Girl Most Likely To

by Barbara Elsborg

  Girl Most Likely To

  Barbara Elsborg

  Wren doesn’t feel like the girl most likely to end up living happily ever after. Especially when Adam, aka THE BIG MISTAKE, comes back into her life. He wants a second chance but Wren’s afraid to risk another dent in her battered heart.

  When Adam reconnects with Wren, he’s torn between wooing her and pursuing Tomas, the sexy guy in the flat next door. They both make his heart sing—how can he possibly choose? Or maybe he’s finally found a man and woman to give him the balance he craves.

  Tomas knows better than to let his personal life interfere with his job as an undercover officer but he can’t get enough of Adam…or Wren. Or Adam and Wren, when they’re hot, naked and writhing together in his bed.

  Suddenly Wren’s gone from the girl most likely to get ripped off to the girl most likely to get off. But it’s more than sex. She, Tomas and Adam have something special, something they’re determined to protect at all costs.

  Girl Most Likely To

  Barbara Elsborg

  Chapter One

  Adam

  Adam didn’t think he’d ever seen Ally look so happy, or so beautiful. Her wedding dress hung in overlapping, filmy layers like the delicate petals of a flower. With her long blonde hair pinned up and threaded with glittering gems, it wouldn’t have surprised him to see wings suddenly burst from her shoulder blades.

  His mouth twitched into a smile. Her groom hadn’t stopped grinning the entire day. Caspar was a lucky guy and bloody sexy in that tux. He and Ally were perfect together. A hard knot formed in Adam’s throat. Not good to lust after one of his employees, let alone two.

  Watching their first dance and thinking about them wrestling naked on their wedding bed gave Adam a problem with hardness in another part of his body. Good thing he stood in a dark corner. Even so, he fastened his tux jacket to hide the bulge in his pants. As he leaned against the wall and sipped expensive champagne he’d paid for as part of their wedding present, he took in the love in their eyes, the graceful way they moved in each other’s arms, the raw passion of their kiss, and knew this was the last night he’d allow himself to want them.

  Yeah, right. Good luck with that, his cock told his brain.

  Caspar and Ally had worked for him for a year, constantly at his side, but tomorrow they were off on a honeymoon to South America. After he’d tried increasingly desperate excuses to persuade them not to go—a big contract due, a problem in Scotland Caspar needed to handle and the final one, he’d heard drug cartels were kidnapping British brides—Ally had made him feel so bad that he’d had to say yes when she asked for three weeks’ vacation instead of the week he’d expected.

  As the song ended and applause for the newly married couple faded, he spotted Ally heading his way wearing an expression he knew only too well. She wanted something and they both knew he wasn’t going to like it. Ally lifted the glass from his hand, put it on the windowsill and then tugged him out of the shadows toward the dance floor. He yelled at his cock to behave.

  “I don’t dance,” he muttered.

  “Oh yes you do. We practiced this before you went to Russia for that charity ball.”

  Oh God. A bloody waltz. Before Adam could take another breath, Ally yanked him under the spotlights. He tripped and shot her a glance of despair.

  “Count,” she ordered.

  One, three, two. Two, three, one. One, two, three. He managed to drag his brain into gear and took over the lead.

  Ally beamed. “See? It’s like riding a bike.”

  No, it wasn’t, except riding a bike could make a guy’s balls ache too. He held her away from his body, hoping she had no idea a certain part of his anatomy was dancing to its own tune.

  “You look stunning,” he said. I wish you were mine. I wish Caspar were mine. I wish I was coming with you to South America.

  “Thank you. And thank you for giving me away.”

  Adam’s throat closed up. He could barely muster a nod. He’d been touched and horrified when she asked him to walk her down the aisle. Ally’s brother Finn had broken both legs in a climbing accident and his role today had been relegated to giving a speech about the bride from his wheelchair.

