Unwrapping the Best Man Page 8

I should be happy she’s doing the sensible thing. Happy that she’s getting on with her life far away from me. And yet I’m the one asking Ash and Coco how she is. I’m the one avoiding every attempt they’ve made to host a dinner for the four of us. They first suggested a dinner a few weeks after the wedding. A ‘Thank you Dinner’ they called it.

  An obvious attempt at matchmaking more like. And so far we’ve avoided any possible meet-up. I should be over it now, moving on too.

  But I’m not.

  And I only have myself to blame for crossing that bastard line.

  Caitlin belonged on the safe side. She was a friend. A friend like Ash and Coco. Just a friend. And I fucked with that.

  My punishment is this.

  To miss her like crazy. To miss talking to her, to miss her presence in the club, her teasing smiles, her sultry looks, all humour and light and so much fun.

  I. Miss. Her.

  Four months and it feels like a year.

  I thought when Eliza and I split my life was over. I was humiliated, broken, and filled with an anger so acute it took years to learn to control it, to trust anyone again.

  It felt nothing like this. With Cait. The only anger I feel is at myself for ruining her, for ruining what we had. And I ache inside. I’m hollow, empty; nothing can fill the void she’s left.

  After Eliza, I filled my life with work and sex. I burned her out of my system. The very idea of doing the same after one night with Cait...

  Bates places a glass in front of me just when I need it most. ‘Cheers.’

  He nods, goes to leave and then turns back. ‘You want the bottle?’

  ‘Do I look that bad?’

  He gives me a lopsided grin. ‘Hate to say it, boss, but you look like shit.’

  I rake my hands through my hair and lean back in my stool. ‘Glad you can tell me how it is, Bates.’

  ‘You did ask.’

  I blow out a breath and lean forward to take up the drink. ‘True.’

  I throw back a gulp, appreciating the burn.

  ‘You want to talk about it?’

  I almost laugh but I know Bates means it. My staff are selected to care about the club’s members, to be an ear if that’s what they need, or serve up their order and discreetly walk away. And I lead by example.

  It’s how I treat everyone under this roof, my staff and my clientele. Bates is only offering me the same, but I can hardly make sense of this hold Cait continues to have over me, let alone put words to it.

  Or I can, but I don’t want to, because that means admitting the one thing I swore I would never do again. Fall in love.

  I shake my head at him. ‘Nah, it’s nothing that won’t go away eventually.’

  Hell, who am I trying to convince?

  Him or me?

  ‘No worries.’ He leaves the bottle and gets back to work while my head goes back to Cait.

  I remember the last time I saw her, stretched out on the four-poster bed, the deep red sheets tangled in her limbs, the moonlight streaking across her bare breasts, the soft smile on her sleeping face, her hair a tangled mass from my hands... My body tightens in an instant, the whip of heat firing through my limbs.

  She’s not even here and I’m hot for her.

  I throw back another gulp, scan the bar and the couples—threesomes and all-out orgies taking place—and nothing appeals. No one has. Not since her.

  Fuck. I throw back another gulp. Four months and not a single lay. And I’ve tried. I’ve tried everything, but nothing works.

  My fear was that I would ruin her; I warned her, made that clear. What I didn’t expect was to be ruined in return.

  Liar. You pushed your club rules in her face from day one because you knew—you knew she was different: a tiny bundle of carefree fun which you envied on some level and adored on every other.

  I acknowledge the truth of it by draining my glass and pouring another.

  From the moment she fell in my lap six years ago, all small and spunky, her laugh melodic, her easy persona a homing beacon to a man like me, so used to the cold, harsh realities of life. She had me.

  And now I’ve lost her.

  ‘Hey, Black, can I get you a drink?’

  I turn to see one of my long-standing clients, Max, approach.

  ‘Nah, I’m good, mate.’

  ‘You sure, because I seriously need to do something to thank you for this haven.’

  My lips quirk. ‘That’s what your membership fee is for.’

  ‘I pay that for all-year-round fun, but it doesn’t go up in December and it should. This is a bloody oasis compared to the chaos out there.’

