May the Best Man Win (4 page)

Peg was a sweet girl. Mostly. And smart as a whip when it came to school. But when it came to basic common sense…

“Mom can always tell when you've been crying from that ugly red business you get under your eyes.” Peg made a face as she leaned in closer. “I can see it starting already.”

…not so much.

“What?
No!
” Emily countered quickly, thinking of the dangerous cocktail of nerves, tension, and hormones currently raging through Sally's system. “You look fine. A little powder and you'll be good to go. But first—”

Fingers flying over her phone, she searched for tips on hyperventilation.

“Hey, how about you try covering one nostril and breathing through your—”

The room suddenly shrank as one broad-shouldered, tuxedo-clad groomsman after another started wedging his way in, Romeo in the lead.

Thank God.

He knelt in front of his fiancée. “Sally, baby, you look terrible.” He looked back over his shoulder, a frantic look in his eyes, and then, totally missing the warning look in Emily's, went on. “Jesus, maybe somebody should call an ambulance.”

Emily was about to open her mouth to reassure him that no ambulance was necessary, that she had it under control if they would just give her another minute, when a deep voice cut in from too close behind her. Jase.

“Now, Romeo, that's just all those overprotective instincts kicking in. Your girl here is fine. Aren't you, Sally?”

And then he was crouching next to Emily and cutting her a quick look of disdain before concentrating on the bride/mother-to-be.

“Are you serious with that bag, Emily?” He let out a patient sigh and then smirked at Sally. “No wonder you haven't caught your breath, sweetheart. But I'll have you back to rights in no time at all.”

Emily could feel the heat rushing into her face. She hadn't been the one to get that ridiculous bag. And the fact that Jase thought she had? Well, of course he would. The guy was notorious for selling her short.

“In fact, how about you guys give me some space here with Sally?”

Emily blinked. Had he just…?

A cold glance from those obnoxiously long-lashed eyes confirmed it.

He had. That ass had just dismissed her.

Unbelievable.

Typical.

Emily gave Sally's hand a squeeze. “Not necessary. We've got this.”

“Yeah, but I've been waiting to get Sally alone for years.” Jase made a ridiculous face and edged closer, shooting a mischievous look back at Romeo, who appeared to be about to have a heart attack himself. “And now the clock is ticking before she's a married woman. How about you guys all excuse me so I can make my move?”

Cripes, all that oozing charm was enough to make Emily gag. And worse yet, it seemed to be working. Sally had stopped those desperate little sucking breaths, and she was getting the color back in her face.

“That's quite a canopy you've got there, Sal,” he said, his voice going midnight-low and naughty. “
I like the ribbons
.”

Perfect. And there it was, Sally's smile breaking through that panicked frown. Because of Jase.

Within five minutes, Sally's makeup had been touched up, and Jase was standing by the door, ushering everyone through as they headed downstairs to join the party. Emily left the binder by the window seat and then followed suit, noting Jase's smile lost its warmth and his eyes went hard as she passed.

“Emily.” Dry. Annoying.

He closed the door behind them.

“Jase,” she replied in kind, hating that irritating tension winding through her with the knowledge that he was a step behind. That she could practically
feel
him there.

At the bottom of the stairs, Brody stopped short as a round of applause filled the room upon Sally and Romeo's arrival. Emily curbed her steps, but Jase must have been looking past her or not paying attention—because one minute she was smiling, searching for a tray of champagne, and the next, she had the full six feet five of Jase Foster bumping into her backside.

Her breath caught as she pitched toward Brody, but then she had the press of Jase's palm, wide and secure, across her abdomen, pulling her back into all that muscled heat.

“Sorry” came the quiet growl at her ear as he held her close.

Her heart was racing, her fingertips tingling. It was definitely because of that abrupt jolt forward. Nothing to do with the strength and ease with which she'd been drawn back.

Or Jase's breath rolling across the bare skin of her neck. Warm and wet and—

“Emily?” he asked, the way he said her name curling around her ear with a deep rumble.

She turned slowly, meeting his waiting stare. Not knowing what to make of how her senses were going haywire.

