Bedding The Best Man (Bedding the Bachelors Book 7) Page 7

  “Come on, babe,” he said, gathering his resolve and standing up. “I’m taking you home.” She looked up at him with big, luminous eyes, and he almost had a change of heart. He wanted her so badly. But he was going to do the right thing. He would have killed anyone who tried to take advantage of her while she was so vulnerable—he damned well wasn’t going to be the one who deserved a good ass kicking.

  “Up,” he repeated, averting his eyes from her beautiful face. He held out his hand, and after what seemed like an eternity, she took it. Gabe pulled Brianne to her feet. “Let’s get you to bed. Alone.”

  “Okay,” she snuffled. He placed his arm lightly around her shoulder and guided her out of the club.

  Chapter Seven

  “You’re going to do what?” Gabe asked Brianne as they sped out of downtown to her apartment in Silver Lake. She had sobered up enough that she wasn’t throwing herself at him, but he was relatively sure she was still plastered because she had just told him her newest event idea.

  “Glamping. Haven’t you heard of it? It’s like camping for the Beverly Hills set, isn’t it?” She sat demurely next to him in the passenger seat, her hands folded in her lap. She suddenly looked unsure that she was talking about the right thing.

  “Yeah, that’s what it’s called, and that’s what it is, but you’re going to do it? For a contest?” he asked, incredulous. He checked in the rear view mirror of his convertible as he switched lanes on the Ventura Freeway to get off on the 2.

  “Don’t sound so shocked,” she said, with a scoff that turned into something of a drunken snort, telling him she wasn’t as together as she was trying to make out after all.

  He rolled his eyes with a smile. “Bri, you thought you had measles when a mosquito bit you. That’s not outdoorsman—or rather, outdoorswoman-like behavior. You’re just not a nature girl.”

  “I could be!” she protested, then sighed. Her head lolled back onto the rest, and she grinned at him. “Crap. You’re right. I know you’re right. Do you think you could help me?”

  Bri never ceased to amaze him. Sometimes she was all patrician, upper-class elegance, and then she was girlish and full of uncertainty. He pursed his lips. I walked right into that one.

  He knew he should avoid spending time with her, knew that being around her did nothing good for his sanity, but he also knew how vulnerable she was at the moment, and how important her career and reputation were to her. She thought of herself as a screw-up when it came to relationships, and he certainly wasn’t going to let her start thinking she was a screw-up at work, too. Bottom line, they were friends, and he’d always be available to help her out.

  “Yeah, of course I’ll help you, but I think before you get too wrapped up in all your plans, it might be a good idea to do a trial run. If you want, I can take you out for a night.”

  Spending even a single night alone in a tent with Bri would be torture for him. But he didn’t want her investing a whole lot of time and effort into something only to find it was a big no-go because she couldn’t deliver on it.

  “Um…sure. I think a trial run is a great idea,” she said quickly. “I can’t arrange for my guests to do something I have no experience with.” She began to rattle off some nonsensical thoughts on how they should have color-coordinated marshmallow roasters. Gabe tuned out, and focused on the road. He let her talk, nodding and making assenting noises when she paused. Eventually, her words got slower and quieter. Sure enough, by the time they got off the main road and headed into the neighborhood of Silver Lake, she was snoring quietly.

  As he made the twists and turns through the streets in her neighborhood and found her apartment building, he thought about the woman asleep beside him. How long he had known her, and how quickly he had come to care for her. And not in a platonic, you’re-my-best-friend’s-girl kind of way. Even now—her head lolling around, with gentle, snuffling little drunken snores occasionally escaping her lips—she was the most stunning, most wonderful woman he had ever known.

  Gabe pulled up to the curb outside her Spanish-style building and killed the engine. He let himself look at her for a long moment, taking in her creamy complexion, her full lips, her thick hair. Hell, even her earlobes looked beautiful as he studied her in the meager light from the streetlamp outside. Pulling himself together, Gabe got out of the driver’s side and walked around the front of his car. He popped the passenger side door open and if Bri hadn’t been buckled in, she would have practically oozed out on to the sidewalk.

