Page 93 of The Man of the Hour

“Oh, and sunshine? Bring your toy collection.”

*

As Brendan eased the car through traffic and onto the Beltway, he kept reaching over to squeeze Sonia’s knee, playing his fingers along the seam of her pants to brush her crotch.

Tingles shot through Sonia. Fuck, she was so sensitive to Brendan that every little thing he did turned her on.

“I should let you know,” she said quickly, “that I’m not into fooling around in a moving vehicle. If you tell me to give you head while you’re driving, I won’t.”

Dimples marked Brendan’s cheeks. “I wasn’t planning to. I figured we could talk. Listen to music.” He ruffled her hair, his thumb sliding down to rub the nape of her neck. “Have a nice time.”

And they actually did. Seven hours trapped in a car with most people would not have been Sonia’s idea of a nice time, but with Brendan, the ride was enjoyable.

No, it was fucking great. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard.

The hours slipped away. She felt untethered from the dance company and life in DC, light and relaxed. It was easy to talk, and when she fell silent, Brendan didn’t pressure her — he just turned on the radio.

After a stop for gas, he pulled into a tree-lined meadow and gave her a significant look.

“What?” she murmured.

“Just thinking about how beautiful you are.” His hazel eyes narrowed as he studied her.

Something about his expression was jarringly familiar.

Ian,she realized.

Ian wore this exact expression when he looked at Diana. Intense, focused,smitten,as if no one and nothing else existed in the world. She’d never seen it on Brendan’s face before.

Sonia’s heart fluttered absurdly, and she cleared her throat. “If you want something, then say so.”

Brendan regarded her for a long time. Once or twice, he seemed about to speak. Finally, he nodded toward the backseat.

20

Friday

5:12 p.m.

“Well, look who’s here!” someone called out. “It’s the man of the hour!”

The entire wedding party clapped and whistled as Brendan strolled into the light-filled gallery.

He scanned the room where the ceremony would take place on Sunday, arranging a big smile on his face. As he nodded to the groups of family and friends, it was clear that two people were missing: Ian and Diana.

In the back corner, Sonia stood aloof from the wedding party, her arms folded. He’d dropped her off before dashing to the hotel to shower her scent away.

Diana’s mother, Mrs. Cooper, stood beside Sonia, clearly mid-conversation — or mid-monologue. Sonia looked trapped. But when Mrs. Cooper whispered to her, she did her best to nod and smile.

“Ian, where’s your beautiful bride?” yelled the same voice. It was Uncle Andy, who was trying to corral his two young daughters, the flower girls.

Mrs. O’Brian walked toward Brendan, shaking her head. “That’s Brendan, you dope,” she called to her brother. “Not Ian. Honestly, after twenty-five years, can no one in this family spot the difference?”

“I can,” Hunter roared from a corner where he was lounging with the other groomsmen. He flung back his floppy blond hair — the same style he’d worn since high school. Hunter looked tipsy already, and they hadn’t even made it to the rehearsal dinner. “Hey, B! Knew it was you, all buttoned-up. When are you running for president?”

Brendan laughed. “Give me fifteen, twenty years.”

The groomsmen shouted their approval. Brendan wasn’t surprised to see the flash of a hip flask in Hunter’s hand.

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