Page 2 of In Bed with Mr. Wrong

“Relax and have fun! I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She hung up her phone and realized she was sitting here, staring out the window, like some kind of freak. Bri dropped the curtain and backed up so quickly, she almost tripped over her end table.

Oh God, this is going to be a disaster.

At least he hadn’t seen her watching him. She hoped. Even knowing he was a few steps away from the door, she still jumped when he pounded on it. “You can do this. It’s just one date. It doesn’t matter if he’s gorgeous. He’s a nice guy.” Taking a deep breath that did absolutely nothing to fortify her, she opened the door.

Drew’s brother really did look like Superman. He had that amazing almost-too-perfect-to-be-real face going for him, and his eyes were the clear blue of a winter’s day—far better than her murky-ocean color. He towered over her, the sheer size difference making her wonder what it would be like to be wrapped up in his arms.

She realized she was drinking him in like a cool glass of water on a summer’s day. He, however, didn’t seem to be feeling the same overwhelming awe she was. He had an odd look on his face, as if he didn’t know what to make of her.

Her stomach tied itself in knots as the truth hit her like a bucket of icy water. She’d seen the very same expression on the faces of her first foster parents. They’d tried to tough it out, but their determination only lasted six months. That he might be judging her just as quickly hurt more than she dared admit.

“Ryan.” He held out his hand, apparently deciding that shaking was better than…whatever the alternative on dates was. A kiss on the cheek? A hug?

She took his hand, wishing she didn’t notice how warm it was despite their breath ghosting across the air between them. “Bri.”

“Nice to meet you.” He didn’t smile, just continued looking at her with that odd look on his face.

“You, too.” God, she mustreallynot be what he’d expected. Had Drew painted him a picture of a sexy librarian, complete with pencil skirt and thigh-high stockings? Even on her best day, she couldn’t measure up to those kinds of expectations.

Maybe it was best she didn’t know what he’d told Ryan.

She swallowed hard, hating the way her throat had tightened. “I just need to grab my purse.” And try to convince herself that she could do this. A minute alone to shore up the barriers she’d built to protect herself would have to be enough.It’s just a favor to your friends, she reminded herself while ducking into her living room.When the night is over, I’ll never have to see him again.

Ryan cleared his throat behind her. “I’m sorry. I think I’ve gotten this off to the wrong start.”

Here it comes.“What do you have to be sorry for? It’s obvious you were expecting something else.” She wasn’t even close to being in this man’s league, and they both knew it.

“Not so fast—you’re jumping to conclusions.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He wasn’t, though, and all her childhood defense mechanisms rose to the surface, demanding she lash out before he could hurt her further. She faced him, forced herself to smile, and went for the one thing that might level the playing field. The only black mark on his stellar record. “Let’s get something straight, okay? This is just dinner. I have no intention of embarking on any kind of building-burning—or burning of any kind—with you.”

His mouth went tight. “I see the Wellingford gossip mill is still running in full force.”

She blinked. Okay, so it might have been a low blow, but all she’d meant was to poke at him a bit. The venom in his voice wasn’t on par with her comment. Did he hate this town or something? “Um…it’s not every day someone burns down the high school on graduation day.”

“It was ten years ago. They need to move on. Then again, nothing worth talking about ever happens here.” He stepped back. “Maybe this was a mistake. Why don’t I just take off and we’ll forget this ever happened?”

Was he implying a date with her wouldn’t be worth talking about, either? Bri may not be like whatever kind of woman he usually spent time around, but she wasn’t chopped liver. Whatever Avery’s and Drew’s reasons for setting them up—and shewouldbe having a conversation with Avery about this—she’d agreed to this date as a favor, and she was damn well going to see it through. She huffed and lifted her chin. “No. I agreed to take you out on this date, and that’s what I’m going to do. It would be a shame for you to have to sit at home by yourself and do whatever it is lonely, attractive men like you do.”

…

The last thing Ryan Flannery planned on when he came back to visit his family was being browbeaten by his big brother into a blind date. All he’d been looking for was a break from the Air Force—and the intense training he’d gone through for the last five and a half months—for two weeks. Then he’d hit the ground running, and start gearing up for his next deployment. He should have known a trip back to Wellingford would be anything but restful, but the siren call of home had been too much to resist after so long away.

Looking at the woman standing across from him, her chin raised and blue eyes flashing behind those sexy secretary glasses, he had to admit that coming back might have been a mistake. A muscle ticked in his jaw. She thought he was lonely? “I’m more than capable of keeping myself entertained.”

Bri brushed past him, her gaze on the street. “Do you think so? I think your brother has the right idea of it—a man whose idea of a good time is burning things to the ground shouldn’t be left to his own devices. You’re a menace to society.”

She sounded so prim and proper, he wanted to muss up her straight dark hair and undo a few buttons on her shirt just to see what she’d do. That thought gave him all the ammunition he needed. “You wouldn’t know a good time if it bit you in the ass.”

“Excuse me?” Her back went so ramrod straight, it was like he could see the stick up her ass. Ryan’s gaze dropped to where her hips curved, and he frowned at the long skirt. The fall of the fabric indicated there was something there worth grabbing, but he couldn’t be sure. “What were your plans tonight—hanging out with your thirteen cats and knitting them mittens?”

She gasped. “I don’t have cats. They’re evil creatures. I have a perfectly nice fish named Mr. Smith.”

“How mundane. Let me guess. A goldfish?” He closed the door behind him and pressed a hand to the small of her back, guiding her down the stairs and toward his Suburban. It was difficult not to follow the perfect line of her spine with his palm, no matter how aggravating he found her.

“Don’t be insulting. He’s a betta fish.”

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