The Best Man (Chesapeake Shores Book 2) Read online

  “Ugh. Don’t mind me. I’m just being whiny.” I stretch my legs out in front of me and roll my ankle to ease some tension. These are not busy day shoes. I should have known better than to wear them, but I can never resist them.”

  Releasing his grip on my shoulders, Ev pulls his chair right next to mine, draping my legs across his knees as he grips the offending pink wedge heel and plucks it off my left foot. “Is that because they’re your favorite color or because you know you look fucking hot in them?” He questions me as he treats my tired foot to the same ministrations he just lavished on my neck.

  So here I sit, in the lobby of a downtown hotel, on a Friday afternoon, with Ev Madigan stroking the everloving shit out of my feet as though it’s the most normal and natural thing. His touch is powerful—not too hard, but not soft and gentle, either. It’s an echo of the care and attention he showed me back in December when we spent the night together. And now, like then, his fingers are having quite an effect on me. Before I can give in to the sensations or allow myself to indulge in the pleasure of his flesh on mine, I hear our names being called from the reservation desk.

  “Ms. Randall and Mr. Madigan?”

  “Guess that’s our cue.” I lean forward and untangle my legs from his lap. He extends his hand to steady me, and I take it, more for its warmth than anything.

  “It would seem so, but we’re not done here.”

  God help me, but that commanding voice does something to me. Heat shoots through me at his words, though they’re not especially salacious or provocative. But I know the promise that lies beneath the surface. And, more importantly, I know that this man can make good on his promise.

  Ev turns to greet the wedding planner, seemingly unaffected by his own words or the moment we just shared, but I know better. Sure, his voice is steady and clear, and he’s all ease and charm, but I can see the tick of his jaw and the tension in his posture. He’s as affected by our chemistry as I am.

  That gives me an odd sense of satisfaction. I don’t really want to be in this situation, but at least I’m not the only one in it.

  “Hi, I’m Charlene Powell, the event planner here at the Admiral Inn.” Charlene’s hair is a brunette helmet lovingly coated in a protective layer of hairspray and her smile is plastered in place. She’s talking, but her face is barely moving. She has that former beauty queen look about her, and this is clearly not her first wedding consultation.

  Charlene walks us to the ballroom for a brief tour and then invites us into her office to outline the finer points. She breezes through these as though she recites them several times a day, which is likely true.

  Ev and I nod at all the right times and respond politely to all of her coupley puns. We smile when she tells us that the chef’s recipes are “bride and true,” and we laugh along when she says that Simon and Elaine’s chosen time frame is tricky, but she thinks she can “pull some rings.”

  Forty-five cheek-aching minutes later, Charlene sends us on our way with an informational folder and a parade-worthy wave.

  “That woman’s face really doesn’t move when she talks,” I say when we’re out of earshot.

  “I am not remotely interested in talking about that woman or her oddly immobile face.”

  His hand encircles my wrist in the way that I love, the way that silently claims me, the way that is so beyond friendly. I shouldn’t, but I give in and flirt. “What are you interested in, Ev?”

  He chooses his words carefully, the way he always does. “I want a drink, Molly.”

  “Yeah? That can easily be arranged. I mean, it’s one’clock, but the bars are open.”

  He shakes his head as his other hand grips my waist. “I want to have a drink in my hotel room,” he clarifies. “With you.”

  This is a terrible idea. But such a good terrible idea. I’m on the cusp of giving in when my phone buzzes from my purse at an alarming volume.

  The spell broken, I take a step back and root through my bag, just as Ev pulls his ringing phone from his pocket. No wonder the noise was so loud. He talks on his phone as I type on mine.

  Winn: Molly? My mom’s not answering her phone.

  Winn: Molly? I’ve got a migraine.

  Winn: Can you come get me?

  Molly: On my way, kiddo. I’ll call the office and sign you out. Text your mom and let her know.

  Winn: Don’t call me kiddo.

  Winn: And thanks.

  I look up from my phone and sigh, realizing that duty calls, and, for once, I don’t want to answer.

