The Wingman by Natasha Anders
“I can’t,” she confessed with a helpless laugh. “That was pretty much spot on.”
“You don’t like him much.”
“I don’t like him at all,” she corrected, and his gorgeous eyes went somber.
“Any particular reason? Aside from him being a pompous ass?”
“He’s not good enough for my sister. And I’m pretty sure he’ll wind up hurting her, but how do I tell her that when he’s been nothing but charming and loving to her?”
“And less than charming to you.” How the heck was he so astute? Or was she just that transparent? It was a little unnerving.
“Somewhat.”
“In what way?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.” His green eyes pinned her to the spot, and she felt unable to even blink. “And more importantly, it does to you.”
“It’s just little things really.” She didn’t want to tell him about Clayton’s creepiness. What if Mason dismissed her fears as her imagination too? Clayton was good looking and successful and engaged to Daisy’s very beautiful older sister. Why would he even look twice at dumpy little Daisy? So she settled for vagueness, not wanting to see the disbelief in his eyes if she told him the main reason for her dislike of Clayton. “I don’t believe he’ll be good to her.”
“Have you tried telling Lia how you feel?”
“Yes. Both Daff and I have. But it’s hard to put a damper on all that happiness. She seems genuinely in love with him, and whenever we say even the slightest negative thing about him it hurts her.”
Well, Mason could kind of relate to that; after all, he’d avoided telling Spencer about his bitch ex-girlfriend for similar reasons. But then again, they’d already broken up and telling Spencer would have achieved nothing, while it seemed like Dahlia McGregor was on the verge of making the biggest mistake of her life. Mason for damned sure wouldn’t have kept his mouth shut if Spencer and Tanya had stayed together.
“Okay, so the groom’s a douche bag, anything else I need to know?”
“His best man, Grier Wentworth Patterson, is an elitist snob who thinks that anybody from an even slightly lower income bracket is there only to serve his drinks and pander to his needs.”
“Charming.”
“Most of his other groomsmen are cut from the same cloth. I met some of them at Lia’s engagement party,” Daisy said and tried to keep her tone neutral as she thought back to that party. Shar had let it “slip” that the guys had drawn straws to see who would be partnered with Daisy. The toxic cow had then held a hand up to her lips in faux regret and tittered that she “hadn’t meant” to reveal the demeaning information. Of course she hadn’t.
“They’re all going to want to foster a friendship with you,” Daisy warned, and Mason grimaced.
“What the fuck for?”
“Well, look at your résumé, Mason. From war hero”—he snorted at that, but she ignored him—“to underwear model, to bodyguard for the stars, to millionaire playboy. They’ll be wetting themselves to get chummy with you.”
“What? A ghetto rat like me? How goddamn flattering.” He sounded anything but flattered, and Daisy bit her lips to keep from laughing at the sheer disgust that clouded his words.
“It’ll do wonders for their street cred.”
“Street cred? Street cred? What does that even mean?”
“These guys think they’re God’s gift, and you’ve become something of a celeb around these parts. They’re going to want to induct you into their ranks.”
“Like a cult?” he scoffed.
“Yep,” Daisy affirmed with a little grin, secretly entertained by how off-putting he seemed to find the notion. She had no idea if anything she’d just said were true, but it was fun to watch him squirm.
“You’re bullshitting me again, aren’t you?” he asked with suspiciously narrowed eyes, and she giggled.
“Of course I am. How would I know what that sneak of weasels are thinking?”
He chuckled and then trumped her. “Don’t you mean that crevice of assholes?” Her eyes widened, and she burst into laughter, immediately drawing attention to their table.
“Oh, that’s good,” she chortled, and he grinned again.
“I would have gone with forest of dicks, but forest sounds too damned impressive.”
“A d-dribble of dicks?” she suggested, still laughing, and that set him off.
“Jesus woman, that’s just wrong!” he chastised between hearty chuckles.
“But effective . . .”
He flashed her another one of those devastating smiles and proceeded to ask her about the other bridesmaids, her sisters, and her parents. He had such an easy manner about him, that she found herself opening up to him unreservedly, which was unusual for her. They laughed often, and Daisy knew that they gave the appearance—to anyone who happened to be observing—of a couple enjoying each other’s company immensely.
“So are you busy tomorrow?”
His change in subject was so abrupt that Daisy answered without thinking. “Not really.”
“Great, I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Wait. What? Seven? In the morning?”
“Yeah. Dress warmly and comfortably.” His words barely registered because she couldn’t quite get past the time.
“The sun isn’t even up at seven yet.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be asleep.”
“No, you won’t, you’ll be awake, because I’ll be picking you up at that time.”
“Why? What could you possibly want to do that requires getting up at the butt crack of dawn on my one and only day off?”
“You’ll see,” he said mysteriously, and her eyes narrowed.
“I won’t be able to see much of anything with my eyes closed,” she groused.
