The Supermodel's Best Friend (A Romantic Comedy) Read online

  He should have waited for Huntley, let him make the big heroic gesture, but he wasn’t thinking about other people’s happy endings right then. He leaned closer to the Giants guy, tightened his grip on his shoulder. “Get your hands off of her.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Lucy unwrapped the guy’s arms but stayed in his lap, although with better posture. “Yeah, who the hell are you?”

  He took the beer out of her hand and put it on the bar. “A friend,” he said.

  “Pffft!” She slid her arm around the Giant’s sweatshirt. “What I need is a man.”

  “Oh, yeah,” the guy said.

  Miles turned to Fawn, who looked like she didn’t like the Giants guy much more than he did. “Huntley wants to talk to you,” he told her. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “He’s here?” Fawn squinted over his shoulder, smiling, gripping the bar for balance.

  He really should have waited for Huntley. “No, he’s on his way.”

  “Pffft.” With a contemptuous hand gesture, Fawn went back to her beer. Miles felt a powerful temptation to join her. After he beat the crap out of the orange octopus who kept sniffing Lucy’s hair.

  “Lucy,” he said. “This loser is not in your plans.”

  “Oh, now you care about my plans.”

  “You want a lap to sit in, fine.” Miles took the stool next to them and held out his arms. He’d never started a bar fight, but wasn’t that just the sort of thing he needed to spice up his life? Beating the crap out of the guy would be like therapy. He’d spent years talking to teenagers about self-control and non-violence, but the sight of hairy Giants arms wrapped around Lucy would have made Ghandi bust out the baseball bat.

  Cricket bat.

  Lucy pushed the guy’s hand away from her rib cage but stayed where she was. “You’re no different than this loser, just wanting sex, sex, sex.”

  “Hey, don’t call me a loser,” the guy said.

  “You know I’m different,” Miles told her. He let his gaze sharpen, put some of his soul in his eyes. He waited, sitting on the stool next to them, not blinking, feeling on the edge of something.

  The bar roared at something on the TV and Lucy’s chair wobbled to the side to watch. She unwrapped the orange arms around her again and slid down to the floor, never taking her eyes off Miles, and he heard his heart pound louder than roar of the crowded bar.

  She turned away from him. At least she wasn’t rubbing her ass into that creep’s lap anymore. The nice, round ass in a pair of jeans he hadn’t seen before, still black but with something shiny on the pockets. Like bait.

  Then she stepped back until her bottom brushed against Miles’s knees.

  His mouth went dry. His sober reflexes were fast and sure, and he hauled Lucy’s curvy deliciousness up into his lap before she could reconsider the impulse.

  She was stiff at first, back arched as though she’d just climbed up into the top row of bleachers and was trying to see over somebody else’s head.

  Miles was feeling pretty stiff himself. He hadn’t stopped thinking about the way her body had felt under his mouth, how right she felt in his arms.

  Now she didn’t seem like a woman who had her eyes on the prize of a 30-year fixed mortgage and a dependable, pompous bore.

  Because now she was shit-faced.

  He palmed her thighs and slid his hands up to either side of her waist, pulled her closer to his chest, and rotated her away from the crowd facing the TV. If she felt his hard-on through his jeans, she didn’t seem to mind. With each moment he held her, she relaxed a little more until her back melted against his chest and his mouth settled against her ear. “I shouldn’t be doing this. You’re drunk. It’s not good.” He inhaled her scent for himself and fresh possessiveness exploded in him.

  “You feel good.”

  He groaned inwardly. If they weren’t in public he’d be getting her naked by now, drunk or no. “I’m not good,” he said.

  “Promise?”

  Sharp desire stabbed through him. His thumb found the curve of her breast and he caressed her, hearing her gasp, savoring the way her nipple hardened. His lips found one of the pearls in her earlobe and he rolled it between his teeth.

  Whack. Miles drew back, stars exploding in his head. “Hey!”

  Fawn stood in front of them wielding a studded purse. “What are you doing to her? Lucy? Are you all right?”

  “I’m letting him be bad,” Lucy said. “Give him a minute.”