  It looks like Ev is in the same situation.

  “Sorry, Molly. That was Nate. The deal we just sealed in Chicago is on the rocks again.”

  “Are you flying out there?”

  “No, a few phone calls should do it, but we’ll likely be at it for the next several hours.”

  “No problem.” I hold up my phone. “I need to pick up my brother at school. He’s got a killer migraine.”

  Ev breaches the distance between us and traces his fingers up my arm in silent acknowledgment that the afternoon plans we were considering are no longer happening.

  “Sounds like we both have obligations,” Ev says.

  “We do,” I agree, wondering if, perhaps, our interruptions came at just the right time.

  “But we’re still on for tomorrow night.” He smiles, as though he knows I’m starting to hesitate.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Night,” he finishes. “You and me, back at Mahady’s. The band Simon loves is playing and—”

  “And we agreed to go. Right. I forgot. I mean, I remembered, but then I forgot. What time do you want to meet?” I reach into my bag again, digging for his keys.

  He stills my wrist and rubs his thumb on the sensitive skin there. “Keep the wheels another night. My hotel’s only a few blocks away from here. It’s an easy walk. Pick me up at 8.”

  I nod my understanding, as he kisses my cheek, turns, and leaves. I have his car keys, but why do I feel like he still has the control?

  Molly’s dress should come with a warning label. The way it dips in the front, revealing a teasing glimpse of her cleavage. The open back that skims the top of her ass and shows she’s clearly not wearing a bra. The short, tight skirt that hugs her thighs.

  My God, Molly herself should probably come wrapped in caution tape.

  And now I have images of Molly bound in tape running through my brain. Dammit.

  The lights are low, and Mahady’s is crowded, so the chances of anyone spotting my hard on are slim. Still, I aim to conceal it by finding us a table. There’s an empty one along the far wall, and I place my beer on the tabletop to claim it.

  Molly follows me and sits, crossing her legs as she perches on the stool, and Jesus, that just makes it worse.

  “You look gorgeous tonight, Molly.”

  “Thanks.” The pink tinge in her cheeks and the way she shifts slightly in her chair tell me that my compliment affects her more than she’d like to admit.

  “And you look handsome, as always.” She returns the sentiment, but she’s holding back.

  “But…” I prompt, curious. Is she going to remind me, yet again, that this isn’t a date?

  “But,” she leans in and tugs gently on my tie. “We’ve got to get you out of these suits. Are they sexy? Yes. Do you stand out in a crowd? Always. But if you’re going to hang out in a tourist town bar on Saturday night, then we need to get you some jeans.”

  “Molly, I think you’re well aware that you can get me out of my suit any time you want to. As for jeans, that’s another matter.”

  “You don’t wear jeans?”

  She’s seemingly horrified at this, as though it’s an outward sign of some inner deficiency or personality disorder. I shrug. “Not usually. I’m sure I’ve owned jeans, but I don’t generally wear them. When I’m awake, I’m only ever in a handful of places. At work, I wear a suit and tie. When I’m at the gym or on my boat, I’m in workout clothes. And when I’m sleeping, I’m naked.” I tak
e a pull of my beer and let those words sink in.

  “After a few turns out on the dance floor, you’ll be begging me to take you shopping for more comfortable, casual clothes.”

  “You can take me shopping whenever you like, Molls. Drive my car, pick out my clothes. That’s all fine with me. But let’s get one thing straight. I’ll never beg you for anything. Only one of us in this scenario will be on their knees begging for mercy, for pleasure, for release, and it sure as hell won’t be me.” I drink my beer and watch as her pulse quickens and her breathing stutters.

  The flush on her skin is an unmistakable sign of arousal, and I’m seconds from suggesting that we head back to my place. There’s no actual need to hear the band, is there? Simon already likes them. I guess my sister wanted us to take a listen to determine whether they were upbeat and dance-y enough for a wedding. I’m sure they’re fine, especially if Simon and Elaine are planning on an open bar.

