by Tawna Fenske
Sam clapped his hand over it the instant it landed. He drew his palm back and looked at Grant. “Tails it is. You’re it, buddy. You’re the best man.”
“Fitting,” Mac said, nodding over his beer. “You’ll do us proud.”
“I agree,” Sam said, clapping Grant on the shoulder. “Between the brother who’s a reclusive curmudgeon, the brother who’s an overbearing control freak, and the brother who’s a cheerful Boy Scout, I think I lucked out getting the Boy Scout.”
Mac grunted and glanced down at his phone again. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“You guys are dicks,” Grant said, pushing away from the wall. “But I’m honored anyway.”
“You’ll be a great best man,” Sam said.
“The best,” Mac agreed.
“I’m going for a walk,” Grant said. “Try not to steal anything.”
He headed for the front door, pausing just long enough to stuff his feet into a pair of tattered flip-flops before flinging the door open and escaping into the salt-scented breeze. He kept walking until he hit the beach, then kicked off the shoes beside a piece of driftwood. He spotted a broken bottle in the sand and nudged it next to his shoes so he’d remember to take it back with him to keep litter off the beach.
He stood up and hesitated a moment, then turned west and started walking. His pace was brisk, but he couldn’t outrun his thoughts.
Best man? In what world could you possibly be the best man for anything?
Grant kicked his toes through the sand and began to run. The sea air felt good on his arms, and the sand was soft and warm underfoot. He passed a couple playing Frisbee near the water and offered them a friendly smile.
“Afternoon,” he called. “Beautiful day.”
“Sure is!”
He kept running, his pace strong and even. Rows of condos gave way to thick palms, and soon he’d lost sight of any other human life. This was his favorite part of this area of Kauai, his favorite spot on any of the Hawaiian Islands, really. It was possible to lose yourself completely.
Almost.
He’d been running at least thirty minutes when he spotted a cluster of people. Odd, considering few people even knew this section of beach even existed. The tourists sure as hell didn’t know about it, and most locals stayed away on weekdays. He slowed his stride, frowning. Was he imagining things, or were all of them buck naked?
No, not all of them. His eyes landed on a woman in a bright yellow sundress. She had shoulder-length hair that glinted reddish-gold in the sun. As she turned toward him, her grass-green eyes lit up with something that looked like relief. Grant kept moving forward, almost without realizing his body was carrying him toward her.
For the first time in his life, Grant’s brain tuned out the naked breasts around him and zeroed in on the one fully clothed woman in sight.
“Thank God you’re finally here,” she said, grabbing his arm.
Grant blinked at her, too stunned to reply.
Not that he had a chance to get a word out anyway. She kept talking, her words coming out in a jumbled rush.
“We were starting to get worried. Well, everyone except the rest of the groomsmen, who were all taking bets on whether the best man would make it, but now that you’re here—”
“Best man,” Grant repeated, his brain trying to wrap itself around her words.
“I don’t mean to rush you, but you’ve got three minutes to take your clothes off and get oiled up,” she said. “You can use that tent over there if you want, though I don’t really see the point since you’ll be running around naked for the next few hours.”
He stared at her. He knew it wasn’t polite, but it was hard not to admire the lush curve of her breasts beneath the yellow sundress, and the taut muscles in her calves. Her toes were bare and tipped with bright orange polish, and the inside of her right ankle bore a small tattoo of a feather. Her arms were long and pale, but shapely. He looked back up at her face, which was framed by straight, shoulder-length hair the color of carrot cake.
She frowned at him and spit out a lock of it, and Grant wondered if it tasted like cinnamon and nutmeg. He was thinking of running his fingers through it when a gust of wind blew her hair across her face, showing two bright blue streaks mixed in with the auburn strands.
Interesting.
The woman tightened her grip on his arm, and Grant lost his breath for an instant.
“Come on, buddy,” she said. “We’ve been waiting on you. Off with the clothes already.”
