The Best Man's Plan (Special Edition)

by Gina Wilkins

  “Maybe…but I’m not an invalid. I don’t need to go to bed—not to rest, anyway.”

  Obviously she had piqued his male ego by being a bit too solicitous. Oh, well, she wasn’t very good at that sort of thing, anyway. “How about something to eat, instead?”

  He shrugged. “If I can’t have you, I suppose I’d settle for a tuna sandwich.”

  “You’re in luck. You picked one of my culinary specialties.” She waved him toward the couch. “Sit. Watch TV or something. I won’t be long.”

  She heard a baseball game playing on the TV as she moved into the kitchen to make tuna sandwiches. They ate in front of the television. Simple fare, but Bryan seemed to enjoy it. Grace half expected they would root for different teams—it seemed they were always moving in opposite directions—but it turned out they were both Cardinals fans.

  Somehow they ended up side by side on the couch, stockinged feet propped on the coffee table, enthusiastically cheering their team. Grace found herself laughing often at Bryan’s acerbic comments about the plays that didn’t work, the calls he disputed, or some of the more inane remarks from the announcers. If his arm was bothering him too badly, he didn’t allow it to show.

  It was hard to believe that a day that had taken such dramatic turns could end up so cozily on her couch.

  There was a break in the game, and a silly beer ad filled the television screen. Grace glanced at her watch. “You need to take another painkiller in a few minutes. Can I get you anything else to drink?”

  “Thanks, but I still have half a can of soda left.”

  “Is your arm hurting?”

  He shrugged. “It’s making itself known, but it’s tolerable.”

  She glanced at his bandages. “It has to hurt. I’ve burned myself before and it’s awful.”

  To illustrate, she twisted her left leg and pointed to a whitish oval scar on the back of her calf. “I did this on the exhaust pipe of a motorcycle when I was fifteen and too dumb to know it was hot. That sucker hurt like hell for weeks.”

  He looked intrigued. “Were you driving the bike?”

  “No, I was riding on the back—barefoot and wearing a pair of shorts. I did have on a helmet.”

  “That’s encouraging, I suppose. So who was driving?”

  “The high school bad boy. Everyone called him Bodie. His hair was long and his ears were pierced. He was the first guy I actually knew who had a tattoo. It was a skull with a snake coming out the mouth.”

  “Charming.”

  She wrinkled her nose, remembering the thrill of riding that powerful motorcycle with a boy everyone considered dangerous. She’d had to sneak around to see him, since her parents practically went into spasms every time his name was mentioned.

  Bryan eyed her speculatively. “So far you’ve mentioned dating a biker and a rodeo cowboy. Drawn to the rebel type, are you?”

  She looked intently at the television screen, where the baseball game was back in play. “I suppose I was—once.”

  “What about Chloe? Did she ever tiptoe on the wild side?”

  She gave a short laugh. “Chloe dated the president of the chess club. In college, her boyfriend was the vice president of the College Republicans. Donovan’s the most dangerous man she’s ever been involved with—and he’s a white-collar rebel.”

  “An interesting way to describe him.”

  “A former soldier turned bodyguard turned corporate executive. What would you call him?”

  “I just call him my friend.”

  She took a sip of her soda, then nearly spewed it across the room when she felt Bryan’s fingers on her bare leg. She lowered the aluminum can to look at him. “What are you doing?”

  “Just looking at your scar—in case mine ends up the same way.” He traced the outline of the scar with one fingertip—and it was all she could do not to shiver in reaction.

  She tried to speak coherently. “I, uh…maybe you’ll luck out and you won’t have a scar at all.”

  “I could always cover it with a tattoo. Would you find that irresistibly attractive?”

  She had no intention of admitting that she already came all too close to thinking of him that way. “I told you, I outgrew that sort of thing a long time ago.”

  He was still stroking her leg—very lightly, his fingertips barely brushing her skin. “What would it take for you to find me irresistible?”

  “A miracle,” she snapped, shifting her weight on the couch.

  He gave her a smile that should have been illegal. “I’m rather good at arranging miracles.”

  As he spoke, he tickled the back of her knee, a spot she had never realized was particularly erotic—until now. A quiver ran just beneath her skin from that point of contact to the center of her abdomen. She gulped and swung her feet to the floor. “I’ll get your pills. I think you need to be medicated again.”

  “I can wait awhile longer.”

  But she couldn’t. She needed something productive to do before her hormones mutinied against her common sense and caused her to do something really stupid.

  She stood and hurried to the kitchen, thinking of how ironic it was that she had brought Bryan to her apartment because she thought he needed someone to take care of him. Turned out that Bryan Falcon was just as hard to handle injured as he was in perfect health.

  Chapter Eight

  Bryan wouldn’t have admitted it to Grace for anything, of course, but his arm hurt like the devil. The burns weren’t serious—he’d scorched off the hair and a thin layer of skin—but the abused nerve endings had been punishing him in throbbing waves all afternoon. Especially now that the painkiller had worn off.