“Drink lots of coffee; you’ll be fine.” She eyed him speculatively for a moment, wondering what he was up to. She knew that this was just another part of the pretense and knew she had to play along, but that cravenly part of her was once again pleading with her to back out. She tamped it down firmly. There would be no backing out from here on out.
She just had to keep that first night front and center when dealing with Mason. He was good at pretense, he had spent time charming her, entertaining her, making her feel liked when all he had been doing was clearing the way for his brother to flirt with her sister.
And tonight again, while Daisy had been genuinely enjoying herself, he had been putting on a show for Shar and everybody else. Which, to be fair, was exactly what Daisy had asked him to do. She just hadn’t expected him to be so convincing.
“Do you want to get some dessert? Or maybe head over to Ralphie’s for a drink?” Daisy was enjoying the evening so much that she hadn’t even noticed she’d finished her meal and that the dinner crowd at MJ’s was thinning. She cast a look around, surprised to note that the restaurant was nearly empty.
“No, I think I should head home. Especially if I have to be up in the early hours of the morning.”
“It’s not that bad,” he chastised. She didn’t respond, merely gave him a look, and he grinned.
“Trust me, you’ll change your tune when you have to deal with predawn Daisy in the morning,” she warned, and he chuckled before signaling Thandiwe and asking for the bill.
After he had settled their bill, waving aside any attempt from Daisy to pay half, he took her arm and led her out into the cold night air. It had stopped raining, so they had no need of the umbrella, but it was freezing cold, with a sharp, blustering wind that cut right to the bone. Still the air had that crisp, fresh after-rain smell, and Daisy inhaled deeply before settling into the car.
The drive home was short, and when they got to her place, he wordlessly got out and assisted her from the car. He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her to the front door.
As they stood in the darkened doorway, the peaceful silence shattered by Peaches’s excited yapping, Daisy stared up into his u
Although that last one strayed dangerously close to normal post-date behavior.
“So . . . thanks,” she ventured, fumbling with her keys as she struggled to unlock the door. He took the keys from her and efficiently unlocked it for her. She took them back with another mumbled “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” The words were silky and murmured directly into her ear. She hadn’t known he was leaning in so close, and the feeling of his warm breath on her cold skin completely disconcerted her. Her hand dropped to the door handle as she prepared to remove herself from the uncomfortable situation. But when she tugged at the door nothing happened, and she was confused for a moment, until she looked up and saw that he had a hand flat against the wooden surface, easily preventing her from opening it.
Convinced that he didn’t know that he was blocking her way in, she turned to face him and saw his teeth gleam in the pale light spilling out from her living-room windows.
“I can’t open . . .” Her voice faded when he leaned in even farther, his bulk making her feel small and more than a little trapped. She tensed, her heart speeding up and accelerating her breathing in the process. What was this? If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was going to kiss her, but that was a ridicu—
Her frantic thought processes ground to a screeching halt when his lips dropped to hers. It wasn’t a demanding kiss—in fact, one would be hard-pressed to call it much of a kiss at all. It was just a light press of his lips on hers. Sweet, chaste, and incredibly confusing. Their lips were the only point of contact between them, and Daisy froze in shock. Not entirely sure how to respond to this.
She felt his mouth—those soft, velvety lips—stretch into a smile against hers and she resentfully wondered what he found so amusing about this. Was he making fun of her? Was this just some elaborate joke on his part?
It was her worst fear come to life. That this interesting, intelligent, likable, and very good-looking man might find her a source of amusement and pity like all of the other men around here.
His body shifted, and she went even more rigid, ready to flee if he said even one hurtful word. But all he did was bring his warm, callused hands up to cup her face. He lifted his lips, ending the passionless, innocent little kiss.
“Relax.” The word brushed across her lips delicately, and her brows lowered as she pondered the gentle command. She wasn’t given long to think about it before his lips were pressed to hers again, and this time there was nothing chaste or ambiguous about the kiss. It was hungry.
His lips parted hers, and before she knew it his tongue was there, a living, ravening thing, a restless flame, demanding more than she knew how to give. She moaned and melted against him, opening herself up to him, her own tongue tentatively stroking against his. Answering his insistent demand for more.
He groaned and his body folded around hers, pushing her against the door as her front was pressed up against his chest. She felt none of the cold winter air, and the rain—which had started up again—didn’t stand a chance of touching any part of her because Mason was there, jealously hoarding her senses for himself. He was all she could see while his scent surrounded her and his warmth and hardness enveloped her, making her feel safe and protected. The rich taste of him, coffee mingled with mint, intoxicated her. And she was deaf to anything but the sound of his breathing and his soft moans.
In those long few moments, Mason Carlisle was her entire world. Nothing else existed outside the circle of his arms, and Daisy gave herself up to him entirely.
Mason knew he had to stop this. He was getting too carried away. Too wrapped up in Daisy McGregor. What a delightful little armful she was—soft, warm, and sweet-smelling—with a tart, irresistible tongue that he wouldn’t mind sucking on all night long.
