Seducing the Bridesmaid

by Katee Robert

  Apparently her country boy was the type to unpack as soon as he settled into a hotel room.

  She grabbed the condoms. “Magnums. How adorable. You know they make these so even a less-than-average-size guy can wear them and get an ego boost, right?”

  He laughed, the sound making her thighs clench together. “Woman, you’re as mean as a copperhead. Come here and let’s find out if you’re as cold-blooded.”

  Ouch. She toyed with one bra strap, determined not to show how much his comment stung. She was mean, and she put a lot of effort into keeping that personality at the forefront. In a dog-eat-dog world, only the strong survived, and women in the corporate world had two prominent options—play up their femininity and never threaten their male colleagues’ masculinity, or become even bigger ball-busters than the men were.

  She’d always figured there was a time and place for both, though she refused to let anyone steamroll her. She reached back and unclasped her bra. Then she dropped it to the side, leaving her in only her purple silk panties.

  Brock swallowed visibly. “Damn.”

  Even as heat sizzled through her body at his blatant appreciation, she hated herself for the weakness. Of course he thought she was gorgeous—she was standing in front of him mostly naked. It wasn’t like he’d actually turn her down once he saw her in the skin.

  The question remained—where to go from here? He looked half a second from bursting out of that chair and tossing her on the bed, which meant she needed a solution and fast. She held up a finger. “Stay.”

  That same slow grin spread over Brock’s face. “Ruff.”

  A giggle burst free before she realized it was coming. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “And I was right when I reckoned you had a sense of humor. We all win.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Hands on your thighs, palms down.”

  “How am I supposed to touch you if my hands are on my legs?”

  He wasn’t, which was the plan. She crossed her arms under her breasts, lifting them to draw his attention there. “I could just as easily put my clothes back on and go find my entertainment elsewhere.”

  Just like that, all joking was gone from his face. His eyes darkened until they were nearly black—and they hadn’t been that far off to begin with. “We’ll play things your way—this time.”

  There wouldn’t be a next time.

  He followed her instructions, pressing his hands to his thighs. She moved a bit closer. “Remember—you touch me, this ends.” Because she’d forget all reason and lose herself completely. This was the type of man who expected that kind of response from his partners, and got it through sheer force of personality. She couldn’t let him take control.

  Regan went to her knees in front of him, eyeing the way his hard length pressed against his slacks. “Why don’t we just loosen things up a bit?”

  “By all means.”

  She carefully undid his pants and pulled them back to free his cock. Holy shit. Apparently he hadn’t been joking about the Magnum size. Almost idly, she dragged her thumbnail from his tip to his base. “Impressive.” And he was.

  He spoke through his teeth. “So glad I pass your inspection.”

  “Oh Scarlett, I haven’t even started inspecting.” She palmed his cock, trying to keep from shaking as he filled her hand. She wanted him inside her, and she wanted it now.

  Even so, she made them both wait as she worked him, enjoying the way every muscle in his body went tight with each downstroke. He was gorgeous in a raw way so few men were anymore, as much a force of nature as the mountains around this resort.

  And he was hers for the night.

  Unable to contain herself any longer, she slipped her free hand into her panties and spread her wetness around her clit. She was already ready to take him, but teasing them both was too much fun to pass up. A breathy little moan slipped free as her orgasm built around her, and—

  Brock’s eyes snapped open. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She squeezed him a little tighter as she kept circling her clit, pushing herself closer and closer to release.

  He leaned forward. “You’re playing with yourself.”

  No point in denying it. Not when she was so close already. “Yeah.”

  “Stop.”

  Fat chance of that happening. She pushed a finger inside herself and hissed out a breath.

  “Jesus, Regan. Get up here and let me touch you.”

  If he did, there’d be no going back. More than that, she wanted to torment him just a little bit, to keep something back. A part of her he could never touch. Her orgasm hit her like a freight truck and she cried out and slumped over his lap. He cursed, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it unless he wanted to knock her to the floor and break their bargain.

