The Wingman Read online

  “What do you mean my territory? The table?”

  “No, Daisy, I mean me,” he growled. “We’re obviously here together, and you allowed her to force her unwelcome way into our conversation.”

  “Well, I didn’t know if you wanted to speak with her or not. I don’t have any rights over you or any control over with whom you choose to speak.”

  “Hmm.” He shrugged. “You were irritated by the interruption. I could see it in your eyes. So why did you let her walk all over you like that?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head hopelessly. “Habit, I guess.”

  “You always let her treat you like that? Like you don’t matter? What the fuck? Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Daisy repeated and swallowed back a lump in her throat as she considered his words.

  “And she’ll be at the wedding?”

  “She’s one of the bridesmaids.”

  “Are the rest of them like that too?”

  “Some of them, yes.”

  “Why is your sister even friends with a viper like that?”

  “It’s a small town, and Shar is very influential.”

  “I don’t give a fuck if she’s the pope’s daughter; she was always a bitch, even back in high school, and I never could figure out why people allowed her to have so much power and sway over them.”

  “So you do know who she is?”

  “Of course I do, but do you think I’d give her the satisfaction of knowing that? I never liked her.”

  “She’s very beautiful.”

  “So’s a blue-ringed octopus, but it can still kill the hell out of you.”

  “A blue-ringed octopus?” She couldn’t quite contain her giggle. “I don’t think she’d appreciate being compared to an octopus.”

  “Daisy,” he said, his voice serious and his eyes level, and she put her elbows on the table and leaned forward in interest. She was shaken when his eyes dipped to her cleavage for a long—wholly appreciative—moment. When his gaze came back up to meet hers, it had a smolder in it that made Daisy feel hot all over. His voice had roughened slightly, and it made his next words sound way sexier than he probably intended. “I’m not allowing you to uninvite me from that wedding. We’re going. Together. Got that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great.” An awkward silence descended over the table, and she could hear Shar’s voice from across the room. Horrible words like “human trash” and “ignorant, uneducated jocks” drifted over the general hum of conversation clearly meant for them to hear, and Daisy winced in embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry about Shar. The things she said were . . .”

  “Why?” he interrupted. “Why be sorry? You’re not the one who said them. I’ve met loads of chicks like her in my lifetime. Spoilt bitches who want to ‘slum’ it with the soldier or the bodyguard but would never been caught dead with them in public. Hell, I’ve even fucked—sorry—my fair share of them. I know exactly what they’re all about.”

  “Still—”

  “Don’t ever apologize for other people, Daisy. Unless”—a fleeting expression of doubt crossed his face before it settled into handsome impassivity—“unless that’s why you changed your mind about the wedding. Because you think I’m not good enough.”

  “What?” Daisy laughed outright at that. “Seriously? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You’re a great guy, Mason. A nice man. Attractive and interesting. You—”

  “Let me stop you right there.” He held up a hand and shook his head. “I’m not nice, Daisy. If I was nice, if I was halfway decent, I’d let you back out of this wingman scheme.”

  “So . . . so why don’t you?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer to that question but couldn’t prevent the halting question from slipping out.

  “Because I’m a selfish asshole.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re the nice one, Daisy. Sweet, kind, fun, entertaining. I like hanging out with you. But after the newness wears off, you won’t like hanging out with me, and that’s why I should have let you call this thing off. But that’s not going to happen, because I’m enjoying myself, and regardless of whether this is the best thing for you, it’s what I want. And when I want something, very little can stop me from getting it.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “You will.” The words were said in such a grim voice that they sent a shudder down her spine. “Now eat up and then tell me everything I need to know to make Operation Wingman succeed.”

