The Best Man's Plan (Special Edition)

by Gina Wilkins

  It was sometime during the first song that Chloe stopped watching Grace and turned her eyes to her new husband’s face. He smiled down at her, and their eyes locked. Grace finished the second number with a wistful ache in her chest.

  Her audience erupted into enthusiastic applause when she finished. Giving them a little bow of gratitude, she handed the microphone back to the band’s lead singer and moved to the three steps that led down from the stage.

  Bryan was there to take her hand and assist her down the steps, even though she could, of course, have handled them on her own. He leaned over to kiss her lightly when she stood beside him. Because she knew that would be expected of them, she didn’t try to resist the kiss, though she didn’t exactly respond, either.

  “Chloe didn’t overstate your talent,” he said. “You have a beautiful voice. Absolutely beautiful.”

  As talented an actor as Bryan was, Grace had learned to tell when he was being sincere. He was now. Because that sincerity touched her, she smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

  He squeezed her hand, then moved to stand just behind her while she accepted hugs from her sister and her parents and glowing compliments from the others there.

  The approval was nice, of course, but it quickly became overwhelming. Somehow Bryan knew the exact moment when it became too much for her. He moved to her side and slipped an arm around her. “You must be thirsty after singing, darling. Would you like another glass of champagne?”

  She gave him a grateful nod. “Yes, I would. I’ll go with you to get it.”

  As always, the crowd parted to allow him through.

  “You really do come in handy occasionally,” Grace told him as she accepted a glass from him.

  He lifted his own in a mock toast. “Just keep that in mind, okay?”

  She sipped the champagne rather than attempting to answer him.

  “We haven’t danced yet,” he reminded her as the band began to play again.

  She was aware of that. She’d rather hoped to avoid it, even though she’d known the chances of doing so were slim. People would expect to see her dancing with Bryan. And they did dance well together. The problem was, she enjoyed it entirely too much.

  She downed several more swallows of champagne before Bryan gently removed the glass from her hand and set it aside. “I think you’ve had enough of this for now. Come dance with me, Grace.”

  She just hated it when he spoke in that particular tone. That low, sexy, intimate growl that made her knees go weak and her stomach all quivery. Really hated it, she thought as she moved into his arms.

  You are such a liar, Grace.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Chloe looked so beautiful tonight.” Grace sniffled a little as she made the pronouncement, her voice muffled by the two bouquets she held to her face.

  “She was spectacular. Watch your skirt.”

  Obligingly lifting her long lavender skirt, she stepped out of the elevator. “That was so sweet when Donovan kissed her just before he helped her into the car while everyone threw birdseed at them.”

  “I’m surprised they weren’t attacked by a flock of hungry sparrows. Where’s your key?”

  “Hmm? Oh, it’s in my purse. Somewhere. I can’t believe my sister is married. Chloe Chance—that sounds a little strange, doesn’t it?”

  He dug into the tiny beaded bag she had carried to the wedding. “So she is taking Donovan’s name?”

  “Oh, sure. Chloe’s very traditional about things like that. Wasn’t she beautiful?”

  Chuckling a little, he unlocked her door and opened it for her. “Almost as beautiful as her sister.”

  “Mmm. She threw the bouquet right at me, you know. I had to catch it or get clobbered by it. Really made Angie mad—she was hoping to catch it.”

  Ushering her inside, Bryan closed the door behind them. “Why don’t you sit down while I make some coffee?”

  “I’ve got to get out of these shoes.”

  Taking the bouquets, he moved toward the kitchen. “I’ll put these in the refrigerator so they’ll stay fresh. You take off your shoes and get comfortable.”

  “Thank you,” she said very politely, sinking onto her couch.

  His mouth twisting, he answered gravely, “You’re welcome.”

  After stashing the flowers, he rummaged for coffee and filters. It was a bit late for coffee, but Grace had sipped quite a bit of champagne during the reception. He understood what had made her do so. She’d been uncomfortable in her role as maid of honor, in addition to the continued part as his lover. And it had been an emotional day for her.

  Chloe and Donovan weren’t the only ones whose lives had been changed by their wedding, he mused. Grace had been accustomed to doing things with her twin, having Chloe as her best friend as well as her sister. Now they didn’t even share the same last name. While their feelings for each other hadn’t changed, their relationship would never be quite the same. Bryan had seen the wistfulness in Grace’s expression when she’d watched Donovan’s car drive away from the reception.

  He’d been aware of similar feelings, himself. Donovan had been his best friend since high school. They’d been through a lot together, raised some hell together, built Bryan Falcon Enterprises together. Bryan had been accustomed to having Donovan available to him at a moment’s notice. Having Donovan’s first loyalty be to him. That, too, had changed tonight.

  “Bryan?” Grace called from the other room.

  He stepped to the doorway. She was sitting on the couch, her bare feet propped on the coffee table, her hair disheveled around her face. Apparently she had pulled the pins out, giving her a rumpled, just-out-of-bed look that made him have to clear his throat before he asked, “What is it?”

  She frowned as though trying to remember. And then she nodded. “I just wanted to tell you there’s a plate of brownies on the counter if you’re hungry. They’re covered with aluminum foil. I made them myself—with pecans.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll bring us both some.”

