He rushes to steady me then pulls his hand back as if burned. I can’t blame him. I’m one hot mess—emphasis not on hot. I disentangle my foot from the other chair and stand. “Thank you. I just needed some air. I’ll text her that—” I realize then I don’t know where my phone is. Wait, I do. It’s in my purse, but I don’t have that with me either.
Shit.
My breathing quickens and I feel a little light-headed. I can’t remember the last place I had my purse. “I don’t have my phone.”
He takes out his. “I can get a message to her. What should I say?”
I can’t breathe. There’s no way I can lay a lost purse on Isa’s door as well. I need to fix this. I can fix all of it. I just need to relax and think.
My eyes blur with tears and I swear. Oh, no I refuse to add crying in front of Mr. Gorgeous to my night. “Tell her—” I stop because I can hear distress in my voice. I take one deep breath then another. It’s not working. My foot is throbbing. My leg is twisting on the inside into a painful pretzel. I sit back down. “Could I have a minute?”
I tell myself I don’t care what he thinks. He’s not what’s important here. I put my foot up again, rub my calf impatiently and mentally retrace my steps today.
“Are you hurt?” he asks without the warmth one might expect would accompany such a question. I’ve tried to conceal the scars on either side of my leg with makeup. Are they obvious?
“I’ll be fine.” I blink a few times quickly. It’s not his fault I’m verging on fully humiliating myself. In the spectrum of problems, mine are small, but that fact doesn’t calm me. None of this feels small.
He walks away without saying another word and I call after him, but he doesn’t hear me. I am back to my feet, hobbling after him. I don’t want him to tell anyone he found me this way. I pause to put my shoe back on but don’t bother when I see it’s still swollen.
I make it about a hundred feet down the path back to the main house when he returns, striding toward me with a bag of ice in his hand. I freeze. He frowns when he sees me.
He stops directly in front of me and looks around before saying, “What are you doing?”
“I—I—you—” It’s the best I can come up with. He’s even better looking up close and the intense look he’s giving me is playing havoc with my ability to speak. No one should be that good-looking.
“Your foot is swollen.”
I nod.
He hands me the ice. I take it and hold it, along with my shoe, to my chest. The cold should be enough to snap me out of whatever voodoo trance he puts me into, but it doesn’t. I’ve never understood the appeal of hooking up at weddings, but I can see it now. Would I regret it the next day? Maybe. But holy moly, it might be worth it. I just pray none of what I’m thinking shows on my face.
He lifts me off my feet like I’m the petite size I’ve always wanted to be and starts back down the path toward the house. I cling to his shoulder with one hand while clutching my shoes with the other. I know it’s his job to take care of the guests and that none of this is as amazing for him as it is for me, but—damn.
“Wait,” I say. “I can’t go back like this. I don’t want Isa to know I’m in pain.”
He stops and looks down at me with an expression I can’t decipher. I catch a faint scent of tequila, but it only adds to his maleness. Was he off duty when he was asked to find me? Is that why he doesn’t look happy?
“It’s not a new injury. I’ll be fine after I rest it for a little while.” I swallow and request the opposite of what I want. “You can put me down. Thank you for the ice. That was really thoughtful of you.”
He doesn’t return me to the ground, but instead carries me back toward where he found me. Gently, he lowers me into a chair and pulls the other chair over for me to put my foot on. I do it and put the ice on my ankle. It’s too cold, but I don’t complain. I shift it off to the side and smile. “Thanks again. I’m fine now.”
He looks me over with an impatience that makes me wonder what I’m keeping him from. He scans the area then heads toward a small cabana. A moment later he’s back with a towel. “Wrap the ice in that.”
I accept the towel and smile at him. He doesn’t smile back. He might not be the happiest person on Paul’s security team, but I can’t fault him for how far he’s willing to go to make sure the guests are comfortable and safe. I’ll have to say something to Paul about him. “What’s your name?” I ask, then wrap the bag of ice in the towel and apply it again to my ankle. Heaven.
