Once she’d settled herself into the most recessed corner of the booth, he handed her the card key to his suite. “Would you hold on to this for me while I get our drinks? I lost mine last night and had to get a replacement from the reception desk. I’m hoping to do better with this one.”
He expected reluctance, since agreeing to be his key-master meant relinquishing any escape plans she’d hatched, but the odd look she gave him made him wonder if she knew something about what had happened to his key last night. All she said, however, was “Sure,” as she took the small plastic card.
“Thanks. What can I get you to drink?”
“Maybe some water.”
Maybe not. He doubted the power of H2O to chill her out her and get her into the party spirit. “How about some champagne? It’s a celebration, after all.”
“Um.” She glanced around again, as if to confirm others were drinking. “Okay. I guess. If that’s what you’re having.”
After the day of business calls he’d endured, he’d planned on something with more kick, but he suspected three fingers of Johnnie Walker Black, no water, no ice, would put Sophie under the table. “Two champagnes, coming up. Guard that.” He pointed to his card key. She’d picked it up and was absently sliding the pad of her index finger back and forth over one rounded corner. A disconcerting image hijacked his brain…of her, running that same soft fingertip along the center of his chest, over his abdomen and down his— “I’ll be right back.” Self-preservation sent him striding to the bar before his imagination embarrassed him.
He’d been working too hard these last few weeks, and ignoring certain basic human instincts. That had to be the reason he suddenly couldn’t get his head out of his pants. “Jesus, I need a drink,” he muttered under his breath.
“Did I hear something about a drink?” a familiar voice asked from close behind him. “Because I definitely need one of those.”
A quick look over his shoulder confirmed the voice belonged to Brock McNeill. He’d met Brock last night, along with Colt’s other groomsmen, Reed Lawson and Tyler Dresco, shortly before they decided to crash the bachelorette party. Brock, Reed, and Colt went way back—back to the days when Colt had spent summers at his dad’s house in Tennessee. Kady’s older brother, Tyler, and Colt were also childhood friends, having grown up in the same Colorado suburb where Colt’s mom still lived. All of which made Logan the obvious choice for best man. By selecting his college roommate for the honor, Colt honored their friendship—one forged by cramped dorms, cheap beer, all-nighters, and a few spring break incidents best left in the vault—and avoided choosing among the guys with more tenure.
Tyler, an ER doctor at a big hospital in San Francisco, had beaten them to the bar tonight, and sat chatting with Colt. Logan took the empty barstool between them. Brock, vice president of Having the Right Last Name at his father’s company, straddled the barstool on the other side of Colt, and Reed, the cop, sat down next to Brock.
“Evening, gentlemen,” Logan said. Then, mostly to needle Colt, he added, “Refresh my memory. What’s on tomorrow’s agenda? Mountain biking, poker…what was it again?”
“Scavenger hunt. Tomorrow afternoon,” Tyler said. “You ready for some outdoor adventure?”
Logan grinned. Tyler had spent several years visiting some of the less-traveled parts of the globe thanks to a stint with Doctors Without Borders. Maybe Dr. Dresco had never scaled a mountain, but chances were good he knew his way around a nature trail. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re both going to win, because lord knows I’m not about to go traipsing across the mountainside for a prize I can buy myself,” Brock drawled.
Reed stopped staring across the room, trying to burn his brand onto the pretty blond maid of honor, Julie, long enough to incline his head toward Colt’s glass. “What are you drinking?”
“Whiskey,” Colt said, waving at Kady. “But not for much longer. My bride’s beckoning.”
“Nice,” Brock said, sending a smile Kady’s way. Then he signaled to the bartender. “Not before I buy a round of drinks, though.”
Logan followed Reed’s gaze back to Julie, and watched a couple of young stockbroker types abandon their plan to approach her when they sensed Reed’s silent threat from across the room. Logan mentally congratulated them on the wisdom of their decision. He didn’t know if Officer Lawson packed heat at Beaver Creek, but he wouldn’t bet against it.
