May the Best Man Win (6 page)

Standing on the terrace of the Westin Chicago River North hotel overlooking the water, Emily tried to tell herself that the anticipatory high she had going was solely the result of excitement over helping a friend. It had nothing do with the fact that, after a week, she would be seeing Jase again. That they'd be alone.

No one there to keep them civilized.

Too bad that jump in her pulse when he strolled through the lobby doors with his overcoat open, the wind catching the short waves of his hair as he squinted into the morning sun—yeah,
that jump
—was calling her a liar.

“Morning, Em,” he said, meeting her at the garden's edge to hand her a steaming cup of coffee. “Eye of newt and toe of frog, just the way you like it.”

The laugh was out before she could stop it, but then she took a piping-hot sip of what could only be described as an incredible cup of coffee, indeed dressed just the way she liked it. So maybe she'd let Jase slide for making her crack a smile before she got her first jab in.

“Morning.”

He looked like he was waiting for her to hit him with a zinger. She smiled. Let him wait. “Thanks for meeting me early. I'm hoping we can hit most of these venues today.”

Jase leaned closer, checking the list she'd pulled up on her phone.

“Nice picks. Yeah, but there's a major renovation starting next month on this second one, so we'll have to see. Number three, though…”

Her gaze cut to where he was leaning over her shoulder, to the day-old stubble roughing up his solid jaw and the way the muscles along his neck moved as he spoke.

“…Anyway, there's room to dance, so it's got that.” He glanced up then and nodded at the river in front of them. “Too bad it's going to be the middle of winter. The view right here is pretty spectacular.”

She'd been thinking the same thing before he arrived. While Indian summer temps were already behind them, the sun was shining, casting a golden glow over the bridges, skyline, and Riverwalk. The terrace wouldn't accommodate the number of guests Sally and Romeo were planning, but the view really was something else. “The ballroom downstairs is still gorgeous, though. Ready to get started and have a look?”

Clearing his throat, he stepped back. “Sooner we start, sooner we're done.”

Right.

Six hours and eight hotels later, they were standing outside Subway where Jase had just inhaled a twelve-inch turkey on seven grain and Emily was still nibbling the last of her crack-addictive white chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies.

He'd done it again. Found a new way to get under her skin and make her writhe with frustrated discomfort.

Those little unnerving touches throughout the day. The supposedly inadvertent contact.

The way his lips turned up at the corners when she railed at him, all but
baiting
her to do it again. Making her think that, on some level, maybe he
liked
their charged interactions.

Making her wonder if
she
was the one enjoying their confrontations just a little too much.

“Emily, now you're just being difficult.”

She snickered, taking another bite. “Like you refusing to even set foot inside my favorite pick?”

And what had she been thinking, telling him about the boutique hotel she'd fallen head over heels for the day she'd taken a client to brunch, and in front of the entire dining room, a guy had gotten down on one knee and proposed. It had been beautiful. Elegant. So romantic, that even standing on the sidewalk outside America's biggest build-your-own sandwich chain
beside Jase
, she couldn't contain a wistful sigh.

If she'd been on her game, she would have told him it made her skin crawl. Thrown in a traumatized shiver for effect and then sat back gloating when he sold it to Sally and Romeo like no other spot would do.

Stupid.

“Damn it, Em—”

“Damn it,
Jay
,” she cut in, exaggerating the nickname just for kicks.

Pointing her half-eaten cookie at him, she laid it out. “You want to go talk to the manager at your restaurant, but I want to go to my hotel.”

Jase looked ready to blow a gasket. She thought about taunting him some more, but then the wind picked up, catching her hair and whipping it around her face in a way she couldn't ignore. She tried to sweep it aside with a hand, but the gusts were unrelenting. Finally, she popped the three-quarters of her remaining cookie in her mouth and used both hands to tame the beast. Of course then she had a mouth overfilled with cookie and Jase staring down at her, his shoulders quaking with repressed laughter.

Chewing desperately, she fought her own rising laughter.

“Oh Christ, please don't choke,” Jase urged, shoving his soda at her, the amusement in his eyes making them bright.

After a swallow of that disgusting concoction he'd made at the fountain using all the flavors, her laughter spilled free as she peered up at him. “
What is that?
”

“My own special recipe. I'll never tell.”

He really did have quite a smile.

Her hair was back in her face, but this time, Jase was the one to gather it up. And then they were standing there on the sidewalk, Jase's hand in her hair, his eyes locked with hers.

And that's when everything inside her went a little haywire. When her throat got tight, and her fingers started to tingle. Her belly slid into a slow churn she wished was disgust but definitely wasn't.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, his own curving into a smug little smirk. She was even more dismayed to admit she knew that, because her eyes had dropped to his mouth as well.

Mutual mouth staring.

So wrong.

Especially because instead of being able to muster the same smug smirk that stupid Jase had working, she was just…completely undone. Reacting like the sixteen-year-old girl she'd been when he'd first caught her eye. Before she knew what a world-class jerk he was. Before she'd had it confirmed in the most unpleasant ways, over and over again, that Jase Foster wasn't and hadn't actually ever really been her friend.

Unbelievable.

Shoving a hand through her hair, she brushed his aside and returned his soda. “Thanks.”

He nodded and stepped back to toss the drink into the can in front of the store.

When he turned back, he'd lost that too-confident look. Shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, he grumbled, “I used to date the event coordinator at your hotel.”

Emily raised a brow. “I'm listening.”

Intently.

“Look, it didn't end well. She misread the relationship and thought there was more going on than there was. I tried, really tried, to let her down easy, but—”

“Now you won't even set foot in her hotel?”

“Now I wouldn't let her get within a thousand feet of a single thing she knew I might care about.”

Her heart softened. “Like a friend's wedding.”

“Yeah.”

