“Is this cousin a golfer too?”
“Oh god, no. You have to be insane to make a career out of hitting a little white ball and then walking around to find it so you can hit it again.”
Sam snorted with delight at Andi’s mocking description of Kyle’s sports prowess.
“Nope. Ryan runs his own business. Pretty successful at it too. He’s a graphic designer with a couple of print shops.”
A graphic designer with a couple of print shops? Sam immediately envisioned a board-short-wearing hipster kitted out in a custom t-shirt he had made just for the occasion.
“Oh, and remember earlier when you were whining about the lack of alphas in the wild?”
Huh? Alphas in the wild? What the hell was Andi up to?
“This guy takes the term alpha, redesigns it in a spectacularly sexy way, and then sits back and smirks. Hope you have a fire extinguisher in that tiny purse ‘cause, girlfriend, your panties are likely to catch fire once you get a load of this guy.”
Sam dug in and came to a swift halt. “Andrea Frank. You promised me! No friends and no matchmaking.”
“You said nothing about matchmaking.” She snickered. “And Ryan isn’t a friend. He’s Kyle’s cousin. As in family. So there.” Andi ended this statement of fact with a belligerent sniff.
The mischievous glint in her friend’s eyes felt like a jolt of triumph—one Sam was at a loss to fend off.
Dammit.
She was being set up.
Sam glanced down at her outfit. And set up in full costume. Her eyes closed, and she let out a defeated groan. “I will murder you for this,” she hissed.
“Save your breath, sweetie. At least until after you get an eyeful of who’s swimming in my fiancé’s gene pool. I think you’ll be stripping down to your birthday suit in no time for a quick dip in the water.”
“Sheesh. Settle down, would you?” Shaking his head with mockery, Ryan eased back in his seat, stretched his legs out, and crossed them at the ankle. Having angled his chair to the side so an arm was resting on the bistro table, he toyed with his drink and eyed up his high-strung cousin.
Normally calm and unruffled, Kyle was literally a jumble of nerves tonight. He’d even knocked a glass of water over when they sat down with how excited he was acting.
In every way that mattered, seeing his cousin, who was also way more than just a friend, so completely unglued was funny as shit. If the guy craned his neck one more time to peer anxiously along the walkway, he was going to need a chiropractor in the morning to ease a hellacious stiff neck.
Kyle shot off a patented Sommerfield smirk—something they each were particularly good at—and capped it off with a covertly flashed finger.
He had to chuckle at the rude gesture and in his head heard Uncle Burt, Kyle’s dad, schooling them as teenagers. ‘Gentlemen do not make scenes in public.’
Slumping against the back of his chair, Kyle restlessly fiddled with a drink napkin. “I think I’m losing it,” he drawled with amusement clearly evident in his voice. “Don’t know what to do with myself when Andi’s not around. It’s like she’s my. . .” Kyle grimaced. “I don’t know,” he groaned with a jerking headshake. “My oxygen or something like that. Can’t breathe right without her.”
Personally, Ryan was happy to hear this. Far as he was concerned, there wasn’t any goddamn reason to get married unless you really couldn’t imagine living without the other person.
Studying the man across the table, he felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. It was a good thing that Kyle had it so bad for his fiancée. Until Andrea Frank blew into his cousin’s life, the guy had been enjoying his stud muffin status on the pro golfing circuit. Maybe enjoying it a bit too much, Ryan thought as he recalled the endless troop of country club groupies and alimony cougars who stood in line for a shot at the gold pro’s wood. Jesus. Talk about making a scene! Fit to be tied, their families were in constant meltdown over what their elderly grandmother described in her fearsome Southern drawl as his tawdry peccadilloes.
The stupid shit even posed half-naked for a story in some golf magazine, and while the press firestorm had been like dumping gold in the man’s bank account, the Sommerfield family looked dimly upon Kyle’s flirtation with excess. But now that he was getting married? They were on cloud nine and Andi was being feted and spoiled as if she was the salvation of their entire family.