Julie shot a quick, unerring look directly at Reed. One she probably meant to convey, Back off, you don’t own it, but the unmistakable hint of fascination in her eyes changed the overall effect from shutdown to challenge. You could own it, if you play things right…which you won’t.
He found himself biting back a smile, because he could see where these two were headed from a thousand miles away, but just to mess with Reed’s head, he asked Brock, “Is it from Julie’s company?” Her family distilled and distributed a top-shelf whiskey called One-Eyed Jack. He picked up a pile of coasters and dealt them down the bar like playing cards. “If so, line ’em up.”
Reed’s eyes darted back to the bar and he raised a brow. “They have that here? I want to try some, too.”
“Sure,” Brock agreed, completely unfazed at the prospect of dropping a hundred bucks plus tip on a round of drinks. The bartender came up, and he smiled at her, oozing Southern charm. “Hey, sugar. Can we get a round of One-Eyed Jack Whiskey?”
Logan added two champagnes, which, it turned out, were complimentary for the party guests. When the bartender turned away to get their drinks, he said, “Next round’s on me, but it’ll have to be tomorrow after the scavenger hunt. Tonight I have to drink and run.”
“Why?” Brock asked. “You got a hot date?”
Logan glanced at Colt. “Hotter than you four.”
“Speaking of which…” Tyler eyed Logan’s T-shirt and shorts. “Dude. You realize this is a black-tie event, right? Not a visit to the Outback?”
“Seriously,” Colt interjected. “What the fuck, man?”
“Hey, I wore this for you, big guy.”
“Huh?” Colt frowned.
Logan leaned in and lowered his voice. “Long story, and no reason to get your panties wadded, but I’m dressed like this so your little sister would come tonight. You asked me to keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t hide in her room, and this is what it took.”
Colt shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder. “Okay, I’m not even going to ask. But thanks. You’re the best.”
“It’s nothing.”
Colt looked him in the eye. “Actually, no. It means a lot to me.”
The striking redheaded bridesmaid, Christine, leveled a single scorching look at Tyler from across the room. He didn’t know what the deal was between those two, but clearly there was one. Logan drank up, saluted Colt and the remaining groomsmen with his empty glass, then took his two flutes of champagne and headed back to Sophie, thankful for the comparative simplicity of his mission. Keep her engaged and entertained. Make sure she had fun.
No scorching looks allowed.
…
“How did I let you talk me into this?” Not quite sure why she uttered the question aloud, Sophie handed Logan his card key and then sipped her glass of champagne and tried not to melt into a puddle from the sheer proximity of his body next to hers.
When he’d left her to go to the bar where Colt and the other groomsmen were gathered, she figured he’d forfeited his room key for a clean escape—sort of like a wolf gnawing off his foot to free himself from a trap. She never dreamed he’d be back, or that he’d bypass the seat on the opposite side of the table and slide in beside her instead.
“What?” He brought his mouth closer to her ear to be heard over the din of conversation flowing around them. Her temperature rose another billion degrees. “How did I talk you into going casual tonight? Easy. You wanted to come.”
Boy, did she. But he meant to say she wanted to attend, and honesty forced her to set him straight.
“No.” She sipped again, enjoying the way the champagne bubbles threw a party at the back of her throat. “Before you showed up in the lobby I fully intended to go to my room, order room service, and spend some time working.”
“That’s maybe what you intended to do, but that’s not what you wanted to do.”
His warm breath tickled her ear and every erogenous zone in her body sat up and begged for the same treatment. Unconsciously, she scooted a little closer to the wall, and then bit back a moan because shifting around only intensified the distracting pressure between her thighs. She glanced at him and hoped he couldn’t tell how turned on she was, just from sitting beside him. “It’s not?”
He smiled, and a groove appeared at the corner of his mouth. Her tongue tingled with an urge to trace the tempting little bracket.
“You wouldn’t want to disappoint Colt and Kady. They love you, and they want you to be part of their celebration, regardless of the dress code. Deep down, you would have felt terrible if you’d skipped out on tonight.”