  ‘The chaos?’

  ‘It’s like Santa’s grotto everywhere you go, and I swear to God if I hear Wham just one more time...’ He makes a throttling action with his hands and I manage a tight laugh. ‘You need to add hotel rooms to your offering; you’d make a fortune. I’d camp out here for the whole month.’

  ‘Funny you should say that; I might have just the thing lined up for next year. Berlin suit you?’

  ‘Now you’re talking. I’d—’

  ‘Whoa, Mrs C, watch the hat!’

  No, it can’t be.

  But I’d know that voice anywhere and the tinkling giggle that follows it.

  I’m not tuned in to Max any more. My eyes are on the blind corner that leads to the entrance, to where Cait’s voice is, all light and enticing... God, how I’ve missed that sound.

  Max knows I’m not listening; his head is turning to follow my line of sight and then she’s there. She’s there and...oh, my—

  Jesus H Christ. What the hell is she wearing?

  From this distance she’s all stripes of white and green and skin—too much skin. White heels, green and white stockings, a green mini-skirt trimmed with white fluff, a wide gold-buckled belt that sits on her hips, her midriff bare... I swear my lungs are too tight to breathe. I drag my eyes up to the tiny corset that thrusts her breasts high, a red and white ribbon lacing it together tight, a halter strap that seems to push them ever tighter together.

  She’s looking over her shoulder to talk to her companion and hasn’t spied me yet. I snap my mouth closed as I look back to Max, but I’ve no longer got his attention either.

  ‘Forget what I said, Black. If you want to go festive along those lines, I’m all for it...’

  Not on my watch.

  I’m already heading towards her, leaving a chuckling Max behind.

  What are you doing? comes the inner growl of reason. You should be getting into that back office now, your apartment even... Anywhere but here...

  But hell, it’s my club. I get to do what I want.

  And right now there’s an elf looking far too appealing and far too merry to let out of my sight.

  Merry fucking Christmas.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘ASH IS GOING to flip.’ Coco sweeps the draped hood of her red velvet Sexy Claus number back from her head, its white fluffy trim cascading down her back and almost touching the matching fluffy band that runs along the bottom of the mini-dress.

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’ I dust off my elf hat after its run-in with the floor and Coco’s red boot, and secure it back on my head, shaking out my freshly curled hair from beneath. ‘He’s going to take one look at you, throw you over his shoulder and take you home caveman style. And don’t tell me you’re not going to love that!’

  ‘Okay, you have me there.’ She laughs as she adjusts her square neckline that’s flattering without being too OTT. Me, on the other hand... It’s lucky my puppies are small else I would be spilling out. ‘Although I can’t believe you talked me into this.’

  ‘You’re loving it really and, besides, it’s the fifth of December, the first Saturday of the month and the perfect time to start celebrating the party season in earnest.’
/>
  ‘You know Jackson hates Christmas, right?’

  ‘Do I?’ I say in high innocence, turning away from her as I head for the main bar. ‘No, I don’t think—’

  My voice quits as I come face to face with the Grinch himself. Or, rather, face to very broad, very hard chest. ‘Jackson!’

  I look up, painting on my most relaxed and happy smile. ‘It’s been a while. How the devil are you?’

  I plant a palm on his chest, ignore the heat that permeates through the thin fabric of his black T and cock my head to the side, daring him to respond.

  I know we are not okay.

  He knows we are not okay.

  But Coco doesn’t.

  His muscles flex beneath my palm as he folds his arms, his biceps bulging, straining the sleeves of his T and making the lines of his black Celtic tattoo pop. The tattoo that I know runs over the entire side of him. Arm, shoulder, torso, the lot, because I’ve been all over that and just the exposed section makes me think about the rest. Not fair.

  ‘You walk around outside like that?’

  ‘What, this?’ I do a slow twirl for good measure, making sure he gets to see every exposed inch before I face him again, and then I grab the bobble that dangles from my elf’s hat and tickle his nose with it. ‘You like?’