  My plans are waylaid; however, when I hear a voice call my name.

  I turn to see Nick and Gavin approaching our table, and it’s clear that they are even more surprised to see us than we are to see them.

  “Ev, man, I heard you were sticking around, but I didn’t think we’d see you out tonight.” Nick shakes my hand and does a quick double-take when he sees Molly at the table.

  Gavin is quicker to recover. “Molly, how’s it going?”

  “Great, how about you? It’s been forever since I’ve talked to you, and I barely got to see you at the party the other week. How have you been? How was your cruise?”

  “It was good. The weather was great. Can’t complain, right?” I don’t really know the guy, but something feels off about his answer. And I’m not the only one who notices. As usual, Molly smooths things over effortlessly.

  “Well, we can catch up later. Grab a drink, guys. The band should be on soon.”

  “Yea, I’m surprised to see you here, Molly. I didn’t think the Busted Kings were your style?” He’s prying, this guy.

  “It’s always good to try new things, Nick,” Molly says cryptically and smiles. “Now, get to the bar.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Can we get you guys anything?” he asks.

  “We’re fine.” I clip, perhaps a bit more forcefully than I intended.

  And Nick, the asshole, grins from ear to ear, knowing he’s gotten under my skin.

  “Don’t even ask.” Molly levels me with a glare, as she picks up her drink and takes a sip.

  “What? I said nothing.”

  Rolling her eyes, she says,“You shot daggers at Nick’s back as he headed to the bar. And you can cool it with that caveman shit, ok? Nick and I were never together. It’s not like that between us. We’re like twins separated at birth or something, I don’t know. We adore each other, and we have a lot in common, but there’s no love connection.” She lifts her drink to take another sip, but then replaces her glass on the table and glares at me again. “What the hell? Why am I even telling you this? It has nothing to do with you. And whom I’ve dated or fucked or whatever is none of your concern.”

  She’s right, of course. It’s none of my business or my concern. Still, does it make me a total asshole that I take delight in the fact that she and Nick are just friends?

  And if it does, so be it. I’m an asshole for a lot of things. We can just add this to the list.

  Because I have nothing nice to say, or at least nothing she wants to hear right now, I drain my own drink, just as Nick and Gavin return from the bar. They ignored my refusal and bought drinks for the table, which was quite considerate. They’ve also dragged stools over and decided to join us permanently, which is annoying as hell.

  “Have you heard these guys before? They’re pretty good,” Gavin says, steadying himself on a stool and cramming his frame around the table meant for two. He’s nearly as tall as I am, and though Nick’s a bit shorter, we’re all broad guys. That makes for a cozy seating arrangement. And I’d wonder what the hell they’re doing sitting at our table when there are still a few open ones available, but I already know the answer.

  They’re here to vet me.

  Sure, the fact that I’m Elaine’s brother gives me some measure of credibility. And Simon and I get along well. So, by most guy standards, I’d gain admittance into their group. Maybe not the inner circle, per se, but I’d be welcome on the fringe. I certainly was at the engagement party. We all sat around, had a few beers, and shot the shit like I’d been a member of the crew forever

  But things have changed since then.

  The minute they spotted me alone with Molly, all bets were off. There’s no outward hostility or anything. But they’re sizing me up now. They’re checking to ensure that I’m worthy of Molly’s time and company.

  I understand where they’re coming from. It’s easy to tell that Molly is well-loved by her tribe, and deservedly so.

  And my posturing and being pissy isn’t going to do me any favors. So, I graciously accept the beer Gav offers and join the conversation.

  “No, but Simon’s a fan, so we thought we’d come and give them a listen,” I say.

  “Simon is actually why we’re here,” Molly interjects. “Well, Simon and Elaine. They’re considering hiring these guys to play at their wedding, so here we are.”

  Nick nods. “Yea, I heard you were wedding planning, Molls. I just didn’t know you had an assistant.”

  And there it is. I shoot a knowing glance in Molly’s direction, indicating that I’m not the only caveman at the table.

