Best Man, Worst Man

by Stacy Gail

  “So you have a houseguest.”

  “Do I ever. Currently he’s parked on my couch, drinking my gourmet French press coffee and full of not-really-helpful comments. At this point, I’m thinking there is such a thing as justifiable homicide.” Rachel paused outside a marble archway that led to the formal two-story living room, and smiled a smile dripping with bright savagery. “You have been warned.”

  Great. Claire sighed and followed Rachel into the living room, only to have her vision filled with Rachel’s houseguest sitting on a sofa, coffee mug in hand as he chatted with Matt. He was impossible to miss. Even though he was seated it was obvious the man was built like a warrior of old, with wide shoulders and a chest you could play handball on, narrow hips and long legs that filled out his jeans in all the right places. His dark hair was as black as a raven’s wing, and the sweep of his shoulders was so breathtaking she couldn’t help but suffer the innately feminine desire to explore the muscular terrain with curious, wanting-to-squeeze fingers. The smile he gave Matt was a devilish white slash against bronzed, sun-kissed skin, made that much darker with a hint of a five-o’clock shadow. Then he looked up at their approach, and Claire found herself freezing solid, from the tips of her toes all the way to the orderly movement of her lungs.

  He had silver eyes. God help her, silver eyes.

  Wow.

  “Ryder, I’d like you to meet wedding planner extraordinaire, Claire Pomeroy. Claire, this is Matt’s best friend, Ryder Price. Since he and Matt are settled in so nicely here, why don’t you and I have our consult in the kitchen while the boys do whatever it is they do?”

  Matt shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Absolutely not.” To Claire’s surprise, the man named Ryder pushed to his feet and crossed to them, and for no fathomable reason Claire’s heart decided to do its best impersonation of an 808 drum machine. “Please Rachel, I insist you go about your usual routine and just pretend I’m not even here. Remember, you swore I wouldn’t be a bother, so don’t let me get in your way now.”

  “My goodness,” Rachel said through a tight smile that made her look like she wanted to bite something. “How considerate of you, Ryder.”

  “And I wouldn’t want to inconvenience your wedding planner.” Ryder turned the full brunt of his smile on Claire as he took her hand in his. “Claire, is it?”

  It took most of her strength to get her tongue unglued from the roof of her mouth, mainly because the heat of his hand was branding her nerve endings with the glorious feel of him. “That’s correct.” What wasn’t correct was how her brain slipped its gears to plunge her into the heart of fantasyland the moment he touched her. With shocking ease she imagined how the glide of his hands, as big as baseball mitts, might feel against other, more intimate parts of her body. With one glance at his made-for-sin lips, she could almost feel them molding against hers, seducing her with the promise of dark pleasures. She had no doubt he would be a reckless lover. This modern-day gladiator looked as though he lived to conquer his intended target inch by tantalizing inch, unveiling her as he would a piece of fine art to revel in a slow, sensual exploration first by his gaze, then his hands, then his mouth…

  A flush of heat rolled through Claire until she thought she glowed with it, and to her dismay warmth bloomed between her thighs. Way to be professional, she thought, horrified. Apparently her little voice of reason was suffering an epic case of laryngitis. And the worst part of it—all he’d done was touch her hand.

  What would it be like if he touched her elsewhere?

  By degrees, Claire realized she was still holding his hand with the fervor of a child clutching a favorite toy. Mortified, she dropped it like a hot rock, and felt even more idiotic.

  “I hear you’re stranded without a house for a few days?” she managed to ask with a calm smile, all the while praying he hadn’t noticed her erratic behavior.

  “A bit of bad luck that might turn into something good.” He shrugged it aside while his eyes seemed intent on pinning her to the spot. “It just so happens I noticed you yesterday at Serenity Springs as you got into your car, so crossing paths with you now can only be a happy coincidence. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” And she would have been thrilled to take up the invitation so blatantly shining in his eyes if she didn’t have to maintain a professional façade. “Don’t let me disturb you—”

  “Not at all.” As he spoke, Ryder guided Claire onto the sofa next to him, with only a few meager inches separating them. “You usually have your consultations with both Rachel and Matt, right? Feel free to do your thing, and just pretend I’m not even here.”

