Best Man for Hire (Entangled Lovestruck) (Front and Center) (4 page)

Mac stepped aside, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the fridge. “Don’t forget you’re going to need to come up with a best man toast for Sheri’s wedding.”

Grant groaned inwardly. “Yeah, about the best man thing. I’m really not sure I’m best man material.”

Mac gave a snort of disgust. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m sure there’s someone else more qualified—”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re the best man to be the best man.”

“I don’t think—”

“You’re doing it. You’ll be the goddamn best man if I have to tie you up and drag you there myself.”

“That’ll look good in pictures.”

Grant knew it was futile to keep arguing, so he didn’t bother. He finished wrapping up the potatoes and walked outside to shove them in the coals on his grill. He poked them around a little, making sure they were situated just right.

When he came back in, Mac was still leaning against the fridge. “Thank you for grabbing the wine,” Grant said. “I didn’t have the first clue what went with steak. What do I owe you?”

“The promise that you’ll quit being a jackass about the best man gig. And stop maiming perfectly good groceries.”

Mac looked like such a hard-ass standing there with his arms crossed and his dark glasses shielding his eyes from the glare of the kitchen, and Grant started to laugh in spite of himself.

“Fine,” he said. “Now get out. Anna’s going to be here any minute.”

As if on cue, the doorbell chimed. Before Grant could run to answer it, Mac was striding to the front room. He got to the door first, yanking it open while Grant was still three paces behind.

“Anna,” Mac said, waving her inside like a perfect goddamn gentleman while Grant just stood there like an idiot staring at her. She wore a pale blue dress that brought out the subtle blue streaks nearly hidden in the bright strands of coppery hair. She tucked a swath of it behind her ear and smiled at him, and Grant felt his heart smack hard against his ribs.

“Hello,” was all he could manage.

“Hi,” she murmured, looking from him to Mac and back again.

“Good to see you again, Anna,” Mac said. “It appears you’ve finally met the nice Patton brother.”

Anna laughed and stepped inside, holding out a bottle of wine that looked a lot different than what Mac had brought. Did white wine go with steak? Grant stepped forward to take the bottle, his hand brushing hers and sending a warm pulse of energy through his hand. Anna smiled again, then turned back to Mac.

“If Grant’s the nice brother, what does that make you?”

“I’ll leave it to my wife to answer that one,” Mac answered, “but I suspect she’d say I’m the scary brother.”

She cocked her head to the side and turned to study Grant, her eyes flashing over him so thoroughly he wondered if she could see right through his clothes. The thought made him a little dizzy, and also made him wonder what she was wearing under that flowery blue sundress. The straps were skinny, so she couldn’t be wearing a bra, could she? Her feet were bare, but he could see flip-flops poking out of the top of her purse. The feather tattoo on her ankle looked delicate and lovely, and Grant felt himself sigh inwardly.

“The scary brother, huh?” she said, raising an eyebrow at Mac before meeting Grant’s eyes again. “From what little I know of Grant, I’d say he has plenty of scary of his own. He just hides it better.”

Mac stared at her a few beats, then nodded. “An astute observation.” He turned and looked at Grant. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my wife is expecting me.”

“Give her a kiss for me,” Anna said.

“Preferably one without too much tongue,” Grant added.

Mac nodded to Anna, then Grant, then strode out the door and into the bright sunlight. Grant watched him move toward the drivers’ side door of his black Town Car, his dark hair gleaming in the sun. Grant shook his head, then shut the door and turned back to Anna.

He smiled, feeling a funny flutter in his gut at the prospect of being alone with her. “Welcome,” he said, hefting the wine. “Thank you for bringing this. Can I get you a glass?”

“I prefer to drink straight from the bottle.”

“In that case, I can wrap it up in a paper bag for you to keep things classy.”

She grinned. “I’ll have a glass of wine in a few minutes.” She set her tote bag on the floor and stepped into the middle of the living room, turning in a full circle to take in all angles of the little cottage. He tried to imagine how she saw it, all rustic wood furniture and pale turquoise paint with white trim. He’d worked hard to make it homey, the perfect retreat.