  Ally sat tight-lipped while he related the tale of how she lost her bikini on a waterslide, the occasion she dyed her hair red with car paint and when she reversed into a police car on her driving test. For the first time, Adam was grateful he was an only child and had no sibling to tell embarrassing stories. Ally’s glares hadn’t silenced her brother. Funny, because they worked really well on Adam.

  When Ally asked him to give her away, she’d told him Finn’s accident wasn’t the reason she wanted him to walk into the church with her. Adam had been about to get uppity, thinking she saw him as some sort of father figure, hardly fair when at thirty he was only a couple of years older than her, but Ally had explained it was because he’d believed in Caspar when no one else had and for that, she’d love him forever.

  Except not in the way Adam would have liked.

  At least Ally didn’t know he really had given her away this afternoon. The marriage had to act like a guillotine on Adam’s emotions. No lusting after her or Caspar anymore. Ah damn. Who was he kidding? The inappropriate erections were going to continue to be a problem until he was dead. He’d hoped for a while in the early days of their employment that there might be room in Caspar and Ally’s relationship for him too, but he quickly came to see they only wanted each other. Not that he’d stopped hoping.

  “Caspar and I have a surprise for you,” Ally whispered as the dance ended. “Meet us in the garden room in thirty minutes.”

  “You know I don’t like surprises,” Adam said. “They’re never something good.”

  “The trouble with you, Adam, is that you don’t know what’s good for you.”

  “And you do?”

  She grinned. “Of course.”

  * * * * *

  “No, no and no,” Adam snapped. What the hell did they think they were doing?

  “Yes.” Ally crossed her arms and pinned him with her don’t-you-dare-upset-me-on-my-wedding-day stare.

  Caspar smirked and Adam glared at him.

  “It’s absolutely unacceptable,” Adam said. “I can’t possibly take so much time off work. I’m needed. I’m indispensable. I’m the fucking boss.”

  “It’s all arranged.” Ally was unperturbed and, as usual, unimpressed with his outburst. “A car will pick you up at ten tomorrow morning and deliver you to the station. You’ll travel first class and be in Leeds before noon. A driver will be waiting to take you to the place where you’ll stay for the next three weeks. Everything you need is there.”

  “I can’t control Mirafax from the north of England.”

  She arched one eyebrow. “Says the man who managed quite well to run it from the mountain in New Zealand, the bottom of that ski slope in Canada, on—”

  “Yes, all right, I can but—”

  “Daniel will handle everything. If he has any problems, he’ll contact you.”

  Adam stamped across the room and then back. Daniel, his operations director, was competent but that wasn’t the point. “I have appointments—”

  “That have already been rescheduled,” Caspar said. “This is a slack period, the best time to take a break.”

  “I don’t need one.”

  “You haven’t had a proper vacation since we started working for you a year ago,” Ally said. “Just days snatched here and there while you were doing business.”

  Adam clenched his teeth. “I don’t call going to the north of England a vacation. Where’s the sun, sea and sex…sand?”

  Caspar rolled his eyes. “A beach holiday would bore you to tears. You can barely si
t still long enough to drink a coffee.”

  “I don’t want to go to Leeds. Greasy fish-and-chips, flat caps and even flatter vowels. I won’t like it.” Shit, that sounded like a whine.

  “Leeds is lovely. The people are friendly. They don’t even eat Londoners anymore. Though they might make an exception for you.” Ally handed him a large, padded envelope. “Everything you need to know, together with the keys to your temporary home and rental car.”

  He tensed. “Not a hotel?”

  “No,” Caspar said. “We decided—”

  “But who’ll do my laundry, make my breakfast, get me coffee?” He tried to keep the horror out of his voice but suspected he’d failed. If Caspar laughed, he’d fucking fire him.

  Ally straightened Adam’s bow tie. “You’re going to do it yourself. And you’re not going to set fire to your shoes.”

  His cheeks flushed with heat. The day he’d interviewed the pair, he’d tried to dry his wet shoes in the microwave. Not a good idea.

  “I’ve written lists and instructions,” Ally said “All you need to do is read them.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “You’re bored, Adam,” Caspar said.

