Текст книги "The Billionaire Takes a Bride"

Автор книги: Jessica Clare

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Chapter Three

Gretchen couldn’t stop hugging Chelsea as they stood in the doorway to Buchanan Manor. “I can’t believe it’s been three years since we’ve seen each other and I had to get married to pull you out of hiding!”

Chelsea laughed, squeezing her old friend and ex-roommate tight. “Oh, please! I’m not in hiding. I’ve been busy with derby. You’re the one who’s in hiding, what with all the book deadlines. I didn’t even know you were dating someone.”

“Aww, I miss you too.” Gretchen adjusted her nerd glasses and scanned Chelsea. “You look amazing, by the way.”

“Thanks, lady. You don’t look half bad yourself.” Gretchen was wearing a simple plain black cocktail dress with a long peplum ruffle at the hips that should have made her look stumpy, but instead, she looked curvy and luscious. With her vivid red hair and glasses, she was adorable.

“No, seriously.” Gretchen held up Chelsea’s hand so Chelsea could twirl like a ballerina. “That dress could be painted onto your body. And look at your legs. Damn, girl!”

“I work out a lot,” Chelsea said with a grin. She’d worn her wavy blonde hair down and loose around her shoulders to complement her tan. Her dress had no sleeves and was a tight body sheath in champagne that showed off her figure. She’d paired it with a tall pair of nude pumps and a single bracelet. “Lots and lots of skating. Wearing heels feels weird compared to something with wheels on it.”

“I’ll bet,” Gretchen said, eyes wide. She gave her head a small shake and then gestured at the grand house. “Welcome to the new home. I’ve traded up in roommates since you and I lived together. This one’s really fucking good in bed.”

Chelsea gave her a wry smile as she entered the immense manor house. “You’re a little out of the city now, though.”

“I don’t mind that. So who are you rooming with?”

“Pisa Hit. She’s my derby wife.”

Gretchen blinked. “Did you turn to the other team while I wasn’t paying attention? Because I’m seating everyone boy-girl tonight, but I can change that—”

Chelsea waved a hand. “Derby wife is a term for bestie. Pisa is my roomie and we hang a lot. Her real name’s Felicity.” Not that they ever called her that. Pisa would have punched her in the arm at the thought. She knew no one really liked to talk derby half as much as a derby girl, and tried to steer the conversation in a different direction. “So . . . what are you writing now? More of that space stuff?”

Gretchen made a face as she led Chelsea into the spacious mansion. “God, no. I’m writing nothing, and it feels amazing. I’m noodling with the idea of a cookbook, but for now, I’m a kept woman. Don’t tell Audrey.”

Chelsea grinned. “How is your sister?”

“Super pregnant and bloated.”

That was startling. “Wait. Did she get married, too?”

“Yep, but hers was more fly-by-night.” Gretchen squeezed Chelsea’s arm. “Told you that you’ve been out of the loop.”

“I have. Derby takes up a lot of time,” Chelsea said faintly. The truth was, derby was a good excuse for hiding from friends and social functions. She didn’t have to practice seven days a week, but she did. She didn’t have to volunteer for every community service event and training and away games and setup, but she did. As long as she wasn’t alone, she was cool. She could handle things. It was when she was by herself that things got sketchy and the fear kicked in.

“You seeing anyone, then?”

“Nope, not at the moment.” This was the first “event” she’d been to without Pisa at her side in the last while, and she was a little wigged out. Normally Pisa handled things for her, but she couldn’t exactly drag a friend to an engagement party that she wasn’t invited to. So they’d come up with a plan to make Chelsea comfortable without divulging her issues: She’d pretend to be on the lookout for a new guy and get introduced to all of them right away. Then, no one would be a stranger. Her mind and body wouldn’t freak out on her.

Everything would be good.

So Chelsea put on her cheeriest grin. “I am an extremely single mamacita. You gonna introduce me to a bunch of eligible guys that you’ve picked out as groomsmen?”

“Maaaybe,” Gretchen said, trying to hide her eagerness. “You cool with that?”

“Only if they’re hot and hold decent jobs. I make artisan soaps for a living. One of us has to bring in money.” She winked. “But . . . let’s make sure we don’t bring up the derby, all right?”

“Oooo, is derby a big nasty secret now? I always thought it was cool.”

“You should play,” Chelsea offered. “It’s very therapeutic to shoulder-bash someone off the track.”

“I think I’ll pass. I’m afraid of pain.” Gretchen wrinkled her nose. “So no derby mentions.”

“If we can avoid it. It tends to scare men off. They either think we’re strippers on wheels or they hate that it takes up so much time. Pisa’s last boyfriend made her choose between him and derby.”

Gretchen’s red brows rose over her glasses. “And?”

“And I’m told he sucked in bed anyhow.” Chelsea shrugged. “I figure it’s not worth the hassle when meeting people. If anyone wants to know about me, I make soaps and love movies.”

Gretchen snickered. “And clocking bitches, but I guess we’ll keep that on the down-low.”

“Yes ma’am.” Chelsea grinned and tucked her hand into Gretchen’s arm. “So show me all these eligible men.”

*   *   *

A short time later, she’d met everyone in the wedding party. There was Hunter, the groom, and the man Gretchen spent most of her time staring at adoringly and occasionally grabbing his ass. He was pretty scarred up, but Gretchen always loved a good story, and Chelsea guessed he had an interesting one. He seemed to adore Gretch, which made him a prince in Chelsea’s eyes.

There was Edie, who was kind of surly, and her sister, Bianca, who seemed nice enough but wasn’t interested in chatting with the women. Bianca had already found herself a man and latched on to him. One of those girls, Chelsea supposed, who thought all women were competition. In Chelsea’s eyes, they weren’t competition unless they were on the track.