  She loved that he didn’t move despite the tension riding through every part of his body. She took a deep breath and pressed a kiss to his stomach. “God, that was good.”

  “You weren’t kidding when you said there was nothing sweet about you. That orgasm should have been mine.”

  For a second she thought he was pissed because she’d come first, but then she looked up and saw the expression on his face. Holy shit. He wanted to be the one making her come. The answering heat that rose in her at the realization stoked her desire higher than she thought possible. If she let him, he’d make her come again. Hell, he’d probably wring as many orgasms from her as he could, until she was boneless from pleasure and completely incapable of walking away.

  Physically or otherwise.

  He might be hotter than the devil, but no one was hot enough to make her lose herself. She couldn’t afford it.

  She dredged up a grin as she reached behind her for the box of condoms. Regan tore one free and rolled it onto his cock, squeezing him again for good measure. While he was busy groaning, she stood and slid off her panties.

  Brock cursed again. “You couldn’t have even one imperfection, could you?”

  “Imperfection? Someone’s using his Word of the Day app.”

  “Gotta in order to keep up with fancy pants like you.” His dark eyes burned into her. Before she could process his intentions, he grabbed her hips and pulled her onto him. The feeling of those big hands on her skin had her biting back the need to beg him to keep touching her until she forgot all the reasons why this was a terrible idea.

  She went rigid. Regan did a lot of things but she never, ever begged.

  He coasted one hand up her spine to cup the back of her neck. “Kiss me, darlin’.”

  She wanted to. God, she wanted to. His lips were a breath away, and too tempting by half. She could almost feel them on her skin…

  “No.” If she let him kiss her, she’d lose what little control she had left. It might be very Pretty Woman of her, but she didn’t believe in kissing her flings. It was too personal, opening up too many vulnerabilities he didn’t have a right to. She grabbed his wrists and moved his hands off her body. If one touch could make her forget herself… She couldn’t risk it happening again. “Keep your hands to yourself and stick to the plan, Scarlett. Otherwise, I walk.”

  Something she needed to forcibly remind herself—this man had no place in her life plans.

  Chapter Three

  Brock couldn’t decide if he was pissed or too turned on to care. Regan hadn’t molded to any of his initial expectations, taking charge as soon as they got to his room instead of letting him get his hands on her. Looking back, he should have seen it coming from how she’d turned the tables on him at the bar, but it was too late to worry about it now that she had a hold of his wrists and that strange look on her face. Because she would leave if he touched her again. She was too damn stubborn not to follow through on that threat.

  The way her hands shook told all he needed to know. He wasn’t getting that kiss—not now. But the thought of doing it affected her more than the orgasm she’d just stolen from him. She wanted that kiss—probably as desperately as he did. She just wouldn�
�t allow either of them to have it.

  Brock vowed right then and there that he’d get his lips on hers and her at his mercy before Colton and his woman said “I do” this weekend.

  “Now, behave yourself, Scarlett, and I’ll give you a treat.”

  “Darlin’, I never behave myself.”

  She trailed her hands back up to his shoulders. “I’m counting on it.” As he strained not to touch her and break his word—again—she reached between them and pressed his cock to her entrance. “See, this isn’t so bad.”

  He met her gaze as she sank onto his length, her wet sheath wrapping around him until it was everything he could do to keep his eyes open. She sighed, the sound so sweet he nearly did a double take.

  She began to move, sliding torturously slowly up his cock and back down again. On every downstroke, that sound came out of her mouth, the one that made him want to wrap his arms around her and never let go.

  Shit, what the hell was wrong with him?

  She gripped his shoulders, using the leverage to move more frantically. Her breasts caught and held his attention, the way they bounced, the bronze skin topped by dusky nipples that practically begged for his mouth. He leaned forward to answer that silent plea, but she maneuvered out of the way. “Nope.”