Anna completed her circle and met his eyes again. “Wow, this place is adorable. You own it?”

He nodded. “I had three back-to-back tours in Iraq. Took my combat pay and bought this place a couple years ago when the recession made property a little more affordable in Kauai.”

“Don’t you worry about someone breaking in when you’re overseas?”

“Nah, my brother does private security. He set me up with a system that would stop a Viking invasion.”

The second the words left his mouth, he knew what was coming. He watched her face register surprise and knew the question she’d ask before those gorgeous lips formed the words. “Mac does private security?”

“Not Mac. Schwartz. Another brother. He’s…not around very much.”

Her gaze held his a few beats longer than comfortable, and Grant fought not to look away. Instead, he held eye contact and took a step closer, moving deliberately into her personal space. “You live in Portland, right?”

She blinked, then nodded. “That’s right. Moved there from San Francisco for college and never went back. My sister—you met Janelle—she stayed in the city.”

He gave her his best Boy Scout smile and nodded, putting his active listening skills to use. “You like it in Portland?”

“Very much. That’s where I met Mac’s wife, Kelli. We roomed together for a while.”

“But your sister likes it better in San Francisco?”

Anna nodded, not moving back, but clearly affected by his nearness. Was it the normal result of Grant’s subtle interrogation tactics, or something more?

“She’s a city girl at heart,” Anna said, her voice a little faint. Grant watched her throat move as she swallowed, and he wondered what it would feel like to plant a trail of kisses from under her chin all the way to her collarbone. “Even Portland’s too small for her.”

“The two of you are close?”

“Very.” She smiled, an expression that lit up her whole face and almost swayed Grant from what he was aiming for, which was to keep her talking so she wouldn’t feel the need to ask him too many questions. She smoothed her hand over the back of his overstuffed easy chair and shrugged. “I’m sure Janelle would tell you I’m a bit smothery and overbearing, but that’s what older siblings are for, right?”

Grant thought about Mac and nodded, but didn’t add anything. He waited for her to fill the silence, to keep talking so he wouldn’t have to.

She shrugged again and kept going, which gave Grant a chance to study the side of her face. She had beautiful cheekbones, and the coppery hue of her hair made her green eyes flash with color.

“Our parents divorced when I was eight and Janelle was six, and I guess that bonded us in a weird way,” she continued, stepping away from him just a little. “I sort of felt responsible for her, you know?”

Grant nodded, holding her gaze with his. “That must have been hard.”

“It is.
Was
.” She gave a funny little laugh and swallowed hard—a telltale sign the subject made her nervous—and looked down at her hands on the back of the chair. “Geez, listen to me. I’m almost thirty and I’m prattling on about my parents’ divorce like some sort of heartbroken adolescent. I don’t usually do this.”

He felt a small pang of guilt then, but what the hell else was he supposed to do? He needed to control the situation. He needed to be the one asking questions. If she kept sharing, he didn’t have to. It was as simple as that.

“Would you like to see the rest of the house?” he asked. “It’s pretty small, but I did most of the renovations myself.”

“I’d love to.”

“You sure I can’t get you a glass of wine?”

She seemed to hesitate, then shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

“Red or white?”

“White.”

“Assuming you don’t really want to drink from the bottle, do you want a stemless wineglass or one with a stem?”

“Doesn’t matter. God, you really are the perfect host.”

He shook his head. “Not really. My sister gave me the glasses because she was tired of drinking out of mason jars when she visited. You brought the white; Mac brought the red. All I’m doing is uncorking it.”

“Honest, too.
And
you cook. What else are you perfect at?”

Her cheeks went pink the instant she spoke the words, and Grant had to stop himself from lunging for her mouth. He should be a gentleman here.

“Stick around and find out.”

Okay, he wasn’t that much of a gentleman. Anna blinked in response, then smiled. “You plan to show me something besides your photos?”

“I’ll show you anything you ask to see.” He cleared his throat and gestured toward the next room. “But first, let’s start with the house.” He set the wine bottle on the counter and pulled out a corkscrew. Yanking the cork out with a firm tug, he grabbed a glass from the rack beside the sink and splashed a little wine into it.