  Ally took hold of Adam’s hand and squeezed. “This is something different. Think of it as a challenge.”

  “What am I supposed to do up there? Count sheep?”

  Caspar’s snigger ceased with one raised eyebrow from Ally.

  “What you’re going to do is a surprise, but it’s something you’ve told us you want to do. Er—at least I think it was what you said.”

  Was that guilt on her face? Oh God. He swallowed hard.

  “Anyway, if you don’t stick with it,” she said, “we’ll be very disappointed.”

  Even though Ally and Caspar were lost to him, he still didn’t want to disappoint them.

  Everyone gathered in the courtyard to watch Caspar and Ally’s departure. Fireworks exploded in the sky as the unmarried women jostled and sharpened their elbows, readying to catch the bouquet. Adam stood off to one side and smiled at their determination. He had no interest in getting married but he’d been a little surprised Ally hadn’t tried to pair him up with anyone today. It was enough to make him even more suspicious about what awaited him in Leeds.

  Ally stood with her back to the crowd, who began to count. On three, the bouquet flew into the night sky and came down to land in Adam’s arms.

  The little shit.

  Wren

  Wren stared at the plate of food in front of her, wondering if she could hide three slices of fatty lamb, a scattering of bullet-hard peas and four limp asparagus spears under a badly piped rosette of mashed potato. Everyone else on the table tucked into the wedding breakfast as though it was the best thing they’d ever eaten, but Wren just couldn’t. If either of her brothers had been near, they’d have helped her out, but they were on the other side of the marquee, sitting with the interesting people.

  After taking a quick glance around her table of not-interesting people to check no one was watching, Wren slid the lamb under the potato. The asparagus followed, then the peas. She was tempted to build a little fort with a moat for the gravy and a spoonful of mint sauce for the grass.

  Oh God, I’m bored. And hungry. If only she were sitting in front of a proper breakfast of bacon, eggs, fried bread and sausage. And mushrooms. Her mouth watered. It was such a cheat to call this a wedding breakfast.

  “This is delicious,” said Peter, the big guy at her side who—if he ate any more—would burst out of his tight-fitting tux. He’d already spilt gravy on his shirt and spattered the white tablecloth in all directions.

  The gravy was Wren’s main problem. She might have forced down some of the food, but they’d delivered the plate swimming in brown slurry and Wren hated gravy. Hated it almost as much as having to attend this wedding and watch a former boyfriend marry her cousin Belinda. Not that she gave two figs about Leo anymore but everyone else clearly thought she did. Wren suspected that was down to Belinda. If one more person told her how brave she was and that there’d be another nice man for her one day, Wren was going to jump up on a table and tell everyone the truth about what happened a year ago.

  She’d been going out with Leo for seven months when she’d entered his apartment to find him entwined on the couch with her cousin, his white butt bouncing up and down. Wren had never forgotten Belinda’s smirk because it suggested the whole thing had been planned. Belinda had wanted Leo the moment she’d seen him and Belinda always got what she wanted, usually after Wren had it first. Shoes, clothes, nail polish, boyfriends. Even more annoying, Wren had introduced the pair when Belinda came to work at the same place as her and Leo.

  “Gosh, they gave you a big helping of mashed potatoes.” Peter eyed the teetering tower she’d built.

  It appeared as if he’d licked his plate clean. Judging from the dribble of gravy on his chin, he probably had.

  “Mmm,” Wren sighed and reached for her wine. At least that tasted good, but she knew better than to get drunk within sight of her parents. She also knew she’d been deliberately seated next to a guy she wouldn’t like as part of her punishment for refusing to be a bridesmaid. Her aunt, her mum’s twin, had steamed when Wren said no, and Belinda had forced out a few tears, but Wren knew Belinda was actually pleased because it enabled her to play the role of disappointed bride.