  Motherfucker. He was beginning to feel like a conveniently warm blow-up doll. “If you’re not going to let me touch you, what the hell are you here for?”

  “This.” She reached behind her with one hand and cupped his balls, squeezing lightly. The pressure nearly sent him to the moon. It was only made worse by the way she shuddered, her eyes closed and pure bliss on her face.

  She squeezed him one more time, and he lost it, moving his hips as much as he could, pumping into her as his orgasm rocked through him. He had to close his eyes from the sheer intensity of it, though he opened them again almost immediately. He didn’t want to miss a second of this.

  Regan kneaded his shoulders, a little laugh escaping. “That was fun.”

  Fun? Fun? Brock shook his head and blinked a few times. As soon as he could move his legs again, he was going to show her exactly who had control of this situation.

  After a long moment, she straightened and climbed off him. He tried not to be moved by the perfection of her body, but he was only human and he’d bet she spent a lot of time working for it. She turned around to grab her skirt and shirt, her rounded ass making him want to take a bite. Yeah, this was a woman familiar with Spin class.

  Then he registered the fact that she was getting dressed. “What are you doing?”

  “What’s it look like?” She fastened her bra and shrugged into her shirt. With every button, he lost sight of more skin—and his chance of turning the night around. She picked up her panties, seemed to consider, and dropped them on the bed. “I’m all for cherishing the memories.”

  She started for the door and he lunged, grabbing her wrist. “Stay.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Stay with me tonight.” The sex had been hot as hell, but he wasn’t even close to getting her out of his system.

  She bit her lip, looking indecisive for the first time since he’d met her. He pulled her a step closer, and then another. “I want to taste you.”

  He realized his mistake as soon as she tensed, but it was too late to take the words back. She jerked her hand out of his. “Thanks, but no thanks.” She arched an eyebrow, once again the untouchable Regan. “Enjoy the afterglow, Scarlett. And just think, you didn’t even have to work for it.”

  Holy shit. She was going to just walk out and leave him sitting there with his pants around his ankles? Brock glared. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

  Her flinch was almost imperceptible, but it was more than enough to make him feel like an ass. He made an effort to brush it away. She’d come in here, ordered him down, and fucked him, and hell if it hadn’t been one of the hottest experiences of his life. He didn’t like realizing that, and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to tell her, but it was hotter than he would have guessed, being used for a beautiful woman’s pleasure. “Regan—”

  “Let’s be honest here, okay? You just came harder than you thought possible—and my orgasm was pretty cool, too. So thanks, Brock. I had a good time, and I know you did, too. Have a nice life.” Then she turned around and strode out the door, her shoes dangling from one hand.

  He sat there in silence for a few minutes, still trying to process what the hell just happened. With a sigh, he pushed to his feet, his muscles shaking. He didn’t like that she thought he was so worthless that she could just come in here and use him as a giant sex toy. Yeah, it’d been hot, but there was a level of dirty feeling he wasn’t prepared to deal with. It might have been different if their relationship was any less antagonistic, but he was reasonably sure she didn’t think much of him. Right now he wasn’t too fond of her, either.

  Brock thought back over what just happened, to her flinch when he’d snapped at her. He’d hurt her. If he could do that with a few careless words, she wasn’t carting around nearly as thick a skin as she pretended. As he turned on the shower, he muttered, “Don’t go there. Woman is nothing but trouble, and you damn well know it.”

  That didn’t stop his curiosity from perking up and taking notice. He wanted to know more about Regan and what made her tick. If he could get under her skin and clothes in the process… Well, he was okay with that, too.

  …

  Regan didn’t breathe easy until she was back in her room with the door shut safely behind her. All she could picture was the look on Brock’s face right before she left the room, the anger and determination blatant across his features.

  He thought this was just the opening match.

