“Don’t act all coy, you’re so using those on your wedding night.” Nina laughed as she took a sip of her rum and coke. Everybody had been disappointed upon discovering that Ralphie’s wasn’t the type of establishment to serve frothy, pretty cocktails. In fact—after the women had delighted in inundating their shy young server with orders of “screaming orgasms,” “slippery nipples,” and “blowjobs”—Ralphie himself had hastened over to curtly inform them that he didn’t serve exotic cocktails and they would have to order beers or hard liquor.
“Show us,” Zinzi demanded, and Lia lifted a pair of furry pink handcuffs and a satin blindfold to the squealing delight of the other women.
Daisy winced and once again eyed her gift, which lay at the bottom of the pile. She had somehow missed the fact that they would be doing naughty gifts only, and Daisy knew that her present would go down like a lead balloon. She glanced down at her phone for what felt like the thousandth time tonight and willed time to speed up. Lia had a late dinner with her fiancé and his parents tonight and had to leave at eight. It would be awesome if eight o’clock rolled by before Lia opened Daisy’s present, but her luck was never that good, and she watched nervously as her sister reached for yet another gift from the shrinking pile in the middle of the table.
“What the hell is that?” Tilda asked from the other side of the table when Lia pulled the gift out of the bag, and Daisy was grateful her friend had asked because she had no idea either. It was a weird, alien-looking silicone thing, and Daisy couldn’t quite figure out what it was for.
“Cock ring,” Shar educated smugly. “It vibrates for his pleasure and has a little rabbit attached for hers.”
Lia, who had been as red as a tomato for most of the evening, blushed even more, and Daisy felt her own cheeks heating in sympathy. This evening had certainly been . . . educational, to say the least.
There were only two gifts remaining now, and Daisy cast another desperate look down at her phone. Five minutes to eight. Lia let out yet another scandalized squeak and lifted the crotchless panties with matching demi bra and garter set that Tilda had given her.
“Oh my God, Tilda, those are so naughty.” Daff sniggered and Tilda grinned.
“I figure they’ll thrill the hell out of Clayton Edmonton the Third,” Tilda said drily.
“Best have a killer wax job done on the lady garden before you wear these,” Zinzi advised. “A full-on Hollywood.”
“Ugh, I hate going fully bald; it’s so creepy,” Daff said, wrinkling her nose. Daisy heartily concurred with her sister’s sentiment but didn’t say as much, knowing it would only drive some of the other “ladies” present to express surprise that Daisy even tended her “lady garden.”
“Ooh, one more,” Shar cooed as she lifted the huge box from the center of the table. She directed a smug little smile at Daisy, and the latter curled her fingers into the palms of her hands as she realized that Shar—tonight’s “events coordinator”—had deliberately not told her about the gifts. What a spiteful cow. Daisy had no clue why Shar and Zinzi disliked her so much, but they had always gone out of their way to make her feel like a total idiot in public.
“It’s eight o’clock, Lia,” Daisy said, properly speaking for the first time all evening. “You have to get to your dinner with the Edmontons, don’t you? My present isn’t important. You can open it at home.”
Lia, despite the company she kept, was a sweetheart, and even though she didn’t quite “get” Daisy, she was loyal to a fault. Unfortunately that trait worked against Daisy in that moment.
“Nonsense,” Lia said in her sweet voice. “I’ve been dying to see what’s in this box all evening. A few more minutes won’t do any harm. I can’t very well leave my baby sister’s gift unopened, can I?”
“Yes, you can. I don’t mind,” Daisy said, and Daff glanced at her sharply as if picking up on her desperation.
“Yeah, Lia, we can open it later,” Daff chimed in, and Daisy slanted her a grateful look.
“But we’re all really curious now,” Zinzi said with a sharklike grin, and Lia nodded, her mind made up, before tugging the bright-red ribbon off the box. Daisy sank back against the sticky leather seat of the booth and kept her face expressionless as her sister tore off the wrapping and then glanced down into the box.