Yeah. There was that. As her mom frequently pointed out, cowardice lay at the heart of shyness. Every time she caved in to her desire to run and hide, she forfeited self-respect.
“You’re right. Thank you for convincing me to come, and being my partner in fashion crime.”
He tapped his glass to hers. “I’ll be your partner in crime anytime.”
She laughed and tipped her head to sip her drink. For one long, suspended moment their eyes locked, and something in his gaze sucked all the air out of her lungs. Finally, he blinked, smiled a smile she could only call bemused, and shook his head. “Sorry for staring. It’s just…you look so different. You’re not a cute little kid anymore. You’re a beautiful woman. I almost didn’t recognize you in the lobby.”
Logan McCade just called you beautiful! Her heart nearly raced right out of her chest, even though he meant it in a damn-it’s-shocking kind of way. She opened her mouth to say thanks, but the perverse idiot inside her who could never gracefully accept a compliment immediately blurted, “Your mental picture of me probably includes braces, bad skin, and a misguided attempt at a Halle Berry pixie cut, which my mother correctly predicted would be a disaster. Anything would be a step up from where I started.”
His smile faded and she immediately wanted to bite her tongue. The shy girl’s other natural gift besides hiding in plain site? Always saying the wrong thing. The pathetic, self-conscious thing. He scratched his chin and gave her a measuring look, starting at the top of her head and ending…she didn’t know where, because she turned and stared down at the table rather than blush for him yet again.
“Nope,” he said after a moment, “it’s not debatable. You’re beautiful.” His fingers toyed with the fringe of her chin-length bob. She turned her burning face back to him. “And it’s not because you’ve grown out your hair and gotten your braces off. Those are superficial things. It’s more like…I don’t know…you’ve got secrets and a hint of determination hidden behind those soft brown eyes. Makes a guy want to figure out what’s going on in your head.”
“You’d be—” God, was she really going to say this? “You’d be running for the hills if you knew what was going on in my head.”
His mouth kicked up at the corner, and the sexy groove made an encore. He trailed his finger along the edge of her hair again, making her shiver, and then leaned closer. “Try me.”
Here? Now? Her last semi-functional brain cell took a minute to realize that “Try me” meant “Talk to me.”
Right. Conversation. “Oh-kay. Six months ago I challenged myself to accomplish three things.”
“Very adventurous of you,” he teased, reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear.
Possibly, but the resolutions had been prompted less by a sense of adventure than overwhelming frustration. Colt and Kady had just announced their engagement, and happy as she’d been for them, the news had prompted her to take a good, hard look at herself.
The woman cringing back at her seemed pretty pathetic. An introvert who preferred to fly under the radar at work rather than muster up the courage to tackle a client-facing role. A wallflower living in bulky sweatshirts and baggy jeans, clinging to an extra twenty pounds like a buffer against the world. An unfulfilled woman who wouldn’t know passion and excitement except through the racy text accompanying the erotic product offerings of the spicy website she designed and maintained for her firm’s biggest client, Eve’s Closet. Eve’s Closet was the J. Peterman of adult toys. Every product told a story, and somewhere between Eve’s kinky adventures with riding crops, blindfolds, wrist restraints, and all sundry of clamps and rings, Sophie had realized how small and dull her world had become.
She was tired of lurking on the sidelines, observing life instead of participating, reading about passion and excitement rather than experiencing any firsthand. Deep down, she wanted what Colt had found—a life partner. Unlike her brother, she’d always dreamed of meeting that special someone, falling madly in love, and having the object of her affection love her back with equal intensity. Achieving her dreams meant making some changes. Mark, her neighbor and self-proclaimed “fairy godfather,” had summed it up best. “Want a life partner? Sweetie, the first thing you gotta do is get a life.” She’d promptly devised a three-step plan to New Sophie.
“So tell me, what are you hankering to do?” Logan’s question broke into her thoughts. “Skydive? Swim with sharks? Bike down the slopes of Haleakala?”
