Beautiful Distraction (5 page)

“I don’t believe you,” Mandy says.

“You should. I really don’t like him. In fact, I can’t stand
him,” I say. “And now drop it. Talking about a guy is getting boring.”

Mandy keeps regarding me with a mixture of puzzlement and
amusement. “You can’t judge a book by its cover.”

“You should have heard him when I arrived,” I utter too low
for her to understand.

“What?”

“If you think he’s so great, you should date him,” I say
instead.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I flirted with him?” she asks,
cocking her head to the side.

I force a careful shrug. “Why would I?”

“Interesting. In that case, maybe I will,” she whispers back
and inches away from me, crossing her long legs in the process.

I shake my head and let out an annoyed sigh.

We barely arrived a minute ago, and she’s already on the
prowl, ready to conquer the next male specimen we’ve come across. Maybe she’ll
flirt with him to get me to ask him out on a date. Or maybe she’ll do it
because she thinks I’m not interested in him. With Mandy, you never know.
Unless you specify loud and clear that the guy is yours, everything is a game
to her.

 
It sure helps
that he’s handsome and not exactly the epitome of hospitality because she likes
a challenge.

He probably won’t be
much of a challenge for her.

And then my gaze settles on the only picture frame in the
room.

It sits on top of the fireplace, mirroring the slow dance of
the flames.

I can’t help that I’m drawn to it like a magnet. With a peek
behind me to make sure he’s not watching us from the doorway, I head over and
lift it up.

My body freezes and my eyes narrow.

Seriously, what did I expect?

I inspect the radiant smiles of a loved-up couple: he’s all
dark hair and brooding eyes, arms wrapped around a blonde with sun-kissed skin
and blue eyes that seem to come alive through the picture.

I don’t know why, but disappointment courses through me. Jealousy
rears its ugly head. The blonde is without a doubt beautiful. Her skin is
glowing, her eyes shimmering. She looks young, carefree, happy. They both do.

I turn around to Mandy and hold up the frame, trying to keep
my voice steady. “He’s off-limits,” I say. “He has a girlfriend. Maybe even a
fiancée or a wife.”

“So what?” Mandy retorts. “You don’t know everything about
men and relationships, Ava. Nothing’s ever off-limits. Besides, we’re not
planning on marrying him, right? And last I checked, I saw no ring on his
finger,” she whispers and turns around, signaling that the conversation’s over.

I shake my head. I know exactly what she’s planning on
doing: adding another notch to her bedpost or forcing me to add one to mine.
She’s had so many, it’s both impressive and time-consuming. Or tiresome.
Whichever way one might want to see it. I’m not a wallflower either, but my
conquests pale in comparison to hers.

“See, cheating’s where I draw the line.”

“What?” Mandy says again after catching my glare. “You can’t
change a cheater, just like a leopard can’t change its spots. That’s nature.” Her
tone sounds resolute, as if she’s made up her mind already.

For some reason, I’m not comfortable with Mandy chasing him,
but I keep my reservations to myself. That’s another beauty of our friendship:
we allow the other to make mistakes, which we call life lessons.

It’s all pretty deep and spiritual.

It’s a thing between us no one else understands.

But the more I think about her kissing him, or anyone’s lips
on him for that matter, the more the thought makes me sick. Why’s that? I don’t
own him. And I sure as hell shouldn’t feel disappointment at the prospect that
he might be seeing someone.

But I do.

“It’s still cheating.” I put the picture frame back on the
mantelpiece and join Mandy, right before Mr. Hot Guy returns with three cups of
steaming liquid that smells of black tea, cane sugar, and—

“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I added a bit of rum to
it,” Mr. Hot Guy says, pushing a hot mug of tea into my hands. My gaze sweeps
over his fingers. No ring. No shadow. Not even the presence of a faint tan line.
For some reason, relief floods through me.

As I grab the mug out of his hand, I cringe at the surge of
pain shooting through my fingers, but I don’t complain, in case he changes his
mind and decides to throw our unwelcome asses out after all.

“Thanks,” I mumble and follow his invitation to take a seat
on the large leather sofa overlooking the fireplace.