“Oh,” Lia said blankly as she lifted one of the practical fawn-colored hiking boots from the box. She stared at it for a long moment. “This is . . . nice.”
“It’s for your honeymoon,” Daisy explained bleakly. “Because you guys are going . . .”
“Oh, Daisy,” Lia said softly, a beautiful smile lighting up her face. “How thoughtful. Thank you.”
Lia and Clay were going on a hiking and horseback honeymoon in Peru, which had surprised the hell out of Daisy because Dahlia was not into the great outdoors. The idea must have been Clay’s, and Daisy just wanted to get her sister something to help her prepare for an adventure Lia was totally ill-equipped to deal with.
“Guess you didn’t get the memo about the gifts,” Zinzi pointed out with a snide little smile.
“Shut up, Zinzi. I think it’s an awesome present, and I wish I’d thought of it,” Daff said. “Lia’s going to need that and more for the honeymoon from hell her future husband has planned.”
“I think it’ll be romantic,” Lia said defensively. She was always sensitive to even the slightest hint of criticism aimed at her precious Clayton.
“It will,” Daisy soothed, shooting her eldest sister a warning glare, causing Daff to roll her eyes.
“Anyway, I really love the boots, Daisy.” Lia wrapped her arms around Daisy’s shoulders and hugged her. “So sweet. Thank you.”
“Hmm,” Shar purred. “So practical. But you’re a practical kind of girl, aren’t you, Daisy? Not one for all the naughty frivolities of the evening, I suppose? Well, that’s to be expected, of course. Lack of experience and all that. I hope we haven’t embarrassed you too much?”
“Jesus, Shar, must you be such a cat?” Daff asked in disgust.
“Anyway,” Lia intervened quickly when it looked like Shar was about to retort. “I must be off. Thanks for a lovely evening, ladies.”
Zinzi and Shar got up too; they had been trailing after Lia like lapdogs lately. The news of her engagement to one of the most eligible bachelors in the region had made them latch on to Daisy’s middle sister even more tightly. It was sickening to watch them fawn all over her, when both Daisy and Daff were fully aware that either woman would stab their sister in the back in an instant. Zinzi and Shar had never meant to stick around after Lia left the party, and the other women knew that, which was why they had arranged to stay a bit longer after the hen party disbanded. They wanted to have some real fun, which was almost impossible with Zinzi and Shar around.
Everyone said their good-byes, and lots of air kisses were exchanged. Daisy received a hug and kiss from Lia, but the two other women simply “overlooked” her in the flurry, which Daisy didn’t mind at all. The remaining women watched the trio leave and then sat down with huge grins.
“Why do we hang out with those two again?” Nina asked and a chorus of “dunnos” followed.
“Habit, probably,” Daff said. “But after this wedding, I think I’ll be spending less time with them. They’re becoming worse. I’m sorry they were such complete bitches, Daisy.”
Uncomfortable with being put in the spotlight so abruptly, Daisy shrugged.
“They’re not worth getting upset over,” she muttered.
“You’re always so Zen about stuff.” Tilda sighed, taking a sip of her drink only to discover that it was empty. “Anybody up for a round of tequila shots?”
When the group responded with high-pitched whoops, she grinned and summoned the waiter over.
“Let’s get this party started,” Nina yelled and turned every male head in the place when she jumped up and did a little hip-thrusting dance to go with her words. Someone behind the bar cranked up the music, and after a few more shots, all
the women were soon dancing exuberantly. Daisy groaned and tried to hide in her corner, downing her shot in a desperate gulp. This was so not her scene. The other women, after trying to coax her out of her seat, gave up and swanned off onto a makeshift dance floor and were all happily bumping and grinding away with a few of the younger guys in the bar.
“You don’t dance?” A deep, dark voice suddenly intruded from almost right beside her, and she yelped and looked up . . . and up . . . and up to the tall man standing on her left. He was propping up the wall next to the booth, his back and shoulders resting against the wooden panel as he stood with one knee bent and his foot braced against the wall. He was staring down at Daisy with a slight smile. She shook her head rapidly, trying to dispel the haze from several tequila shots and a flaming black Sambuca as she tried to figure out why the heck Mason Carlisle was standing here talking to her. All the head shaking resulted in a spell of dizziness and nausea as the alcohol rebelled against the movement.