  The doctor had instructed him to keep the wound clean and dry, and to see his own physician for further care instructions. He had added that the burns were mostly superficial and shouldn’t cause any long-term effects. Grace was making too much of the incident, actually, but he couldn’t say he disliked being the focus of her solicitude—as endearingly awkward as she was in offering it.

  This newest glimpse into her past—her long-ago attraction to the local “bad boy”—intrigued him, as so much about her did. The more time he spent with Grace, the more he became aware that there were many layers to her, some of them hidden so deeply beneath the surface that it would take persistence and determination for anyone else to uncover them.

  Funny. When he’d first met her, he had thought of her as a slightly more acerbic version of Chloe. Now he understood just how erroneous that impression had been.

  He admired Chloe a great deal. She was intelligent, witty, kindhearted, competent and serene. A pleasure to be around. She would make his sometimes difficult friend Donovan very happy.

  As for her twin—Grace was more complex in some ways than Chloe. Moodier, more reserved, more suspicious—traits that had initially taken him aback, but now made him more interested in learning everything about her. He was curious how a woman so similar to Chloe in appearance, raised at the same time by the same parents, could turn out so differently. It could possibly take years to fully decipher the puzzle that was Grace. Maybe a lifetime.

  That errant thought made him clear his throat as she came back into the room carrying a glass of water. Damn, she looked good in those shorts. And now that he knew exactly how silky her long, shapely legs felt, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on them again.

  She held out one hand to him, revealing two white pills in her palm. “Take these.”

  “I’ll take one of them. You can put the other back in the container.”

  “You’re supposed to take two.”

  “I don’t like that fuzzy-head feeling. And it doesn’t hurt that badly, anyway.”

  “But…”

  He settled the issue by plucking one of the pills from her hand and popping it into his mouth. Taking the glass of water, he washed the pill down. “There,” he said, lowering the glass. “That should do it.”

  She shook her head, but didn’t try to insist that he take the second pill. A
fter returning it to the container, she stood at the end of the couch, looking as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do next. “Would you like me to call one of your people to drive you home?”

  “My people?” he repeated, amused by her wording.

  “Should I have said one of your minions?”

  “Cute. But, no, I don’t need one of my ‘minions’ at the moment. I can drive myself home when I’m ready.”

  “You aren’t supposed to drive or operate heavy equipment while you’re taking those pills.”

  “I’m not planning to use a forklift this evening. I’m just driving home, which is only a few miles from here, I should point out. I would be on the road for all of ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “That’s plenty of time to get into an accident and hurt yourself…or someone else. At least let me call Jason or someone to give you a lift.”

  “Jason is my security officer, not my chauffeur. He has much more important duties to attend to.”

  “Then who is your chauffeur?”

  “I don’t have one. I prefer to drive myself.”

  “Then I’ll drive you and call a cab to bring me home.”

  “Are you so anxious to get rid of me?”

  She crossed her arms and looked away from him. “I simply thought you might want to rest. You’ve had a rather stressful day.”

  He decided he’d had enough of her benevolence, charming as it was. It was time to point out to her that it would take more than a couple of burns to get the best of him. Rising to his feet, he paused just a moment to let the medication-induced dizziness subside, making sure he gave no sign of the condition. And then he moved toward Grace.

  “I haven’t found the day particularly stressful. It was very nice, actually. I enjoyed having brunch with you and wandering through the streets of Hot Springs with you. I’ve had a nice time sitting here watching baseball with you.”

  “Did you enjoy almost being trapped in a burning car?” she asked cynically. “Having your arm burned? Spending a couple of hours in a hospital emergency room?”

  He shrugged. “I’m glad I was able to help that family—though if I hadn’t, someone else would have. As for the E.R., I didn’t particularly enjoy being swabbed and swaddled, but it was worth even that to spend the day with you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “There are no microphones hidden in my apartment. You can drop the phony sweet talk.”

  “Maybe I mean it.”

  “And maybe you’re full of hot air.”

  He chuckled and reached up to stroke his knuckles along her jaw line. “I really do enjoy being with you, Grace.”

  Her cheeks darkened. It always fascinated him that she blushed so easily with him. And it pleased him that he could make her do so. The stern frown she gave him didn’t quite diminish the effect of the blush. “I’ll drive you home now.”

  “Not just yet. First I want to thank you for taking such good care of me this afternoon.”

  Her reply was brusque. “You’re welcome.”

  He bent his head closer to hers. “I haven’t thanked you yet.”

  “You don’t—”

  He smothered whatever she intended to say beneath his lips.

  He had kissed her before—to play his part, or to prove a point, or just to shake her up. This time he kissed her for no other reason except that he wanted to. He wanted her.

  Had she made any effort to push him away, he would have backed off immediately. He gave her every opportunity to do so, holding back at first until he could tell if she was going to respond. At first she froze, holding herself very still for what seemed like forever, and then very gradually, she began to respond. Her lips moved tentatively, experimentally. And when he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, she parted her lips for him.

  The result was powerful enough to almost rock him back on his heels. If Grace kissed this well when she was hardly even trying, he couldn’t imagine how it might be when she gave it her all. He couldn’t wait to find out.

  It seemed there was still a bit of the rebel left in Grace.