There were the other bridesmaids—Greer, an old buddy and ex-roomie from the time she and Gretchen had a third roommate. Audrey, Gretchen’s pregnant and glowing sister. Taylor, their college buddy and a computer nerd who’d rather be at a laptop instead of at a party, and Kat, Gretchen’s loudmouth literary agent. She’d met most of them before, though it had been a few years. Nothing like a wedding to bring old friends back together. Actually, for all Chelsea knew, they were all hanging out every weekend while she was slamming into people at the most recent derby bout.

Chelsea was the friend who had drifted away, not Gretchen.

But she’d had reasons. Coping mechanisms, really. But they were reasons nevertheless.

The guys were an interesting mix. Asher was one of the groomsmen, which had made Chelsea laugh and hug him in greeting. He’d been an old buddy and part of their crew when she’d been running amok in the streets of New York with Gretchen, Greer, and Taylor. He was a few years older, a lot richer, and a lot less open and friendly. Something must have happened to the guy. She wondered briefly if Greer still had her crush on him. A few years ago, Asher had been the reason for Greer to wake up every morning, and . . . Asher didn’t even know Greer existed. Maybe she’d grown out of that.

People changed over time.

There was Magnus, a big, built guy who was into video games or something and had piercing green eyes. His brother, Levi, was also a groomsman, and was all over Edie’s sister, Bianca, so she’d barely managed to say two words in greeting to him.

There was her old buddy Cooper, the first in their “crew” to get a real job . . . and a receding hairline. She hugged him and rubbed his balding head. “You look awesome, Coop!”

“You never change, Chels. As pretty as ever. How are you? How’s the soap making?”

“Oh . . . you know. Slow.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “How’s the coffee shop?”

“It’s great. Business is booming. If you ever need a job, I’m sure I can squeeze you in.” He beamed at her and his gaze strayed to Bianca, too.

“Aw, thanks, babe. I might take you up on that,” she lied. It was too many people. Too many strangers. Too many opportunities for someone to take advantage. She was more protected in derby, when women pushed and shoved each other good-naturedly (and sometimes not-so-good-naturedly) and paired up for everything. But when Gretchen urged Chelsea on, she was glad to get away from Cooper. Everyone in her past would want to know why she was hiding out, and she wasn’t prepared to deal with that sort of thing.

Next she met Reese, Audrey’s new husband, and a total scoundrel with a goatee and a wicked smile. He was the type who would have made her exceedingly nervous to meet in any sort of situation post-trauma. It was the confidence, the devil-may-care, the ladies’ man mentality. Only the fact that he was doting on his pregnant wife made her okay around him, but she did her best to keep her greeting short.

Gretchen dragged her along through the room of mingling people, frowning. “I don’t see Sebastian anywhere. He’s Hunter’s friend.” She grimaced. “Well, as much as my boo has friends. More like he has work acquaintances that he doesn’t hate, and we didn’t want to stack the wedding with his, uh, college buddies, because they just did that in another wedding. So we searched around for groomsmen, and Sebastian’s some guy with family money. His family’s crazy, though.” She looked at Chelsea apologetically. “I paired you up with him for the wedding stuff. I hope that’s okay. It was either him or Magnus and I thought your coloring would look good with Sebastian because he’s swarthy and you’re so cute and blonde. Bitch.” She grabbed a pair of champagne flutes from the passing butler and offered one to Chelsea. “Drink up. I know how much you like your bubbly.”

Chelsea’s smile grew tight and she held the glass in her hand to be polite, when all she really wanted to do was hand it back. “Thanks.”

“Oh, we’re all sitting down to eat now,” Gretchen said, releasing Chelsea’s arm. “Come on. Sebastian should be around here soon.”

“Join you in a sec,” Chelsea said, her panic rising. It was stupid, really. Sitting next to some random guy in a room full of friends shouldn’t throw her into a tizzy. But Pisa wasn’t here to troubleshoot. She’d be by herself. And who knew what would happen then?

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 your 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 she?” 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.”

“You sure?” He couldn’t help but tease her a bit. “Lots of eligible men at these things.”

She actually shuddered. “I’m positive. I mean, you’re pretty harmless so I’d rather be with you.”

And now his libido really was offended. Harmless? Him? He’d been known to seduce at twenty paces just with a smoldering look. “Harmless, eh?”

She moved in and patted his chest. “Don’t be offended. It’s because I know you now. It wasn’t a jab at your manhood.”

He shrugged and pulled his phone out again. A safety date would be just the thing. He could avoid being set up because he already had a “date.” He could avoid other women who were looking for a man at a wedding—because there were always a few—and no one who looked at Chelsea would think she was with Sebastian platonically. She was perfection in high heels. “All right,” he said, sliding his thumb over his phone. “Give me your number, Safety Girl.”

Chelsea laughed and reached between her cleavage to pull out her phone, where it was tucked away between her breasts. He tried not to stare at that, he really did.

And he tried not to wish that it wasn’t a safety thing after watching those tits produce that tiny phone.

A safety date was a good thing, he told himself.

They exchanged numbers and then she beamed at him, trotting off down the hall. “I really need to send this back to its owner,” she said, holding up the lashes. “See you in a few, Safety Date.”

“Call me SD,” he called back after her, grinning, and her laughter floated down the hall. He found himself smiling despite the absurd situation, and headed back for the dinner party. Sure enough, it was turning into couples-fest. He sat down and pulled out his phone.

Sebastian: You called this one. I’m pretty sure we’re the only ones here without a hookup agenda.

Her reply came a moment later.

Safety Date Chelsea: Told you!!

Sebastian: Just so we’re clear, this isn’t a roundabout relationship thing? It’s just a friendship thing?

Safety Date Chelsea: God no, no relationships. I’ve had enough of men.