Another woman joined them, wearing nothing but a short veil and pair of sunglasses. She touched the redhead’s arm and leaned close. “Actually, Anna, this isn’t—”
“Sure I am,” Grant said, and reached for the hem of his shirt.
Chapter Two
“You’re not the best man,” Anna said flatly, trying to keep her cheeks from flaming, her voice from shaking, and her eyes from drifting to anything that would make either task harder.
Harder.
“Well, that all depends,” he said, smiling down at her in a way that made her insides turn molten. “Whose wedding are we talking about here?”
“Th—this wedding,” she stammered, swallowing hard. “The one right now.”
“This is a wedding?” He pulled his gaze from hers and surveyed the scene around them. Anna swallowed hard, trying to imagine how it looked to his eyes.
His eyes.
God, they were the most remarkable shade of blue gray, almost like the ocean on a stormy morning.
And at the moment, they were taking in the sight of four naked bridesmaids playing Frisbee with three equally naked groomsmen. Anna swallowed and tried to pull his attention back to the matter at hand.
“So if you’re not the best man, why do you have your shirt off?”
He looked back at her and gave a halfhearted shrug, while Anna did her very best not to notice the ripple of muscle in his broad shoulders. His left biceps bore a tattoo of some sort of military insignia, and Anna squinted for a better look.
“You told me to take off my shirt,” he pointed out as he reached for his belt buckle. “My pants, too, if I recall. Just following orders.”
His eyes glittered with laughter Anna could tell he was working to contain. She wondered what it would be like to tickle him until he gave up and burst out laughing. Before she knew it, she was imagining her fingers stroking those hard, glorious abs as she twined her nails in that dark chest hair and rubbed her—
“I see,” Anna said, taking a step back. “That is, I’m seeing a whole lot more of you than I probably should. I’m very sorry for the confusion, Mr.—”
“Patton. Grant Patton. You can call me Grant.”
“Grant Patton?” She blinked. “The Grant Patton?”
“I’m not sure I require a definite article before my name, but yeah. Do we know each other?”
“You’re the photographer,” she blurted, feeling foolish. “I saw your photos. The engagement photos you took for Mac and Kelli? They were incredible. I’ve been planning weddings for more than ten years, and those were the best images I’ve ever seen. You’re Mac’s brother?”
He nodded and regarded her with renewed curiosity. “And you’re Kelli’s friend the wedding planner? Funny we never crossed paths in Mexico.”
“Right. Well, after Mac and Kelli decided on a simple little family-only ceremony on the beach, and I had to hurry home for another wedding I was organizing and—wait, you’re here in Hawaii for Sheri’s wedding?”
“Yep. She was kind enough to time it with my leave. I’m the best man.” He grimaced, and Anna wondered what that was about.
“Okay, well, I’m really very sorry about all this.”
“I’m not,” he said, holding her gaze. “Not at all.”
Anna swallowed and turned away. As if on cue, a wiry man with gray hair and a long beard came dashing down the beach, throwing clothes off as he ran. “Sorry I’m late, guys! You haven’t started yet?”
“This is the be
st man,” the bride said to Anna, grabbing the newcomer by the arm. “Bob, this is Anna Keebler, the wedding planner. This is—I’m sorry, what was your name again?”
“Grant Patton.”
“Well, Grant, you’re welcome to stick around for the ceremony if you like, but you’ll have to be nude,” the bride said. “This is a nude wedding, so only the staff can wear clothing. Well, except me.” She grinned and touched the edge of her veil. “Anna insisted I could still wear this.”
“It’s a mantilla veil with lace edging,” Anna said, turning to adjust the comb. “My absolute favorite veil I’ve ever seen on a bride. Worth making an exception.”
She saw Grant smiling from the corner of her eye, and she turned to see him watching her instead of the bride’s bare breasts.
A gentleman.
“I appreciate the offer to stick around, but I have to run,” he said. “I’ll be seeing you around though, Anna.”
“Oh?” She swallowed, wondering if he was asking her out.
“The wedding. Sam and Sheri?”