  “Okay, come on, honey, let’s get you to bed,” he said, reaching over to release the seat belt. His forearm, naked from the t-shirt he was wearing, brushed against her soft curves and her silky skin, and he had to concentrate hard to not get distracted as a fiery bolt went zinging through him. She started to stir. “Atta girl,” he crooned, “let’s go inside.”

  Bri muttered something that sounded like “maternity,” and Gabe looked at her sharply. But then he realized she was holding out her key ring. He took the keys from her and helped her stand. She leaned against him heavily as they walked up the cobblestones to the central courtyard of the building, and then stopped at the second apartment on the left.

  Holding Bri up with one arm, Gabe managed to get the key in the lock and swing the door open. He flipped the light switch next to the door on the wall, and herded her inside. She tossed her purse toward an easy chair and missed by a mile. Gabe nudged the door closed behind them and looked around her apartment. He had been with Eric when they had dropped her off on several occasions, but he’d never actually been inside. It had struck him as odd, more than once, that even after six years, even after getting engaged, Brianne and Eric had never moved in together. Hell, it had struck him as odd that Eric had waited almost five years to propose to her. According to his friend, neither had wanted to rush things, and both had been happy in their own space and content with frequent sleepovers. If it had been Gabe? He’d have wanted Bri in his bed every night. Within arms reach as much as possible.

  Yet not once had he questioned whether something could be wrong with Eric and Brianne’s relationship. He’d just taken it as a given that they were meant for one other, when maybe there had been clues that they hadn’t been.

  When he stepped into Brianne’s apartment, it was with his belly tight, in anticipation of discovering another, more private side of her. How she lived. Where she spent her time alone. In bed and out.

  The first thing that struck him was the clutter. It seemed that every square inch of available space not used for sitting was covered with stuff. As Bri ungracefully kicked off her shoes in the middle of the living room, he walked over to a low, modern-style coffee table to check out what all the strange objects were. In a million years, he never would have guessed her secret obsession.

  Ashtrays. Every flat surface was packed with ashtrays. Round ones, square ones, glass ones, plastic ones, metal ones, some shaped like animals, freestanding ones, ceramic ones—every possible kind of ashtray he could imagine, Bri had it in her apartment.

  If he hadn’t already been hopelessly in love with her, he knew that this strange eccentricity would have been enough to push him over the edge. But that ship had sailed long ago. She unknowingly held his heart and always would.

  “What the hell, Bri?” he asked, before he could stop himself. “You don’t even smoke.”

  She giggled and walked over to a console table, picking one up. It was small and white, with a gold rim around the edge. The two “G’s” emblazoned on the center were familiar.

  “You like my crazy collection?” she asked, with a proud smile. “This one is a vintage Gucci ashtray from the nineteen-seventies. It was five-hundred dollars. I bought it on eBay,” she said, then hiccupped. She placed it back on the table with great care then stumbled to the kitchen and picked up another one. It was a hula girl in a grass skirt holding half of a coconut, and her dark porcelain hair had a chip missing. “This is one of my favorites—I call her Leena. I got her at a flea market in Santa Mon
ica.”

  He picked up a square crystal ashtray off the coffee table, emblazoned with “Disneyland Hotel,” in sixties-era lettering. When he realized his jaw was gaping open, he snapped his mouth shut.

  “Good Lord, Bri,” he breathed, overcome by…what? Awe? Confusion? Admiration? He had to admit, anyone who had clearly put so much time and effort into collecting something was dedicated—if not a little wacky.

  “I know, it’s weird,” she said, putting the hula girl back down. “But I think they’re so cool. Nobody makes ashtrays anymore. It’s a lost art. These used to be everywhere, and nobody thought twice about it. An ashtray was as necessary as a toilet or a coffee cup. And now, nada.”

  “Nada,” he repeated, putting the Disneyland ashtray down.

  “You don’t find them anywhere, so I like to think of it as preserving a little bit of Americana,” she said, starting to pull her hair out of its loose knot on top of her head.