She bit back a laugh. “None of the above. I think we have very different ideas of challenge. I wanted to lose weight—”
“Why?” His brows drew together. “You don’t need to lose any.”
His response made her want to hug him. “Thank you for saying that, but six months ago I needed to lose a bunch. The process took more determination than I’d given myself credit for.” Discipline, too, but she’d learned to exercise every morning, and stop filling the voids in her life with mac ’n’ cheese and brownies.
Hazel eyes appraised her in a way that made her pulse quicken. “I think you can consider that particular goal achieved. What else is on your list?”
He angled his body toward her as he spoke. His forest-after-a-rainstorm scent seduced her just as effectively as his hard thigh brushing against hers. She clamped her fingers around the edge of the table to keep from shooting straight out of the booth like one of the homemade match rockets Colt, Reed, and Brock had loved to set off as kids.
“I wanted to advance at work.” She threw the words out a bit desperately and silently ordered herself to settle down. “I’ve been a web designer for the same firm for almost three years. I like the job, but it’s time for me to make the jump to lead designer and start managing client projects. Last week my supervisor told me they’ve opened up a new lead designer position, and asked if I’d be interested in applying.”
“And you said…?”
“I looked him square in the eye and said yes.” Her chest swelled just thinking about it. “I put the finishing touches on a proposal for our firm’s most important client before I left for Beaver Creek. Hopefully, I’ll hear something from my supervisor while I’m here, but…” She shrugged. “I think it was good. I think I have a shot at getting the promotion.”
Logan nodded. “Your supervisor wouldn’t have asked you to apply if he didn’t think you were ready. You’ve got lead designer in the bag. I promise. So, what’s goal number three?”
That brought her to the whole passion/excitement thing. The only area where she’d made absolutely no progress unless the inaugural bikini wax she’d subjected herself to before she left for Beaver Creek counted. And now that the moment of truth had arrived, she wasn’t sure she was bold enough to mention goal number three to him after all. But hey, here she was, sharing an intimate booth with the man she secretly cast as the lead in every erotic adventure she’d ever uploaded to the Eve’s Closet site…and she’d uploaded a lot. Sitting beside him, tingling from head to toe each time their bodi
es brushed, qualified as excitement and passion, didn’t it? She shifted closer to him until their hips touched, and prepared to speak, but the contact set off a flurry of vibrations along her leg.
Goodness, was he vibrating with need? For her?
He cursed under his breath. “Sorry, Soph. Let me take care of this.” Then he reached down between their bodies. His knuckles grazed her thigh. Oh, my heavens! She held her breath. Is he actually going to…?
He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
Oh. So much for vibrating with need. The tingling sensation had been his phone signaling an incoming message. Her breath leaked out her nose and she sagged with relief…or disappointment. It was a close call. A half-hysterical fit of giggles threatened until she noticed him wince at the screen.
“Something wrong?”
He sighed, and for the first time ever, she sensed weariness behind his Mr. Perfect facade. “Probably. Defy Gravity is in negotiations to acquire a surf company. I thought we had every issue tied down before I left, but things are starting to unravel, and now my CFO is blowing up my phone every hour with new problems, and my board is asking for an update, and”—he tossed his phone on the table—“I might as well have stayed in Boulder if I was going to spend the whole damn week a slave to this deal.”
“Sucks to be in charge, huh?”
The comment earned her a weak grin. “Sometimes it feels like the company owns me. Growing the business used to be fun, before the money guys and the analysts and the lawyers got involved. Fun or not”—he heaved out a breath—“duty calls. I hate to ask, but will you excuse me for a moment?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right back.” He picked up his phone and card key before pinning her with a serious look. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Amazingly, she didn’t have an urge to flee. She felt radiant from basking in his attention all evening, and she didn’t want to lose the glow. But as she watched him weave his way through the crowded restaurant toward the lounge, she noticed female heads turn like flowers to the sun as he passed, including a couple of the other bridesmaids. Some of the warm feeling dissipated.
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