Jase's face was filled with a smug sort of satisfaction. “You can let go of my arm now.”

Her eyes bugged. She looked down, and there they were. Her hands wrapped tightly around the arm he'd caught her back with.

God, she hated him.

What an idiot.

It was bad enough that he'd been so caught up in the swing and curve of Emily's hips in that shimmery, low-backed dress that he'd actually walked into her when she'd stopped. But then he'd had to try to even the score by taunting Emily with a look that said he knew she wasn't unaffected by the feel of his arm around her.

Really, what did he think that was going to do for him? The only scoreboard was the one in his head, and unless she was keeping score too, where was the satisfaction? He should have caught her after that karmic misstep, made sure she was steady on her feet, and stepped away.

But once his hand spread over the flat expanse of her middle and he felt the breath leave her lungs, the guy in him had recognized that short expulsion of air as something entirely different from being jarred by the initial contact. Yeah, he had enough experience with women and the myriad types of breathless gasps to know one from another. And that it was Emily giving up that little gasp when he knew full well she would hate that he heard it, well, he couldn't resist making sure she knew he had—and that he'd recognized it for what it was.

Attraction
, reluctant as it might be.

Priceless. But then he caught the subtle shift in Emily's eyes. It was more than just a narrowing or all that softness turning hard. There was something else in her eyes. Something he recognized all too well.

Challenge.

Enough to wipe the smirk from his face.

Because if payback was a bitch, her name was Emily Klein. And as much as he detested her, the woman was not without her wiles.

“Whoops,” she murmured, one slender brow rising in his direction as she rested her hand on his arm and leaned forward to adjust a black stiletto heel he'd bet didn't need any kind of adjusting. But knowing what she was up to wasn't any defense against that sexy stance right out of a magazine shoot. The near-criminal fold of her body emphasized the gentle arch of her back as she peered up at him from beneath a fall of strawberry waves.

The air punched out of his lungs, and just like that, one unbidden leggy, lithe, flexible, toned, and sexy thought after another started crashing his mind the way his hockey team used to crash the net.

She swept her hair around to one side, giving him an unobstructed view of her smooth neck and shoulder, and that standout freckle he'd first seen at the beach the summer before senior year. The one he hadn't wanted to notice.

Blinking thick lashes at him, she smiled. “You okay, Jase?”

“Yep, Emily, I'm good,” he managed with only the slightest croak.

Fine, she'd gotten to him. And okay, so he deserved it. Now they were even, which should have been reassuring. But he'd known Emily for a long time. He'd watched her volleyball games and competed with her for the highest grade in their AP classes. And he knew that competitive streak ran as deep and strong in her as it did in him.

No way was she letting him off with a tie. Not if she saw victory within her reach.

She'd go for the win. It was just a matter of time.

Dinner, as he'd suspected, was a seating-chart affair, but some angel of mercy had placed Emily across from him at their table for ten, leaving the chairs to his right and left filled by a cousin and sorority sister of Sally's. Both women were drop-dead in the looks category but he couldn't say on personality, thanks to Emily sucking up his attention from beyond the candle-and-sugared-fruit centerpiece.

More specifically, Emily and Mitchel Beekman, the poor schmuck saddled with the seat next to her. Mitchel was a decent enough guy. Jase knew him through Romeo, and while he wasn't about to invite Mitchel on a weeklong fishing trip, just the two of them, he liked him enough that the idea of Femily giving him her soft snow job didn't sit right.

So he'd kept an eye on them.

Watched as they chatted through the carpaccio and she laughed at his jokes through the bisque.

Yeah, Mitchel liked the sound of it too. He could tell by the way the guy's focus seemed to lock on her to the point of completely ignoring the hottie parked to his left. How his mouth sort of hung open in that dopey, awed way, while Emily rambled on about
whatever
through the poached salmon and filet.

Jase started playing with one of the grapes on his cheese plate, his ears straining to hear what they were talking about. Probably one of her name-dropping war stories about working PR for some celeb.

“…needless to say, I found a new Laundromat…”

Or maybe not. Whatever.