Damn it, why did he have to show her he wasn't always the total bastard he liked to be around her? Why did he have to remind her of what a good guy he could be to everyone else?

Why did she care?

She shouldn't.

She wouldn't.

“Fine. We can check out your restaurant.” She would have anyway. It had a great reputation, and the fact that they'd had a cancelation was a minor miracle. Besides, raking Jase over the coals had lost its luster.

* * *

Jase stood at the bar, his beer tight in the death grip he'd had going since he'd heard it. That laugh. Light and bubbly, melodic and soft, floating over the ever-present Café Ba-Ba-Reeba crowd. No way this was happening again. It had only been five damn days since they'd been sampling mini crab cakes and caprese skewers with Romeo and Sally. What was it going to take to get a break from Emily?

Jase told himself to calm down.

Ba-Ba-Reeba was a popular restaurant, a Chicago favorite.

And it wasn't like this was the first time they'd ended up in the same space.

They frequented several of the same restaurants and a handful of the same bars, though thankfully she stayed clear of Belfast. So her being at the same establishment tonight—not a big deal.

They wouldn't be seated together. Hell, chances were they wouldn't even be in the same room, because in addition to being packed, Ba-Ba-Reeba was also pretty huge.

She probably wouldn't even notice he was there.

Only then he felt it. Fuck.
He knew
. She'd seen him.

He shouldn't look. Shouldn't care. Shouldn't…

His eyes were moving over the crowd toward where he'd heard that laugh, the one he wasn't hearing now. And sure enough, there she was.

Several inches taller than most of the women around her. She was probably taller than most of the men too. And she was looking right at him.

Damn.

Eye contact.

The kind where too much passed between them before he had the good sense to pull back and break the lock. A deep breath and a long pull on his beer later, Jase braved another look. She was still standing there, but her focus had shifted to the hostess, who was scowling down at her seating chart with grim determination.

Which gave him the opportunity to catch what he'd missed on that first pass. The soft coils of hair tumbling around her shoulders, the wide-necked sweater too thin to do anything but draw his eyes to everything it didn't hide, and the trousers cut to keep his attention torn between the perfect curve of her ass and the teasingly short stretch of softly toned bare legs ending in—

He gulped.

The heels.

If ever a pair of shoes had earned the moniker, this red-spiked business she had going most definitely did.

Fuck-me heels.

He couldn't look away. Couldn't stop thinking about those red leather spikes sliding up the backs of his thighs, or the miles-long legs that came attached wrapped tight around him.

Holy hell.

Look away, man. Look away.

He tried to, but she looked too good.

Finally he gave in to the pull, accepting there was no escaping the vortex of
hot
he'd just fallen into. It didn't matter anyway—he was a guy. And he'd been admiring Emily Klein's good looks for years already.

He'd never done a thing about it.

So what was the problem? There wasn't one.

Only then she reached up to brush the hair that had fallen forward behind her ear, slowly, tentatively. Her gaze slipped back to him, and his beer hit the bar with less finesse than he usually mustered. He hadn't been braced for the punch that caught him square in the gut.

Emily. Looking less than tough.

Looking vulnerable.

Because of him.

There was no satisfaction in it. None at all.

No, they didn't get along. And yes, they got off on trying to one-up each other in the insult arena. But Christ, even he was feeling the strain of how much time they'd been spending together lately. The dinners out with Sally and Romeo to make sure all the plans were coming together. Working the peace in public and then laying into each other in private. All the while with that
thing
in the air between them—the one he wasn't having quite so much fun with anymore—screwing with his thought process.

Yeah, Emily had probably needed a break as much as he had. But now here they were. Together. Again.

Only not really. Because then the hostess was leading her toward the back of the restaurant, and suddenly Jase couldn't see her. Couldn't see who she was meeting. If it was some guy she'd gone to all that trouble for. If she had a date who was going to be able to rest his fingers over the flare of her hips and brush his thumbs against the rise of her ribs.

Feel the way her pulse accelerated. Know it was for him.

Forcing himself to stop staring at the empty doorway she'd disappeared past, Jase downed the second half of his beer.

Picking at the label, he wondered who he knew that might be able to tell him if Emily was dating someone—without it getting back to her. Because that would be even worse than flat-out asking her himself.

“There he is!” proclaimed Marcos Nicks like he'd been on an epic quest searching for Jase, instead of just walking into the place where they'd agreed to meet. Two hands gripped his shoulders and shook until Jase's brain rattled in his head.

Turning around, Jase pulled the guy into a one-armed hug and then gave him a clap on the back. “Hey, man, how's it going?”

They caught up on the day, which included Marcos's account of his girlfriend waking him up with a hummer that morning and how he'd been late all day because of it. Jase was happy for the guy—because, come on, who wouldn't be—but didn't encourage elaboration because locker room talk hadn't really interested him even in high school.

Involuntarily, his thoughts drifted back to Emily. To her sliding out of the booth where they'd been devouring doughnuts at 2:00 a.m., leaving Eddie watching her go with that hot look in his eyes.

“She's going to give it up. Finally. You know how I told you what she kisses like. With that hot, wet tongue sliding all over my mouth. I nearly lose it half the time I'm kissing her good night. Think about what that's going to feel like on my dick, man. I think she's ready to do it.”

Jase sat there with that placid smile ready to crack on his face. Yeah, he knew how most guys talked. That there were milestones they were all working toward, and when one of them finally scored it, the rest were supposed to be there on the sideline, cheering them along.

But Jase just wasn't built that way.

His head cranked around to see whether Emily was within hearing distance, hating the idea of her being embarrassed by the guy she was dating dishing up what she undoubtedly thought would be private between them. Hating how much he hated the idea of her giving up any of the things he knew—thanks to Eddie running at the mouth—she'd been holding on to.