Bad Bridesmaid (Billionaire's Club Book 11) Elise Faber (most read books of all time txt) 📖

then thinking perhaps she went overboard with the cake ordering. Still, she managed to heft the three huge sheet cakes—chocolate, lemon, and vanilla, her attempt to recreate the flavors of the deliciousness she’d toppled—thanked the woman who was her savior, and headed back to the wedding.

Arms slipped around her, Brad deftly—somehow—scooping the cakes out of her hold before she could react or protest or dodge away.

The cakes were worth their weight in gold at this point.

But before she could snatch them back or demand . . . he do something, there were hot words in her ear.

“You look good in my shirt.”

Words that left her gaping.

And shivering with remembered pleasure, dammit.

Brad was a No Fuck Zone. She’d learned her lesson. Or at least she should have learned her lesson.

But nonetheless, she shivered again when those hot hazel eyes met hers and he said, voice husky and feeling like roughened velvet brushing over her skin, “For the record, I wish I’d stayed.”

Three

Brad

He should have stayed.

He’d known he would regret slipping from beneath those soft cotton sheets, out from Heidi’s embrace, moving away from her even softer skin.

But he’d also needed to go.

Not even because he’d had a flight to catch—which he had because he always had a flight to catch. He traveled every spare day, spent every extra dollar he had to fly around the world, visiting every sight that had ever caught his fancy. And he’d had a great freaking time doing so, never wanted to stop.

But Heidi was the first woman he’d ever spent any time with that made him want to stay.

To stay forever.

So, he’d gone.

Had returned to the postage-stamp apartment he kept for the infrequent times he was in town, having decided that if he were going to be paying for a home he was hardly in, it might as well be filled with California sunshine rather than Midwest humidity and snow. Then he’d packed his usual bag, grabbed his passport, and had flown to Croatia. But as he’d walked through gorgeous coastal cities and explored mountain lakes and appreciated the beautiful agriculture, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of the gorgeous brunette with hazel eyes that were more green than brown.

He’d thought of her laugh while eating alone.

He’d thought of her shining brown hair fanning out on the pillowcase when he’d gone to sleep at night.

He’d dreamed of her sexy, curvy body night after night, had woken hard and aching every morning for weeks.

Until he’d forced himself to compartmentalize the woman away, not only for his own sanity, but for hers. Because he wasn’t the type of man who stayed, not for a little while, not forever, no matter how beautiful or smart or wonderful the woman was.

And Heidi was definitely all of those.

But still, as time had gone on, he’d almost convinced himself that he’d imagined the draw he felt toward her. After all these months, after making sure to avoid any interaction that might bring them together during the lead up to the wedding, he’d begun to think that perhaps she wasn’t . . . so freaking perfect in every way that mattered to him.

But he hadn’t been able to avoid her forever.

He’d walked into the wedding rehearsal the night before and felt every cell in his body stand up in attention.

She was there.

He wanted her.

Thankfully, the men and women had separated early in the evening, and he’d been able to keep his distance. But today, seeing her in that fucking incredible purple dress and the way it hugged her curves, watching her eyes go damp as her friend spoke her vows, laughing at the way she’d embraced walking that stupid fucking rooster up the aisle with its vest and sparkling leash.

Hell, she’d embraced all of it. The tears, the rooster, even the aftermath of the cake fiasco.

And he’d found he liked her even more.

Fucking hell.

“Give them back,” she growled.

“They’re heavy,” he countered. “Let me carry them for you.”

One dark brow lifted. “And you’re saying that me, with my weak, feminine arms, can’t manage to carry them?”

“Yup.” He preemptively bit back a grin, already anticipating her reaction.

Which didn’t disappoint.

She scowled, plump lips pressing flat, and he had the distinct notion that she wanted to stomp her foot.

Either that, or she wanted to kick him in the balls.

Maybe both.

“Where do you want them?” he asked, instead of giving voice to either of those thoughts—or to give her any ideas.

Her scowl deepened, but she just pointed to the former cake table, the one they’d spent some quality time on top of, not long before. The tablecloth had been replaced. The one tier they’d been able to salvage sitting on a plate atop it, along with half of a groom figurine and the bride’s legs.

Heidi growled, plucking the horrific scene from the cake and wrapping the sad pieces in a napkin, which she stashed in the bodice of her dress. He didn’t even bother looking away, not when he had the great privilege to witness the action of her spreading his shirt wide and sticking her hand between the luscious set of breasts he’d once been up close and familiar with. Then she patted the table before buttoning the shirt back up. “Set them here.”

He placed the boxes down.

“My bouquet is on the head table,” she said, opening one lid. “Can you grab mine, Cora’s, and Kelsey’s?”

“Got it.” He turned away.

She snagged his arm, tugged him to face her. “Do not touch Kate’s bouquet,” she ordered, eyes flashing. “She’s saving it, and I will not ruin another thing of hers.”

Brad reached down and lifted her hand, bringing it to his lips. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Good.” She snatched her hand free. “Don’t.”

Then she spun away, giving him her back again, probably not realizing how tempting the line of her nape was with curls teasing the creamy length of skin, nor how her curves were highlighted by the way they pressed against the fabric of his shirt.

He wasn’t going to tell her.

For one, he appreciated the view.