I sink into the luxurious cushions and let my gaze slide
over everything and anything but Mr. Hot Guy, who’s taken his seat opposite
from me and seems to regard me with a frown lodged between his brows.

“You look familiar,” he says after taking a gulp of his beverage.

My breath hitches, and I almost choke on my drink. With a
nervous glance at Mandy, I turn my eyes back to him. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sure I’ve seen you before.” His gaze locks with mine in
a strange battle. “I just can’t remember where. Care to refresh my memory?”

What the hell!

Is he suffering from short-term memory loss? Because I’m
pretty sure he recognized me on the porch, so why the question? Taking a deep
breath, I catch the glint in his eyes.

He must be playing
with me.

The sudden knowledge angers me. Mr. Hot Guy is off-limits,
and Mandy isn’t exactly the kind of person you can tell everything without her
wanting to meddle in one’s private affairs. And then there’s his girlfriend.
I’ve no idea what he’s trying to achieve, but I don’t do cheaters. Ever.

Two can play this game.

Planting a fake smile on my lips, I stare him down. “I’m
sure we haven’t. You must be confusing me with someone else.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I have a feeling we’ve met
before. Ford, right?”

“The car?” I shrug. “It’s a popular brand.”

“I’m sure it is.” His eyes lock with mine, forcing me to
keep his heated gaze until I feel myself melting under his scrutiny. “But my feeling’s
never wrong.”

“It is this time.”

“You sure?” he asks.

“You’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“Ava’s driving a white Ford,” Mandy butts in, not really
helping. “Where do you think you met her?”

I lift a hand to stop him before he gets a chance to reply.
“It’s none of your business, so butt out.”

“Whatever.” Mandy shrugs.

“Maybe I am confusing you with someone else,” Mr. Hot Guy
says.

“You are.” I groan inwardly. Not because he’s trying to
expose me so openly in front of my best friend, but because I’m forced to look
at him…and don’t like what I see.

In the indirect light of the fireplace and several table
lamps, he looks magnificent…and oh so intimidating.

He’s beautiful, no doubt about that. His features are
something you usually see on movie posters, and his clothes barely hide the
Adonis body underneath them. But what makes him dangerous material to any
woman’s heart—and panties—are his magnetic eyes.

The kind that whisper sweet promises of nights filled with
endless lust and clutching at the sheets in ecstasy.

The kind that draw you in with no guarantees of a tomorrow.
Or even post-sex breakfast in bed. Come morning, he’ll be gone, carrying your
damp panties in one hand and your heart in the other. His eyes narrow on me,
taking me all in, from head to toe.

“Hmm.” He leans forward, and his knee almost brushes mine.
The gesture is so intimate, I can almost feel his touch on my skin.

Why won’t he just drop it?

Maybe he really has no idea where we’ve met.

Irritated, I turn away, sipping on my cup of tea and burning
my tongue in the process because I don’t know what else to do with myself.

“I don’t think
we
have met,” Mandy says. “I never forget a face, and most certainly not someone
like you. I’m Mandy, and this is Ava. We’re from New York, by the way.” She
points her hand at me and leans forward, her ample bust on full display.

“Kellan Boyd,” Mr. Hot Guy says, ignoring her attempt at
flirting.

Kellan?

I fight the sudden urge to say his name out loud, just to
hear what it sounds like on my tongue.

I lean back and deliberately turn away from him as I watch
Mandy’s reaction.

Her whole posture’s changed. She looks kind of agitated. Is
that shock etched in her features?

But why?

“Did you just say Boyd?” she asks slowly. “Like the Boyd
brothers?”

Licking her lips, she crosses one leg over the other and
brushes a strand of blond hair out of her face. The gesture is so innocent and
yet provocative I almost cringe. She peers at me meaningfully, like I’m
supposed to understand something major. I shrug my shoulders at her.

Does she know him?

Am
I
supposed to
know who he is? Because I sure as hell have no clue.

Do you know who I am?

I remember his question. I didn’t know the answer then, and
I sure as fuck don’t know it now, so I shoot Mandy a questioning look.

“The Boyd brothers own a string of nightclubs,” Mandy
explains to me in an excited whisper.