  Readjusting his grip on the hot, soft body in his lap, Miles glared at Fawn through Lucy’s curls. “You have a license for that thing?”

  “What are you doing here?” Fawn’s eyes glistened with tears.

  Miles heard her real question. “Huntley sent me. He’s on his way.”

  “Why didn’t he get here first?”

  With the pain in his skull and a different kind of pain in his lap, Miles struggled to speak over the noisy bar. “He thought you’d be in Mendocino with your mother. I took the northern route.”

  Lucy leaned back and he slipped his hand under her shirt. When he felt bare silky flesh, all words left him. He buried his nose in her neck and licked the pulse thrumming there.

  “Oh,” Fawn said, sinking against the bar. She watched them for a long moment, then said, “Should you really be doing that here?”

  Miles’s hand moved down her body, seeking the heat between her thighs wrapped in tight denim. Oh, definitely.

  “Lucy, I want to go back,” Fawn said.

  Lucy’s hips were making little circles in his lap, driving him on, but then she sighed and stopped. “Hold on. Need to think.”

  He cupped her.

  Some other metallic object connected with his skull, not quite as hard as the purse, and Lucy broke free of him. She tapped him with the spoons one more time and dropped them on the bar. “Fresh air. Need some.” She took Fawn’s arm and stumbled away through the crowd while Miles waited for some blood to return to his brain.

  No time. That blood had other plans. High hopes. Hot, hard hopes.

  Miles took after them, holding his jacket over his crotch. He found them in the parking lot. Icy wind blew off the shore, blasting away some of the lusty confusion of the bar. The two women had found their coats somewhere and looked a little more sober, standing tall in the cold night, waiting for him.

  Lucy’s pale face and bright hair stood out sharply against the black jacket, jeans, and boots she wore. He knew her tall friend next to her was stunning, famously beautiful, but he only wanted to look at Lucy.

  Pulse still racing, Miles tried to catch Lucy’s eye, but she stared at the ground.

  He had to get her alone.

  Now.

  He dug his cell out of his pocket, dialing quickly. “I’ll get Huntley on the phone for you, Fawn. You can talk while he drives here.” Not the best idea on the hairpin curves over the coast, but he had to cull Lucy from the protection of her herd.

  Huntley’s voice burst into his ear. “You got her?”

  “She wants to talk to you.” Miles strode over and shoved the phone at Fawn. Lucy looked up at him then, eyes dark and wide, lips parted, so damn hot. He slipped his hand down her arm to entwine her fingers with his and pulled her away, across the lot to a dark corner under an arbor near the building’s entrance.

  He tucked a curl behind her ear, though the wind blew it right back into her face, and hunched down to kiss her.

  She pushed him away, leaning back on a fence post, breathing deeply. “Look, I’m sorry to lead you on back there, but you didn’t follow the plan. Remember the plan? You don’t touch me, I don’t… you know…”

  Bending his knees to reach her, he brushed his lips along the soft curve of her cheekbone. His body responded to her scent, sparking to life, remembering. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t agree to any plan.”

  “Exactly! My point. You don’t like the plan. My plan.” She put a hand over her heart. “It’s a really good plan.”

  The ou
tdoor lights lit up her face, and she looked beautiful, otherworldly, and very not sober. He brushed another curl off her forehead. “Did you check into a room?”

  “Yes, but we left the bags at the desk.” Then she scowled. “No. No room.” She shoved him in the shoulder.

  He grabbed her fist, held it softly against his chest. “Huntley should be here soon, and looks like Fawn’s going back with him.”

  Frowning at her captured hand, Lucy made a feeble effort to pull free. “He’d better suck up. I want to see major sucking up.”

  “You like sucking up?”

  She met his gaze. “If Fawn goes back, I go back with her.” She forced a laugh. “Obviously. I mean, I’m her best woman. I mean man of honor. Maid of woman. Shit.”

  He tugged her close. “You are definitely made of woman,” he growled.

  Sinking against him, she sighed, wriggled closer.

  Desire sliced through him. “Let them have their reunion in private,” he said in her ear. “We’ll go back in the morning.”

  Her free hand slid around his waist and cupped his ass. “God, I’d like that.”