When he’d first heard about this destination wedding on a world-class golf course in Hawaii, he’d been worried that Kyle’s bride was a publicity diva. But his cousin had quickly informed everyone that despite allowing one of the top sports magazine exclusive access, no PR bullshit would interfere with their special day. Andi wasn’t like that even though the publicity would be good for her business. This was about them and their love, and though the whole thing seemed like a Hallmark card, Ryan had been pleased when Kyle asked him to be his best man.
Hmph. Best man. What the hell did that even mean? If he were the ‘best’ man, he’d be the one getting married, right? Wrong word choice. Because he was that kind of guy, Ryan researched the term and traditions around it and found a better description in groomsman or supporter. That was what he was doing. Supporting one of the best men he’d ever known.
“She’s a lucky girl,” he declared.
Kyle glanced at him with a sharp jerk of his head. “No, Ry. I’m the lucky one, man. Andi, she gets me. You understand? She knows and she loves me anyway. Mom was right.”
“About what?”
“She told me a long time ago that one day someone would come along who would touch me here,” he said with a hand on his heart. “Someone unexpected who would make the dark spaces shrink and replace them with life. Until Andi touched me here. . .” He spoke with such somberness, Ryan had to swallow back an emotional lump building in his throat. “I didn’t know what that meant. You’ll find out someday. An unexpected girl, a shot to the heart, and bam. Life.”
If only it was that simple, he thought. “Yeah, well, whatever man. You love the girl. She thinks you’re the bomb. That’s enough for me. Listen,” he said, pushing back from the table, “I’m gonna hit the head before your lady love arrives. And I’ll grab our hula girl waitress and make sure a bottle of champagne makes its way to our table.”
“Good call.” Kyle chuckled. “Starting off with Jim Beam was probably a mistake.”
“Southern tradition.” He smirked with a hearty slap on his cousin’s shoulder as he passed by. “Try not to make a mess while I’m gone. Okay?”
And with that, he ambled off in the direction of the men’s restroom, smiling the whole way.
Sam saw Kyle before Andi had. And good thing too. Judging by his restless fidgeting, he was just as anxious to see his bride as she was to finally be with him again.
She’d video-chatted with the handsome golfer loads of times and knew immediately why her friend was so taken. Not only was Kyle Sommerfield easy on the eyes, but he also had a well-defined sense of Southern boy charm. Everyone knew there was nothing quite like manners and a sly wit to charm a girly girl.
What surprised her, though, was how emotionally entwined the couple was.
Turning suddenly, she put both hands on Andi’s shoulders and held her still for a quick inspection. “You chewed your lipstick off, sweetie. Do a quick swipe, why don’t you?”
She fiddled with Andi’s necklace, fishing the clasp around until it was at the back of her neck, as an explosion of nerves interfered with the lipstick search. Taking the small bag from her friend’s shaky hands, Sam peered inside, immediately locating the L’Oreal lipstick her friend was currently in love with. It was a barely pink nude that brilliantly matched Andi’s golden blonde highlights. Uncapping the tube, she handed it off and winked. “That’s a good color for Kyle.” She barely stopped from snickering.
Adeptly applying a layer of color to her happily quivering lips, Andi returned the wink. “We save the cherry red for naughty times. In private.”
Of cour
se, she went there, Sam groaned to herself. “Ready for your entrance?” she asked with a cheeky giggle.
Andi’s head tilted back and her laughter rang out. “Are you kidding? Entrance? Shit. Get out of the way, girlfriend, ‘cause I’m about to tackle that man!”
She got shoved to the side with dramatic flair as her friend poofed her hair, smacked her lips, and growled, “Horny Bride set to stun. Let’s go!” And with that, Andi shot around the row of lush tropical greenery edging the walkway and zeroed in on a happy, smiling Kyle.
Sam slowed awkwardly and took her time catching up in order to give the reunited couple ten seconds of privacy. They needed it too. Especially since Andi jumped on her fiancé and clung to him through a scorching hot kiss.
Swaying back and forth, from foot to foot, in uncomfortable silence, she noticed that the wait staff was snickering and gesturing at the incendiary make-out session happening in full view. With a little grimace, Sam cleared her throat.
“Guys,” she muttered. “I think they’re breaking out a hose to cool you two down. Either get a room or keep some air open in between.”