It was that thought—the recognition that if he did not let her go right now, he’d seduce his way into her bed—that drew him up short. He took one last, hungry taste before reluctantly easing away from her. She was trembling, which made him immensely thankful, because that meant she couldn’t feel how badly he was shaking too. His hands dropped from her face, and he instantly missed the feel of her soft skin. He stepped back and put an inch of space between them and immediately sucked in a sharp breath when the frigid air intruded where before there had been only heat.
Her eyes finally opened, so huge they just about swallowed her face.
“Why did you do that?”
Hell if I know, Mason thought wryly, and he stepped even farther away from her, shoving his hands into his pockets, hoping to disguise his erection but succeeding only in making himself more uncomfortable when he brushed against his primed and oversensitive cock. He bit back a curse and wasn’t thinking clearly when he answered her question.
“Rehearsing.” He regretted the lie the moment he said it, even more so when he saw her instant emotional retreat.
“Right.” Her breathing was still unsteady, and the word sounded soft and shaky. He had hurt her.
Shit.
“Thanks for tonight. I enjoyed it.” She hesitated before adding, “I mean, it went well, didn’t it? Laid the foundation for the wedding and stuff.”
“Yeah.” And then, because he had to be honest and he couldn’t leave her thinking that the whole evening had just been about their stupid charade, he said, “I enjoyed it too.”
“Oh.”
“So,” he said, clearing his throat casually and trying to pretend his balls weren’t turning an icy shade of blue. “Wear that fetching pink waterproof ensemble you had on today. And the Wellingtons are a definite requirement. Bright and early. Seven.”
“Got it.”
“You’d better get inside before your dog strokes out.”
Finally tuning in to her surroundings once more, Daisy realized that poor Peaches’s bark had ascended to a pitch high enough to break glass. She grimaced and fumbled with the doorknob again.
“Okay. Good night.” She pulled the door open and retreated, shutting the door in his face just as he was saying his own good night.
Peaches went into raptures, and she absently stooped to pick up the wriggling, whimpering dog. Her face got laved, but she barely noticed as she peeked through the window and watched as Mason paused to flip up his hood before slowly ambling to his car.
She moaned and pressed her forehead against the windowpane after he drove off. She needed the shock of cold to snap her back to reality. She was going to have to be better at this. Kisses meant nothing to a sophisticated, experienced man . . . she had to develop a thicker skin and build up a tolerance to those inebriating caresses. She couldn’t fall apart every time he kissed her or touched her. Their charade would call for a lot of that kind of thing over the next few weeks, and Daisy was going to have to put on her big-girl panties and deal with it.
Peaches had settled down and now lay snuggled in Daisy’s arms; she breathed an occasional contented sigh, and Daisy kissed the dog’s fluffy head affectionately.
Her phone beeped, and she put Peaches down to get it from her bag. It was a text from Daff: Can we talk?
Daisy groaned as she thought about the way she had left things with her mother and sisters earlier. She really didn’t want to have this talk right now.
Tired. Tomorrow, okay?
She made her way to the bathroom to run a bath and was undressed, wearing nothing but a robe, by the time her sister responded again.
Okay. Sleep tight.
Yeah. You too. She added a smiley face to show that she wasn’t angry anymore and then set her phone aside and sank into her warm, fragrant bubble bath with a sigh.
She tried to clear her mind and not to think about Mason and how much she liked him. He was doing her a massive favor, and developing a crush on the guy would only succeed in making things awkward. She wasn’t a silly teenager; she could get over this.
Her phone r
“Yes?” she snapped when she managed to get the thing to her ear, but it continued to ring. Aggravated, she stabbed at the screen and repeated her terse greeting.
“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.” She immediately recognized Mason’s sexy, raspy voice.
“Oh my God,” she mumbled. “What do you want? It’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s a gorgeous day, and you’re missing the best part of it.” Did he have to sound so relentlessly upbeat? And what was that sound? It was loud and persistent and . . .
“It’s pouring, Mason!” She held her phone away from her ear and angled it upward so that he could hear the thundering downpour. The move made no sense since he was probably well aware of the rain. She brought the phone back to her ear. “Can you hear that?”
“I can see it,” he said, amusement lacing his voice. “I’m looking out at it from my kitchen window.”
“If ever there was a day to take a rain check, this is it.” She sat up in bed, ignoring Peaches’s aggrieved whine, and pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes. It was still completely dark, and she had to lean over to click on the bedside lamp.
“It’ll probably ease off soon.”
“Mason, this rain is so epic it won’t be stopping for another forty days and forty nights.”
He laughed. “I’ll be over at seven, see you then.”
“No, Mason . . . wait.” The absolute silence that greeted her frantic exclamation told her that he’d hung up and she tossed the phone aside and lay back down with a groan. She dragged the warm covers over her head and cuddled Peaches closer. The man was crazy. Days like these were made for lazing in bed with a good book, or getting comfy in front of the TV and binge-watching The Walking Dead.
Well, she had no intention of getting up until the last possible moment. By her estimation she could lay around for another twenty minutes before getting up and getting dressed.