His eyebrows arch in surprise. “Barrett Natick.”
The best man? I groan. Of course Paul’s best man would be as beautiful as everyone else in the wedding party. I’m not insecure by nature, but I’m not my best right now. “Well, thank you, Barrett. I promise you won’t have to carry me down the aisle tomorrow.”
He either doesn’t get the joke or doesn’t think it’s funny. He sits across from me and takes out his phone. “I’ll wait until you’re ready to go back.” He types into his phone.
“Are you messaging Isa?”
He replaces his phone in his jacket. “I don’t have her number. I messaged my friends who are with Paul. They’ll relay it to her.”
“What did you say?”
“That I found you and you’re okay.”
I let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you.” An awkward silence has me scrambling to say something. “For not saying anything.”
“It’s none of my business.” So blunt. So coldly matter of fact.
Yet, he’s still here. “Well, I appreciate the ice.” I feel like I should let him off the hook. “You don’t have to wait with me.”
Our eyes meet and I wonder if he’s about to accept my offer of escape. I consider myself a pretty good people reader, but he doesn’t put any of himself out there. According to Isa, he’s one of Paul’s best friends. It’s hard for me to imagine the two of them hanging out. Paul is so open, so free with his thoughts—sometimes too free. Barrett is closed as tight as a sphincter before a bout of untimely diarrhea.
I smile nervously, once again glad he can’t read my mind.
“I’m sure the island hotel has a doctor on call.”
“This is all I need.” My smile drops away as I remember why I left the main house. “Unless they also have a tailor.”
He cocks an eyebrow.
Pride wars with desperation. The last thing I want to do is tell someone like Barrett that I need the seams of my dress let out. Seriously, though, what does it matter if he knows? What do I think is happening here? That he’s fighting a carnal attraction to me that will be doused by the realization that the woman he literally just carried is not a hundred pounds? I don’t need a wedding hookup—I need to fit into the dress Isa chose for me, the dress that was my size the last time Isa saw me. And I need to find my purse.
“I have a problem—”
“Only one?” he asks and I catch a hint of amusement in his eyes. It almost makes him likeable, which isn’t what I want just before I embarrass myself in front of him.
“Okay, two or three, but I’m telling myself they are all surmountable.” I raise one finger. “One, I lost my purse. I think it’s downstairs in the house. Maybe the library? I was reading in there earlier.”
Barrett is back on his phone texting. “What does it look like?”
“Small. Blue like my dress.”
He nods, finishes texting, then looks up. “Two?”
I square my shoulders. It is what it is. “I don’t fit into the dress I’m supposed to wear tomorrow and I don’t want to worry Isa. I need to get the dress out of her suite and get it refit without upsetting her.”
He sends another text.
“Who are you writing to?” I’m curious. He looks so confident I have to know.
“My assistant.”
“About which part?”
“All of it. He says he’ll get the dress and have someone at your room in an hour. He’s flying her over from the hotel.”
“Te
ll him not to say anything to anyone.”
“I did.”
“You did?”
“You said you didn’t want Isa to know.”
Yes, but I didn’t take Barrett for a man who was actually listening. I take a long look at him. What is beneath that frown? “Thank you.”
He nods once. “What’s your third issue?” He sounds like he’s checking off a task list.
A wave of relief washes through me. My father left my mother when Joe and I were very young, and my mother took it hard. Joe and I had to grow up fast. I’m usually the one taking care of other people. Breaking my ankle has been a humbling experience, making me dependent on others for longer than I was comfortable. My mother said she didn’t mind taking me back in that first month, but by example she raised me to be strong and independent. Struggles are part of life. You muster through them and do your best to continue to take care of those around you. Joe called me every day and came home when he could, but he was swamped with coursework. Although Joe says he will repay me for all I’ve done, I want to see him succeed more than I want him to drop everything and run to take care of me. I’ve always helped him with his homework, made sure he had his school lunches made, protected and encouraged him. I don’t know how to be any other way with him.
