into him to make the most of every point of contact.

  Or the sardonic lift to her brow and her mocking tone, which only leaves me feeling foolish now.

  Compared to her sophisticated black number, her tasteful black stilettos and haughty air...argh. My plan for fun is turning into a great big epic flop.

  ‘I’ve not seen her in a long time,’ Coco murmurs into her drink.

  I stiffen. ‘You know her?’

  ‘Don’t you remember? She used to come in here when we were new. With that guy, the tall, blond chap. Think Daniel Craig with glasses and slightly less muscle.’

  Coco’s right. I do remember.

  My brain is already trawling through memories and scenes are coming back to me. Scenes within the club, shaded by the drink and the debauched fun. It doesn’t help. Because now all I can imagine is Jackson in those scenes, acting them out with her and, to rub salt in the wound, he’s now behind closed doors with the woman. After I drove him to a sexual high and left him hanging.

  ‘Yeah, now you mention it,’ I mutter as I stare daggers at the closed door, ‘I do remember.’

  I feel Coco’s eyes on me, and sense her budding concern. ‘I’m sure she’s just an old friend, or a client seeking the invitation of someone else to the club; there could be many reasons he’s taking her through there.’

  Her voice is soft with reason and understanding. She knows I’m thinking the worst, but I can’t get that predatory smile out of my head. I know in my gut there’s something between them—if not now, then before—and I can’t bring myself to say it aloud.

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,’ she adds. ‘And it’s not like he’s taken her up to his apartment.’

  I give a forced laugh, trying not to dwell on the possibility.

  ‘Jackson’s a free man.’ I take a sip of my drink and look back to her. ‘He can do what he likes, or whomever he likes. A point I just made very clear to him.’

  ‘You did? You weren’t in there long... What happened?’

  Now I smile, the memory of how hard he was lighting me up inside. You can’t fake that. He wanted me.

  ‘Spill, Mrs!’

  ‘He was jealous and he didn’t deny it. So I pinned him to his office door and made it very clear that, thanks to his behaviour, I’m very much off the menu.’ I even manage a laugh. ‘You should have seen him... It definitely gave me the kick I needed.’

  ‘Good for you. But now what?’

  ‘Now, nothing. The idea was to let him stew a little, wind him up, and then I’d have it all out with him later. Now Blondie’s turned up, I can’t see that happening.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  I throw back my drink and try to stop second-guessing what’s happening on the other side of that door. ‘It’s fine, Coco, we’re here to have fun and I intend to have that in spades. Drink up!’

  ‘You don’t need to put on a front for me, Cait.’

  ‘I’m not.’ But my lie lands flat and I grimace. ‘Okay, I am. But Jackson and I agreed a temporary fling, no future; who he sleeps with now shouldn’t be any of my business. I still get to be mad as hell at him for hurting me. For bailing without a word after...well, after you know...’ Coco knows; she has all the sordid details, thanks to my alcohol-fuelled mouth. ‘I thought we were friends, and friends don’t just bail on one another without at least saying something...anything.’

  My mind wanders back to him and Blondie and my throat chokes up, even more so when Coco gives me a sympathetic look that ha
s tears spiking from nowhere. Hell, I’m not going to cry. I’ve managed to fight the tears off this long...

  I take another swig of festive sweetness, but it turns bitter on my tongue and I struggle to swallow.

  ‘I can’t pretend to understand why Jackson did what he did, love; it’s—’

  ‘It wasn’t what he did that was the problem,’ I interject. ‘It was what he didn’t do: say goodbye, pull me aside the next day and say something, anything, to acknowledge what happened and make me feel... I don’t know, less dejected, rejected, ignored, meaningless...’

  I wave a hand around and accidentally catch Bates’ attention but, now I have it, another drink isn’t a bad idea. And the way Coco is looking at me, she’ll benefit from one too.

  ‘What can I get you ladies?’ he says, heading our way.

  ‘Surprise us with some more festive fancies. We’re enjoying your creations.’

  ‘Coming right up.’

  I sigh again. ‘Why can’t we choose who we want to want?’ I grumble into the dregs of my drink.

  ‘Because it would be too easy.’ Coco gives me a gentle shoulder nudge. ‘The best things in life are worth fighting for, Cait, love included.’

  ‘Love,’ I choke out.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m not in love with Jackson.’ I wince as I say it far louder than I should have and flick a look in Bates’ direction, hoping he hasn’t heard. If he has, he shows no sign of it.

  Coco stares at me quietly. Stares at me until my brain tells me I’m wrong and I groan. Heartbreak. Love. Jackson.

  I’m such a fool. It’s been so obvious for so long.

  ‘Hey, chin up. He feels the same; I’m sure of it.’

  I force a laugh and shake my head. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  I do though. I remember everything he told me that night. I’ve replayed it verbatim, daily, and confessed much of it to Coco. We didn’t even make it past one night. How she can surmise that he feels anything more is beyond me.

  ‘Okay, ladies, get your lips around these.’ Bates flips over two square napkins and places martini glasses on top. They’re filled with a milky-looking concoction and have a sparkling snow-like finish around the rim.