“Mind if I sit?” he asked, his deep voice rolling over her like a wave of warm honey. He didn’t wait for her to reply and sat down anyway, moving around the table to sit in the spot Lia had vacated. None of the other women had noticed him at their table yet and were chatting and flirting with guys on the dance floor.
“You’re Daisy McGregor, right?” She nodded stupidly in reply to his question. Why was he here? This was so weird. “I’m Mason Carlisle. I went to school with Daffodil.”
“I know,” she said, her voice finally returning. It sounded rusty and unused, but at least it was functioning again.
“So how have you been, Daisy?” he asked, taking a long, thirsty pull from his beer. She watched his throat work as he tilted his head back to drink and was riveted by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow. Why was that so sexy to her? Probably the tequila.
“I’ve been good,” she finally responded after he lowered the bottle and stared at her with those penetrating forest-green eyes of his. His lashes were dark, long, and spiky, and she was fascinated to note that she could differentiate between each individual lash. Gorgeous.
“And your sister’s getting married, I hear. Who’s the lucky guy?” Why did he want to know about that? Was he another in the long line of men who had fallen into despair when he’d heard about Lia’s engagement? How very disappointing and predictable of him. She cleared her throat and was irritated to find it parched in the presence of this overwhelmingly gorgeous man. In an attempt to dispel the dryness, she snagged the glass closest to her and downed the contents, which caused her to wheeze, cough, and blink away tears. Amused by her reaction, Mason picked up the glass and sniffed it.
“Scotch. Neat, if I’m not mistaken. Hell of a drink, not quite what I expected from you.”
“What were you expecting?” she asked, her voice full of challenge. Why was she so offended by that comment? It wasn’t even her drink. “Wine?” The last word emerged on the closest thing to a sneer she could manage, and he shrugged as he carefully replaced the glass.
“Well . . . yeah.”
Daisy discreetly nudged her half-full glass of white wine away and lifted her chin rambunctiously.
“I’ve had tequila shots and flaming Sambuca tonight, so a little Scotch is like mother’s milk to me.”
“Of course,” he said, obviously fighting back a grin. “I’m sorry for not realizing that immediately.”
Daisy paused and pinched the bridge of her nose sheepishly, acknowledging that she was being a bit silly.
“Okay, it was awful. I didn’t really know what was in the glass,” she admitted and saw his eyes light up in appreciation of her honesty.
“Yeah, I’m not a big Scotch drinker myself,” he confessed.
“I thought it was a man’s drink,” she pointed out, and he lifted his powerful shoulders comfortably.
“Guess I’m not the man I thought I was.” She scoffed at that response and gave him a pointed once-over.
“Mr. Super Soldier slash Underwear Model slash Bodyguard to the Stars not the man he thought he was,” she mused, and he grimaced.
“How the hell do you know all that about me?” he asked, clearly astonished.
“You’re joking, right? The town has a website dedicated to your accomplishments,” she said, taking a casual sip of her wine to swallow down her laughter at the appalled look on his face.
“What?”
“Oh, you didn’t know?” she asked. “It’s plastered with pictures of you in those tight boxer briefs. And in uniform, of course, and there are a few of you in a tux, hulking behind that princess at the Cannes Film Festival last year.”
“I . . .” He seemed at a loss for words, and even in the dimly lit pub she could tell that his face had gone bright red. “That’s . . .”
She covered her mouth and doubled over as she finally allowed her laughter to escape.
“Oh my God, the look on your face!”
“It’s not true?” he asked, looking half relieved and half annoyed at her.
“No, of course not,” she said between unladylike snorts. Her eyes were streaming, and he sat back, folding his arms across his impressive chest as he eyed her with an inscrutable look on his face. When her laughter finally died down, he handed her a napkin.