  No way. They’d had their fun, as two consenting adults did from time to time, and now it was over. She had no place in her life for a too-sexy-for-her-good country boy who liked to cruise through life on his daddy’s coattails. The McNeills were known in Tennessee for buying up all the mom-and-pop stores and streamlining the businesses while still “preserving the cultural flavor” or some shit, and their name had been popping up more and more as time went on. Brock hadn’t had to work for the lifestyle he had. She’d bet he hadn’t gone hungry once in his life.

  She glanced at her computer, and actually took a step toward it before she caught herself. No. There was no reason to do research on Brock. She was done with him, and he wouldn’t know what to do with her even if he caught her. Honestly, judging by the comments she overheard him making to Reed—something about the ass on the bartender and then, in the next breath, about the set on one of the other wedding guests—he was a player with a capital P.

  And she wasn’t interested in being a notch on someone’s bedpost unless it was on her terms.

  Satisfied she was well and truly done with Brock, she crossed to her computer for an entirely different reason. Logan, the best man.

  He was everything she was supposed to want—brilliant and cultured and driven. The kind of man who fit right into her life plan. Her friends might laugh at how rigid said plan was, but it had been the thing to keep her in line in college, and keeping to her plan was what made her as successful at her job as she’d been. She had her eye on the prize, and she didn’t let anything get in the way of obtaining it.

  Her parents had given up a hell of a lot to get her into college and make sure she graduated without the plague of debt so many of her alumni suffered from. It gave her the freedom to make slightly riskier career choices—which had all paid off. She wouldn’t be where she was if it wasn’t for her parents, and she owed it to them not to throw it all away.

  Which is where her plan came in.

  Married to a corporate man by thirty. At twenty-seven, her options were slowly starting to dwindle. And her friends were moving on with their lives. Kady was the first to actually settle down, but the other women were sure to follow.

  But that was neither here nor there. She had her plan, and her plan wasn’t going to b
e altered just because she was suddenly starting to feel lonely. Maybe the right guy would walk into her life and change all that.

  The right guy could very well be Logan McCade.

  She typed his name into her search engine and cruised through the results, determined to take more than the five minutes she’d managed before she got on the plane from NYC. Most of them concerned his company, Defy Gravity, and its many successes. Nice. He got his MBA at Yale, and had been doing well for himself ever since, conquering one barrier after another and making his company a raging success. Honestly, he was borderline disgustingly perfect.

  What could it hurt to get to know him a little more? She couldn’t have drawn up a man who fit her plan better if she’d tried.

  Against her better judgment, her thoughts slid back to the man she’d just left, bringing up a side-by-side image of him and Logan. Damn it. What did it matter if Brock was the one who made her toes curl? He was the love ’em and leave ’em weeping and clutching their skirts type.

  They’d had their fun and now it was over.

  Then again, what could one more little Google search hurt? And if she called in a favor with Addison… It was totally justified. She had just slept with the man, so there was nothing wrong with finding out a little more about him. Addison had all the best connections for finding out everything regarding new clients before she took them on. Regan had never figured out how she found all the dirt on people so quickly, but Addison was a mother hen when it came to her clients. She refused to take on someone she wouldn’t be able to back 100 percent. It was part of the reason they got along so well—Regan understood and respected the kind of drive and dedication it took to be a success.

  Her fingers flew over the keyboard before she could talk herself out of it. Brock McNeill, younger son of Vince McNeill, owner of the biggest corporation south of Kentucky. His oldest son, Caine, currently held the CEO position, and Brock was listed as the VP.

  Shockingly, the information hadn’t changed since the last time she did this search. Further down the page there was a link to a prominent gossip column. Regan rolled her eyes. An art gallery opening—just the place rich men liked to show up with gorgeous women on their arms and pretend they knew what the hell they were looking at. As expected, when she pulled up the article, there was a picture of Brock and a woman whose chest sure as hell wasn’t the one she was born with. She leaned against him, smiling up as if he were the most interesting person she’d ever met.