  “Okay. You want me to make some coffee?”

  He grinned. “I’ve got it covered. You just sit tight.”

  “Okay.” She sighed and wiggled her bare toes.

  Torn between laughing and groaning, Bryan turned back to the kitchen, and reminded himself that a true gentleman would never take advantage of a woman who’d had too much champagne.

  He knew Grace drank her coffee black. He balanced two filled mugs and the plate of brownies when he rejoined her in the other room.

  “You’re pretty good at that. Don’t tell me you ever worked as a waiter,” she said, reaching out to help him set the things on the coffee table.

  “Actually I did. The summer I was sixteen, I took a job at a pizza parlor because a girl I had a crush on worked there—and because it ticked my father off that a Falcon was schlepping pizza. He made me quit after a few weeks. To be honest, I was relieved. I hated the job and I had discovered that the girl had the most annoying giggle I’d ever heard. Drove me nuts.”

  Grace laughed, and he thought of how different it was with her. He loved hearing her laugh. He would like to hear it more often.

  Sitting on the couch beside her, he placed a coffee mug in her hands. “Drink,” he ordered. “But be careful, it’s hot.”

  “I’m not really intoxicated, you know,” she murmured into the mug. “Just a little buzzy.”

  “I know. But drink the coffee, anyway.” He bit into a brownie. “This is great. You’re a good cook.”

  Leaning close to him, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I used a mix. All I did extra was throw in a handful of chopped pecans.”

  “They’re still good.” He finished the brownie and washed it down with a couple of sips of coffee. And then he set the cup on the table and leaned back, draping an arm casually across the back of the couch. “Long day, wasn’t it? That best man gig was more exhausting than I expected.”

  She gave him a companionable pat on the knee. “You did it very we
ll. And your toast was great. I’m particularly pleased—for my sake and for Chloe’s—that you were able to announce that Wallace Childers was captured in Texas and will be brought to justice for his part in Chloe’s kidnapping.”

  Apparently the coffee hadn’t kicked in yet. She was still entirely too friendly to him. While he enjoyed it, he’d like to believe her affability was generated by more than champagne. Maybe food would help.

  He reached for another brownie, broke off a corner and held it to her lips. “I thought you would like that. It definitely means we can ease off on the security a little. Not entirely, of course, since some crackpot could still try to emulate his scheme, but that’s unlikely. Here,” he added before she could attempt to argue that she no longer needed any sort of security. “Try some. It really is good. And you didn’t eat anything at the reception.”

  “I was too nervous,” she admitted before taking the tidbit he offered her.

  As a result of the feel of her lips against his fingertips, he had to clear his throat again before he asked, “Why were you nervous?”

  She swallowed, then replied, “Lots of reasons. I was afraid I would trip over this stupid long skirt and fall flat on my face. I worried about saying something stupid and embarrassing Chloe on her wedding day. I knew she wanted me to sing, and I was a little concerned about forgetting the words, since I didn’t know the songs very well.”

  “You never told me you had such a beautiful voice.”

  She arched an eyebrow over the rim of her coffee mug. “The subject never came up.”

  “I loved hearing you sing. You were wonderful.”

  “Thanks. But, um, how much champagne did you have?”

  He smiled. “The champagne had nothing to do with my appreciation of your voice. Have you ever performed professionally?”

  “Thinking of signing me as the second client for your music production company?”

  “Donovan was only joking about that. He knows I’m not really interested in starting a music production company.”

  “All that hobnobbing in Hollywood, and you aren’t interested in investing in the entertainment business?”

  “I’ll stick with science and technology investments for now. You didn’t answer my question. Have you ever considered performing professionally?”

  She shrugged and looked away from him. “I’m sure every young girl dreams at some point of being a famous singer. I did my share of posturing in front of my bedroom mirror with a hairbrush for my microphone. But I grew up.”

  “You seemed to enjoy singing at the reception.”

  “I like to sing occasionally,” she agreed offhandedly, setting her cup on the table beside his. “Not necessarily the songs Chloe selected, of course.”

  “Oh?” He broke off another bite of the brownie and held it to her lips. “What type of songs do you prefer?”

  Distracted by the conversation, she took the brownie. Again there was that pleasant frisson of sensation when her lips moved against his fingers. He watched her swallow before she answered vaguely, “A little of this, a little of that. Do you sing?”

  “Teenage boys don’t perform with hairbrushes. We stood in the shower with a bar of soap pretending to be rock stars. In high school choir, I sang tenor—got a standing ovation for ‘Danny Boy.’”

  She had tensed a bit when he’d pressed her about her singing. He was glad to see that his self-mockery relaxed her again. “I bet that was something,” she murmured.

  “I made musical history.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, letting his fingers linger to stroke her cheek. “I hope you’ll sing for me again sometime.”

  A wave of pink stained the delicate skin he touched. “Well…you never know,” she murmured. “Um, do you want some more coffee or…or something?”

  His fingers were tangled in her hair now, his other hand rising to her cheek. “I definitely want something,” he said, his mouth close to hers. “But not coffee.”