Mitchel's mouth was still half open in that increasingly irritating grin.

Jase rolled the grape between his fingers. He could totally make the shot. Especially with that gaping, vacuous target.

Mitchel burst into laughter, covering his eyes as he rocked back in his chair. And then, almost as if it were happening in slow motion, the guy leaned in again, this time closer, and that peekaboo hand landed on the back of Emily's chair.

Jase's molars connected, and his jaw clenched.

He waited for Emily—who had most definitely noticed the arm breaching her space—to brush Mitchel off. Pull back and put the requisite polite distance between them. Flash a few of those no-go signals females mastered sometime around the tenth grade.

Only she wasn't doing any of that.

Her eyes just flicked to the arm at the back of her chair, and then she went back to talking, her smile as sweet and soft and steady as ever.

By the time dinner was over, Jase couldn't wait to get out of there. Mitchel's street credit had taken a serious hit.

And Emily? Well, if that was the kind of guy she was into, then have at him.

“Jase, about fucking time.”

Max clapped him on the back and started pushing firmly toward the door where a small crowd was waiting in a reverse receiving line to thank their hosts and make their escape.

Jase looked back, recognizing the strained look on his buddy's face.

“Officer Friendly, got girl trouble again?”

“Bite me,” came Max's tight reply.

And then Brody was falling in, catching them each by one shoulder and pulling them in together for his quintessential bear hug. “She's cute, Max. A nurse.”

The low growl coming from Max had Jase scanning the crowd for incoming cute nurses—but the woman in question must have exchanged her Florence Nightingale getup for one of the sparkling, jewel-toned dresses and high heels. He had no idea.

Even narrowing it down to the women eyeing their little cluster didn't do him any good, because the three of them tended to earn a fair amount of female attention.

“So what's the problem? You kissed her beneath the willow tree out back, and now her dad wants you to make an honest woman of her?”

“Worse,” Max ground out. “She's Romeo's little sister.”

Max looked about as uncomfortable as he could get, and considering he wasn't a guy who ever really relaxed, that was saying something. Jase whooped and scanned the crowd for Maya. Max could do a hell of a lot worse if he was interested in settling down. Only he wasn't anywhere near the one-woman-for-the-rest-of-his-life stage—and even if Maya was of the same mind, Max had a hard-and-fast rule about his friends' sisters. Probably scared shitless about turnabout being fair play.

“Relax, I don't see her.”

He did, however, see Emily, who was deep in conversation with Romeo's aunt Ginger. But not so deep that she didn't bust him staring at her from across the room.

Great.

He flashed her a wink chock-full of empty promise and confidence he didn't feel. Then let his mouth fall into the smile that got him into all the places he shouldn't go.

There it was—the falter in her step and crack in her cool. Score one for Jase.

“Yeah, guys, we ought to get out of here,” he said, suddenly feeling the need for a quick escape. Not that he was running. Whatever Emily could dish out, he could take. But still. “Maybe we could bypass the Willsons and just give them a wave good-bye. Skirt around the side or head out the back door.”

Just then, he caught the soft, sexy scent and light touch of a hand too familiar for his taste.

“Oh, excuse me,” Emily murmured, choosing that minute to sort of shimmy between him and the guy in front of him, letting hints and bits of her hair, arms, hips, and ass barely graze him as she leaned through the line to reach for a glass resting on the table to his left.

Then flashing him the softest, sweetest smile, she winked before brushing those killer legs across him in the other direction.

Catching the pained look on his face, Brody gave him a sly grin. “What, did she get you with her heel again?”

Jase positioned his coat in front of himself and cleared his throat. “Yeah. She got me.”

* * *

Joe Foster was out front when Jase pulled up to the small bungalow in Oak Park that had been his childhood home. Hopping out, he squinted up at the roof, checking the gutter they'd fixed the week before.

“Any problems when it rained Wednesday?” he asked, meeting his old man at the side gate and following him around back to the garage.

“Nah, think we got it.” Then waving a hand at the rake Jase was reaching for, Joe added, “Put that away. Pregame's going on. Let's get inside.”