  “Well, that’s very interesting,” he said, at something of a loss for words.

  She yawned dramatically, stretching her arms over her head, her halter top hitching up to reveal a little bit of her flat stomach.

  “All right, you need rest,” he said, crossing the room to where she stood. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he gently turned her around and guided her to the hall that he figured led to her bedroom.

  He marched her down the hallway, and tried doors until he found the right one, opposite the bathroom. Unlike the rest of the apartment, this room was immaculate. Her queen-sized bed was neatly made with a cozy-looking quilt. The surfaces were neatly arranged, and a huge cabinet stood on one wall. Filled with even more of her damned ashtrays.

  Shaking his head with a smile, he led her over to the bed and started to flip back the quilt.

  “Mm,” she said, almost asleep on her feet. “I am so tired.”

  “I’ll bet, babe,” he said tolerantly, arranging the pillows for her. For a split second he panicked, wondering if he should try to get her into pajamas, and then decided to skip that as much for his own sanity as for her modesty.

  Bri sat down heavily on the bed and smiled up at him, her eyes squinty. Then she flopped backward, and he tried to help her get her head on the pillows and her feet under the covers. He pulled the quilt up and tucked it around her, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder. His instinct was to kiss her on the cheek, but he resisted.

  “Gabe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you,” she said sleepily. Her eyes closed, and she curled into the pillows. “Do you think you could, you know,” she mumbled, “stay with me?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Bri.”

  Her eyes fluttered open. “Please? I—I’ve been so lonely. So cold. I just want to feel warm again.”

  Gabe swallowed hard. The last thing he should be doing was hopping into bed next to her, even in an innocent way. Looking at her and hearing her soft pleas, however, there was no way he could say no.

  He sighed and cursed himself. “Yeah, sure,” he said, quietly, and walked around to the other side of the bed, flipping the light off on his way. He didn’t have to stay long; he could jump up as soon as she was asleep, which, judging by her level of drunkenness and her nap in the car, would be pretty soon. Kicking off his flip flops, he sat down on the opposite side of the bed from her. As he sank into the mattress, he had a horrible revelation.

  This was probably Eric’s side. He pushed the thought away and slid over next to her. She’ll be asleep in no time, and you can go as soon as she drifts off, he reminded himself.

  Gabe crossed his ankles as Bri snuggled in next to him. He was determined not to get too comfortable, or to let her get comfortable on him, but he couldn’t resist laying a hand on her shoulder. He told himself he was just doing this to be a good friend. Even as he thought it, though, he knew it wasn’t entirely true. To keep himself awake, he started counting ashtrays in the dark. He didn’t even notice when his eyes started to get heavy. Pretty soon, they were closed, his breathing regular as he fell fast asleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Brianne woke hours before dawn. Her mouth felt as dry as the soles of her shoes, and she tried to pull herself together enough to go in search of a glass of water. She rolled over to find her bed was curiously full. Aghast, she panicked. She had gone out and done what Evie had suggested, and now she had a stranger in her bed, and she had no idea how to get rid of him, or what his name was, or even if she had done anything with him. As she still appeared to be fully dressed, she could hope that nothing much had happened, but she couldn’t be sure.

  The body beside her was warm and solid—and also appeared to be fully clothed. That was reassuring, at least. There was something about the strong v-shaped back that seemed very familiar.

  She gasped.

  Holy shit, it was Gabe! Gabe was here with her.

  She had only dim memories of the night before. As she lay there, trying not to move or disturb him in any way, tiny snippets began to flood back. She had begged him to be her one-night stand. The heat of embarrassment began to flood through her. She’d literally begged him, and he’d turned her down. So why was he here?

  She must be dreaming again. Sliding her hand out from under the covers, she ran her fingers up his bare arm to the hem of his shirtsleeve, relishing the feel of his skin. It felt so real. This is a damn good dream, she thought. But she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  He rolled over onto his back, his handsome face looking utterly relaxed and at peace. Trailing her fingers on top of his white t-shirt, Brianne ran her hand over to his chest, feeling the contours of his pectoral muscles, then his collarbone, then his shoulders. He was so firm and strong, yet warm from her bed and yielding in his sleep. He rolled closer to her, sighing softly.