Barrett doesn’t need me to be strong, though. He doesn’t know me well enough to care one way or the other about how I feel and somehow that is freeing. My eyes fill up with tears again and I say, “Can you make my skinny leg match the other just for photos tomorrow? I forgot how short the dresses are.”
He doesn’t look uncomfortable with my admission. His expression remains as carefully blank as it has been all along.
“Or just pretend you don’t notice if I start to cry?” I’m not joking. Everything I’ve gone through over the last few months is bubbling up in me.
There is a crack in his calm. His eyes widen and he looks around as if there might be someone nearby who could rescue him.
I force a smile. “I’m just kidding.” I sniff because, dammit, I have to.
He moves his chair closer and puts a hand on my good knee. “Don’t cry.”
I search his face. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Then the tears start to fall.
CHAPTER THREE
Barrett
Holy fuck, get me out of here.
This was supposed to be the easier of the options.
On any other day I would have run, not walked, away from this needy little broken bird. I’m not nurturing by nature. I grudgingly admit she is attractive even if she is not my type. How had Paul described her? Chubby but fuckable? When I think chubby I imagine spandex with love handles hanging over it. Audrey is not that by far. She’s rounded in all the places a woman should be. She doesn’t have a swimsuit model body, but I’ve dated a fair share of women with them and very few can maintain that shape for long. Watching them try is exhausting. I have as little patience for vanity as I have for—this.
I pat her knee again because it seems like what anyone should do when they witness someone unraveling as Audrey is. She covers her face with her hands and cries softly into them. It reminds me of memories I’ve buried away, and I resent her for it. Call me an asshole, but I’d rather have my balls waxed than sit through this much longer. I don’t have a choice, though.
Audrey and I have one thing in common—we both don’t want her to upset Isa. Paul is shit-faced and the last thing he needs is his bride looking for comfort or assistance and seeing him like that.
I’ll handle Audrey and whatever other issues crop up this weekend, but Paul will owe me big time. So much for coming to the wedding alone so I can have some peace—and potentially get laid if a tempting option presents itself.
I check my watch. How long do women usually cry?
She wipes her face with her hands then uses the towel to dab away the makeup smeared beneath her eyes. It’s effective on one side.
“Sorry about that. I feel better now.” She places the towel on the arm of the chair and lowers her hurt foot to the ground. “Time to head back.”
Her gaze is steadier than I expect it to be. A moment ago she was falling apart. If she didn’t have one raccoon eye, no one would guess she’d been crying at all.
I remove my hand from her knee and wag a finger at her face. “You might want to—you’re not done.”
“Want to what?”
“You’ve got some makeup under your eye.”
“Thanks.” She rubs beneath the one that is already fine.
“No. The other one.”
She wipes the towel beneath that eye, but it doesn’t remove the makeup. “Good?”
“It’s still there.”
“Oh.” She wipes beneath her eye and removes some, but misses a portion.
What the hell? “Give me the towel.”
Her eyes widen. “I can do it. How about now?” She makes another attempt on her own.
I hold out my hand. I don’t say anything because I don’t have to.
She hands me the towel.
I lean forward. How hard can this be? “Close your eyes,” I say.
She does.
I take her chin in my hand to hold her face still and wipe away the rest of her mascara. Easy.
She opens her eyes and for a moment my body gets confused about the reason for our close proximity. My cock misinterprets the gratitude in her eyes and comes to full attention. Her lips part, revealing perfect teeth and the teasing tip of her tongue. It doesn’t take more than that to imagine all the delicious things that tongue could be taught to do.
“Found her.” Ben’s voice pulls me back to reality and I drop my hand.
“Oh, good,” Kylie says. I stand as they approach. “Hope we’re not intruding.”