  Mason watched as Daisy nibbled her lower lip while she considered his words. She sighed softly—her lovely chest rising and falling gently in the process—and removed her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. He had tried his utmost to keep his eyes above chest level this evening, but he knew she had caught him looking a couple of times. He was trying to maintain a calm and friendly demeanor, but the truth was, his body had been on a low simmer for most of dinner, and he was finding it hard to focus on what she was saying when all he wanted to do was taste those full, soft-looking lips and slip his hand inside the low V of that top.

  She replaced her glasses and lifted those gorgeous gray eyes to meet his.

  “There’s not much to know except that people are going to have a hard time believing this charade,” she grumbled, and he hit her with the sweetest smile in his arsenal—the “panty dropper” as his army mates called it—and reached across the table to lay one of his hands over one of hers.

  “Trust me,” he crooned, lifting her surprisingly delicate hand and turning it palm up to trace the lines with his index finger. Her breath caught, and his smile widened even further as he slathered on the charm. “They’ll believe it.”

  He dropped a kiss into the center of her palm and folded her fingers down until they were curled over the spot he had marked with his lips. Her skin was incredibly soft, and damned if his lips weren’t actually tingling after the brief brush against her soft, fragrant flesh. Tingling, for God’s sake. What kind of bloke would ever confess to feeling tingly? And yet here he sat, with tiny starbursts of sensation popping and fizzing all over his lips.

  Her breath came in ragged gasps, and he was fighting to keep his own breathing under control after the unanticipated impact of that brief, intimate caress. He had to be very careful here. This wasn’t a reaction he had foreseen at all. Take her to the wedding, make her feel special, treat her like a princess, and job done, conscience assuaged. He liked her, wanted to spend time with her and enjoy her company, but sexual attraction shouldn’t have factored into the equation at all.

  “See?” he muttered, resisting the urge to clear his throat, knowing that doing so would only draw unwanted attention to the hoarseness of his voice. “I can lay on the charm as convincingly as the next guy.”

  Too convincingly. Daisy surreptitiously dragged her hand beneath the table and rubbed her palm against her jeans, hoping the roughness of the denim would eradicate the lingering sensation of his warm lips from her flesh. If they were going to do this she had to remember that this was all pretend, that Mason Carlisle’s overwhelming charm—no matter how convincing—was not real. It would be so easy to forget that fact, so easy to buy into their little deception and become the victim of her own dumb plan.

  “So, are we doing this thing?” he asked, refilling their wineglasses. His hand seemed a little unsteady, and his voice sounded thicker than usual. Daisy briefly wondered about that before shrugging the tremor off as Mason readjusted his grip on the bottle and dismissing the gruffness she had heard in his voice as her imagination. Especially since he sounded perfectly normal when he prompted her again moments later, “Are we?”

  Daisy took a fortifying sip of her wine before inhaling deeply. She thought back to all those other family events, Lia’s engagement party, Shar’s behavior just minutes before, and considered the impotent anger, frustration, and resentment she’d felt with every well-meaning auntie patronizingly informing her that her parents w
ere so lucky to have her to look after them in their old age. Showing up with Mason Carlisle on her arm would definitely make them pause for thought. A smile tilted her lips as Daisy imagined the looks on their faces. Then there was Shar and her ilk . . . Mason had been a wonderful balm on her bruised ego earlier, and while Daisy knew she had to fight her own battles, Lia’s wedding probably wasn’t the place to start doing so. She briefly considered his strange warning that he wasn’t nice, not quite sure what to make of it. She scrutinized his face carefully, but no trace of that earlier broodiness remained. His current expression seemed aloof, but his eyes were warm and gently encouraging.

  “Yes. Let’s do it,” she decided with a firm nod, and Mason’s lips stretched into a wonderful grin, one that showcased his dimple beautifully.

  “No more wishy-washy bullshit, Daisy. No more changing your mind. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, giving him a little salute, and he shook his head.

  “That was the worst salute I’ve ever seen in my life,” he chastised.

  “How do you do it in the British navy, then?”

  “Army,” he corrected.

  “Sorry, army.”