  He wrinkles his nose, an action so at odds with his manly presence that I don’t need to force a giggle; it comes all by itself, helped along by the mulled wine we consumed while getting ready tonight.

  ‘It’s bloody freezing out there, Cait.’

  ‘And who are you—my mother?’ I pout up at him and ignore the way the deep timbre of his voice has my body coming alive.

  He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even flinch, and I chase the desire down with anger that he still makes me feel this way after everything he did.

  ‘I had a coat...’ I mask my anger with a grin. I have a plan and it means winding him up, full-on tease and flaunt, and acting like I don’t care. For now, at least. I’m saving the anger for later. Hence why I walk my fingers up his chest, nice and slow, treasuring every little vibration his body gives. ‘Your fancy cloakroom is taking care of it; you know, that place you provided for excess layers that aren’t needed inside.’

  His mouth twitches. It’s a negligible reaction but one that snags my attention and makes me think of that same mouth parting to lick his fingers clean, to lick me from them—fuck.

  It was months ago and it might as well be happening in front of me for the instant kick to my pulse, the ache in my clit...

  Time to move.

  ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a date with your bar...’ I turn and loop my arm through Coco’s, actively ignoring the way she’s watching us both. ‘Come on, Coco, let’s go and lend some festive cheer to Blacks.’ I give him the side-eye. ‘Heaven knows it could do with it.’

  I see Coco and Jackson exchange a look that I also purposely ignore as I start to pull her deeper inside, past the unmoving wall that is Jackson.

  ‘It’s good to see you again,’ Coco murmurs to him. ‘Ash is coming by later so maybe the two of you could catch up.’

  For Pete’s sake, she sounds so worried about him. Like, really? He’s Jackson. As if he’d be anything but fine.

  He gives her a gruff response that I don’t even try to discern—I’m ignoring him now—one hundred per cent not tuned in to his presence at all, not even one iota...

  ‘What do you think, Coco? Another mulled wine?’

  ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘Oh, that’s right. Blacks doesn’t do festive drinks. Hmm, bet Bates could knock us up a cocktail with a suitably spiced twist.’

  I pull her along and feel his eyes on us—okay, so I’m not entirely unaware of him. How could I be? I don’t possess the same on/off switch he so clearly does. I ignore the fact it only emphasises the difference between us, that I care when he so obviously doesn’t, and focus on giving my hips just the right amount of sway, the right amount of confident cheek, and enjoy the burn of what I bet he wishes was X-ray vision.

  ‘You want to tell me what that was all about?’ she says as we slip onto a couple of bar stools and I wave down Bates.

  ‘What was what about?’ I grin at the approaching barman. ‘Two cocktails with a festive twist, pretty please.’

  Bates chuckles. ‘You’ve not been in here for months and you’re already veering off menu and making demands?’

  ‘I know, the cheek, hey?’ I give him a wink which he laps up and Coco shakes her head.

  ‘You’re trouble, Cait.’

  ‘Just what I was thinking.’

  Shit. It’s Jackson. He’s right behind me. And, oh, God, my body thrums with the energy of it, of him.

  No. I refuse to be affected, bothered, or in any way forced off course. Tonight I am going to tease him with my presence if it kills me, and I’m going to make sure he knows I’m back to being off-limits. Only this time it’s because I say so. Not him.

  ‘You’re not invited to this little party, matey—off you go.’ I shoo him away and he lifts one brow, his eyes moving to Coco, who gives a helpless shrug.

  ‘It’s like that, is it?’

  ‘Yup, girls only,’ I answer before Coco can, my attention shifting back to Bates behind the bar as I hook my heels into the stool’s footrest and lean over, presenting my bottom with a hint of cheek and suspender straps to Jackson. ‘So then Bates, what’s it gonna be?’

  Bates sends a look over my head and I know he’s assessing Jackson’s face, which I imagine looks something along the lines of murderous.

  ‘Whatever the lady wants...’ Jackson murmurs low and my grin widens.