Jase shrugged and returned the rake, half disappointed he wouldn't have a chance to burn off a little of the tension he'd been banking since the night before. But he was here to hang out with his dad, not exorcize Emily through landscaping. “Sure thing.”

“Christ, kid, sounds like some party,” Joe said some twenty minutes later, settling into his recliner with his hands folded over what was still a moderately lean stomach. “Romeo handling the pressure?”

“I think so,” Jase answered from the kitchen. Then popping the last bite of banana bread—his dad's specialty—into his mouth, he scanned the contents of the fridge to take inventory for when they hit the grocery store. “I had some concerns when he was getting ready to pop the question.”

“They had that blow-up fight not too far back, right?”

Jase grinned at the sparsely stocked shelves, eternally amused at how Big Joe Foster was such a sucker for gossip. Seriously, put his dad and Janice in a room together, and they'd be in hog heaven. “Yeah, but I think it was just your typical guy pre-ring panic attack. We talked a lot, and he loves her. Like, forever loves her.”

Yep, and that would be his mushy-hearted old man letting out a wistful sigh. “That's the way it ought to be.”

“I guess.” Then moving on to the cabinets, Jase called back, “You want chicken tonight?”

He could throw a pack of thighs in with one of the bottled marinades and give it a couple of hours to soak before grilling.

“Sounds good to me.”

Jase walked around to the main living area and pulled one of the chairs from the dining table to face the TV. In the twenty years since his mom left, the only change his dad had allowed in the decor was the position of the living room furniture. And Jase was about ninety percent sure that was because, at sixteen, he hadn't asked before moving the couch that had acted as a divider between the table and chairs and the cluster of living room furniture to the opposite side of the room, allowing for easier viewing of whatever was on while they ate.

Change wasn't something his dad typically embraced, particularly when it pertained to the house his wife had decorated, so Jase wouldn't have even tried if undoing the move hadn't been an option. As it turned out, the old man had walked in that first night, stared a moment at the spot where the couch had always been and then, seeing the game on, nodded once and dropped into his chair at the end of the table to dig into the spaghetti Jase had heated up for dinner.

From his beige recliner across the room, Joe let out a warm chuckle. “Kid, you look wiped. Getting your vitamins?”

Jase rubbed a hand over his grin, both touched and amused at the way his father still looked after him. “Yeah, Pops. Every day.”

“So what's with the walking around like you've got lead in your boots?”

Jase could try to dodge, to change the subject, but his dad had asked him a direct question, and, well—his dad didn't ask him for much.

“It's nothing. A woman.”

Joe sat forward, a glint in his eyes. “Special?”

“Especially annoying.” Irritating. Pecking her way into his thoughts even after he'd dropped the guys at home the night before. Hell, she'd still been there when he'd collapsed into bed. Flashing that smile. Laughing. The sound of it doing shit to him he wasn't a fan of. Particularly when he was on the brink of sleep and that sexy laugh and the memory of how she'd brushed so very close to him started to mingle in his mind, forcing him to get up and put in a few hours of work before he was willing to brave sleep again.

“You remember Eddie's girl, from before the accident?”

“Emily? Sure I remember, and from before she was Eddie's girl too. Always liked that one. How's she doing these days?”

Grudgingly, Jase told the truth. “Good. Real good, from what I can tell. She's a senior account supervisor for one of the bigger PR agencies downtown. I heard she's kind of a hotshot—lands all the big accounts. Lots of friends—friends who keep marrying mine.”

“Well, good for her,” his dad stated enthusiastically before leaning forward to ask, “She still such a looker?”

Jase couldn't deny it. “She is.”

“You know, I always thought you two would have made a better couple than her with that Eddie. She was too smart for him. And, yeah, yeah, I know he's had it rough, but—” His dad shook his head, cutting that thought off, and then grinned at Jase. “So Emily's back. That's fantastic. You taking her out? Somewhere nice, I hope. Not one of those showy places where you can't even have a conversation. But
nice
nice. So you can talk. Get to know each other again.”