  He heard her breath catch. Wide and wary, her eyes met his. He was glad to see that they were clear, no longer clouded by champagne or residual wedding sentimentality. She knew exactly what he meant, and she was fully aware of what was happening—or could very easily happen—between them. She knew, as well, that he was leaving the next move up to her. He sat very still, their gazes locked, his mouth an inch above hers, just waiting for her signal. Would she pull him closer, or push him away?

  He groaned in satisfaction when she lifted her mouth to his.

  Grace wasn’t thinking entirely clearly, but she couldn’t blame it on the champagne. The effects of that had mostly worn off now. This lapse was due entirely to having Bryan’s arms around her, his mouth on hers.

  Common sense told her to put a stop to this right now, to pull herself out of his arms and send him on his way before things got out of hand. And she would do just that, she promised herself. In a minute.

  Her fingers slid into his thick, black hair. He kissed her until she could hardly breathe, and then he turned his attention to other parts of her, kissing her temple, her cheek, the hollow behind her ear, and then trailing his lips down her neck to her bare shoulder.

  He lightly nipped the skin there and she shivered. He was so very good at this.

  He kissed the hollow of her throat, where her pulse raced so rapidly that he couldn’t possibly have misinterpreted her excitement. She knew it would be a waste of energy to pretend she wasn’t attracted to him, or that she didn’t respond to his kisses and touches. Only a fool would have believed her will-power wasn’t very shaky when it came to him—and Bryan Falcon was no fool.

  Emotions that had been simmering inside her for hours erupted to the surface, melting her control. All day she had been entirely too aware of Bryan. She had felt his eyes on her as she’d walked up the aisle ahead of her sister, and all during the ceremony. He’d watched her as she sang at the reception and as she mingled with the other guests. And when they had danced, he’d held her within the bounds of propriety, but close enough to remind her how it felt to be pressed fully against him.

  It felt fabulous.

  His mouth was on hers again, moving more urgently this time. His hands raced over her, stimulating every nerve ending, leaving her quivering and aching for more.

  They weren’t in his car this time. No one was watching them, and there was little chance of anyone interrupting them. Bryan was making his feelings clear about how he would like the evening to end. It was up to her to decide if she wanted to spend the rest of the night alone.

  Her hands cupping his face, she drew back to look at him. His face was a bit flushed, his dark hair tumbled from her hands, his eyes glittering and heavy-lidded. She felt the tension in him, the faint quiver of muscles held tightly under control. She was sprawled half across his lap, and the hardness against her thigh told her how strongly he, too, had been affected by their kisses.

  There was no doubt in her mind that he wanted her, at least for tonight. And there was no question that she wanted him, either—or that she had wanted him for longer than she cared to admit.

  She wasn’t sure she had the strength to send him away this time. Not tonight. But if she was very careful, she should be able to give into impulse just this once without having her life forever changed or her heart broken. It was simply a matter of keeping in mind that she and Bryan were together for only a little while. That there was no future for them. Only tonight.

  Tonight would have to be enough.

  Still framing his face in her hands, she leaned forward to kiss him lightly. “Have I ever shown you the rest of my apartment?” she asked.

  “No.” His voice was husky. “I don’t believe you have.”

  “There’s not much,” she said, dropping another kiss on his firm chin. “Only a small bedroom. But the bed is big enough for two.”

  Emotion flared in his eyes, but he remained still, speaking doubtfully. “You’re asking me to stay?”

  “Yes. If you want to.”

  “I
think you know the answer to that.”

  “Then stay,” she said simply.

  “We need to talk.”

  She kissed him again, letting her tongue sweep his lips and her breasts rest against him. “We’ve talked enough tonight,” she murmured against his mouth.

  His arms tightened spasmodically around her. “I hope this isn’t the champagne speaking.”

  “It’s not the champagne,” she assured him, wriggling out of his arms. She rose and held out her hand to him. “Let me show you my bedroom, Bryan.”

  Holding her gaze with his, he rose very slowly and took her hand.

  Grace soon found out that her imagination had been woefully inadequate when it came to making love with Bryan. She had known he would look gorgeous beneath his clothes, but actually seeing him without his shirt made her breath lodge hard in her throat. Running her hands over his smooth, sleekly muscled chest, she reveled in his warmth. He still wore a small bandage on his left forearm, mostly, she suspected, to protect the raw skin from rubbing against his clothes. Even that looked enticing on him.

  She placed her mouth against his throat, nibbling a line of kisses from his jaw to his shoulder and down to his firm, flat nipple. She felt the rapid rhythm of his pulse, and heard the increase in his breathing, and she smiled. It was nice to know she could affect him with her touch—after all, turnabout was fair play.

  His hands moved behind her, and she felt cool air on her back as her long zipper parted. Moments later, the dress fell to her feet in a swath of glittery lavender fabric. She stepped out of it, leaving her clad only in a tiny strapless bra and a mere triangle of lace panties.

  She’d bought the sexy undergarments only the day before, even though she’d had other, more practical choices that would have sufficed. She supposed she’d suspected even then that Bryan might be seeing them.