Page 6 of Baiting His Bride

Mallory’s head drops, and my chest tightens. How is it possible that a woman like her—witty, observant, whip smart, competitive, and a downright bombshell—is single and hasn’t even had a steady boyfriend? It blows my mind.

The question of “why” gnaws at me like a puzzle with a missing piece, and I’m determined to get to the bottom of it. I’m a journalist by training, after all.

“Mallory’s basically married to her job,” Kelsie continues, reaching for a gift bag with angel wings on it. “So, I thought the perfect gift to say thank you to Mallory would be something just for her. Here, my friend,” Kelsie says, handing over the mint-green bag. “It’s a weekend spa retreat back in the city, so you don’t have to miss too much work to enjoy it.”

“Thank you,” Mallory says, giving her friend a warm hug. But as she spins back to me, her gaze lifts to mine, as if trying to gauge my reaction. But I don’t have time to react because Sawyer takes the microphone, and my stomach drops. The dirt this man, who’s been my ride-or-die friend for the last twenty-odd years, could share is abundant. Hell, it could fill The United Center.

“Many of you know Carson,” Sawyer starts, pulling me in and tossing his arm over my shoulder. “And his reputation. But, to be honest, he’s one hell of a guy, and I’m proud to call him my best friend. I wouldn’t be where I am now, about to marry the woman of my dreams without him.”

“All lies,” I insist to an echo of chuckles from those close enough to hear.

Sawyer shoots me an amused look but continues. “Carson is sharp and astute. He’s as fun-loving as they come, but what you might not know—what he tries to keep under wraps—is that he’s incredibly generous with his time and money.”

I duck my chin as he continues, clapping me on the back.

“He doesn’t like word of his good deeds to ruin his reputation, but to thank him for being here for me this weekend, I’ve made a donation in his name to the Bennett Media Group Foundation, the non-profit Carson directed the start-up of last year in order to fund a variety of independent initiatives across Chicago.”

Sawyer extends a hand as polite applause echoes among the tables.

“Thanks, man,” I say, pulling him in for a hug. “Really.”

“Anytime.”

Mallory and I return to our seats, but I barely hear a word of the glowing praise Kelsie shares about her matron of honor. Or how Sawyer thanks his brother for serving as the best man. My attention is focused like a laser beam on Mallory’s hands and the way her fingers fidget restlessly in her lap. It’s the only tell she’s ever given that something’s on her mind.

As the crowd claps and the servers arrive with dessert, I can’t help but offer an escape. I want a chance to draw her out, to get to know her better. “That offer for a walk by the lake is still good. After the strawberry cake, of course.”

She turns to study me, her eyes as navy as the Chicago Bears’ away jerseys. She’s debating the offer as if jotting down reasons on a pro-and-con chart. I shoot her a smile in an attempt to tip the scales in my direction, and I’m fairly certain she’s going to say yes. But after a long beat, her lips press together. “I…I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Mallory

Warm breath skates over the bare skin of my shoulder as an unmistakable presence, and the familiar cologne of a certain tall, dark, playful bachelor floats on the air, as I wait in line at the patio bar.

“Bet you can’t stump the bartender.”

The delicious, low voice tightens the curl of desire in my belly. The one that appeared when Carson, sporting a tailored, crisp gray suit with a silver silk tie, his dark unruly hair wild, offered me his arm at the top of the stairs this afternoon before the ceremony, with a simple, “You look stunning.”

It continued when, throughout the ceremony and especially during the exchange of vows, his eyes barely strayed from me. I’m unsure why, considering I turned down his offer of a walk down by the lake last night. Maybe, it’s the chase, and he’s doubling down because he’s not used to women saying no.

But now that the photos are done and we have a few minutes to enjoy the cocktail hour, my plan to resist the pull of this man, even if we are just Carson and Mallory for the weekend, is dissolving before my eyes. I know I shouldn’t fall even further under his spell, shouldn’t let his innocent playfulness and our ridiculous agreement distract me from the fact he’s still the Vice President of the city’s largest media company.

But for a million reasons I can’t quite explain, I scan the array of bottles on display behind the bartender, fully aware that by accepting his challenge to stump the bartender, I’m in this now with Carson. Whatever this is. At least, it’s only for the weekend.

“What are we playing for this time?”

There’s a whisper of a chuckle as we inch forward, with only one guest in line ahead of me as Carson slips to my side. “What would you like the stakes to be?”

I don’t have a good answer, so instead of answering his question, I shoot him a sidelong smile and return to the challenge he tossed out. “You do remember I was a sorority girl in my undergrad days, don’t you?”

His palm flies to his chest.

“You think I buy into stereotypes like that?” But mock offense dances in his eyes and he’s fighting a smile.

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t mind losing?”

“I don’t mind losing to you,” he corrects quickly. “There’s a difference.”

I hold his gaze, now deadly serious. I shouldn’t ask. I’d be better off not opening that can of worms, but I can’t help it. “And why, pray tell, is that?”

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