10 Ways to Handle the Best Man

10 Ways to Handle the Best Man Heidi Rice A battle of wills that’s about to get…heated!Sabrina knows her role as Maid of Honour for her bff’s wedding - to-do lists, spreadsheets… she’s totally in control. The best man is a whole different matter! They met once years ago but now Connor McCoy’s become the super-sexy, squillionaire type. And now she’s heard some intriguing rumours about what he likes in the bedroom…and it’s making her just a teeny bit nervous!Being involved in any kind of wedding is so not Connor’s style. Sabrina is so uptight and control freaky – loosening her up could be the only fun thing about this wedding. He’ll use all the tools at his disposal to show her exactly who’s in charge…and who said anything about needing the bedroom.. The maid of honor’s to-do list for handling the best man: #1 Charm him. #2 Find out everything about him from friends and family. #3 Size definitely matters: especially when it comes to the ego. Tread carefully if he has a big one…. Sabrina Millard has a plan and a list for everything, including her role as maid of honor at her BFF’s wedding. The best man is a whole different matter. She knows Connor McCoy is trouble—she once had a disastrous encounter with him years ago. Now that he’s supersexy and supersuccessful, it’s even worse. Especially as he’s just proved who’s in charge by shattering her legendary control…under the table at the rehearsal dinner! Connor’s having fun seducing prim Sabrina. Which is so wrong—she’s the ultimate good girl, while his past is…complicated. Only Sabrina has him breaking all his own rules…. Contemporary, sexy stories for sassy women Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon www.millsandboon.co.uk/cosmo (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/cosmo) To Miss Abby Green for being a fabulous cheerleader and an invaluable arbitrator of “How kinky is too kinky?” while I wrote this book Dear Reader, I pitched this book to my editor before I actually had much of an idea for the characters. Then had a mild panic attack when she said ‘Go for it’. So I was mighty pleased when supersexy (and supernaughty) Best Man Connor McCoy strolled into my head. Of course, my Maid of Honor extraordinaire Sabrina Millard was a lot less pleased. In fact, she was rather pissed with me. She had her best friend’s wedding to plan. The last thing she needed was a Best Man to handle who was far too hot for a normally good girl like her. Luckily Sabrina rose to the challenge...and discovered her inner bad girl, with a little help from Connor. I hope you get as much of a kick out of reading about their wild ride to romance as I did writing it. I love to hear from readers (especially if they like my books). You can contact me on [email protected] (mailto:[email protected]). Heidi 10 Ways to Handle the Best Man Heidi Rice Contemporary, sexy stories for sassy women Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon www.millsandboon.co.uk/cosmo (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/cosmo) Contents Chapter One (#u3b4ea24f-9370-5e4a-9367-a0cd56a068ce) Chapter Two (#u388e9eab-4c74-5e03-a30f-165e7f0be5c0) Chapter Three (#u3952167d-6050-5d24-9937-b18bc2fb00b8) Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) 1) Schmooze Him, Don’t Lose Him: Start your charm offensive early, and don’t give your best man too much wiggle room. ‘I didn’t say I can’t dance—I said I won’t dance.’ Sabrina Millard resisted the urge to roll her eyeballs at the man sitting opposite her in the crowded Soho pub, while silently cursing her BFF, Libby, and Libby’s fianc?, Jamie. Wow, Libs, thanks so much for saddling me with the best man from hell to handle. As a maid of honour with enough experience to write a book about the pitfalls of the role, Sabrina knew handling the best man vied for the top spot in ‘Wedding Crap the Maid of Honour Has to Deal With’ right alongside: 1. Wearing an exceptionally unflattering dress (puffball sleeves optional)—so as not to upstage the bride. 2. Making sure the bride doesn’t have a nervous breakdown or develop an eating disorder before her big day. 3. Getting hit on by tipsy groomsmen—who assume that if you are single and a member of the bridal party, you’ll put up with getting shagged senseless against a wall by any eligible bachelor within a ten-mile radius. Luckily, as the company manager at The Phoenix, a non-profit theatre on London’s South Bank, Sabrina happened to be exceptionally talented at planning events while coping with colossal egos, making her confident she could even whip Jamie’s half-brother Connor McCoy—the Creature from the Testosterone Lagoon—into shape. But even with her excellent man-handling strategies, Sabrina was struggling to suppress a scowl after only fifteen minutes in McCoy’s company. That he kept challenging every single thing she said with that surly, I-couldn’t-give-a-shit look in his pale blue eyes was not helping with her scowl control. ‘Yes, well, I’m afraid as the best man you’re going to have to dance,’ she said, subtly alerting him to the fact he wasn’t the most knowledgeable person on the subject of wedding etiquette. If Libby hadn’t already clued her in about the commitment-phobic dating habits of her beloved’s older brother, Sabrina could have guessed from the way his smouldering gaze had checked out every woman in the place in the ten minutes since he’d arrived. Every woman that was, except her. Not that she cared about his lack of interest per se. All right, so Connor McCoy was undeniably hot, she’d give him that. The combination of cool azure