Handing her the glass, he moved past her down the hall. He felt her fall into step behind him, and he continued down the narrow hallway until he reached the center. He turned a bit too abruptly, and she collided with his chest.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“Not a problem.” She touched her hand to his chest, and he watched in pleasured fascination as she stroked her fingertips over the space between his pecs. He wondered if she could feel how hard his heart was pounding. She dropped her hand and took a step back.

“Sorry, I splashed a little wine on you. Just getting it off.”

“Getting it off. Good.” Grant cleared his throat. “Right here is the office, which doubles as a guest room when I have company. There’s the guest bath, which I added on just after I bought the place. Master bedroom is down there.” He waved faintly in that direction, not wanting to seem too lecherous or threatening by stalking her through his bedroom just minutes after she’d arrived. She stepped past him, walking into the room by herself. Grant trailed behind, trying not to get too close.

“This headboard is incredible,” she said, moving closer to his bed and bending over with her hands planted on the mattress. Grant stared at her ass and felt himself go dizzy. She was just peering at the woodwork, for chrissakes. It wasn’t an invitation, not even when she turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Where did you find it?”

“I built it,” he said, not sure if the clench in his gut was pride or a fervent desire to lift up her dress and take her from behind. “I do a little woodworking as a hobby.”

“A hobby?” She ran her fingers over the intricate carvings in the wood and shook her head. “A hobby is knitting scarves or playing chess. This is masterful. You really made this? It looks like the bench in the lobby at the National Tropical Botanical Gardens. We were there this morning scouting for another wedding.”

“Yeah, I carved that, too,” he said, and watched her jaw drop. “I donated it last spring. Some charity thing they were doing.”

“Okay, now you’re just ridiculous.” She shook her head and took a sip of wine. “Please tell me you’ve got some sort of hideous fault. A huge goiter or a habit of tripping preschoolers in the mall?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Come on. Let’s get going on dinner.”

He led her back down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out to the patio, where he pulled out an Adirondack chair for her and dusted the seat off with his hand. “Have a seat while I get the grill fired up. How do you like your steak?”

“Medium rare. Is there something I can do to help?”

“Nope, already under control. I made my mom’s famous coleslaw a couple hours ago, and the potatoes have been in here for a while. More wine?”

“I’m good for now, thanks.”

Grant gave the coals a few fierce stabs with a poker, then set the meat on the grill, fanning the smoke away from his face. “So how did you get to be a wedding planner?”

“I got my degree in business and started out working for a normal wedding planner. Then I realized there was an unfilled need for someone specializing in nontraditional weddings.”

“Nontraditional?”

“Offbeat. Women who want a ceremony where everyone dresses up in steampunk costumes, or guys who’ve always dreamed of a pirate-themed wedding on a ship. I help make their dreams a reality.”

“And what about your dreams?” he asked, shutting the lid of the grill to trap the heat as he turned and looked at her again. “I assume a wedding planner has pretty definite ideas about her own eventual wedding?”

Anna shook her head and took a sip of wine. “Nope.”

“No ideas?”

“No wedding. Not something I want to do.”

“Ever?”

“Never,” she said, nodding a little as she said it, which was an odd gesture. People who nodded while denying something were usually lying, in Grant’s experience. It was a common tell, a body-language slip most people never realized they committed. Grant filed that away in the back of his head as he moved back into the kitchen and grabbed a bowl of potato chips. He returned to the lanai and set it in front of her, pleased by the flash of gratitude on her face as she dug her hand into the bowl.

“Here, I grabbed you a glass of ice water, too. It’s hot out here.”

“Thank you,” she said, lifting the glass to take a sip. “Jeez, I feel like I ought to tip you or something.”

“Simple applause will do,” he said, returning to the grill. “So based on your career choice, I assume your aversion to marriage isn’t because you don’t believe in the institution. What’s your story?”

She shrugged and popped a chip into her mouth. “Like I said earlier, my parents divorced when I was young. The months leading up to it were really tough, with Mom and Dad fighting all the time. One night I heard them arguing and I went to the door of their bedroom and put a glass up to the door like I’d seen in a movie. You know, to eavesdrop?”