  “Easy, palm facing outward, index finger just on the brow. See?” he demonstrated with a smart and snappy salute that impressed her more than it should have.

  “You must have looked really handsome in your uniform,” she breathed appreciatively, and he chuckled.

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those women who goes sappy at the sight of a guy in uniform?” Not any guy, just Mason. Daisy figured she’d melt into a puddle of unrequited lust if she ever saw the man in uniform. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.

  “The navy uniform is kind of sexy,” she admitted with a grin, and his brow furrowed.

  “I was in the army,” he reminded, with that inborn male arrogance that told her he assumed that she must have made a mistake.

  “Yes, so you said. Pity. You would probably have looked quite nice in navy whites.”

  He winced and then laughed.

  “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

  “Totally.”

  “You don’t often see them in whites, you know? They usually muck around in something less glamorous.”

  “Ssh.” Without thinking, she lifted her hand and placed her fingers over his lips. Then self-consciously snatched them back when she realized what she had done. Damn it! Just when she was getting over that kiss too. Her gesture had effectively silenced him, and she watched in fascination when the tip of his tongue ran over the same spot her fingers had just been. As if he were sampling her taste.

  She shook herself, a little irritated to be thinking such ridiculous thoughts, and focused on their conversation.

  “Don’t destroy the fantasy,” she admonished, embarrassed by the unfamiliar throatiness of her voice. A tiny smile kicked up one corner of his mouth, and his eyes narrowed.

  “What fantasy?”

  “The, uh . . . the navy thing. You know?” Shut up, Daisy, her inner voice shrieked, shut up!

  “What does this navy fantasy guy wind up doing to you exactly?”

  “Nothing.” She shifted uncomfortably.

  “So he just stands around doing nothing? Lame.”

  “I just think it’s a flattering uniform, that’s all,” she said, trying to insert some firmness into her voice and take command of this crazy conversation.

  “I could borrow a buddy’s navy whites,” he suggested with a wicked grin. “And wear them for you. But I’ll probably do a hell of a lot more than merely stand around modeling it.”

  Don’t ask!

  “Like what?” Crap!

  “I’ll probably start with a sloooooow strip tease.” Daisy was captivated by his eyes; they were staring into hers with scorching intensity, and she was finding it hard to breathe. Her mouth was bone dry, and she took another desperate gulp from her glass.

  “I’m surprised you’d know how to do that,” she croaked. Why wasn’t she putting a stop to this conversation? It was unlike any other discussion she had ever had in her life, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted it to continue or end.

  “What? A striptease? I’ve seen it done enough times. It seems pretty easy. Put on some sexy music, do a hip-swaying, raunchy dance, and strip. But make it last, build anticipation . . . reveal only a tiny”—his hand drifted to the top button of his Henley and popped it—“sliver”—another button.

  Daisy’s eyes were fixed on the smooth, tanned skin peeking through the tiny V he had created at the base of his throat, and she swallowed heavily. Her breath came in rapid pants while her entire body felt as if it was on fire.

  “Of skin”—another button. How could a man’s throat be so sexy? Oh God, she could see his clavicles now. She wanted to run her tongue over them. They looked so strong and masculine. What was happening to her?

  “At a time”—a fourth button slid free of its hole to reveal the tiniest portion of his chest. She could see the slightest sprinkle of light-brown hair, and she absolutely ached to run her hand over the silky-looking stuff, to feel the velvety texture of his glorious skin beneath the palm of his hand. She ran her tongue over her dry lips and swallowed again.

  “You okay, Daisy? You’re looking a bit flushed.” His hands dropped back to the table, and Daisy stifled a groan when she realized that the impromptu little demo was over. She glared at him; he had done that deliberately, the bastard. He had known exactly how he was affecting her and had teased her mercilessly nonetheless. Daisy didn’t know what game he was playing with her, but she didn’t like it.

  “It’s a little hot in here, that’s all,” she lied, and he allowed the untruth to go unchallenged, merely nodded his acceptance.

