Page 53 of The Worst Best Man
“We better get down there,” she said, grabbing a stick of deodorant and her lip gloss and shoving them in her clutch. “I can finish in the elevator.”
She made a dash for the door only to turn around. “Shoes!”
Aiden held up his hand, her sandals dangling from his fingers.
Chapter Twenty-One
The wedding was, despite the events leading up to it, picture perfect.
Well, after Pruitt’s father, R.L. tried to take a swing at Chip when he handed off his daughter to her groom. But besides that, it had been rather nice, Aiden decided.
Pruitt glowed in her gown and didn’t even seem to mind that Chip was wearing an eye patch. A scratched cornea, according to Dr. Erbman, an optometrist who was attending the wedding. The couple said their vows and sealed them with the requisite kiss. It appeared as though all transgressions had been forgiven and everyone was ready to enjoy the party. Everyone except Franchesca.
There was no forgiveness in those blue-green eyes. He’d watched her throughout the ceremony. He tried to put his finger on exactly what it was about Franchesca Baranski that held his attention like a hand closing around his throat. She wasn’t his usual cookie-cutter beauty. She wasn’t refined. And she certainly wasn’t used to high society.
He made sure the women he dated were all of those things. It made it easy, uncomplicated.
There was nothing uncomplicated about Frankie. And she was dismissive about his wealth, something else Aiden wasn’t used to.
But he longed to touch her again. It had been a test of both his and her reactions at Oistins. He’d pushed his luck on the beach at Rockley. But now that he had his answer, there was no way he was giving up the chase. He wanted her under him, naked and begging. Wanted to fist a hand in that curtain of curls and bring her to her knees. There was something dangerous about those desires. He wanted to own her, consume her.
He wanted her to complicate the hell out of things.
He watched her throughout the ceremony. While the other bridesmaids looked bored or practiced the perfect pose for the photographer, Frankie cried tears of sincere joy for her friends and the commitment they were making. She was a romantic, and he knew he’d spoil that in her if he touched her. If he got her to say yes. He wasn’t capable of love or romance. He excelled at winning.
And even with the blood, the bruises, the lack of makeup, Franchesca was a prize worth winning. She outshone the rest of them, all posing like clothes hangers. The same hair, the same makeup, the same drive.
He’d have her, Aiden decided, for purely selfish reasons. She didn’t make sense. She didn’t fit in his life. But he wanted her all the same. He’d have her even if it meant ruining her.
He’d caught her eye during the vows, and the soft happiness in her eyes had shifted to steel. No, she hadn’t forgiven him. Nor should she. However, if that grudge was going to keep her out of his bed, Aiden was willing to grovel to destroy the obstacle.
They spent the rest of the ceremony locked in a staring contest. His focus zeroed in until there was nothing but Frankie, her hair blowing in the breeze, her dress hugging her curves like she were a pin-up.
“Knock. It. Off,” she mouthed to him. He grinned wickedly. Yes, this conquest would be more than satisfying.
When the bride and groom linked arms in celebration and marched down the aisle to the cheers of their audience. Aiden felt the anticipation ratchet up.
And then he was touching her. Frankie stiffly slid her arm through his.
He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a handkerchief. He handed it to her. She frowned down at it. “You soak this in chloroform?” she hissed.
His laugh surprised them both and drew the eyes of the ceremony guests.
“You are one-of-a-kind, Franchesca.”
“Ugh. Let’s get this over with, you steaming pile of shit,” she muttered.
“Smile pretty for the cameras, sweetheart,” he said as they started down the aisle.
“How about I break your nose like I did for your brother?” she offered sweetly, beaming up at him as if he were the most fascinating man in the world.
“Half-brother. And if it gets you to forgive me, my nose is yours.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
They smiled and nodded their way down the white carpet, and Aiden captured her hand with his free one. A photographer darted in front of them, and Aiden squeezed her hand until Frankie pasted on a “fuck you” smile. They grinned at each other. His hand crushing hers, her nails digging into his wrist.
He’d never wanted a woman this badly before in his entire forty years. Not even the voluptuous and unattainable Natalia when he’d been a fifteen-year-old virgin in private school. Two years older than Aiden, Natalia hadn’t remained unattainable, and Aiden hadn’t remained a virgin.