“Sam and Sheri, right, of course. Absolutely. It’s going to be a wonderful ceremony.”
“I’m sure it is.” He held her gaze a few more beats, then nodded. “Nice meeting you.”
He slung his T-shirt around his shoulders and turned away. He began to jog back the direction he’d come, muscles rippling in the sunlight. His calves were strong and lean, and his bare back glistened with sweat, and Anna pictured him in the shower after a long run, water sluicing over his bronze skin, those massive hands rubbing soap over his chest, then lower until his fingers slid around—
“Who was that?”
Anna turned to see her sister moving toward her along the beach. She wore a green dress and an expression of utter amazement.
“Grant Patton,” Anna said, savoring the taste of his name on her tongue. “He’s the brother of the bride in the final wedding we’re doing.”
“How do you know him?”
“I don’t. Not at all. But he took the most amazing engagement photos for my friend, Kelli, in Mexico.”
“He’s a photographer?”
“I don’t think that’s his job. I’m pretty sure he’s a military guy of some sort. Marines, maybe.”
“That explains why he’s built like a tank. You should ask him out. You could use a vacation fling.”
“Please,” Anna said, feeling the heat creep into her cheeks. “He’s hardly my type.”
Janelle rolled her eyes. “That’s right, you like narcissistic, tortured artist types who won’t commit.”
“Not true.” Anna bit her lip, knowing it was completely true.
Not that Janelle knew the reason.
“He doesn’t need to be your type for a fling,” Janelle pointed out. “He looks like he’d be great in bed.”
“Janelle!”
“Well he does.”
“I’m here in a professional capacity organizing a wedding for his sister. A fling would not be a smart move.”
Janelle shrugged. “Fine.” She was quiet a moment, and Anna let her gaze wander down the beach to where the bride and groom were taking turns swatting each other with palm fronds while the photographer clicked away with his camera. She’d had to pay Byron extra to agree to work a nude wedding, something he felt compromised his artistic integrity.
“I talked to Jacques,” Janelle blurted.
Anna gritted her teeth and turned back to her sister. “Why are you calling your ex-husband?”
“I didn’t say I called him.”
“You didn’t have to. I know you. You’re here in Hawaii, feeling nostalgic about your wedding, wondering how he’s doing, so you pick up the phone—”
“She’s pregnant,” Janelle said. “His girlfriend’s pregnant.”
Anna winced and squeezed her sister’s hand. “I’m sorry.”
Janelle sighed and shook her head. “It is what it is.”
“Which is a giant clusterfuck of a marriage that ended when your ex turned into a psycho control freak who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.” Anna meant to keep the venom out of her voice, but it didn’t quite work out. Truth be told, she was probably angrier at herself than she was at Jacques, but her sister didn’t need to know that.
“Anyway,” Janelle said. “He claims it doesn’t mean anything. That he still wants me back.”
“I hope you told him to go fuck himself.”
“With a flaming potato.”
“Good girl.” Anna sighed. “I’m so sorry, hon.”
“Quit saying that,” Janelle said. “I don’t want us to be sorry. I want us to be wild and carefree and happy and maybe a little bit drunk for the next few days. I want us to have crazy flings with inappropriate men and go home with sand wedged in uncomfortable body crevices.”
“Thank you for that mental picture,” Anna said. “You do remember we’re here to work, right?”
“Of course.” Janelle looked back at the bride and groom. “Speaking of which, I should probably go spray the wedding party with more sunscreen.”
“Watch out for the groomsman with the goatee. He’s very handsy.”
“I noticed.”
“The bride and groom look happy though.”
Anna watched the groom trying to juggle a trio of coconuts and tried not to notice which parts of him looked happiest. The bride stood nearby, watching her husband-to-be with a disturbing mix of admiration and lust.
“So you’re really never going to do it?”
Anna snapped her attention off the groom’s anatomy and looked at her sister. “Do it?”
“Get married. I can’t believe you plan weddings for a living and you never want to get married.”