  His lips were inches from hers. They were ever so slightly parted, and she could feel his breath on her face. It was sweet and hot, not a trace of morning breath. It had to be a dream, and boy, her subconscious really knew how to whip up a good one! There was hardly any room between them, and she decided to take advantage of that fact.

  Leaning in to him, she let her lips brush his, the warmth of contact immediately rushing to her core and making her body tingle all over. She darted her tongue out to taste him, just the slightest bit, and his eyes fluttered awake.

  “Bri?” he whispered, not fully awake.

  “Shhh,” she soothed, her hands still exploring his shoulders and chest, then dipping slightly lower to run over the plane of his abdomen. “This is what I want,” she muttered, their mouths almost touching again. “To have you warm, in my bed,” she said, brushing her lips against his, “I want this to happen.” Knowing it was all a dream, she could say what she liked—and it felt so good to be able to voice the truth.

  Gabe squinted at her. He looked confused, but he didn’t immediately pull away. She could see that his brain was still full of cobwebs from sleep, but the lower half of his body was immediately awake, rearing eagerly at the possibilities.

  “But, Bri,” he murmured, as she kissed him again. “What about Eric?”

  “No Eric,” she said, softly but firmly, her left hand reaching the waistband of his jeans. “We’re done. You’re the one I want.”

  Thankfully, he didn’t appear to doubt the truth of her words. Until he frowned, that is. Anticipating more talk of Eric, anticipating her dream spouting off all the doubts and objections the real Gabe had voiced only hours before, Brianne prepared to move away. Couldn’t she even have him in her dreams? All she wanted was one place where she could reveal her truest feelings, even if they were ephemeral and fleeting and would mean nothing come sunrise.

  But before she could move away, Gabe surprised her. Usually in her dreams, she initiated everything, rode him like a goddamn cowgirl; being so forward and so dominant was something she had never done in real life, not even with Eric. But this dream, oh this dream was so much more intense.

  He reached down and pulled her ha
nds over her head, pinning her wrists against her headboard. Brianne pushed against him but found she couldn’t move. Her heart was already racing, but she found she liked this, that her imagination was going into an amazing erotic overdrive. She breathed out, not sure where any of this was going or how she’d lucked into a dream this good. “I want you, too, Bri,” Gabe growled. He kept her pinned beneath him, his growing erection pressed against her hip.

  “So shut up and take me then, Gabe,” she challenged.

  He leaned down to suck at her neck then gently bite down, as if he still couldn’t believe she was his and he was trying to mark her. He thrust his hips, grinding himself against her. Gabe kissed her hard, his tongue fighting hers for dominance, firm and slick in her mouth. He didn’t rest long. After a few, bruising kisses, he spared a small moment to bite her lip, his teeth grating on her sensitive flesh. Then he began to kiss her neck again, to lick and bite gently at her collar bone. His left hand clutched her wrists while his right was tender, yet firm as it caressed her breasts.

  Purring from sheer pleasure, she unwound her body underneath him, opening up to his touch. Her hips rose on their own accord, pushing against his hard, muscular thighs. She rubbed herself hungrily against him.

  Something almost feral danced across his expression. He ground into her again, his hips rough against her body, almost punishing her with their force. She loved the all-encompassing reality of her dream. He ripped at her skimpy clothes. They were soon in a heap on the floor and she revelled at being naked beneath him. Impatiently, she stripped him of his, wanting to feel his warm skin against her own. She could smell his aftershave, spicy and warm, but the scent that lay beneath it was all him; a musky, rich scent that overwhelmed her with every breath. She revelled in the weight of him leaning over her, the rough brush of his dark stubble against her skin—and the heat and hardness of him. Dear God, it was almost scorching her belly and the inside of her thighs as his hard length slid slowly into her channel. She gasped at the sheer size of him as he filled her whole, his hips moving in their own sensuous rhythm with each thrust.