Bedding The Best Man (Bedding the Bachelors Book 7) (5 page)

His hands went lower. He placed one hand between her legs and squeezed gently, making her gasp and whimper. He removed his hand and let it slip toward her hip as his leg moved between her thighs, parting them even further while the long skirt of her gown rode high along her, revealing the flesh closest to the little black panties that she wore, the lace already soaked and sticky from the fluids dripping from her core.

Her body swayed along the length of his thigh, her hips pumping slightly as she rocked on the hard, smooth muscle between her parted legs.

Her hands tugged at his hair as he let his fingers wander upward, tease at the very edge of her panties, dipping inward to find the neatly trimmed hair covering her slippery labia. His fingers ran through that hair, tangled and damp from her juices.

He moved his finger lower, just low enough that he could feel the soft and delicate flesh below the hair. Her outer labia parted, her intense arousal making it easy for him to delve inside her.

Her fingernails dug into his scalp and her eyes dilated as she whispered, “Oh God yes. Yes, Gabe.”

His finger went deeper into her wet and willing depths. Her tongue met his again and he pulled the panties to one side, growling with frustration as he struggled to get them out of the way so that he could get another finger into her tight, pulsing inner folds. He withdrew, leaving her whimpering and thrusting her hips toward him. His fingers found the erect ridge of her clit and massaged it but it wasn’t enough.

Not for either of them.

He went to his knees. Her salty-sweet flavor filled his mouth, coated his tongue, and he let his fingers delve into her again as his tongue massaged her clit faster and faster, taking her to the brink of an orgasm. Her legs shook and he had to press her back into the wall to keep her from collapsing on top of his body as he knelt there in the junction of her thighs.

He stood, his hands going to his zipper to release the heavy thickness of his cock. His hand caressed it, and more blood filled the already swollen and aching flesh. Her hands latched onto his shoulders as he lifted her by her waist. Her legs wrapped around him, the feel of her flesh against his making him crazy with desire.

Her back hit the wall again as she lifted her hips, just enough, and the very tip of his engorged dick slid between her labia and into the soaked walls behind them. Her cry was low and throaty, filled with need. “Yes,” she whimpered, “Oh please, Gabe. Please make love to me.”

He pushed upward, and she slid downward. Their bodies collided and the sensation was so intense, so fucking right, that he—

Gabe jolted out of his daydream and head bowed, he took several heaving breaths to calm himself down. Finally, still half-dazed, he looked around guiltily, but he was still alone, albeit sporting an impressive boner.

More guilt filled him, and he gave himself the same pep talk he’d given himself during the wedding reception, and while on the beach, and a million times over the years. Fantasizing about having sex with Brianne was definitely not the same as making love to Brianne but it was close. She was off-limits. His best friend’s girl.

And it was his own fucking fault.

His mind went back to the beach house on Coronado Island, the way she’d looked in those clever little denim shorts and the way they’d connected. There’d been an almost audible click in the air between them, and he had wanted her even then.

But he hadn’t known a single thing about the things her mother had been babbling about.

What if?

What if he hadn’t shut his mouth? What if he had kept right on talking to her, blowing right past her mother’s obvious attempt to hook her up with Eric?

He didn’t know. He
couldn’t
know, and that irked him. He’d never been cowardly, but he had been then. He’d been afraid she was too good for him.

And the hell of it was he was
still
pretty sure she was too good for him.

With a growl of frustration, Gabe showered, got dressed and headed out. He was in the parking lot headed toward his car when a sultry voice spoke close beside him.

“Hello.”

He turned to see a young woman smiling at him. The same woman who’d been watching him during the fight.

Young, but not as young as he’d first thought. Probably only a couple of years younger than him.

“Hey there.”

She got a little closer. “I could tell from what I saw inside you like a good hard work out.” The words were suggestive and left no doubt that she was hitting on him. She leaned a little closer and added, “So do I. But I like down time, too. If you were hoping for a relaxing evening, maybe we can grab a drink?”

Gabe paused a beat, registering that he felt no excitement, emotional or physical, at her offer, despite her obvious good looks and undeniably attractive body. He had no doubt she’d be aggressive in bed, and very good too. She’d be fun, and easy to forget the next morning. Those things should have made him want her, but he didn’t.

He wanted one woman, and that was Brianne.

But Brianne wasn’t, and could never be, his.

Chapter Four

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Foster. I understand completely. I just hope you keep us in mind for your next event.”

“Of course, Brianne dear. You take care of yourself,” the older woman said on the other end of the line.

“You too.” Brianne hung up her office phone hard, smiling tightly. She was beginning to wonder how much more she could take before she found herself in a heap on the floor, screaming. Mrs. Foster was the third of her regular clients this week to pass on an upcoming job with Brianne, and the third to use that condescending tone of voice. Apparently, being left at the altar was the social equivalent of getting leprosy. No sooner had she decided to focus exclusively on her career than she didn’t have anything to focus on.

Could her life get any more ridiculous?

“Did you talk to Mrs.—” Evie, her assistant, stopped abruptly in the doorway to Bri’s office when she saw the look on Bri’s face.

“Oh,” Evie said, her face falling. “Sorry. I know that smile. It’s the I’m-gonna-keep-a-happy-face-if-it-fucking-kills-me smile.”

“That’s the one,” Brianne said, relaxing her smile into an expression of disgust. Her facial muscles almost wept with relief at no longer having to fake cheeriness in order to convince herself and others she was fine. She tossed her pen down next to the phone as she massaged her jawbone. “I don’t know what’s going on. That’s the third event this week I’ve lost to another coordinator. If this continues to happen,” she paused, looking at Evie in desperation, “it’s going to be catastrophic.”