Anna shrugged. “I love weddings, but marriage isn’t really my thing.”
“I know, you’ve been saying that for years, but I figured you’d change your mind.”
“About getting married?” Anna shook her head, fighting to keep her voice bright and even. “Definitely not. Marriage holds zero appeal for me. Besides, I’m much too busy.”
Janelle folded her arms over her chest and frowned. “Too busy to be married? You’re aware this isn’t 1946, right? Women don’t get married and stay home milking cows and doing laundry by hand in a washtub.”
“Cows and laundry have nothing to do with why I don’t want to get married.”
“So what is it then?”
Anna shook her head and turned away. She’d never shared the secret with her sister, and she wasn’t about to do it now. She rummaged in the woven tote she’d parked next to a piece of driftwood and came up with a can of spray sunscreen.
“Here,” she said, thrusting it into Janelle’s hands. “Go make sure the groom doesn’t sunburn anything he’s going to need for the honeymoon. I’ll go do the rest of the wedding party.”
“Fine. But don’t think I didn’t notice you’re avoiding the question.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, and went off to spray SPF on strangers’ bare butts.
…
The next morning, Grant was dozing under a tree beside the Wailua River. Though he held a fishing pole in one hand, it was unlikely he’d catch any fish. There was no hook on the end of his line.
He yawned and tipped his hat over his face, shading himself from the early morning sun. The earthy scent of river water hung in the air as water lapped at the red-dirt shore and a family of chickens clucked cheerfully in a nearby shrub.
Grant stretched his legs out in front of his sand chair. They were still a little stiff from yesterday’s unexpected jog on the beach, which served him right. Running off like some kind of lunatic to avoid awkward family conversations was probably not the best way to deal with things.
Still, the beautiful woman on the beach had been a nice surprise. Anna. He combed his memory for any details he could recall about her. Mac’s wife, Kelli, had roomed with her in college for a while. He knew she lived in Portland and owned a wedding-planning business, and he knew his s
ister had hired her on Kelli’s recommendation. Those facts he’d filed in the back of his brain the same way he’d cataloged a grocery list or the names of the players on the Seattle Mariners baseball team.
But now that he’d met her in real life, something felt different. Every detail about her seemed like a valuable gem, worth turning over in his palm and studying in a different light. He was intrigued by the bright flashes of color in her hair—the natural hue of carrot cake mixed with the subtle blue just behind her ear. He remembered the feather tattoo on the inside of her right ankle and wondered what the significance was. Did she have a boyfriend? Husband? He hadn’t seen a wedding ring, but maybe she didn’t wear one. She certainly seemed a little unconventional.
Grant wasn’t sure when he nodded off or how long he’d been out. All he knew was that a woman’s scream jarred him awake with his heart thudding in his ears. He jumped to his feet and surveyed his surroundings, years of military training commanding him to identify the threat.
The woman screamed again, and Grant whirled around.
There was Anna, standing in the water with blood pouring down her chest.
On the shore, a man leveled a gun at her and fired.
Chapter Three
Anna had no idea where Grant came from.
One minute she was ordering Janelle to stop squealing like a four-year-old every time Bryce the photographer fired the paintball gun.
The next thing she knew, Bryce was flat on his back with Grant’s massive forearm across his windpipe.
Anna gulped and splashed out of the water, her bare feet slipping on the soggy red earth.
“Grant!” she yelled, before it occurred to her she should probably be yelling Bryce’s name. He was the one flailing with Grant’s knee to his groin.
Grant looked up just as Anna reached his side. Janelle was three steps behind, panting for breath.
“Stop, Grant!” Anna gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Urg,” said Bryce.
Grant released the pressure on Bryce’s throat, but kept him pinned to the ground. He turned and stared at Anna’s chest. “You’re bleeding.”
Alarmed, she looked down at herself. With a flutter of relief, she swiped a hand over her breastbone and held it out for him to see. “It’s paint. Red paint, I swear. Nontoxic, water-based paint so it doesn’t hurt the fish.”