eyes, dark brows, jet-black hair long enough to curl around his ears and sharp angular cheekbones made him arresting—not to mention the cloud of testosterone that hovered in the air around him and had been a siren call to every other woman in The Pillars of Hercules pub on Greek Street. But luckily, she’d never been susceptible to alpha-jerk types who spent a small fortune on their gym membership—if the overdeveloped biceps stretching the sleeves of his black T-shirt were anything to go by. Not that she’d noticed those hard, round orbs of muscle much—that flexed and bulged every time he raised his beer bottle to his lips. But when a girl hadn’t had a meaningful relationship with anything other than her vibrator since last July, well, upper body strength like that was kind of hard to ignore entirely. She drew her gaze away from his distracting biceps and concentrated on getting her point across—firmly and succinctly—again. ‘Libby wants us to join the floor together after her and Jamie finish their first dance. So really, whether you want to dance or not is a moot point.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll talk to Jamie, tell him to scratch that part.’ ‘No, you will not,’ she replied, somewhat less subtly. ‘This is Libby’s big day, and the first dance is an important tradition at weddings in the UK—’ ‘Hey, they have the same dumb deal in the US,’ he interrupted, the cynical edge to his voice making his thoughts on marriage abundantly clear. ‘So what? If my brother wants to make a jackass of himself, he can—he’s the one getting married. I’m just the best man, which makes me a jackass-free zone.’ ‘That’s were you’re wrong,’ Sabrina replied, making her thoughts on his crappy attitude abundantly clear. ‘Because in this instance, the first dance tradition also includes the maid of honour and the best man introducing the other couples to the dance floor.’ He swore under his breath, but she soldiered on. ‘Libby and Jamie are practicing a whole routine for “Ooh Baby Baby”.’ She swallowed to stop her gag reflex from engaging, the way she had when Libby had informed her of the music choice with a breathless huff of pleasure the week before. Far be it from her—or Mr Testosterone—to rain on Libby’s schmaltz-fest. ‘All they require us to do is join them for the slow-dance when the DJ fades into the next song.’ ‘A slow-dance?’ he spluttered, his eyes going a little squinty around the edges. ‘Right, no fucking way am I doing that.’ ‘What is your problem?’ Sabrina felt her forehead tighten as the scowl won out. Forget subtle, the guy was obviously far too closely related to Cro-Magnon man to even process subtlety. ‘This isn’t actually about you. It’s about Libby and Jamie. All you have to do is sway in time to the music for one song. If you’re so worried about making a tit of yourself, I can lead,’ she added, knowing the suggestion was liable to trip his I’m-the-one-with-a-dick-here switch, but unable to stop herself in the face of so much provocation. ‘I know how to slow-dance, sweetheart’ came the predictably testosterone-laced response. He rested a muscled forearm on the pub’s tiny table, perilously close to her own arm, invading her personal space and making her far too aware of the dimple in his chin and the flecks of silver in the piercing blue of his irises. ‘My point is I’m not slow-dancing with you.’ Sabrina set her margarita on the table, sucked in a calming breath to stop herself from hyperventilating—which unfortunately filled her lungs with the enticing scent of his sandlewood soap—and struggled to get a stranglehold on her patience. ‘Okay, I’m starting to sense a certain amount of hostility towards me personally.’ She forced her voice out of the shrill register. ‘And I’m not sure where it’s coming from?’ she continued. ‘As I’ve never met you before,’ she lied, hoping he didn’t notice the small quiver in her voice. Unfortunately, she had met Connor McCoy once before, but she was fairly confident he’d forgotten about it. She’d always been smart, focused, ambitious and goal-orientated, and she wasn’t afraid to show it. Slightly more regular sex would be nice, but she didn’t need a man to complete her life—which she knew made her completely invisible to men like Connor McCoy, who thrived on female attention. For once, she was grateful for her invisibility, when he sent her a blank look and didn’t call her on the lie. * * * Connor McCoy stared at the woman opposite him and knew exactly where his hostility was coming from. But he’d rather shoot himself in the nuts than admit it, especially to her. Why the hell wouldn’t she let this drop? He’d agreed to wear a monkey suit. He’d agreed to stand at the front of the church like a prize douchebag and witness something he’d always thought was overrated. And he’d agreed to give a speech even though he didn’t know what the hell to say…. But there was no way he was taking this uptight British chick in his arms, on or off a dance floor. He’d met Libby’s best friend, Sabrina Millard, before. For approximately ten minutes, five years ago. But the memory remained burned into his brain like battery acid. It had been the end of the spring semester, and he’d been in the UK on business. He’d agreed to pick up Jamie and his stuff from the coed dorm in Manchester University that his brother had been sharing with his pretty English girlfriend, Libby, and Sabrina, because he hadn’t seen the kid in years. While Jamie and Libby had been saying a lengthy goodbye involving a lot of tongue on the sidewalk, Sabrina had insisted on directing him on how to pack Jamie’s stuff into the