Evie moved further into the office and sat down in the plush chair across from Brianne’s desk. “You can’t think that way,” the younger woman said. “It’s going to get better. Those assholes will wise up.” Evie’s perky blonde ponytail and porcelain complexion made her look like a fragile, pampered princess—if you could imagine a princess who cursed like a sailor and could eviscerate a difficult vendor in less than five words.

Brianne sighed and sagged in her leather desk chair, winding her hands in her thick, dark hair. “You shouldn’t call our clients ‘assholes,’” she tried to scold, but her heart wasn’t in it. At this precise moment, she was in complete agreement with Evie – present company excluded, the world was full of utter shits for doing this to her.

“They’re not our clients if they’re cancelling. They’re fair game,” Evie pointed out. “So they’re assholes.”

Brianne couldn’t argue with that logic.

“I just don’t get it,” she said, letting her elbows fall to her desk and propping her chin in her hand. “Everyone’s treating me like I just returned from the psych ward. Why won’t anyone believe that I’m really okay, even after being…well, after what happened.”

Evie rolled her eyes and crossed her legs. “People are fucking dumb,” she said matter of factly, shrugging her tiny shoulders. “I mean, how could a woman possibly be okay after not getting married?” Evie let the sarcasm drip from her words. “It may be the twenty-first century, but we’re still expected to fall to pieces if we don’t have a man to hold us together. But, and don’t bite my head off here, it may have something to do with the fact you can’t even say out loud that you were left at the altar. You always say ‘after what happened’, or, ‘what happened with Eric.’”

“I guess,” Brianne mused. Clearly, her clients were assuming she was still in shock over Eric calling off the wedding and therefore not capable of running their events. She hadn’t given anyone any indication she was upset—in fact, she’d been impressed with how well she’d been handling things.

Even when Eric’s text came through and she’d known her wedding wasn’t going to happen, had she lost her cool? No. She’d taken several deep, shaky breaths, and switched into damage control mode. It was something she was good at, given she was a Whitcomb and therefore had been schooled in social decorum her whole life. She also planned large charity events and often had to deal with absent caterers, diva headliners, and venue problems. Putting on a brave face, she’d done what she’d need to do.

If she could handle something so devastating with grace, she could certainly handle Mrs. Foster’s “Save The Seals” event.

Yes, as Evie had so perceptively noticed, she avoided talking about it, avoided even thinking about it, but what was so unusual about that? The important part was, she hadn’t crumbled when it counted.

And now, she simply didn’t want to torture herself by rehashing it. Was that a crime?

Her parents had been supportive, as always, and Evie had been a rock. But Brianne was afraid something inside of her had permanently shut down the day of her non-wedding. She felt so oddly distant from everything and everyone.

She was lonely – she not only missed Eric, but was intensely worried about him. He’d ignored all her texts, emails, and voice messages. He’d disappeared just before the wedding, and according to Jamie, Eric had only sent his best guy friends an email that he was okay before cutting off communication with them, as well.

Sometimes she still couldn’t believe this was her life. She and Eric had gotten along so well. They had similar interests and backgrounds. She loved him and she genuinely enjoyed his company. So what was wrong with her? Why had she ruined it? There had to be a reason she wasn’t aware of.

She’d been nineteen years old when her first engagement had been cut short, after she’d caught her then-fiancé in bed with another woman. She’d been mortified, her entire world rocked by Callum’s betrayal.

Then she’d met Eric, and for six years she’d basked in the security of a relationship that was comfortable and solid. But she hadn’t been able to make things work with him either, and it killed her to think she’d caused Eric a fraction of the pain she’d once suffered.

She wondered how he was handling it. If he was dealing better than she had. She wished he would, at least, give her some sign he was doing okay. But maybe that was asking for too much. She was the bad guy here. She’d hurt him first. It was only his male pride, or his desire to protect their private life, or a mixture of both that kept him from telling everyone the truth about why the wedding had been called off.

She missed Gabe, too. He’d called her a couple of times to check on her, but he’d done so during business hours, leaving a message on her machine and failing to respond to her return calls. Maybe he felt talking to her would be disloyal to Eric. Maybe he’d sensed her attraction to him; her desire to kiss him on the beach that night. Either way, it was probably for the best that they stay away from each other so she could focus on her floundering career.

On the up side, she
had
managed to power through a couple of smaller charity events since the wedding, but those had been events that had already been planned for months. She had presided over a highly lucrative golf outing for a local hospice, and a small “fun run” for an animal shelter, but those events had been small scale, and had done nothing to increase the status of Lavish Events, her event planning company.

“Maybe I need to get out of here,” Brianne said, speaking as much to herself as she was to Evie. “Maybe LA isn’t the place for me anymore. Have you ever been to Chicago?” she asked Evie, picking the first city that came to mind.

“Chicago winters are as bad as getting fucked by a chainsaw,” her assistant quipped, wrinkling her upturned nose in disgust. “Have you ever tried on a down-filled parka? Those things make a burlap bag look sexy.”

“As always, your colorful descriptions are appreciated,” Brianne said. “What have you heard about Miami?” she asked, anticipating more of Evie’s patented twisted humor.

“Oh my God, don’t even think about it, girl! Damn place is full of retirees, Jimmy Buffett fans and humidity. And the Bermuda shorts! You may as well just buy yourself a muumuu and get fourteen cats,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

“Okay, okay, any chance you can think of somewhere I
could
relocate to?” Brianne asked, laughing.

“That could take some time. I’ll get back to you.”

They grinned at one another just as Brianne heard the sound of the outer door to the office opening. She glanced worriedly at the clock on her laptop screen. “Do I have an appointment?” she asked, starting to pull up the calendar on her computer and searching her memory for anything she may have organized and forgotten.