Best Man...with Benefits Page 3

  This was the way of the future. One by one, they’d all get married or move across the country for new jobs or whatever. Their carefree youth was slowly coming to an end.

  It was how life was meant to work. But, while they were all still here, minus one, they partied.

  Of course they didn’t exclude women from the party, and between the dancing and the drinking and the laughing, it was late when Jackson figured he’d better call it a night. Cynthia tried to slip him her room key but, even though she was an attractive woman and he was a single man, he couldn’t work up the enthusiasm. He claimed he’d drunk too much and took her number. Which he knew he’d never call.

  The band had packed up, and the tired-looking bartender gave them the fish eye. He knew they were going to be a sad and sorry bunch come morning.

  He got to his feet.

  “Okay, I gotta go to bed.”

  To his surprise, all the guys rose at the same time.

  “Jackson—” Willy threw drunken arms around him “—you’re too drunk to drive. I’ll walk you home.”

  He opened his mouth to tell Willy none of them would be driving and realized there was no point even trying to reason with Willy.

  “Have to be quiet,” Rip warned them, staggering along. “People sleeping.”

  “Right.”

  They piled into the elevator. He pushed the number three. Nobody pushed another button. Seemed they were all on the same floor.

  The whole mob of them stumbled down the corridor. He rooted around in his pocket. Pulled out a valet parking ticket. Nope. Other pocket.

  There it was. His room key card.

  Willy grabbed the card out of his hand. “Allow me,” he said, as if he were the bellhop.

  “You angling for a tip?”

  They all snickered as if he was Chris Rock. Willy stopped at a door and made an exaggerated gesture. “Your room, sir.”

  “No, my room’s down there.” At least he thought it was.

  Willy shook his head. “Good thing we walked you home.”

  He stood back and waited. Willy was more wasted than he’d thought. When the key didn’t work, he’d... Well, his room was around here somewhere. Down the hall. He’d find it.

  But, to his surprise, when the key slid home, the green light glowed.

  Willy opened the door, put the key in his hand and patted him on the back. “Night, Jack.”

  “Yeah, night.”

  Right before the door snicked shut, he heard a gale of laughter. He shook his head, wondering what they’d found to laugh about and hoping they all made it back to their rooms okay.

  He stripped rapidly and stumbled into the bathroom. Peed, brushed his teeth. Damn, he’d bought the spearmint toothpaste by mistake again.

  He drank a huge glass of water, knowing his morning self would thank him. Then he flipped off the bathroom light and walked back into the bedroom where he fell, naked, into the king-size bed.

  As he closed his eyes, he smelled something light and floral and sexy. Someone had worn that fragrance tonight. He couldn’t think who, but his body stirred in memory.

  He edged closer and found himself touching warm, female skin.

  What?

  Apart from Cynthia, one more woman had tried to slip him her room card, but he was sure he hadn’t taken it.

  Had he?

  Oh, she smelled good.

  He eased closer; the curving line of her shoulder captivated him. The curtains were open, as were the French doors, and moonlight cast the palest glow on her skin. He couldn’t resist: he put his lips to the curve where her shoulder met her throat. A pulse beat there, slow and steady.

  And then she made a sound like a purr and turned to him.

  He wished he could remember her name. Damn.

  He might be drunk—okay, he was drunk—but he wasn’t going to have sex with someone he didn’t even know.

  He raised his head to look at her more carefully and at the same time she opened her eyes.

  His heart stopped.

  Her eyes opened wide.

  Holy shit.

  He knew this woman’s name perfectly. And most of the time wished he didn’t. What was Lauren doing in his bed?

  She blinked slowly, not moving or turning on the light or calling security. In fact, she didn’t say anything. He recalled that moment when their gazes had caught, when she was walking down the aisle, and he’d felt that punch of—of something he had no name for. Recognition was the closest he could come.

  For a long moment, they simply looked at each other. He wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come, wanted to move, no idea which way. Backward? Forward?

  She lifted a hand. If she was going to slap him, he was ready. He’d explain, except he had no idea what had happened. Then he recalled the snorts of laughter after his old school buddies had walked him home, and he thought he knew exactly how he got here.

  She didn’t slap him, though.

  She laid a hand on his cheek, slid it to the back of his head and, to his shock, pulled him toward her.

  They’d kissed already tonight. That forced kiss, close-lipped and dutiful, in front of a crowd. He still recalled the feel of her soft lips under his, the light scent that was now teasing his senses.

  And then she put her mouth on his.

  3

  JACKSON EXPERIENCED THE slam of lust, sharp and fierce, as she kissed him. Not some dry-mouthed kiss your great aunt Mildred would give you, like the one they’d shared earlier, but a deep, wet, hungry soul kiss.

  He pulled her against him, feeling her soft, warm skin, the silky slide of a nightgown that was definitely in the way.

  When she moved her mouth like this, he wasn’t reminded of firing squads or poison ivy. He thought of hot skin sliding on hot skin, of what her nipples would taste like on his tongue, the sounds she would make when he brought her to climax.

  He ran his hands lightly up over the silky gown to stroke her breasts through the fabric and felt her nipples respond, hardening beneath his palms.