  He pulled her hips against his and bent down to taste her hot, sweet mouth again. Her tongue met his, slick and eager, soft, open. He tilted her face to deepen the kiss, shocked by the way his legs buckled, how his body cried out for hers.

  But she broke away and stepped back.

  “See, this is why you need to follow the plan,” she said, gasping. “It’s very simple. You don’t initiate, I don’t respond. See? Simple. Excellent plan.”

  He blinked, breathing heavily, his vision clouded with desire. “One night, Lucy. When’s the last time you just had a really, really good time, just for the hell of it?”

  She arched away from him, her hand still on his chest, small but firm. “Oh, sure. Funny you mention hell. The devil is from hell. You’re the devil. You can make hell sound good, pull me down with you, but then what? Then I’ll get all burned up, smell like brimstone, suffer forever and all that.” She spun around. “Forget it, Lucifer. I’m going with the other shoulder.” Then she walked away.

  She was killing him. He strode after her. She’d run in the wrong direction, noticed her mistake, and weaved back to get back to Fawn.

  “Shoulder?” he asked, falling into step beside her. He rubbed his lips, desperate to taste her again.

  “You know, the devil on one, the angel on the other.” She shot him a dark look. “I know which one you are.”

  He managed to grin. “I like the sound of that.” He put an arm around her, encouraged when she slowed down. “I’ll tell you what your devil is. And it isn’t me.”

  She lifted her chin, tried to stare at him down her nose even though he towered over her. “Here we go again, the I-hate-Alex song.”

  He shook his head slowly, cupping her cheek in his palm, savoring the contact again. He wondered if she could feel his hand shaking. “Your devil is fear. Not me. Fear.”

  She rolled her eyes, laughing nervously. “Oh, right.”

  His thumb traced her lower lip. He savored the softness, the hint of moisture, and bent closer. “Fight for what you want. Don’t let fear beat you.”

  “So if I don’t screw you right here in the parking lot it’s because I’m afraid?” She grabbed his wrist. “Nice try, buster, but I’m not that drunk. You’re just one big hormonal organism looking to score. Your pop psych arguments have no effect on my superior intellect.”

  He pulled her hand up to his mouth and rubbed his lips across each soft, delicate knuckle. “How about my physical arguments?”

  Watching him through half-closed eyes, arm extended, her lips parted, she managed a frown. “Unfortunately, those are more effective.”

  Her skin was so soft. He caressed her fingers in his, stroking, kissing, smelling her. “I think you need to modify your plan.” He separated her index finger from the rest and sucked it into his mouth like a lollipop.

  Her eyelids fluttered. She moaned.

  He licked the pad of her finger, sucked it in deeper. “One night,” he whispered around the prize in his mouth. And then I’ll talk you into another. “What are you afraid of?”

  She pulled her finger free. “Are you kidding me?” She twisted away, staggering in Fawn’s direction. “Afraid. Of course I’m afraid. I’m not an idiot.”

  Miles watched her, fighting for control before he joined them.

  So close.

  Fawn was smiling when she handed him the phone.

  He knew he wasn’t. Clenching his teeth, he went over to his bike, zipped himself back into his jacket.

  Maybe he was crazy. She said no. She really didn’t want to give in. Whatever reasons she had for avoiding a little fun—fuck that, a lot of fun—were probably good ones. No question she’d been clear about what she wanted.

  He took out his helmet and looked at her, standing as tall as her short height made possible, chin defiantly up, hands on her round, sexy hips.

  No, her plan sucked. That was a fact.

  “Is that jacket leather?” he asked her. His gaze slid down her body and admired her thick boots. Sensible woman.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Good for the bike.”

  She shook her head. “Nice try.” She turned to look up the highway. “I’m going with them.”

  “I don’t think they’ll want your company.”

  She snorted. “Too bad.”

  “I’ve got an extra helmet.”

  “Your skull is so thick I’m surprised you’d need one at all,” she said.

  Fawn’s dopey smile fell, and for the first time since getting off the phone, she turned her full attention to Lucy, then to Miles. “What’s going on between you two?”

  “Not enough,” Miles said roughly.

