Stop it, she told herself. These are your friends. Indeed, walking into the room and seeing so many familiar faces was like a hug from a distant relative: comfortable but still somehow awkward. She shouldn’t be freaking. But she needed a minute to calm down and chill, to get her head in the bout.
And to dump her damn drink, because its presence was bugging her.
So she excused herself and made a beeline for the bathroom. Inside, she wasn’t alone. To her surprise, she saw tiny Greer, desperately trying to fix her makeup. One of her eyes looked . . . off.
Greer gave her a panicked look as Chelsea entered. “Chel! Oh. Thank god. I need your help.” She pointed at her eye. “My eyelashes are gone! Does it look bad?”
Chelsea peered at her face. “Well, it looks like one of your eyes is bald. Is that what you mean by ‘bad’?”
“Oh, no,” Greer moaned, and leaned in close to the mirror, squinting. “I can’t tell. I’m not wearing my glasses tonight.”
“Uh, why not?” From what she knew of poor Greer, they were some mighty strong glasses. She was always a bit of a mousy thing, shy and sweet and prone to fading into the wallpaper. “Don’t you need them? Did you get Lasik?”
“I don’t qualify for Lasik, and yes, I do need them.” Greer shot her an unhappy look. “Asher’s here tonight and I wanted to look . . . pretty.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Greer was a sweetheart, but she wasn’t Asher’s type. Was she still hung up on the arrogant SOB? He liked them tall, leggy, and busty. Kind of like Chelsea herself, but Asher was an old buddy and the thought of dating him was kind of gross.
“Please,” Greer said, her voice barely a whisper. “Please, can you go looking for it? I was in the library earlier. It must have dropped off then. I can’t go to dinner without looking my best. Please. Please please.”
“Well, all right.” It’d make her late for dinner if it took a while, but a task might be the thing to get her focused and soothe her rattled nerves. Plus, it’d help Greer. And who was she kidding? It’d help her because she could avoid dinner that much longer. “But on one condition.”
“Anything.”
She held out her champagne. “Drink this.”
Greer’s brows drew together and she looked at Chelsea’s face, then at the drink. “Why, does it taste bad?”
“No clue. I don’t want it and couldn’t figure out a way to politely hand it back.”
“Mmm, okay.” Greer took the glass and dunked it back, swallowing a huge mouthful. She pressed a small hand to her mouth and then burped delicately. “Now. Eyelashes. Library.”
“Gotcha. Show me the library and I’ll show you an eyelash hunter.”
It took three tries for Greer to find the library. In addition to being a bit blind, she was also tipsy from Chelsea’s champagne. Total lightweight. Once they were able to find the library, though, Chelsea paused. She could hear the partygoers down the hall, no doubt gathering for dinner. “You want to come in with me and look? I could use the company.” She didn’t like being alone.
Greer snorted. “I can’t see five feet in front of me, but sure, I’ll ‘help.’” She made air quotes and then wobbled in after Chelsea. “I’m not going in to sit next to Asher with a bald eyeball, that’s for damn sure.”
The lights in the newly deserted library were for ambiance only, a few pretty Tiffany lamps casting a glow. Other than that, the room was crowded with furniture and shelves, and darker than she’d like. It made Chelsea’s nerves ratchet up a notch, and she went through the room, flicking on light switches.
“I’m pretty sure I was over here by the fireplace the entire time,” Greer said.
“I’m still turning on all the lights,” Chelsea told her. She hated the dark. Couldn’t function with it. Light was warmth and safety. Once they were all on, she relaxed a bit.
Greer flopped into a nearby chair, fanning her face. “Is it hot in here to you?”
“No?” She moved toward the fireplace. “Over here, huh?” The carpet was a busy Persian rug and it was going to be hell finding a set of fake lashes on the pattern, but that was all right. It’d waste time, and right now she was keen on finding time-wasters.
“I think so,” Greer said in a breathy voice. Then she made a little “hurp” noise. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Um.” She looked down at the expensive rug she knelt on. “Is there a trash can around here?”