  “It is a bit uncomfortable,” he said agreeably.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mason felt like a bastard. Why had he done that? He couldn’t explain his motivation even to himself. All he knew was that he enjoyed teasing her and that he had pushed them both way too far with that stupid little strip show. Her pupils were still huge, only a sliver of gray rimmed them; her breath came in huffs; her hands were trembling; and she still had that delicious rosy flush highlighting her cheeks. God, she was sexy when she was turned on, and all Mason wanted was to get her someplace private and fuck her senseless. But if ever a chick had “complicated” stamped all over her, it was this one, and Mason knew that any sex with her would come with way too much baggage, and he sure as hell didn’t want her enough to have to deal with any emotional crap.

  He preferred quick, easy, and uncomplicated, but the Daisy McGregors of the world wanted hearts and flowers and commitment—he shuddered discreetly at the thought—with their sex. Best to steer clear. He’d be better off going to a woman like that Shar bitch for his sex. A shame she left him cold.

  Still, he hadn’t had more than one hookup since getting back from London, and that had been nearly eight months ago. Jerking off was getting old, and he figured he was way overdue for some fun between the sheets with a pretty, flirty thing who wouldn’t expect much more than a roll in the hay from him.

  Sadly, because Riversend was so small, he’d have to venture further afield for his sex. God knew he didn’t want the whole town knowing whom he fucked. That was the one drawback of being home, everybody knew everyone else’s business. He had to ask Spencer where the prime pickup spots were around these parts.

  He cleared his throat and tried to regroup his thoughts and felt like a total shit all over again when he glanced over at Daisy and saw that she was having a hard time meeting his eyes.

  “So tell me everything I need to know about this wedding,” he invited, wanting to get them back on task. She looked up, and he could see the relief in her eyes at the change of subject.

  “Well, it’s going to be a big deal: a destination wedding, with an intimate”—she used air quotes—“rehearsal dinner at the venue. Very sophisticated and elegant; Clayton’s parents insisted.”

  Something i
n Daisy’s voice alerted Mason to the fact that she wasn’t too impressed with her future in-laws, and his eyes narrowed.

  “Tell me about the groom.”

  Daisy shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t like Clayton, she didn’t trust him, and she hated the way he made her feel. His comments about her body when nobody else was listening, so subtly insulting but couched beneath layers of bonhomie, had set her teeth on edge from the very beginning. The way he crowded her space when he spoke to her, the “accidental” brushes against her breasts when no one was looking—usually followed by insincere apologies and jokes about how her chest was hard to avoid—and the times he patted her butt with seemingly casual affection. He made her skin crawl, and she avoided being alone with him as much as possible. She hated the fact that Lia was marrying him but didn’t know how to verbalize how she felt.

  The last time his hand lingered a little too long on her waist, she tried to confront him about it, and he had blinked at her innocently, affected surprise, and made her feel like she was reading way too much into the “affectionate” and “brotherly” pats.

  “You’re hardly my type, Daisy doll,” he had guffawed. “Maybe you’re the one harboring less than sisterly feelings toward me. After all, it’s not uncommon for a younger sister to covet what her older sister has. But I’m a taken man, sweetheart. So don’t read too much into my hugs. I’m just trying to be brotherly.”

  “Daisy?” She blinked in response to Mason’s gentle prompt and shook her head slightly as she came back to the present. “Where’d you drift off to?”

  “Nowhere. Sorry. I was just trying to think of how to describe Clayton Edmonton the Third to you.”

  “That’s a mouthful.” He chuckled, and she grinned.

  “He insists on always being introduced that way.”

  “Well, that tells me a lot more about him than you could possibly imagine,” Mason said.

  “Really? Such as?”

  “Such as the fact that he’s a pompous ass for one.” Daisy snorted in response to that, and he grinned. “Go on, tell me I’m wrong.”