  I’ve got to handle this carefully. I don’t want to spook Molly, or come on too strong. On the other hand, these guys—her friends—need to know that I’m not just dicking around.

  “I’m staying for awhile, at least until Elaine gets through these next few weeks. So, Molly’s stuck with me for a bit.” I place my hand on the table, right next to hers, and to my surprise, she covers my left hand with her right.

  And that’s all it takes. Her boys are satisfied, at least for now, though I have no doubt I’ll get a litany of questions or a brotherly lecture if I should see them when Molly’s not around.

  Our conversation veers easily to other topics. We update them on Elaine and they tell us that Betsy and Duncan are visiting his family in Pittsburgh this weekend.

  Nick tells us about a few crazy clients he’s had at the tattoo shop this week, and he and Molly catch up for a bit.

  I ask Gav about local gyms and that seems to be his love language, so he opens up and gives me a few good leads. He also tells me about some trails he likes, and I agree to meet him for a run next week.

  The band starts up, and I have to admit, they’re really good. Not necessarily my style, I’m more classic rock than indie, but it’s good stuff, and I don’t complain when Molly drags me out to dance a little and get a closer look.

  By this time, I’ve rolled up my sleeves and loosened my collar, and I’m totally on board for a t-shirt and jeans shopping spree with Molly. It’s fucking hot in here.

  We dance, and though it’s hardly the place to show off my ballroom moves, the fact that I have a sense of rhythm seems to impress her.

  The band segues into a slower tune, and I pull Molly closer, her back to my front. Wrapping my arms around her, I keep us steady as we sway to the music. I guess we’d appear odd to anyone looking on, positioned the way we are, but I can’t spare a moment to care about that. I’m enveloped in the sensations around me—the scent of her perfume, the tilt of her hips, the warmth of her skin. I haven’t been this close to her for two months—and even then, it was short-lived. So I savor every detail—the skip of her pulse as I gently bite the tender flesh of her neck, the gasp that escapes when she rocks back into me, cradling the bulge in my pants against her full, ripe ass.

  Just when I’ve had as much as I can take, Molly turns in my arms, tilts her head up, and presses her lips to mine. That’s all the invitation I need, but I’m a grown-ass man and I’ve gotten used to creature comforts like beds and pillows and sheets.


  Unable to resist, I deepen the kiss and pull her closer. Christ, I’m hard as a rock, and we need to get out of here.

  Molly steps back, reaches up to trace a finger along my jawline, and says, “Come with me.”

  If she knows a fast way out of here, I’m all for it.

  “Lemme guess. You’re a bar-bathroom-sex virgin?” I ask.

  He stares at me, probably for a variety of reasons. The first of which is that we’re standing in a single-use restroom in the basement of Mahady’s bar. I’m pretty sure he thought we were leaving, but I can’t wait. I can’t even think of the second because he pins me to the wall, stretching my arms over my head and leaning in close. “Not for long.”

  His kiss envelops me, and I totally surrender to it. There is something heady and delicious about succumbing to his touch, and I’m not a woman who gives up control easily. But with Ev, it’s as though I have no choice. I’ve been fighting this pull for too long, and I won’t do it anymore. The pleasure he promises is so addicting, so fulfilling, that I willingly release my hold and give in to the physical escape he offers.

  “Damn Molly.” His hand grips my hip to draw us closer together, his thick length rocking against my core. “You’re driving me insane. You know that, right? I walk around half-hard just thinking about you. And when I get near you? I’m about to lose my fucking mind.”

  “Really?” I ask, trying like hell for saucy, but likely reaching desperate and wanton.

  He answers with a punishing, satisfying bite just where my neck and shoulders meet. No boatneck tops for me this week. I whimper in response to his touch, hoping he’ll do it again, only harder this time.

  “Yes, really. God, my need for you is so fucking real.” He punctuates each word with kisses that trail down my collarbone and end right at the apex of my cleavage.

  Unable to resist, I stretch out my arms and drape them around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

  He stills at that, his voice deep and gravelly. “Put your arms back up, baby.”