“Really, really sick.” Greer pressed her fingers to her mouth.
Not good. “Why don’t you head back to the bathroom and I’ll look?” Chelsea’s fear of being alone flicked again, but she could hear the partygoers down the hall, and she didn’t want Greer puking everywhere. She could be by herself for a minute. Just one. “I’ll join you once I find it.”
Greer nodded and stumbled away. Alone now, Chelsea got down on her hands and knees and began to sweep her palms over the carpet. Moving slowly, she inched forward, crossing the room.
It took a few minutes before her efforts bore fruit. She spotted something that looked like a dark, spiky caterpillar under the desk. How the heck had Greer managed that? She scurried forward on her knees, tucking her dress hem between her legs. Reaching for the eyelash didn’t quite do the trick, so she had to crawl under the furniture.
Her body was partially tucked under the large wood desk when someone entered the room. She froze for a moment, and then scuttled farther under the desk so no one could see her.
The plan backfired. A moment later, a big man slid into the chair behind the desk and she was facing two long legs and a pair of enormous feet encased in expensive Italian loafers.
Well . . . this was awkward.
Chelsea clutched the eyelashes, unsure what to do. For some reason, her anxiety wasn’t ratcheting. Maybe it was the fact that she had another woman’s lashes stuck to her finger and she was crotch-height with a man’s dick under a desk and it was just too absurd to be freaky?
Or maybe it was the low hum of laughter and talking voices from the party a few rooms away?
She didn’t know, but as she heard fingers drumming over a phone in texting, she wondered at what point she should say something.
A moment passed. Two.
Surely he was going to notice her under here, wasn’t he?
The stranger sighed and then began to text rapidly again. He swiveled in the chair, his knee nearly boning her in the breast.
Okay, maybe he wasn’t going to notice her.
Time to take action. When the man didn’t move, she put her hands on his thighs, pushed his chair backward, and slid out from under the desk.
A quick look told her this had to be Sebastian, the man she was going to be partnered up with at all of Gretchen’s bridal events. She had to admit that Gretchen had great taste. If it weren’t for the fact that Chelsea was turned off of men for maybe forever, he’d have been right up her alley. Dark, thick hair with the barest hint of wave was swept back from a strong-featured face. His brows were heavy and framed an almost too-large nose. His mouth was sensual and full, but the most stunning thing about him were the green eyes set against dark olive skin. He was tall, too, and his dark blue suit was impeccably tailored, showing off big, rangy shoulders.
And he was shocked at the sight of her emerging from under the desk onto his lap. No, actually, shocked didn’t begin to describe the expression on his face. Appalled, maybe. Horrified.
That made her feel better. In charge. He didn’t look like he wanted to take control of the situation—and her. He looked like he wanted to run away.
It gave her confidence. So she gave him her perkiest smile. “Hi, there.”
Chapter Four
When Sebastian sat down in the study to answer his endlessly buzzing text messages, he’d thought he’d get a few moments of privacy. He’d already excused himself to the hostess, Hunter’s quirky but vivacious fiancée, and planned on rejoining the party in a moment.
Mother: Answer me, Sebastian. Why are you trying to cock-block me on y
our contracts???????
She’d sent the same text seventeen times in three minutes. Knowing his mother, she’d probably handed the phone to an assistant to keep hitting the Send button until he responded. It was annoying as fuck, but his mother knew how to get under his skin like no one else. So he texted her back.
SC: Ma. If you don’t stop texting me I’m going to shut my phone down. I’m more than happy to talk about contracts with my lawyer present. But not without him.
Mother: You don’t trust me? Your own mother?!?! And don’t call me MA! I’m fifty two, not eighty. Call me Mama Precious.
SC: You know I’m not going to do that. And I trust you, Ma. I don’t trust the network, and we both know that if I show up over there, someone’s going to shove a camera in my face. So I’m avoiding you until everything’s signed. It’s not personal. You know I love you.
Mother: Nugget, it’s opportunity. When is something like this going to fall into your lap again?