admittedly space-challenged muscle car he’d rented at Manchester airport. She’d issued instructions as if she were the Queen of England and he one of her lowly footmen, while wearing a shorty red dress over combat boots that should have made her look like a lesbian stormtrooper. But hadn’t. He’d been avoiding meeting up with her again, ever since Jamie had told him she was the maid of honour. For the simple reason that the woman’s outspoken, pushy personality grated on his last nerve—and turned him on to the point of madness. Sabrina had a definite touch of the dominatrix about her—that made him want to dominate her right back. The way that Mary Poppins accent went from clipped to throaty and her magnificent cleavage swelled to mind-boggling proportions when she went into full Mein F?hrer mode had called to his inner caveman—and kicked off a hot, sweet ache in his crotch that had his palm itching to spank her generous butt. The male libido was a strange and beautiful thing, so he wasn’t much surprised about being aroused by a woman he couldn’t stand. He’d never wanted to have a conversation with Pamela Anderson, but it hadn’t stopped him jerking off over her poster as a kid. But as he didn’t much care for vanilla sex—and he’d bet his left nut Sabrina had never had a single sex-for-the-hell-of-it experience in her whole, well-ordered life—nailing Sabrina was definitely out. Which would make slow-dancing with the woman at his brother’s wedding yet more aggravation he didn’t need. If he got that close to her, there was a real risk of him sporting wood. She’d notice and she’d say something—because women like Sabrina weren’t the type to let sleeping hard-ons lie—and if that happened, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist the urge to show her who was boss. There’d be a scene at Jamie’s wedding—a scene that Jamie’s mom, Elizabeth, and their father, Daniel, would feed off like zombies feasting on a rotting corpse. Not that he gave a shit what either of them thought of him anymore. But it would remind him way too forcefully of being that scared, screwed-up fourteen-year-old runaway who had arrived on their doorstep with a birth certificate in his hand and some dumb notion in his head about hunting up the father he had never met. Connor clenched his fingers into a fist to quell the persistent itch in his palm. ‘Unnecessary hostility…?’ he scoffed, because letting Sabrina get away with busting his balls went against his natural instincts. ‘So now this is all about you? Maybe I just don’t want to make a jackass of myself—for my brother’s benefit.’ ‘Fine, well, I’m glad it’s not me.’ She let out a lengthy sigh—the long-suffering kind that his stepmother had become a master of. ‘But I really don’t see why you assume that your brother is doing this to humiliate you. Honestly, it’s not like that. The first dance is all Libby’s idea. And believe me, when it comes to being part of the wedding party you just have to park your ego at the door and do what has to be done for the people you love.’ Her voice had softened and her mossy-green eyes had gone a little glassy—making it obvious her speech was heartfelt. He felt an odd flutter in his chest. Love was way too strong a word for what he and Jamie shared. To be honest, he still wasn’t sure why Jamie had asked him to be his best man—or why he’d agreed to do it. But even so, her comment intrigued him. ‘You sound like you’ve done this before?’ he said, wondering how many times she’d gotten stuck with being the bride’s go-to girl. And whether she resented it. Maybe that explained the snotty attitude. ‘You have no idea.’ She rolled her eyes and sent him the first unguarded smile he’d ever seen on her face. The hot, sweet ache in his crotch pulsed, and it struck him she ought to let those smiles loose more often. ‘That bad, huh?’ He smiled back, the loud buzz of conversation in the bar dimming as he got fixated on the curve of her full bottom lip. ‘Put it this way—when I get married I’d rather opt for Vegas and an Elvis impersonator than having to organise all this crap.’ ‘That’s weird. I had you pegged as the white wedding type.’ She shuddered. ‘Oh pur-lease. It’s the marriage that’s important. Not the trimmings.’ Yeah, right, he thought, but didn’t argue, intrigued by the flash of passion in the mossy green. ‘And do I look like the sort of person who would throw away thousands of pounds on an event that I’d be far too stressed to enjoy?’ she continued. ‘Did you know that 5 percent of marriages end after the honeymoon simply because of the stress of the big day?’ ‘Can’t argue with the stats.’ Or the fact that all the blood was draining out of his head when she quoted figures with that furrow of consternation on her brow. ‘So look, are we good with the first dance thing?’ she asked. ‘Seriously, apart from remembering the rings, giving a crude speech detailing all the most embarrassing things Jamie has ever done in his entire life and making sure he doesn’t puke before Libby gets to the altar, that’s your job over and done with.’ ‘That’s all? No one told me about the barfing clause—does that entitle me to hazard pay?’ She laughed, the throaty rumble echoing in his crotch. ‘Just be glad you don’t have to wear five-inch heels and a dress which dips at the back right down to the curve of your bum cheeks!’ Shit. Why did she have to go and mention her ass? He rubbed his palms on the rough fabric of his jeans to stop the renewed twitching. But he couldn’t resist leaning to one side so that he could direct his gaze under the table. ‘Your bum cheeks, huh? Suddenly, this gig is looking more appealing.’ It was a pick-up line and not one of his best, but she’d given him the opening, so it surprised him when her pale face flushed a bright, glowing red—right up to her hairline. Exactly like it had five years ago in Manchester when he’d told her where he was going to shove his brother’s baseball bat if she didn’t stop directing him like a member of the damn Gestapo. He’d never seen a woman blush like that before, even then—and he’d found it strangely compelling. As if he was getting a glimpse into her soul she couldn’t prevent. What was uncomfortable and just plain weird, though, was that he found those hot red cheeks a heck of a lot more compelling now. * * * Why the bloody hell did you mention the stripper dress? Sabrina blinked, trapped in the tractor beam of Connor McCoy’s seductive stare, and hoped that the blood throbbing in her cheeks—and not just the ones on her face—wouldn’t be visible in the low lighting. ‘Yes, well…’ She stroked the stem of her margarita glass, then took a steadying sip, trying to regain some of her usual cool and focus on the task in hand instead of the fact that all the oxygen had been sucked out of her lungs with a single crummy chat-up line. Libby had warned her about her soon-to-be brother-in-law’s phenomenal success with women, but until this moment she really hadn’t thought she’d be susceptible. It was somewhat lowering to realise that despite her phenomenal intellect and feminist sensibilities, she wasn’t completely immune to the moves of a practised player. Taking the softly-softly approach and trying to find some common ground had obviously been a mistake when you were dealing with a tiger who would pounce on any passing prey. She raised her head to find him watching her in that focused, silent way that made the skin on her spine tingle as if it were being stroked with a vibrator. ‘So you’ll do the second dance with me?’ she asked, struggling for businesslike. Instead of giving her an answer, he lifted the bottle of beer to his lips and took a leisurely swallow, his gaze riveted on her burning cheeks. The blush went radioactive as she pictured herself as the gazelle in this scenario—and it occurred to her that slow-dancing with this guy would be fraught with dangers she hadn’t prepared herself for. Like the fact that the large square hand holding the beer bottle would have free range of her naked back thanks to the ridiculously revealing dress Libby had chosen. The imaginary vibrator caressing her spine hit maximum pulse and stroked down to her bottom. He lowered his bottle and the soft smack of glass on wood made her jump. ‘Okay, I guess you can count me in.’ His wide mouth curled up on one side in a crooked smile that looked almost boyish. ‘How bad can it be?’ ‘Fabulous. I appreciate your cooperation,’ she said, thinking no such thing. From the dark, challenging look in those lake-blue eyes she had the definite impression that being cooperative was the very last thing on Connor McCoy’s agenda. 2) Knowledge Is Power: Quiz family and friends to gather relevant information about your best man’s skill set. ‘I’m just saying, I don’t understand why Jamie didn’t pick DJ or Vikram to be his best man.’ Sabrina took a sip of her iced coffee. ‘Hmm?’ Libby murmured, not listening as she placed yet another minuscule piece of French lace masquerading as a negligee onto the bed of her cramped apartment overlooking Islington Green—to add to the display of ‘garments to inspire the maximum amount of wedding night sex’ being laid out for consideration. ‘They’re his best friends,’ Sabrina continued, trying to sound nonchalant instead of whiny. ‘And I thought you said Jamie doesn’t know his brother that well.’ Libby lifted her gaze from her contemplation of the options and quirked a perfectly plucked eyebrow. ‘What’s the problem with Connor? I thought you guys met up last night to talk about your—’ she did air quotes with her fingers while sending Sabrina a saucy smile ‘—mutual roles in the wedding.’ ‘We did.’ The anxiety tugging at Sabrina’s stomach—ever since her drink with Connor the night before—became a definite yank. ‘This isn’t about him, specifically.’ ‘I thought you’d be pleased to have a chance to slow-dance with him,’ Libby bulldozed over her attempt at misdirection. ‘Not only is he one of the hottest guys on the planet, I happen to know you fancy him.’ ‘Says who?’ Sabrina blurted out, nonchalant losing ground fast. ‘Says me.’ Libby’s smile became smug. ‘I distinctly recall you ordering him about like a member of the luggage police the first time we met him. And you only get arsy with guys when you want to shag them.’ Sabrina cursed the flush of colour working its way up her neck. Bugger. Trust Lib to remember that, even though her best friend had had a good portion of her tongue down Jamie’s throat at the time. ‘Fine. I’m not trying to dispute the fact that he’s hot.’ Because she simply wasn’t a good enough liar to make that one stick. ‘But he’s also extremely stroppy, a loose cannon and I got the definite impression yesterday night that he’s far from ecstatic about being Jamie’s best man.’ She tried to smooth out her forehead, fairly sure the scowl was back with a vengeance. ‘I want to relax at the wedding reception, instead of having to worry about whether the best man’s going to go AWOL before the first dance.’ ‘Stop panicking! Connor’s not the type of guy to pass up a slow-dance with a woman who’ll look like a sex goddess thanks to the deliciously revealing gown and push-up bra I’m forcing her to wear.’ Libby’s smug smile turned into a cheeky grin—the same cheeky grin that had made Sabrina adore her, when they’d both been ten and Libby had told the class bully Petra Genero to eat snot and die for calling Sabrina a swot. ‘If I were you, I’d be more worried about drowning in your own drool when you get your hands on that much man candy after your year-long drought.’ ‘It hasn’t been a year—it’s only been eleven months.’ Sabrina scowled. Nothing like having your best friend think you were a charity case. ‘Only eleven months, eh?’ Libby’s grin only got cheekier. ‘Not that you’ve been counting or anything.’ ‘As your best friend, I feel honour-bound to tell you that smug really isn’t a good look for you,’ Sabrina replied—even as her own grin got the better of her. Libby’s teasing never failed to lift her out of the deepest funk—even one this never-ending. ‘Did you know, you’ve become completely insufferable since Jamie located your G spot?’ Libby laughed. ‘And as your best friend I feel honour-bound to point out that you might actually have an opportunity to try on smug for size.’ Libby fluttered her eyelashes over the wicked glint in her eye. ‘If you had the balls to bite into the fabulous feast of studmuffin I’m providing for you at my reception—instead of bitching about him.’ ‘Wait a minute…’ Sabrina got off the bed as the niggling suspicion that had been lurking at the back of her mind blasted into her frontal lobe. ‘Oh. My. God. You’ve set me up.’ Suddenly, it all became blindingly obvious. ‘That’s why Jamie asked Connor to be his best man. Because you told him to.’ Libby flicked a turquoise teddy onto the pile of lingerie on the bed, apparently unfazed by Sabrina’s accusation. ‘Stop giving me your responsible look. I did it for your own good. You need to get laid, and I happen to know Connor McCoy is a master in the art of fornication. He’s a thank-you gift. For all the time and trouble you’ve put into making this wedding fabulous.’ ‘I do not believe this.’ Sabrina sunk back onto the bed. Her stomach rolled into her throat and warred with the heat crawling across her scalp. ‘I really don’t see what the big problem is?’ Libby added. ‘Didn’t it occur to you that Jamie should have picked his own best man instead of being browbeaten by you into picking Connor? The wedding’s not just some flashy, overblown party. It’s supposed to be symbolic of your life together going forward.’ Or it should be—if the marriage is going to last. Wasn’t that how her parents had screwed up their own marriage? By viewing it as a disposable excuse for never-ending parties, high-stakes drama and an endless merry-go-round of flings and counter-flings? Even after she had come along, her parents had resolutely refused to grow up. It had been frightening to live with as a child, and pathetic to watch as an adult. Libby frowned, looking completely nonplussed. ‘No browbeating went on. Jamie’s completely in awe of Connor. And what’s wrong with having fun at your own wedding? Seriously, Bree, just because you’re not a party animal…Getting married is the ultimate excuse for one of the best parties of your life.’ Sabrina sighed. Fine, scratch the mature and responsible approach. She didn’t want to sound like a killjoy—and while Libby might be immature, she wasn’t reckless or selfish, like her parents. Plus, Libby didn’t do deep—it was one of her charms. ‘But what about Connor in all this?’ Sabrina began again. ‘He’s not a thank-you gift. He’s a person. Maybe he doesn’t want to be objectified.’ She trailed off, knowing she was probably reaching. The male ego was generally a lot more robust where sex was involved. And when it came to Connor McCoy—and his sexy grin, and distracting biceps—his ego was clearly indestructible. ‘Oh, come on, Bree. The guy practically oozes sex appeal. If he minded being objectified he wouldn’t have perfected a look that can trigger spontaneous ovulation at thirty paces,’ Libby said, not buying that argument either. ‘Okay, fine,’ Sabrina conceded, not wanting to dwell on spontaneous ovulation and Connor McCoy all in one conversation or the yank in her belly was liable to hit meltdown. ‘But how about the fact that he’s not that thrilled about being Jamie’s best man and he’s not that keen on me either. And now we know why.’ Mortification engulfed her as the reason for Connor’s hostility the night before became blindingly obvious. ‘He must have found out about your little plan to get him to sleep with me. So thanks a bunch for that.’ As if it wasn’t bad enough that Libby thought she was a charity case. Now Connor did, too. That’s me totally screwed, then. And not in a good way. ‘Bollox,’ Libby scoffed. ‘Connor’s hang-ups about being the best man have nothing to do with you.’ ‘Oh, yeah?’ Sabrina asked. ‘Well, what do they have to do with, then?’ Libby huffed and propped her hands on her hips, looking harassed. ‘Probably the simple fact that he hasn’t spoken to his dad or Elizabeth since they kicked him out of their home when he was sixteen.’ ‘What?’ Sabrina gaped. ‘I never knew he lived with them?’ she continued, not even attempting to hide her curiosity. Or her dismay. She’d known the McCoy family set-up was a complicated one. That Connor was Jamie’s illegitimate half-brother—the product of a fling Jamie’s father had had while at Yale, years before his marriage to Jamie’s mother, Elizabeth. But she’d just assumed that Connor had grown up with his mother. ‘What happened to his mum?’ ‘Jamie says she died when he was fourteen—he ran away and ended up in Newport, looking for the man who was listed on his birth certificate.’ ‘But if Daniel and Elizabeth took him in, why did they kick him out again?’ Libby plopped down on the bed beside Sabrina. ‘Jamie says Connor never talks about it, but apparently the years he lived with his birth mum were really tough. When he turned up in Newport, he wasn’t the kind of kid Elizabeth would trust to do her yard work, let alone want in the house—and I’m sure she let him know it.’ ‘But it’s not like Connor’s that rough kid anymore,’ Sabrina added, the wave of sympathy surprising her. She knew what it was like to be the odd one out. The outsider, the misfit, the person who resolutely refused to fit in—because that’s exactly what she’d been to her own parents. ‘Isn’t he super successful, now?’ Libby nodded. ‘Jamie says his nightclub business is worth millions. But that’s not going to cut any ice with a woman like Elizabeth—you know what a snob she is.’ The wave of sympathy crested. What must it have been like for Connor? The illegitimate runaway son of a barmaid being thrust into a world where appearances were everything? And into the home of a woman who despised him? That must have been hard. ‘No wonder he feels uncomfortable being the best man, then….’ So that was why he’d been so hostile about being involved in the wedding? She sent an accusatory glance at Libby—ignoring the foolish little lift in her heart at the thought that his hostility had nothing to do with her. ‘You shouldn’t have put him in that position.’ Sabrina’s agitation returned. If there was anything she hated more than unnecessary drama it was thoughtlessness. ‘Oh, bugger off!’ Libby said jauntily. ‘I’m sure Connor will survive—does he strike you as the type to fold under a little social pressure?’ Sabrina’s glare faltered at the memory of the sexual confidence in his blue gaze as it dropped to her bum. Okay, there was that. ‘And anyway, there’s no point in stressing about it now, because we can’t un-make him the best man.’ Libby’s lips firmed in a determined expression that Sabrina recognised only too well. ‘And now that I’ve gone to all that trouble, and Connor’s going to be forced to withstand the killer glare of his evil stepmother, you could at least make it worth all our whiles.’ Sabrina stared at her best friend—not sure how to handle the empathy she felt for Connor the boy and the way it was making her feel about Connor the man. And resenting Libby big time for putting her in this position. Like this situation needed to get any more complicated. ‘You’re unbelievable. You are not seriously trying to guilt me into shagging him? Why is my getting laid so bloody important to you?’ ‘Because I want you to have fun,’ Libby replied, the sudden passion in her voice unsettling. ‘Because Carl did a number on you that you didn’t deserve.’ She grasped Sabrina’s hands and let out a slow breath, the cheeky grin fluttering back to life. ‘And because you need to get back in the game before your ovaries dry up and you become one of those dotty old dears who has a hundred cats.’ ‘I’m only twenty-eight! And I’m allergic to cats.’ This had to be Libby’s love-dazed mind talking. She wasn’t that unhappy. Yes, Carl had been an arsehole, but she’d dumped him. She tugged her hands out of Libby’s. ‘And how exactly would getting hooked up with a guy who’s got less staying power than a rabbit when it comes to relationships be a good idea?’ ‘Because given his track record, we’re not talking about more than one night…. And Connor’s got exceptional staying power—where it counts,’ Libby continued, her cheeky grin now rife with innuendo. ‘How on earth would you know that?’ Sabrina demanded. ‘Just because he’s Jamie’s brother and he…’ ‘Because I have irrefutable proof,’ Libby interrupted. Sabrina stared. ‘What proof?’ Libby’s bright chestnut eyes danced with excitement—making Sabrina feel like a trout who had bitten into a juicy worm, only to discover there was a hook embedded in the middle of it. ‘Remember the skiing holiday me and Jamie had in Colorado last November?’ Sabrina nodded as Libby reeled her in. ‘Remember I told you Connor was snowboarding in the next valley. And he turned up for dinner one night with a date, an actress from LA who didn’t eat, but drank like a fish. And that they had to stay the night in the chalet’s spare bedroom because a snowstorm hit.’ ‘Yes.’ Sabrina said cautiously, remembering far too well the sting of envy when Libby had described in glowing detail the anorexic beauty of Connor’s date. ‘So?’ ‘So the walls in that chalet were paper thin—’ Libby paused for effect and Sabrina leaned in—like a moth gravitating towards the flame. ‘So we could hear every single thing Connor and his date got up to that night.’ Libby paused again, the silence unbroken as Sabrina stopped breathing. ‘And I do mean all night.’ ‘You listened?’ Sabrina hissed, trying for appalled but getting enthralled instead—thanks to the lack of oxygen now reaching her brain. ‘Well, it was kind of hard to avoid because they were so loud. And it was funny at first, but then it got extremely bloody hot.’ Libby’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘He spanked her.’ ‘He…What?’ A fireball detonated in Sabrina’s arse and radiated up her spine. ‘That’s disgusting.’ Or at least it would be, if she could just get her arse to stop sizzling and her brain to start functioning. ‘Why didn’t you do something, if he was abusing her?’ ‘Don’t be daft, Bree. It wasn’t abuse.’ Libby laughed, the husky sound not helping with the sizzling—or the lack of functioning brain cells. ‘Believe me, this was entirely consensual—emphasis on the sensual.’ ‘How do you know?’ ‘Because we could hear her moaning and panting during her spanking and then screaming her head off—when he was rogering her with his—’ Libby paused to do air quotes again. ‘Awesome cock. Her words, not mine.’ Libby propped a considering finger under her chin. ‘I wonder, what do you think “awesome” translates as in feet and inches? Because Jamie’s extremely well hung and they are half-brothers.’ Feet? What the…? ‘Shut up.’ Sabrina squeezed her thighs together, disturbed by the picture that appeared in her mind of Connor McCoy and his ‘awesome cock’ pounding into her. Bloody hell, was she actually getting moist imagining it? ‘I don’t believe it.’ The erotic vision dissolved as her common sense intervened. ‘I’ve never screamed when I come. Have you? No guy’s that good in bed, no matter how big his dick is.’ Or no guy she’d ever slept with. ‘I bet she was faking it. She was an actress.’ ‘Jamie’s made me scream a number of times.’ Libby’s eyes clouded with pity. ‘You’ve just been doing it with the wrong guys.’ Then the cheeky grin returned with a vengeance. ‘Plus I saw one of Marlena’s movies. Believe me, she’s not that good an actress.’ 3) Be Aware, Size Matters: Especially when it comes to your best man’s ego. Tread carefully if he has a big one. I don’t believe it! She rearranged our carefully considered seating plan to sit me next to Connor and his foot-long cock. Sabrina stared in disbelief at the board displayed outside the elegant private dining salon in Rules, the historic Covent Garden restaurant Jamie’s parents had booked for the rehearsal dinner. Her scalp burned, while a disturbing heat smouldered much lower down. I’m going to throttle my best friend less than a week before her wedding. She tried to catch Libby’s eye as their party of sixteen filed into the room—but the bride-to-be was busy ignoring her, all her attention focused on her fianc?. Jamie looked suitably debonair in his dark grey single-breasted suit—until his hand strayed to Libby’s backside and squeezed in a very public display of affection for the centuries-old establishment. Sabrina spotted Elizabeth watching her son and future daughter-in-law, the lift of a perfectly arched eyebrow telegraphing her disgust. Sabrina glared at the back of Elizabeth’s perfect chignon as the exquisitely dressed woman swept ahead of her into the salon, her resentment spurred on by what Libby had told her the day before about the woman’s treatment of Connor. Lighten up, you snooty cow. Libby and Jamie are in love with each other. Why shouldn’t they show it? Some of the tension in her shoulders released. She needed to lighten up, too. Sitting next to Connor didn’t have to be bad. Libby’s hidden agenda wasn’t a problem as long as Connor never found out about it. And there was no reason why he should, as long as Sabrina remembered to breathe and remained focused on their collaboration at the wedding—instead of his awesome cock. ‘You better watch it—Elizabeth can strike you cross-eyed if you look at her the wrong way.’ Sabrina swung round at the intimate whisper over her left shoulder. To find Connor smiling at her, his deep blue eyes hooded. She swallowed down the foolish pang of sympathy at the thought of him as a teenage tearaway, subjected to Elizabeth’s constant disapproval. He certainly wasn’t a teenage tearaway anymore. A crisp white shirt and expertly tailored dark blue suit did nothing to disguise the exceptionally well-developed body beneath. Sabrina’s assessing gaze roamed down his torso entirely of its own accord—only coming to an abrupt halt when it landed on the pleated crotch of his trousers. Stop staring at his lunch box. Are you bonkers? Her gaze shot back to his face. ‘I beg your pardon?’ She didn’t just want to throttle Libby now, she wanted to eviscerate her—for putting speculative thoughts about Connor McCoy’s size into her head. Strong white teeth flashed in his tanned face. ‘You can beg if you want to, Sabrina.’ His voice came out in a husky rumble. ‘But I’m not sure I’m going to pardon that. Were you just checking out my junk?’ The smouldering blue of his irises sparkled with amusement. A guilty flush blasted up to incinerate the tips of Sabrina’s ears. ‘Of course not.’ She stepped away, planning to march into the salon and hopefully stop her radioactive cheeks from giving her away. But he gripped her elbow, bringing her getaway to an indignant halt. ‘Hold up.’ The rest of the bridal party walked past them as he held her anchored to the spot. ‘We got off to a rocky start a couple of days ago,’ he murmured. ‘Which was mostly my fault.’ She faced him, prepared to accept his apology graciously, so they could move on—preferably into the crowded salon and away from the secluded alcove. But the apology didn’t come. Instead his thumb caressed the inside of her elbow, making tingles radiate up her arm. ‘It’s okay…’ She tugged her arm, but his grip held firm. ‘After speaking to Libby about your history with Jamie’s family, I totally understand now where your hostility was coming from. So your snit is forgiven.’ ‘My snit, huh?’ Anger flickered in his eyes, but he masked it quickly. Hmm, so conversation about his family was off limits. The telltale dart of sympathy resurfaced. ‘You’ve got a hell of an attitude on you.’ Cynicism edged the word and a muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘But then, I like attitude in a lady.’ The tingles in her arm sunk beneath her belly button at the heat in his voice. ‘Especially in bed. It gives me that much more to tame.’ She jerked her elbow free this time, her sympathy evaporating—unlike the bloody tingles. Tame, my arse. ‘I’d strongly suggest you don’t try to tame me. Or you’re liable to get more than you bargained for.’ He laughed. ‘Is that a promise, Sabrina?’ ‘Hardly,’ she mumbled, the pithy slap-down she wanted eluding her while his gaze, bold and deliberately insolent, drifted down to her cleavage. She’d chosen the electric-blue silk jersey dress because it was the perfect combination of chic and sexy, and yet sophisticated enough for London’s oldest eating establishment, where everyone from Dickens to Betjeman had dined over the past two hundred years. But as her nipples swelled into hard peaks—poking out through her bra and the clingy silk—she felt about as sophisticated as Lady Godiva. ‘I guess we better get this shit out the way first.’ He glanced towards the salon—where everyone was now seated, and waiting for them. ‘We can discuss your attitude problem later.’ He took her arm again in the same firm, proprietary grip—which she couldn’t get out of without causing a scene. ‘I don’t have an attitude problem,’ she hissed, as he escorted her into the salon. Holding out her chair, Connor leaned over, crowding her while she took her seat. ‘Behave,’ he murmured ominously, before tucking the chair under her butt. She caught Libby’s cheeky grin from the head of the table as Connor sat in the chair beside her, his muscular thigh touching hers. Libby demonstrated a length of at least a foot between her two index fingers—like a fisherman exaggerating his catch—her grin going from cheeky to naughty. Then she mimed the word Awesome. Sabrina mimed the words Piss off back. And decided evisceration was far too good for her best friend. * * * ‘Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to play with your food?’ The husky comment shivered down Sabrina’s spine. She put down her fork as her gaze connected with the mischievous blue twinkle in the eyes of the man beside her—who had been tormenting her with a series of similarly whispered criticisms through five never-ending courses of cordon bleu cuisine. ‘Didn’t your mum ever tell you not to harass women while they’re eating?’ she countered through the lump of something hot and unyielding in her throat—which had stopped her from swallowing more than a few bites of her meal. The sensual line of his lips curled and his gaze sharpened. ‘My mom wasn’t real big on rules.’ ‘Why does that not surprise me?’ He lifted his arm in slow motion, moved it beneath the table and a warm palm landed on her knee. Sabrina jolted, shocked not just by the contact but the answering spike in her pulse rate. ‘Surprised yet?’ he asked. ‘Not at all,’ she said, but her knee trembled as he squeezed. ‘Liar.’ She shivered, sure she could feel the calluses on the ridge of his palm as it moved up her leg. ‘You seem kind of jumpy, Sabrina.’ His palm slid under the silky material of her dress. ‘Why is that?’ ‘I think you know why, Connor.’ Delicious tingles radiated up the inside of her thigh under his trailing fingers. Fine, if he wanted to play, she’d play. They were in a restaurant, surrounded by his family and her friends–how far could he go? A lot further than you’d anticipated came the indisputable reply as his palm rose higher in devastatingly slow increments, undaunted. The flickering candlelight seemed to cloak them in a strange sort of anonymity in the crowded room—plus nobody was paying them any attention. Even Libby, who had been checking up on her and Connor with alarming regularity throughout the evening—and sending not-remotely-subtle encouragement via her hyperactive eyebrows—was busy ignoring them while she fed Jamie spoonfuls of white-chocolate brownie. ‘Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,’ he taunted as the rough palm climbed perilously close to the juncture of her thighs. Sabrina shuddered—and clamped her knees together, trapping his wandering fingers before the hot, unyielding lump in her stomach plummeted any further south. One dark brow lifted fractionally, his thumb stroking in slow circles as he made no move to remove his hand. But then she had to admit she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted him to. The slow curl of his lips as he watched her reaction was an impossibly tempting invitation to sin. ‘I don’t remember giving you permission to touch me.’ She squeezed his trapped fingers to emphasise the point. Given all the spin classes she did religiously he ought to be feeling quite contrite by now, but he didn’t even flinch. ‘And I don’t remember asking for it.’ His fingers flexed as his thumb slid perilously close to the sensitive seam of flesh at the top of the thigh where the edge of her knickers lay. Her lungs clogged, electricity shimmering towards her already throbbing clitoris. ‘Surely your mother must have mentioned the rule about not groping women in public?’ she demanded, disguising her breathlessness. She hoped. The glint in his eye took on a feral gleam. ‘Open your legs, Sabrina.’ Her thigh muscles quaked at the command, but she shook her head. ‘I think that would be dangerous.’ ‘What are you so scared of? That you’ll like it?’ The challenging taunt struck right at the heart of all her insecurities. Carl had always accused her of being too safe, too boring. And her parents had told her on numerous occasions she lacked fire, lacked courage. Her muscles loosened and she spread her knees to make a point. But before she had a chance to rethink the sudden burst of recklessness, his hand cupped the damp gusset of her panties. And all thinking stopped. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/heidi-rice/10-ways-to-handle-the-best-man/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.