  Rachel muttered something indistinct while Claire tried to maneuver for more room. This man could undoubtedly seduce women even if he was comatose and on life support, she thought with a silent snort as she dragged out her laptop. But now was certainly not the time to think about how hot his thigh was right next to hers. Or how hot he was. Or how hot he made her.

  Had any man ever made her so hot?

  “This shouldn’t take too long,” Claire said in a brisk tone, grasping at the shield of professionalism like a drowning victim flailing for a life preserver. Pretending Ryder was nothing more than a very large sofa pillow, she opened up PowerPoint before setting the laptop on the coffee table. “Since you’ve settled on your theme—springtime—I’ve found several florists who have created some outstanding centerpieces with that theme in mind.”

  “Fabulous.” Rachel perched on the armrest of Matt’s chair and leaned toward the screen. “And these centerpieces will match all the other arrangements?”

  “Of course, including the bridesmaids’ bouquets and your bouquet, the boutonnieres, the floor arrangements, floral garlands and the wedding arbor you’ve requested.”

  “That’s great—”

  Beside her, Ryder shifted so his thigh nudged hers, a distracting little friction that tugged her awareness toward him as effectively as if he’d blown in her ear.

  “Wow,” he remarked and offered Matt a guy-to-guy roll of the eyes. “Just thinking about all those flowers has my allergies kicking in big-time.”

  Take a pill, Claire nearly blurted before she made herself inch farther down the couch. That friction was heating her up in a way that threatened to short-circuit her thought processes.

  “I mean, spring is bad enough, what with all the pollen in the air, so when all that crap—sorry, Rachel—when all those flowers are carted in on top of everything else…” Ryder shook his head while flashing a charmingly harmless smile. “I hope you guys are serving up major amounts of Kleenex along with the rubber chicken.”

  The snap of Rachel’s teeth was audible as she struggled to smile at their guest. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem, Ryder.”

  “It’s nice to think that, but what if you get someone with allergy-induced asthma? Before you know it, you’re responsible for someone falling down in the aisle with their face turning blue. But hey, who cares, as long as the setting is pretty?”

  Claire just stopped herself from clicking her tongue. Aha. He was going to be like that, was he? Disappointment bloomed in her chest, and the strength of it surprised her. Probably because she didn’t like to see a gorgeous specimen like Ryder Price acting so ugly, she rationalized, hardening her heart even as she scooted farther away. She’d run into countless poisoned pills before—in her line of work it was unavoidable. And it was through that work she had learned there was only one way to handle the likes of Ryder Price.

  She needed to school him on who was in charge.

  Matt was looking at Rachel with a frown. “He does have a point, honey. What about allergies?”

  “Matt, I’ve planned nearly a hundred weddings in my professional life,” Claire began in the hope of being the voice of reason. “Allergies have never been a problem—”

  “Just because it’s never happened before, doesn’t mean it can never happen,” Ryder cut in, his thigh brushing hers once more. That constant di
sturbance—an unwanted pleasurable friction—along with his obstructive attitude brought Claire’s usually calm temper spiking up into the red zone.

  “You seem to not have heard me correctly,” she said without looking at him. No way in the world was she going to feed this troll. “I never said it couldn’t happen. As I was saying before I was interrupted, Matt, if there is a known medical concern for one or more of your guests, all of these floral arrangements can be created with silk flowers. And if you have profound medical concerns for your guests, there is a solution for that as well. I did a wedding that involved a one-hundred-year-old woman, who was asked to be her great-great-granddaughter’s matron of honor. Because of the woman’s age, I arranged for a private ambulance to be onsite, but it was unnecessary. That particular wedding just might go down in my memory as the most poignant ceremony I’ve ever attended. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.”