  Her body began to grow restless, but something about this place, the romantic location, the soft hush of the ocean coming from the open French doors, the moonlight, the wedding, made him want this to be special for her.

  Their first time to be special.

  Those clever artist’s hands of hers began to move over his body, learning him, exciting him. When her hand closed around his cock, his hips jerked helplessly against her hand. He wanted so much more; he wanted her wet heat surrounding him and he was too excited for much handling.

  As though she’d read his mind, she moved on, stroking his chest. Then she pressed herself against him as though their entire bodies were kissing.

  As they rubbed and teased, she rolled right on top of him. She’d taken her hair out of its updo and it spilled over her shoulder in sexy loose curls.

  He reached for her, but she kept rolling until she was off the bed.

  What the hell?

  Stunned, he watched her dash into the bathroom, heard rustling and then she returned carrying—oh, yes—condoms. He liked a woman who traveled prepared.

  She tossed a trio of square packs on the bedside table beside him and then, still standing, the moonlight glinting on her skin, she put her hands to the hem of her short, silk gown and slowly raised it.

  He watched, not daring to blink in case he missed something, his eyes taking in every superb inch as she revealed herself.

  Long, elegant legs, rounded hips with that glorious triangle beckoning, then the long, lean abdomen of a runner, and the small, perfect breasts.

  She pulled the gown over her head and let it float to the ground.

  Naked, she walked to the bed to join him.

  * * *

  LAUREN HAD NO IDEA what she was doing, but ever since she’d woken to find Jackson mysteriously in her bed, she’d followed her instincts.

  For all she knew, she was dreaming, and this was nothing but a wet dream.

  But what a wet dream.


  When she kept his mouth busy doing other things besides insulting her, he was good company. Especially naked. And as she looked at that mouth, she knew she was going to keep it very busy for the next few hours.

  She slid back into bed, settled herself against him once more and put all thoughts of tomorrow out of her mind.

  This was a sex fantasy, she reminded herself.

  Nothing but a wet dream. And dreams were always gone in the morning.

  As he moved against her, she loved the feel of his hair-roughened skin against her smoother flesh, loved the muscles—and who cared how he’d come by them, really.

  When he slipped a hand between her thighs and found that perfect spot, she forgot to think at all.

  Sensation. That was all she had. The quiet lap of waves outside mingled with their soft sighs as their excitement increased.

  The moonlight cast the night in the colors of a dream.

  The tiniest taste of scotch when she kissed him, and the taste and smell of hot, horny male when she moved her mouth down to his chest.

  He played at her wetness, taking her relentlessly up. Slipping a finger inside her to stroke deep. She felt herself growing slicker, felt her hips dance in time with his knowing fingers.

  The first climax took her so sweetly it was on her almost before she knew it, so she felt tossed as surely as one of those waves out there lapping the beach.

  She kissed him: part gratitude, part demand.

  She wanted more, so much more, and based on the rock-hard cock pushing against her thigh, she wasn’t alone.

  He fumbled for a condom from the night table and, with a lot more haste than finesse, sheathed himself.

  When he rolled over her, she opened for him, finding, to her surprise, that she was trembling. Almost a year had passed since she’d last been intimate with a man. She’d been so busy working a second job to support her stained-glass business that she hadn’t missed the time commitments of a relationship, or the sex.

  Or had she?

  He kissed her deeply as his body entered hers. There was a moment, when they were fully connected and his hips rested against hers, that she felt as though she couldn’t breathe, that she’d fallen off a cliff without noticing it was there.

  Then he kissed her once more and the strange feeling fled. He began to move, slowly at first, and then faster. When they moved together she felt stunned that their bodies had a perfect ease that their daily selves had no idea of.

  She felt a kind of magic happening. His face was shadowed where he gazed down at her and she wanted to see him.

  She nudged him, and they rolled together until she was on top of him, her knees anchoring her to the bed. She felt him deep inside her. As she began to move, finding the perfect angle, she felt the beginning tremors of another climax. She gripped his hands, stared into that rugged, way too gorgeous face, blue eyes that could suck a foolish woman into their depths, and rode him until her head fell back as she cried out. Even on the echo of her own cries, she heard his.

  When she floated back to earth, she slumped down on top of him and he put an arm around her and stroked her back.

  Hours later, her well-loved body finally fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  Lauren wasn’t sure what woke her. Her eyes felt heavy, her body completely relaxed. When she opened her eyes it took her a split second to recognize where she was and another split second for memory to flood her.

  She turned and discovered what had woken her. Jackson was dressing. A glance at the bedside clock told her it was 6:00 a.m.

  In the dawn light he seemed like a shadow, this man who had shared her bed and brought her so much pleasure. They’d gone through all three condoms and each time she’d thought nothing could ever feel as good. And then the next time it had been even better.

  She realized that, from the time she’d opened her eyes long after midnight to find him naked beside her, until now, they hadn’t exchanged one word.

  As though feeling her gaze on him, he looked over at her, his Irish blue eyes questioning.