He was about to furiously text back that he didn’t want to be called Nugget since she’d only made up that nickname after the show started, when two hands appeared on his thighs under the desk and his chair rolled backward. Shocked, Sebastian stared as a gorgeous blonde emerged from under the desk and practically propelled herself into his lap.
She was perfect. Utterly perfect.
He stared as the woman stood up and straightened her tiny strapless dress. It was a buff color with a bit of spangly stuff on it, but if he squinted, it looked like skin. Lots and lots of skin. She was tall and gorgeous and fit, with an impressive rack and even better legs. She had a heart-shaped face and big blue eyes and loose blonde curls. The look she gave him was utterly mischievous and not apologetic in the least.
“Hope I didn’t scare you. I was trying to figure out the best moment to escape.”
“What . . .”
She stuck her finger out and showed him something that looked suspiciously spidery. “I was on an eyelash-finding mission.” With a wiggle of her brows, she dragged one long leg over his, momentarily straddling him, and then moved past him, flashing him an incredible, tight ass . . .
And a big bruise on her upper thigh that disappeared under the hem of her skirt.
That cooled his impromptu erection instantly. Where did a bruise like that come from? It was a rather intimate place, and it wasn’t like he could ask politely.
“So are they all out there?” She gave a little shimmy and adjusted her short dress, covering the bruise.
“From what I can tell, yes.” Sebastian’s brows drew together. Should he introduce himself? Ask her what she was doing under the desk? He honestly had no idea how to handle this. She’d shown up in a blatantly sexual pose and then acted like it was no big deal. Hell, thirty seconds ago she’d practically had her head in his lap. He nodded at the eyelash stuck to her hand. “That yours?”
She looked at it and then chuckled, shaking her head. “Performing a rescue for a friend. Too bad she won’t return the favor.”
“You in need of rescuing?”
She waved her hand at the sound of the distant voices. “Just from an evening of party conversations and everyone asking what I do.” She turned around and looked at him. “I make soap, by the way.”
“You’re one of the bridesmaids, I take it?” Her chatty conversation was rather amusing, he had to admit, even if she puzzled him.
“Oh!” She turned and gave a little bounce, heading to his side, then stuck her hand out. “I’m Chelsea, the officially designated bridesmaid to your groomsman. We’re also going to be sitting together at dinner. Gretchen’s matchmaking.”
He looked down at her hand. It still had the false lashes stuck to the back of it. “Uh.”
“Oh, right.” She chuckled and it was the most charming sound. “We’ll just pretend we shared a firm and hearty handshake, then.”
“Fair enough.” He found himself grinning at her. “So are you not a big fan of parties?” She was pretty and lively and probably had to beat the men off with a stick. Did she not like the attention? All the women in his life—his mother, his younger sisters, hell, even Lisa—adored attention. Then he thought of the bruises on her inner thigh. Maybe she didn’t want attention because she had a jealous boyfriend who used his fists.
Sebastian’s protective instinct reared. “Is it going to be bad if you’re in the room here with me? Alone?”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “No, I think I’m good. Everyone else is around, so it’s not like we’re really alone together. We’re just sort of being wallflowers.” She gave him another brilliant smile that made his blood surge and then tiptoed ahead to peek down the open door into the hall. “So, Sebastian, how do you know the bride and groom?”
“How do you know my name? The show?” He was used to strangers coming up to him and acting as if they knew him, and it still threw him off, every damn time.
This time, she was the one to look adorably confused. “What show? I met everyone else already, so you have to be Sebastian by process of elimination. Gretchen said she was going to introduce me to a Sebastian because we were supposed to be stuck together. Is that not you?” Her eyes widened. “Are you the butler?”
For some reason, she looked alarmed at the thought, and he chuckled. “No, I’m Sebastian all right. Sebastian Cabral.” He added his last name and then waited.
“That sounds familiar.” Her head tilted, the big blond curls moving over trim shoulders. “You look familiar, actually. Why is that?”