The soon-to-be-married lovebirds were preposterously funny with the over-the-top PDA.
Andi, grinning like an idiot, stepped back an inch but stayed plastered to Kyle’s front. “Okay, you two. First, make nice with each other and then you, sir,” her friend purred with a finger pointing at her fiancé’s chest, “will grab a seat so I can give you a pre-wedding lap dance.”
Sam laughed and shook her head. “Kyle. Good to see you. Not too late, you know. Still time to bolt for the mainland. I think there’s a spot in the witness protection program if you’re inclined to ditch this crazy bitch.”
Andi stomped her foot and made a face while Kyle barked out an amused laugh. He somehow managed to disentangle from Andi’s octopus-worthy clutch and came toward her with the clear intent of offering a hug.
Going in for a cheek kiss, he let loose with some familiar Sommerfield drawl and murmured, “Like the dress, by the way. Looks a bit familiar. My bride held you captive in her closet, didn’t she?”
Sam gave him a good-natured swat on the chest as she pulled away. “Yeah, and she paid a price for it too. Snagged an awesome set of undies that she can’t have back!”
“Smart girl.” Kyle smirked.
“Excuse me,” Andi bit out. “Are you flirting with my husband?”
“He’s not your husband yet, girlfriend, so flirting is still on the table.” Sam ended the taunt with a wink and air kiss blown in Kyle’s direction.
“Sheesh,” Andi muttered. “I dressed you up to knock Ryan’s socks off. Not Kyle’s!”
“Cat fight?” Kyle teased with an exaggerated wag of his brows. “Cool. Wait till Ry comes back from the restroom, though, okay? A wet t-shirt contest is more his style, but two hot females in cocktail dresses scrapping it out on a warm Hawaiian night? Damn, ladies. That shit’s golden.”
Pushing her fiancé into a chair, Andi harrumphed with award-winning panache and took her seat, as promised, on his lap. But not without a good deal of wiggling and maneuvering. So much so that Sam saw Kyle’s jaw harden into a tense line.
Yep, she thought. I could learn a thing or two from watching them.
After a good minute of ear-shattering silence, Kyle cleared his throat and made a valiant effort to engage Sam in conversation. He didn’t know it, but right then and there, the name Sommerfield moved up a dozen notches in Sam’s esteem. She respected a man who had manners.
“Samantha. We can’t wait for you to meet my cousin, Ryan. Isn’t that right, honey?”
Andi and her shit-eating grin practically glowed. It reminded Sam of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland.
Lobbing what was essentially a snark-propelled grenade into her lap, Andi cooed out her reply as Sam’s eyes narrowed. “I think she got the wrong idea about the graphic design thing. If I know Samantha, and I do—better than anyone does—she’s picturing James Franco in board shorts with a sketchpad and a bag of weed.”
Really? Was that necessary? Damn her. Sam’s face flushed with heat from embarrassment. While she pictured something more along the lines of a bearded hipster slumped in front of a MacBook Pro, the board shorts and bag of weed was pretty accurate.
Kyle’s amused snort only made Sam squirm a bit more.
“She doesn’t know?” he asked his smirking bride-to-be.
“Nope,” Andi replied.
The two had some eyeball communication thing going on, and then they both laughed.
“The dress and shoes are a nice touch, babe,” he assured Andi with a quick peck on the lips.
Her friend’s smug answer? “I know, right?”
This was what being set up felt like, although she didn’t have a clue what exactly she was being set up for.
A sarong-wearing waitress sashayed toward the table earning the poor girl a fearsome scowl from Andi when Kyle made the classic guy mistake of doing a double take. Sam bit her tongue to keep from howling with laughter.
In rather short order, Andi took control of the table and asked, so sweetly that it made Sam’s teeth ache, if the waitress wouldn’t mind handing their table over to one of the waiters. She explained with great flourish how she was a bride and should be indulged—a concept the waitress clearly found funny. Next thing anybody knew, a bare-chested waiter in a colorful pareo wrap that showcased his tree trunk thighs appeared at the table. Andi beamed with her smile headlights set to high while Kyle looked like he was about to swallow his tongue.