  ‘That’s my boy.’ I don’t turn, I don’t show him any gratitude, and I know I’ve just sent Coco’s curiosity through the roof, but it was worth it. This is fun. Serious wind-up fun. And it beats the way I’ve felt these past four months avoiding him.

  I just have to keep it up and Jackson will be suitably frustrated and, I hope, pissed off. As pissed off as I was when he had the audacity to virtually blank me after that night.

  ‘Two Christmas mojitos coming up, ladies.’

  ‘Perfect! Ain’t that right, Mrs C?’

  ‘Jesus, Cait, you need to stop calling me Mrs C. It makes me feel ancient.’

  ‘Nonsense, tonight you are Mrs Claus and I am your very naughty elf.’

  Okay, so yeah, I do enunciate the last three words and send the retreating Jackson a look over my shoulder, watch him falter mid-stride and give the smallest shake of his head before picking up his pace again. Bullseye.

  ‘Right, Cait, drop the act and spill.’

  I look at Coco with a little wince. ‘Promise not to lose your shit?’

  ‘I’m not promising anything until you’re honest with me.’

  I settle back into my stool. Where do I even start? The fact I’ve kept it from her for months is going to sting and it’s not easy to recall, let alone talk about.

  How does someone go about describing the moment their heart was split in two, for reasons they can’t fathom and not through any fault of their own?

  Not your heart, your ego, my brain rushes in with its wisdom. He rejected you.

  It isn’t quick enough though and I wish Bates would work faster. I need a drink to douse the queasy unease suddenly ripe in my gut. Is that what this is? Heartbreak? Is that why it hurts so goddamn much? Why I’ve felt so lost these past four months and gone on a frenzy, trying to forget?

  Seeing him again—the anger, the pain; none of it can take away from how he still makes me feel.

  I also can’t deny how much I’ve missed him. Missed talking to him. Missed being able to offload. Missed being able to hang out with Ash and Coco and him. Missed him. Just him.

  In spite of everything he did.

  I could put it down to betrayal, to putting
my trust in a friend, to making myself—my entire body—vulnerable to him, only to have him renege on our deal.

  But this goes deeper, deep enough that I’ve not looked at another guy since, let alone had sex.

  ‘Seriously, Cait, you need to explain because you’ve not been yourself for months. No, scrap that, you’ve been yourself dialled up to one thousand and you’ve got Ash and me fretting.’ She lowers her voice to make sure we can’t be overheard by Bates. ‘And for the record, Ash never frets, not about you and certainly not about Jackson, yet low and behold he’s worrying about the pair of you.’

  ‘Look, I’ll tell you, but you have to agree not to be pissed.’

  ‘At who? You?’

  ‘Yes, definitely me.’ I lower my voice. ‘Hell, you can be pissed at Jackson as much as you want. He deserves it.’

  She eyes me and I’d love to say she’s sympathetic, concerned, even. Instead she looks worried and I have the distinct impression it’s not me she’s worrying about.

  ‘Coco?’ I raise my brow at her. ‘Do I need to remind you how long we’ve known each other? Before this...’ I wave a hand around Blacks ‘...before Jackson, or Ash, or any of this.’

  ‘No, of course not, but...’ She can’t even finish her sentence.

  ‘Jackson is a good guy, a nice guy, one of the ones you think you can trust...’ I list.

  ‘Yes.’

  I scoff, but the truth is that her affirmation chimes with everything I once thought of him too and only makes the question rage louder in my brain: why?

  Why leave after such a great night? Why avoid me? Why—just why?

  ‘Here we go, ladies.’

  I turn to see Bates place two drinks down on the bar. So quick? I raise a brow at the two jars with handles, the orange drink set off by red and white candy cane straws, a slice of orange and a star anise floating around with the ice.

  ‘You had this made up already, didn’t you?’

  ‘I may have had some jars at the ready. It is Christmas after all.’

  ‘Ah, you’re a good man.’ It absolutely is...and, while I’m intent on giving Jackson a taste of his own medicine, I’m going to enjoy reminding the Grinch of that fact.