  “What happened last night...?” he began in a husky voice that petered out as though he had no idea how to finish the sentence.

  “Nothing happened last night,” she said. And as the words came out of her mouth she understood that was exactly the way they needed to play this.

  Somehow he’d ended up in her room and she recalled the expression on his face when he’d realized he was in her bed. He’d looked as shocked as she’d felt. She strongly suspected their night together had been orchestrated by the frat boys.

  The best way to spoil their juvenile fun was to let them think their schoolboy antics had failed.

  Nothing about last night had been a prank, or a joke.

  It had been a sexual fantasy come true. If the man who’d rocked her world answered to anything other than Jackson Monaghan, she could imagine hoping this was the beginning of something.

  But the man was Jackson Monaghan.

  “Nothing. Happened.” She repeated the words, knowing he understood exactly what she was saying.

  To her relief, he nodded, and after opening the door carefully and glancing up and down the hallway, he sent her a wave, and was gone.

  4

  LAUREN SHOWERED, DID her hair and makeup with more care than usual and then dressed in the outfit she’d brought with her, knowing that she’d be seeing most of the wedding party and quite a few of the guests at breakfast.

  There was no formal meal, but since checkout was at eleven, she imagined most of the guests would wander in and out before then.

  She walked into the restaurant where the hotel served breakfast. She’d agreed to meet Amy’s parents here for breakfast and she had a feeling that Amy and Seth would make an appearance, too. Then they’d be heading off the island and driving to LA for their evening flight to Italy, where they were spending their honeymoon.

  Amy’s parents were giving her a lift back to the mainland, where she’d left her car.

  She quelled the cowardly impulse to hide in her room until ten fifty-five and then dash down to drop her key at the front desk and claim her ride with Amy’s folks. But, she told her reflection in the mirror as she swiped a confident berry shade on her lips, that might give Jackson the idea that he’d rocked her world or something and that she was too shy to face him this morning.

  That thought was enough to get her out the door with her head held high.

  When she got to the restaurant it was all very unexciting. No gales of laughter or crude jokes from the frat boys greeted her. Not one of them had made it down yet. She suspected hangovers to be the cause and was only too happy to be spared.

  A swift glance told her that Jackson wasn’t here, either, so she was able to relax and join Amy’s parents, who welcomed her with big smiles and a hug from June, Amy’s mom, who was very much a second mother to Lauren.

  Looking at June was like looking into the future and seeing how Amy would look in a quarter of a century. June was still an attractive woman who dressed well and never let a week go by without a trip to the hairdresser. Amy struggled with her weight, and with June you got the feeling that she’d given up the fight years ago.

  “Thank you, Lauren, for doing such a fabulous job yesterday. You were the perfect maid of honor. You know we’ve always thought of you as a second daughter.”

  June got a little misty-eyed, which of course made Lauren get misty, too. “I feel like part of your family, too. It was a lovely wedding.”

  “It was. I was just saying to Ted that I can’t wait to see the photographs. I think we got some good ones yesterday.”

  They settled at the table for eight, which Ted had grabbed, hoping Amy and Seth would join them as well as Seth’s parents.

  “Did you sleep well, dear?” June asked as she poured coffee for Lauren from the big carafe on the table. They’d known each other so long she didn’t have to ask.

  The more appropriate question would’ve been, “Did you sleep at all?” But be
cause she tried never to lie if she could help it, she answered with a truth. “I never spent a better night.”

  “That’s good. The beds are so comfortable that I’m going to find out where they get them and think about ordering one for home. Ted usually wakes up with a sore back, but you didn’t this morning, did you, darling?”

  “No. Only sore feet from dancing so much last night.”

  “Try it in high heels,” his wife murmured.

  Their waitress came by for their breakfast order, but they decided to wait a few minutes to see if anyone else would show.

  “And when you see your daughter, for God’s sake don’t ask her how she slept,” Ted said to his wife.

  “But I always ask—” Then her expression changed as she realized what he was referring to. “Yes, of course not. Their wedding night.” She leaned across the table to Lauren. “Sometimes I can be tactless. I never mean to be, I simply say things without thinking them through. Ted gets embarrassed by me.”

  “She’s known you for twenty years, June. I think she’s noticed.”

  Lauren hadn’t had enough sleep to be able to come up with the right response so she sipped her coffee and hoped Amy and Seth would show up soon.

  Seth’s parents arrived next. Natalie and Lance. Lance, like Seth, had been a college football star in his day. He’d worked at the family real estate firm, married a pretty girl from a good family and lived a country-club lifestyle. His son was well on the road to being exactly like him.

  As the two sets of parents settled at the same table, she was conscious of how careful they were around each other. Clearly, they were all trying to get along.

  “The wedding was absolutely perfect, June,” Natalie gushed. “I can’t remember a lovelier wedding. Exactly what we would have chosen if we had a daughter.”

  “And Amy’s a great girl,” Lance added. “Great girl.”

  “We couldn’t be happier to welcome Seth to our family,” June countered. Ted made a noncommittal sound that could have meant anything. Lauren was fairly certain that he was having trouble accepting that his little girl was all grown up now and had another man in her life.