Leave it to her BFF to totally stir the pot. The truly yummy Polynesian man was sporting a tribal looking tattoo on his shoulder that ran down his back. So instead of placing an order, her mischief-making friend engaged in a lively back and forth with Paul from Old Koloa Town about everything from tattoo art to sugar plantations.
Covertly studying Kyle’s reaction, she wondered what being with a man like him would be like. That he adored Andi was plain to see but there was something else. Something deeply possessive and fierce all but oozed from the man’s skin. From her angled viewpoint, she saw Kyle’s hand move and slip under the tablecloth. A few seconds later, Andi stumbled over her words.
Holy shit.
Quickly looking away, Sam scanned the surroundings for something, anything, to think about other than Kyle’s hand doing lord-knows-what under the table, but her gaze stuttered to a fast halt when the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in the flesh came into view. Everything in her peripheral vision faded out-of-focus at that moment, and all she saw, all she knew, was a thunderbolt of awareness.
Moving with the sure confidence of a man comfortable in his own skin, he was tall, broad shouldered, and beyond handsome. With dark hair, his chin tilted slightly, and his head held high, he reminded her of a gladiator aware of the approval from all who looked upon him—a strange thought, but there you have it.
Dressed in a plain white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled back, she caught sight of a thick men’s watch strapped to his wrist. The man’s broad shoulders tapered quite deliciously to a trim waist where she became fascinated with the buckle of his leather belt. Long legs, sturdy thighs and a gait that was half swagger and half fuck-off-and-die mesmerized Sam.
He was, in simple words, nothing short of breathtakingly impressive.
Stopping at the end of the tropical-themed bar, he was speaking to the bartender when one of the scantily clad waitresses sidled up to him and put her hand on his arm. Sam almost leaped from her seat so she could push the woman away—a reaction that both stunned and excited her.
Sensing her clenched jaw, she tried to send a relaxation signal when she stopped in mid-breath and just hung there. Annoyed at the woman trying to chat him up, she was surprised when his reaction was an arched brow and a pointed look at the hand caressing his arm.
Oooh. My gladiator doesn’t like being toyed with.
Wait. What?
My? Gladiator? Where the hell had that come from?
Shaking her head, as if doing so would bring some sense back to her thoughts, Sam exhaled sharply and bit her lip but didn’t look away.
The pose Gladiator Man struck as the waitress continued to crowd close gave Sam pause. Whoa. If he looked at her the way he was glowering at the girl and her calculating performance, she’d fold up her lawn chair and run as fast as she could.
“What?” Sam murmured when she heard her name called.
“Earth to Sami.” Andi was chuckling. “Ground control to mission specialist Samantha Evers.”
Swinging her gaze to the other occupants of the table, Sam was relieved to find both Kyle’s hands in clear sight. She blinked a couple of times and took a sip of ice water. What the hell was wrong with her? It was so unlike her to be distracted by man candy walking by.
“I said,” Andi pointed out with pinpoint enunciation, “that we have to update everyone’s itinerary. Command performance dinner with the ‘rents tomorrow. Just the wedding party, though. Everyone else is booked for a private luau on the beach.”
“Right, right, right,” she answered. Pulling her thoughts into the present, Sam refocused all her attention on the happy couple across from her. “By the way, Kyle. Your mom is so sweet. I met her yesterday.” Chuckling, she gave them a wry smile. “Nobody told me she’d be a dead ringer for Reba.”
Andi’s smile was broad. And genuine. “Melanie Sommerfield is the real deal. But don’t be fooled by that Southern belle thing she does. The woman has a deliciously crude sense of humor and can issue a putdown with so much charm, the other person says thank you.”
“Oh, good lord. Bet your mom loves that, huh?”
Andi stiffened. Her mother was a card-carrying real housewife. Of the suburban kind where caring what everybody else thought and keeping up with what she called ‘the proprieties’ consumed the woman twenty-four seven.
Sam always felt Dolores Frank’s starched and stiff personality was the result of having her husband leave one day for a business trip—with his secretary—and never come home.
The Wedding Affair (The Affair Series Book 2) Page 3