  “Cool.” Matt looked impressed, and he smiled at his fiancée. “It’s weird, but I can almost picture it, can’t you, Rach? The belonging, the family, the love. It must have filled that room.”

  “Stop, you’re going to make me cry.” With a smile, Rachel leaned over to kiss him.

  “So,” Claire said, notebook at the ready. “Do you want real or silk flowers? And if you choose real, do you want me to enclose an allergy warning with each invitation regarding the use of real flowers at your ceremony and arrange for onsite emergency medical services?”

  “No, that sounds kind of crazy, once you put it like that.” Matt laughed while Rachel nodded wryly. “I mean, people should expect to run into flowers at weddings, after all.”

  “And funerals,” Ryder commented out of nowhere, and it was as wince-worthy as an off-key note in a virtuoso performance. “Come to think of it, weddings and funerals have a lot in common, don’t they?”

  Good grief. “If you two could look through the choices I’ve got ready for you here and tell me what you like, I can get the order in, and we can sail on from there,” Claire went on as if Ryder hadn’t spoken, using the laptop’s touchpad to start the slideshow. “Before I forget, Rachel, I found the best price in all of San Antonio on dyeable pumps. I believe your matron of honor had questions about where to get that done, so I can guarantee her a place that will fit her budget. Oh, and one more thing. I brought these.” She reached into her work-tote and fished out a beribboned cellophane bag. “A chocolatier moved in next door to my offices, and on a lark I ordered something spring-like. These mint-crème-filled works of art are what she came up with. If you like them, we can have them sitting on every table for your guests to ooh and ah over in addition to the party favors you’ve chosen. And if you don’t want to go with these, that’s fine too. Just consider this bag of yummy goodness a gift from me.”

  As Claire handed over the molded chocolates made to look like flowers and bees, Ryder shifted beside her until his leg pushed against hers in one long line of heat. “You really are efficient, aren’t you?”

  Still refusing to look at him, she moved pointedly away. “Most professional wedding planners are.”

  “Claire was one of the first officially certified wedding planners in San Antonio and has made the cover of Texans magazine not once, but twice,” Rachel said with a smug smile. “We were lucky to book with her.”

  “I never would have heard the last of it if I hadn’t gotten Claire to plan the wedding.” Matt groaned, then grinned when Rachel hit his arm. “I don’t think there’s a problem out there that Claire Pomeroy can’t handle.”

  “Oh?” Just as pointedly, Ryder scooted right next to her until thigh pressed thigh once more. “You’re really that good?”

  “I’d like to think I’ve earned a good reputation, if only because I have one all-important rule when it comes to dealing with problems.” At last, Claire turned to look him right in the eye. It was only sporting, after all, to look at your opponent when throwing down the gauntlet. “I never allow a problem to get in my way. Never. Do you understand?”

  She was shocked—and more physically attracted than she would ever admit—when a sudden grin flashed across Ryder’s face. “I do indeed. Sounds like we’re going to have one hell of a good time.”

  “You don’t have to walk me to my car,” Claire said as she and Ryder headed out into the blazing midday sun. “As you can see, I parked right out front.”

  “I’m just being polite.” Smiling, and feeling better than he had in months, Ryder strolled along in the diminutive dynamo’s wake. She was really something, this Claire Pomeroy. As a true connoisseur of women, Ryder felt justified in thinking that in looks alone she was drop-dead gorgeous. With a rich fall of dark brown hair that could have been in a shampoo commercial, poetically dark eyes the color of melted chocolate and a centerfold-worthy figure, it was no wonder she had his brain sliding into hot-and-naughty fantasyland the day before, even with an entire parking lot between them.

  Then she had turned to him, unruffled and elegant and flat-out challenging him with her snippy little tone. In the time it took for a heart to beat, Claire Pomeroy had made herself downright irresistible.

  “Polite?” Hauling the passenger door open, she dropped her workbag into the car’s footwell. “Is that what you call it?”