“Your cheeks are wet,” he explained when she looked up at him questioningly. “From your tears of laughter at my expense.”
His delivery was so deadpan that she sniggered again and grabbed the napkin to dab at her flushed, damp cheeks.
“I’m glad I amuse you,” he said, quirking an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. You looked so horrified.”
“How did you know all that stuff about me?”
“Come on, it’s a small town . . . everybody knows everything about everybody, and the Carlisle brothers were always fodder for gossips anyway.” She winced and then shook her head. “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right.”
“No worries. I know what you mean. After all, the McGregor sisters were the talk of the town on occasion too. All the guys wanted to date”—his voice petered out as he realized what he was about to say, and he stumbled over the last words—“you girls.”
The delivery was so lame and unconvincing that Daisy laughed.
“You mean my sisters?”
“Uh . . .” He seemed at a loss for words, and she grinned.
“Don’t worry, I haven’t spent all these years under any illusion that the men in this town see me as anything but the other one. The pretty one, the cute one, and the other one, right? That’s what they call us?”
He kept his own counsel, taking another almost desperate gulp from his drink while remaining stubbornly silent.
“I don’t mind.” She leaned over and patted his arm, unable to believe that she was initiating contact with him, but she couldn’t resist it. “It’s better than being called the ugly one.” His arm tensed beneath her hand, and his eyes snapped up to meet hers. He looked so pissed off that she lifted her hand abruptly.
“Has anybody ever called you that?” he growled, and she understood—hopelessly charmed—that he was seriously offended on her behalf.
“Well, no. Not that I know of,” she said, and he gave her another long, penetrating look before dropping his gaze down to his beer bottle. He had looked so dangerous in that split second that Daisy had no doubt that if she’d said yes, he would have found whomever had insulted her and done something very nasty to them. A notion that was both ridiculous and flattering.
“So what have you been doing since leaving the glam bodyguard job?” she asked, and he shook his head.
“It wasn’t that glam,” he said, gracing her with a gorgeous smile. “Most of the time I had to do stuff like hold a certain pop princess’s hair out of her face while she puked, or stand around for ages while a very well-known actor got fitted for hairpieces . . . or pick up the shit of a spoilt starlet’s pampered pooch. And for the most part, it was mind-numbingly boring.”
“I
don’t suppose you can name names?” she asked, dropping her chin into the palm of her hand as she watched him.
“Nondisclosure agreements,” came his succinct response, and she thrust her lip out in a pout and then immediately sucked it back in as she wondered what the hell had prompted the reaction in the first place. Daisy didn’t pout, preen, or primp for a man. It wasn’t her style, and—according to her mirror—it looked ridiculous on her. Was she flirting with this guy? With Mason Carlisle? She didn’t even know how to flirt. Was it just instinctive after all?
Who knew?
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he suddenly asked, looking genuinely interested.
“Why’d you come over here to talk with me?” she deflected, lifting her gaze to his and surprising a flash of something—was that guilt?—in his eyes.
“I was just curious,” he said. “Wondered why you weren’t out there dancing with your friends.”
“I don’t dance,” she confessed.
“Everybody can dance.”
“Well, I didn’t say I couldn’t dance. I said I don’t dance.”
“Why not?”
“Because the only dance I truly excel at is the chicken dance. Every time I attempt to dance like an adult, I always bust out some stupid chicken dance moves and wind up embarrassing my dance partners.”
“You’re shitting me again, right?” he asked after a beat, looking honestly uncertain.
“Nope.” She kissed her index finger and crossed her heart with it. “God’s honest truth. If I went out there right now, I’d start flapping about and doing that ridiculous butt thing.”
He burst out laughing, the sound so genuinely amused that Daisy couldn’t help but smile at the belly-deep laughter coming from this intimidating-looking man. Now it was his turn to wipe his streaming eyes, and when Daisy silently offered him the napkin back, it just set him off again. The sound was starting to draw attention from people at the other tables and booths. Daisy tried not to notice how astonished they all looked to see him sitting there with her.
The Wingman Page 2