  “He wants to have sex with me. As if that’s going to work.” Lucy waved her hand up and down in his direction. “Look at him. It’d be like a poodle with King Kong.”

  While Fawn laughed into her hand, Miles smiled and pretended that shot hadn’t hit home. “More like a Great Dane, baby,” he said through gritted teeth, grabbing the handlebars of his bike.

  “There he is!” Fawn cried, just as Huntley’s Porsche pulled into the tiny pot-holed parking lot.

  “Tone it down,” Lucy said, putting a hand on Fawn’s arm. “Give him a chance to grovel. You want to see some major sucking up.”

  Still annoyed, Miles watched Huntley pop out of the slate blue sports car and run over to his fiancée. While Lucy held on to her arm, Fawn stayed where she was, silent, not rushing to meet him though her face was bright with love and relief.

  To his credit, Huntley fell to his knees in the broken asphalt and clutched her hand. “Forgive me,” he said, pressing his lips to her knuckles.

  Lucy glanced over at Miles who, having just done the same to her, was also watching the gesture with more lust than the scene justified. She looked at him and their eyes met and held. Her tongue darted out, moistened her lips.

  She so wanted him.

  Instead of throwing his leg over the seat and taking off as he’d planned, he gave the bike a pat and waited, watching her.

  “Lucy!”

  She looked away from Miles to the other man’s voice.

  No fucking way.

  Jogging out from the other side of the Porsche was Mr. Marriage Material. Looking slick and dependable in a white button-down shirt, khakis, and loafers, Alex gave everyone a little wave before coming up to Lucy’s side.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  Throwing a scrawny little arm over Lucy’s shoulders, Alex regarded Huntley with an incredulous smile. “You’re ruining your trousers.”

  Trousers? He sounded like a grandmother.

  “What are you doing here?” Lucy asked.

  “Huntley can’t let his bride escape, can he? Come on, man. She gets the point,” Alex said, using his free hand to pull Huntley up from the ground.

  Huntley didn’t take his eyes off Fawn, and though he got off the groun
d, he didn’t stand up all the way. Head low, he nuzzled Fawn’s neck, hooked an arm around her waist, and pulled her away from the others to the shelter of the arbor where Miles had had such great luck.

  What the hell was Huntley doing, bringing Alex after making such a big deal about having Miles on the road searching, even though he seemed to have realized Miles had a thing for Lucy—

  Miles shifted his gaze from Alex’s scrawny arm to the Porsche. The 911. Not the limo.

  He sought out Huntley in the shadows of the B&B, not surprised to see Fawn’s legs wrapped around his waist and her tongue down his throat.

  Suddenly feeling magnanimous, Miles smiled and walked over to join Alex and Lucy. Sure, Huntley should have groveled more, but the guy had charm. Forethought.

  And a very, very small car.

  “Guess you’ll have to come with me, Lucy,” Miles said, watching the way Alex pulled her more tightly up against his side.

  She made a rude noise. “You wish.” Without seeming to care how it unhinged Alex’s arm from her shoulder, she spun sideways and pointed at the Porsche. “I’m going in that.”

  Miles shook his head. “Don’t think that’s going to be possible. Didn’t Fawn bring all of her bags with her? Her suitcases?”

  Her eyes widened, darted back to the car, then to Alex.

  “There’s room for two in the back.” Alex lifted his hand as though he was going to put it back on her shoulder, but Lucy was already marching across the lot to peer into the back seat.

  He bit back a grin. Alex was catching on. He frowned into the darkness, where Huntley and Fawn were still going at it.

  “I’ll get Fawn’s bags,” Miles said cheerfully. “She said they’re at the front desk. Lots of them.”

  Alex wasn’t stupid. He snapped his jaw shut and eyed Miles. “She’d need a helmet.”

  “I always carry a spare.” Miles strode around him, past the necking lovebirds and into the front office of the B&B. He smiled down at the huge pile of suitcases.

  Fawn came up behind him, her hair in a tangle around her face. She talked to the lady at the front desk for a minute while Huntley joined them.

  His face was smeared with lipstick. With a grin to Miles, Huntley said, “Alex insisted on coming, so I had to improvise.”