  Oh, yeah. Definitely snippy. “At least I look at people when I talk to them.”

  “You told me to pretend you’re not here. My specialty is fulfilling people’s wishes.”

  “That was then. This is now.” Stepping into her path before she could round to the driver’s side, Ryder watched, fascinated, as a ripple of irritation washed over her otherwise calm expression. Which expression, he wondered, was the real Claire Pomeroy? “Now is the time to establish all the rules to our little game.”

  “Game? What game?”

  “No need to be coy,” he chided her, enjoying the riot of color that began to burn like a fever in her porcelain-pale face. “We both know what the situation is. You want to pull off this wedding of Matt and Rachel’s, and I want to save my best friend from it. What’s more, I feel it’s only sporting to warn you that I’ll do just about anything to see that he escapes the marital noose unscathed.”

  She was quiet for a full five seconds. Then, “You’re a child. Excuse me.”

  Ryder’s smile vanished as she moved around him with far more speed than he would have thought possible on those ankle-busting heels of hers. “Hey, wait a second—”

  “No, you wait.” Opening the driver’s door, she put it between them as if she felt the need for a shield, and as her dark eyes slashed his way he realized the riotous color in her face had actually been a warning sign of temper. “I refuse to stand here and listen to someone making a game out of ruining what should be the happiest time of Matt’s and Rachel’s lives. You call yourself a friend? You’re their worst enemy, and they don’t even know it.”

  That stung, more than he cared to admit. “What kind of friend would I be if I just stood by while Matt walks face-first into the biggest lie there is?”

  “What lie is that?”

  “Marriage,” Ryder said, though he probably shouldn’t be amazed he had to point that out to her. She was a wedding planner, after all. “Happily ever after. Forever. That’s the lie I’m talking about. Half of all marriages end in divorce.”

  “And half of them don’t. Just because you don’t believe in forever, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Matt isn’t like you. When it comes to his relationship with his fiancée, he knows something you don’t.”

  “Which is?”

  “He knows he belongs with Rachel,” she clipped off coolly. “I’ve seen it time and again, and every time it takes my breath away. Two people who have gone happily through their individual lives, unaware there might be something missing. Something vital. Then they meet, and it’s as though all the secret tumblers on a lock deep inside their hearts fall into place. Something opens up, a place they didn’t even know was there, and suddenly they understand what it means to belong to someone. To have
them belong to you. Do you really want to get in the way of something so beautiful?”

  For a moment, Ryder wavered as the description of something missing hit a little too close to the unnamed restlessness that had dogged him since Dallas. But if there was one thing he knew, it was the truth about marriage. “Matt and Rachel have been together for over a year now, which is great. I have no intention of getting in between them when they’ve got such a good thing going. I just don’t see why they should ruin it with an outdated idea like marriage. So—” he shrugged, and crossed his arms in front of him, “—I guess that means the one person I am going to get in the way of, is you.”

  Chapter Three

  “There’s no way I could have pulled any of this crap together myself,” Matt mumbled absently to Ryder as he adjusted his bow tie in the three-way mirror. “Both you and Rachel’s brother live in town, so you guys are easy to take care of. But Barry relocated to Houston last year, and Jeremy’s stuck in Wyoming doing that seismic survey thing, so trying to figure out how to get everyone in the same monkey suit would have driven me right out of my tree. Thank God Claire contacted a national formalwear chain to coordinate everything.”

  “She’s definitely something,” Ryder said, working the cufflinks with inordinate care. Claire. The one person he didn’t want to talk about, if only because she was the one person he couldn’t kick the hell out of his mind. Just thinking about her—and the disdainful way her eyes had taken bloody chunks out of him—had kept him up half the night. Even when he’d at last managed to fall asleep he hadn’t been able to ditch her, though in his dreams she’d been anything but disdainful. His dream-Claire had been eager and breathlessly ardent, showering phantom kisses all over him, so when he awoke he was as hard as a steel rod, slick with sweat, and hungering for her body.