They pull up chairs as if they were invited to. Ben, of course, is fucking smiling. Audrey greets them like she knows them.
“How’s the leg?” Kylie asks.
Audrey flexes her foot up and down. “I iced it and elevated it for a bit. It should be good to go now.”
“You’re a trooper,” Ben says. “If I didn’t know you’d recently gone through surgery I—well, I wouldn’t have known. The tour of the island was quite a trek. I was impressed you went.”
My attention earlier had been focused on the purple color of her foot, but now I see a somewhat concealed scar just above her ankle. I’m tempted to ask how it happened, but with my luck the question would send her back into tears.
Audrey wrinkles her nose. “I probably should have passed on it, but it was beautiful. I’m glad I didn’t miss it.”
“Are you in pain?” Kylie asks.
Audrey looks from me to Kylie. “I am, but it’s really important to me that we keep this between us. I don’t want to be what Isa remembers about her wedding. I’ll rest my leg tonight and be good to go in the morning.”
“Gotcha. We won’t say a thing.” Ben folds his hands over his chest. “I’m a vault.”
Kylie rolls her eyes at Ben, but she’s smiling. “He’s something. I realize you don’t know us well, Audrey, but if you need anything just ask.”
“Thank you.” Audrey smiles at them warmly. My cock gets all confused again. God, I need to extricate myself from her presence and hit the bar.
Ben’s smile becomes a grin. “You’re such a softie, Kylie.”
His fiancée smacks the side of his leg. “Ignore him. He thinks he’s funny.”
“I am funny,” Ben counters. “Why do Navy SEALs make bad CFOs?”
She shoots him a side look. “Why?”
“Because they aren’t bad ass enough.” Ben looks ridiculously proud of himself, but Kylie melts a little and I check my watch again.
“Can you make it back to your room?” I ask Audrey.
“I should be able to.” She stands and slips her shoe on. She takes a step and nods. “Much better. Thank you for everything, Barrett.”
“We’ll walk you back if you want.” Kylie comes to her
feet.
Ben does as well. “Absolutely. We’re all going to the same place. Why not?”
Why not?
Their presence annoys me.
It shouldn’t. I should be relieved I can walk away without giving Audrey another thought. My phone beeps. My assistant, Todd, found her purse. “Audrey.”
“Yes?”
My eyes fall to her lips. Those deliciously parted lips. For a split second I forget what I’m going to say. I shake it off. “Everything will be in your room when you get there. Everything you asked for earlier.”
She gathers up the ice and towel. “Thank your assistant for me. He’s remarkably efficient.”
I nod.
Ben and Kylie begin to walk with Audrey. Ben stops and turns back to me. “Are you coming?”
“No.” My mission for the evening is complete. I’m free.
Ben shrugs and trots to catch up with the women.
I watch them walk away. Audrey has a slight limp, but I wouldn’t notice it without knowing to look for it. She glances over her shoulder and I turn away, flustered.
Her image lingers in my mind. I stride toward the bar.
She isn’t enough of a part of Isa’s life that I’ll likely see her any time soon after the wedding and that’s a good thing. She’s not my type. In fact, she’s everything I don’t want in a woman. I don’t do needy. I don’t do weepy.
I walk through the outdoor bar area and keep walking. A tall brunette in a tight slip of a dress passes. She smiles at me in a way that normally would have my pace slowing. I walk right by her.
I nod once at the man who holds the door open for me as I enter the double doors of the twenty-bedroom main house. It’s an impressive private home surrounded by palm trees and richly planted paths that lead to ten or so oceanfront smaller guesthouses.
I remember Paul’s excitement when he discovered the island was also for sale. He wanted to purchase it but his mother said it wasn’t practical thus dashing his fleeting dream of living there and renting the island out for functions. Considering it was the first actual job he’d shown interest in since I’d met him, I didn’t think it was the wisest decision his mother had ever made. It was, however, her money and sixty million dollars isn’t exactly small change.