  Actually, it had been a hard choice for Wren as to whom she’d rather piss off—Belinda by being a bridesmaid or her aunt by not being one, but when she’d seen Belinda walk down the aisle in an admittedly beautiful dress, but with six lemon, green and orange puff balls bustling after her like sherbet bonbons rolling from a bag, she’d been relieved not to be one of them. Bad enough she’d been forced to come anyway but she’d known how it would look if she hadn’t.

  “I could eat that all over again.” Peter stared at Wren’s plate.

  If he exploded, it might liven things up. “Want to swap?” she asked. “There’s a surprise under the potato.”

  He’d exchanged plates almost before she’d finished speaking.

  “Did I tell you I found Belinda and Leo their house?” he asked.

  Only three times. All he’d talked about was the housing market. He licked a smear of gravy from his lip with a long pale tongue and Wren fought not to heave.

  “It’s an absolute steal. ‘Course it needs a lot of work, but they’ll easily double what they paid for it. You should be thinking about buying instead of renting. Property’s a great investment, particularly while the market’s slack.”

  Wren nodded politely.

  “Come in and see me next week. I’ve got a fantastic little terraced house in Headingley that would suit a first-time buyer.”

  “I don’t want to buy at the moment.”

  Last week, she had been. This week, she wasn’t.

  Last week, Wren had been partway toward a deposit to purchase a place of her own, but her now ex-boyfriend Brendan had not only managed to empty her savings account, he’d also taken every penny from her current account. Bastard. Worse still, he’d maxed out her credit card by withdrawing cash. She’d not only lost around eight thousand pounds, but now owed more than ten thousand with interest accruing daily.

  Even thinking about it made her want to knee him in the nuts. Too bad she hadn’t a clue where he was. Since Brendan’s new passport, supposedly for a trip he’d planned for them to take, arrived just before he scarpered, not hard to guess he’d skipped abroad.

  She reported the theft to the police, who didn’t seem optimistic she’d get her money back. She also complained to the bank, who said they’d investigate but that whoever had taken her money had used her PIN and shown her driving license. The implication being it was her fault. Wren had never told Brendan the number but he’d seen her type it into keypads. She hadn’t thought she needed to be careful in front of him. As far as she knew, her driving license hadn’t left her purse, but seemed she was wrong. Maybe Brendan’s new woman had pretende
d to be her.

  In the meantime, the bank offered her a loan to clear the credit card debt while they investigated the matter, so at least she was paying less interest. It was some consolation, but not much.

  Wren felt like an idiot for not seeing through Brendan. He was tall and blond with a lovely smile and she’d been blinded by his easy charm and handsome face. A musician by trade, he only worked intermittently, apparently because he was waiting to be discovered. So she paid for their meals out, their cinema trips, their taxi rides and carried on doing it long past the point she should have stopped.

  None of her family had liked him, which stupidly made her even more determined to make it work, particularly after what happened with Leo. She hadn’t told them about the missing money though she wondered how long it would take them to find out. With two brothers and her father all policemen, any hopes of keeping this secret were small.

  “So you fancy meeting up for a coffee next week?” asked Peter, who unlike Leo and Brendan had neither charm nor good looks, which was a plus, but zero personality, which wasn’t.

  “I don’t think my boyfriend would like it,” Wren lied.

  Peter pointedly eyeballed the empty chair next to her. “But Belinda said he’d dumped you.”

  Wren gritted her teeth. Thank you, Belinda. All Wren had said to her aunt was Brendan wouldn’t be coming because they’d had a difference of opinion. “I haven’t given up hope of seeing him again.” Because I’m going to kick him where it hurts when I do.

  “You’re not ready. I understand.” Peter patted her hand.

  She fought the urge to wipe it on the tablecloth.

  Desserts were delivered to the table. Apple and blackberry crumble swimming in custard. Wren hated custard.

  When the call finally went out for all the single girls to line up for the bouquet toss, she hid behind her two brothers. The big lumps were useful for something. She heard her mother tsking, and ignored her. But damn if the bouquet didn’t sail over James and Matt to land right on Wren’s head.