  He knew he should draw back before the kiss got out of control—as it so easily could. Already his hands itched to caress and explore. The blood was beginning to surge through his veins and pool in his groin. It was only a kiss, but it could so easily develop into more.

  He found the resolve to pull away by reminding himself that Grace would probably bolt if he tried to move too quickly. He would have to start all over winning her trust—what little he had gained thus far.

  He half expected Grace to turn away when he ended the kiss—to either pretend it hadn’t happened or to bluster and blame him for initiating it in the first place. He’d figured out that bravado was her way of hiding insecurities she didn’t want anyone else to see.

  Instead her gaze held his as she smoothed her hands down the sides of her shorts and cleared her throat. “Well,” she said after a moment. “I suppose that was an emotional release, of sorts. It was a more traumatic day than you’ve admitted, wasn’t it?”

  So she had decided to be calm and analytical about the kiss. He would almost prefer one of her fiery flashes of temper. At least that would indicate that he wasn’t the only one who’d been affected on an emotional level. “That’s what you think we were doing? Letting off steam?”

  She did turn away then, her expression half-hidden from him. “Of course. What else?”

  What else? He didn’t think she was ready to hear his theories about that yet. “Maybe I’d better go now,” he said instead.

  She turned back to face him. “I’ll drive you.”

  “If you insist. You can bring the car back here. I’ll have it picked up tomorrow.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “You would let me keep it overnight?”

  “Of course. If anything happens to it, I’ll simply take it out of your hide.”

  That made her smile, as he had hoped it would. As much as he liked his car, it wasn’t quite as important to him as Grace implied. He could buy a fleet of sports cars if he wanted. But he enjoyed watching Grace’s pleasure with the vehicle—not that he was stupid enough to offer again to buy her one.

  There was no more talk about the kiss during the drive to the house he maintained in a gated neighborhood on the Arkansas River. In fact, there was very little talk at all. Bryan leaned back against his seat, trying not to be too obvious about watching Grace as she drove. And while they might not have talked about the kiss, that didn’t mean he stopped thinking about it, replaying it in his mind, wondering what might have happened if he’d taken the risk of carrying it further.

  He’d kissed Chloe a couple of times during their few dates. They had been friendly kisses at the end of the evenings. Warm and affectionate, but hardly passionate. At the time, he’d considered himself holding back until Chloe had a chance to decide what she wanted from their relationship. Only now did he realize that he’d subconsciously sensed that they weren’t right for each other, no matter how diligently he had tried to convince himself that they were.

  It had been easier with Chloe, in some ways. He’d known exactly where they stood and what he had thought he wanted from her. He had liked her, admired her, respected her. She’d met almost every qualification he’d listed for a potential mate.

  When she’d been kidnapped, he had been frantic with worry about her, and guiltily furious that her association with him had put her in danger. But even then, Grace had occupied his thoughts almost as much as Chloe. He’d spent those days reassuring her that he would bring her sister safely back to her, and dealing with her fear and anger. He’d sat quietly while Grace had released her roiling emotions by yelling at him, and he had watched over her when stress and exhaustion had finally caught up with her and she’d fallen asleep on his couch.

  His resigned acceptance when Chloe told him there would be no future for them had proved his heart had never been involved in their experimental courtship. The quiet pleasure he’d felt when he’d realized that Chloe and Donovan had fallen i
n love demonstrated once and for all that he’d never thought of Chloe as more than a good friend.

  His feelings about Grace weren’t nearly as clear-cut. Nor was he at all confident about how to proceed from here with her.

  Grace was always uncomfortable in Bryan’s house. Though there was nothing she would describe as ostentatious about the place, she saw signs of his wealth everywhere she looked. The strict security measures established by the community. The marble and crystal and fresh flowers in his foyer. The awareness that he could have almost anything he wanted at the touch of a button. And, even more incredible to her, the knowledge that this wasn’t his only home. He maintained apartments in at least two major cities—that she knew of, at least.

  “Is there someone here to take care of you if you need anything?” she asked, moving around the quiet entryway. “A housekeeper or bodyguard or valet, maybe?”

  “My housekeeper doesn’t sleep over. I don’t employ bodyguards for myself, and I’ve never in my life had a valet,” he replied, his expression a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Grace.”

  Feeling a bit foolish—what did she know about how the very rich lived?—she shrugged and handed him the plastic container of pills he’d been given at the hospital. “Take these when you need them. They’ll help you rest tonight. And don’t forget to see your doctor tomorrow, just to make sure there are no complications.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  “Do you want me to take your car to work in the morning? You can have someone pick it up there and I’ll hitch a ride home with Chloe.”

  “That will be fine.”

  She nodded. “Then if there’s nothing else you need, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Are you going straight home?”

  She gave him a look. “Don’t worry. I’m not going joyriding in your car.”

  “That isn’t what concerns me, and you know it.”

  She sighed. “Yes, I’m going straight home. I plan to spend the rest of the evening doing laundry and watching mindless TV programs, okay? I’ll lock myself in and I won’t open the door to strangers. You can give your security guy the night off.”