“The TV show? The Cabral Empire?”
“Oh. Ew. I’m sorry.” She wrinkled her nose.
Well that wasn’t the expression he normally got. Usually it was gushing and people insisting to know all the behind-the-scenes gossip. Asking if he could get them product placement or whatever else they needed. This woman was trying her best not to look appalled.
And that was a first.
Sebastian felt himself relax. “Yeah, I’m not a big fan of the attention. It’s all my mother’s idea. I’m trying to stay off the cameras as much as humanly possible.”
“I don’t blame you. What a nightmare that must be.”
Finally, someone got it. “That’s exactly it. It’s a nightmare. One big, long, camera-filled nightmare.”
She bit her lip, smiling, and he thought she was downright adorable. Gorgeous and happy and friendly. “You didn’t say what you do, other than avoid cameras.” She tilted her head, curious.
He chuckled, rubbing his neck. “That’s not my job. My official job is ‘heir,’ I guess. I have inherited money, so I never really needed an official job. I’m a dabbler.”
“Oh.”
And for some reason, that was rather awkward. Why did he get the feeling she’d have been more impressed if he’d said “lumberjack” instead of just “I grew up rich”? And why on earth did that bother him?
She peeked down the hall again, and he found himself staring at her ass. Good god, the woman had an ass that wouldn’t quit. Shame she had an abusive boyfriend. He was attracted to her, even if he didn’t want to be. Chelsea looked back at him again and he straightened, mentally willing his half-mast erection to go away.
She held up her hand, complete with lashes. “I should return these to Greer so she can catch her man tonight . . . since that’s what this party seems to be about.”
“Ugh. Matchmaking?”
“Don’t you know Gretchen? She’s constantly matchmaking. I think it’s because she likes to build stories in her mind. She’s a writer, you know.”
“Actually, I know the groom. We’re business associates.” They weren’t all that close—he didn’t think many people were truly close to Hunter, but the few times they’d worked together, he’d enjoyed the man’s company. They’d even started indoor rock climbing together recently. Maybe that’s why he was a groomsman.
Either that, or his new wife wanted to be on TV. Sebastian didn’t like to think about that. “Gretchen’s not the type to want to be on The Cabral Empire, is sh
e?” He wondered if that was why he was a groomsman.
Chelsea made a face. “God, no. Gretchen is very much not a TV person. I don’t think she even likes having her picture taken. And I don’t think she’d do that to Hunter. She seems protective of him.”
That was true enough. Then he’d been invited to the bridal party for another reason . . . perhaps to match up with the lovely blonde in front of him. If Gretchen was indeed out to find him a new girlfriend, he had to admit she had a good eye. He watched Chelsea’s ass rise as she stood on her tiptoes and peeked out into the hall again. Too bad he wasn’t looking for a date. The last thing he needed right now was a romantic entanglement. Not with his life currently ensnared with legal issues around The Cabral Empire.
“So, listen,” Chelsea said, moving back toward him. She licked her plump lips and looked back at the hall, then at him from under thick, dark lashes. “Since everyone seems to be coupling up . . .”
He could watch her lick those lips all night. “Yes?”
“You . . . want to be each other’s designated buddy?”
Sebastian’s lips quirked into a smile of his own. This might have been the first time a beautiful woman had asked to be his buddy. “Really?”
“Yeah, I mean, this is the pre-engagement party, right? The engagement party’s in a few weeks, and then from there we’re going to have a few more of these things to get through.” She gave a delicate shudder that made the spangles on her nude dress glimmer and shake. “We should be each other’s designated safety date so we don’t have to worry about people hitting on us or trying to couple us up. We can have an agreement, you know? Just friends.”
His libido was offended that this gorgeous creature wanted to be “just friends,” but Sebastian had to admit he was intrigued . . . and it was a smart idea. “So basically if we act like we’re together, no one’s going to hit on us or try to push us into a date?”
She snapped her fingers. “Bingo. Awkwardness solved. It’s like we’ll be in on the joke. We can share phone numbers and everything.”