Page 11 of Bedding The Best Man (Bedding the Bachelors)

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. Hecouldn’tknow, 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 wasstillpretty 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.”

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