“That would be my brother, Cash. I’m just an investor,”
Kellan says coolly and raises his eyebrows. “What’s someone from NYC doing
around here?”

He’s an investor.

I barely have time to digest the news before Mandy opens her
mouth. “We’re going to—”

“A road trip.” I shoot her a venomous look that instantly
shuts her up. As much as I love Mandy, I will
not
give off the impression that I’m in Montana to visit a stupid
gig. And most certainly not that I’m a fan, and most certainly not a groupie,
no matter how many chicks out there think Mile High’s great.

Mandy replies with a shrug, as though it’s something we do
all the time, “Montana’s always been at the top of my places to see before I
die.”

Which is a blatant lie, but out of her mouth, it comes so
smoothly even I almost believe her.

“Really?” Mr. Hot Guy—Kellan—doesn’t sound too
convinced. “Judging from your shoes, I would have thought Club 69 was more your
ambience.”

His statement sounds more accusatory than nonchalant. If I
were Mandy, I’d feel insulted by the fact that he thinks he can judge me by the
shoes I’m wearing. She might be more the urban type, and Club 69
is
her ambience, but she has a huge
heart for animals and the environment. She’s definitely not some airhead. It’s
not something a nice guy would imply, but to my astonishment, Mandy just laughs
and lets his comment slide.

Wait a sec!

What the fuck did he just say?

It takes a second or two for the penny to drop. I spin my
head so quickly, a surge of pain shoots through my neck. I narrow my eyes to
regard him, ignoring the fact that he’s staring at me with the same irritating
frown on his face.

Club 69.

Mandy said the Boyd brothers own a string of nightclubs. His
name is Kellan Boyd and he’s an investor. I might be jumping to conclusions,
but that sounds like he’s an investor in his brother’s club.

Which would explain why he was driving away from the club on
a Friday evening rather than arriving to party the night away.

I bite my lip hard, unsure how to respond.

Kellan keeps staring at me, one brow raised, as though he’s
waiting for my confirmation that I know who he is. But it’s obvious from the
knowing look in his magnetic eyes that he doesn’t need it. Maybe it’s a test to
see whether I realize that he’s half-famous or something. His oversized ego
probably demands that every woman on this planet know his name and pant it in
her sleep. I may not know him, but the two encounters we’ve had so far have led
me to draw my own conclusions of the kind of person he is.

Bedroom perfection.

Arrogant prick.

Every woman has
that
one guy she’d like to fuck.

Well, he’s mine. In my fantasies, that is.

However, I can’t deal with someone like him. He’s too
confident. Too sexy. Too experienced. And he’ll see right through the fact that
I’m deeply, truly, madly attracted to him, even though he’s absolutely not the
kind of man I’d ever go for.

Ever.

I don’t want him to know that I couldn’t stop thinking about
him.

“Do you like your drink?” he asks. His eyes are on me. It’s
clear the question is directed at me.

“It’s good,” I say.

The sudden change in topic has made me wary. My tone doesn’t
escape Mandy. Her gaze shifts from Kellan to me and then back to him, the big
proverbial question mark etched on her forehead. It’ll only be a matter of time
before she sees the connection, and when she realizes he’s the guy I told her
about, she won’t be able to keep her mouth shut.

“I’m a huge fan of Club 69, by the way,” Mandy says. “I
visited the new opening three months ago.”

“You did. Was she there, too?” Kellan asks with a glint of
amusement in his eyes.

“No!” I exclaim.

“Yes,” Mandy says in that same moment, adding, “she drove
me.”

“Makes sense. That’s why I remember her.” Kellan’s smile
turns into a grin. “She looks just like someone whose car bumped into mine.”

I choke on my drink.

He can’t be serious!

“Really?” Mandy chimes in, giving me her you-didn’t-tell-me
glare. Slowly, she leans forward in mock interest. “She didn’t mention—”

That he’s so hot.

I can almost see the thought written across her forehead.

“She didn’t mention my new Lamborghini?” Kellan cuts her
off. His tone carries the annoying hint of fake surprise.

Mandy’s jaw drops. “You drive a Lamborghini?”

“Mandy, you’re not helping,” I mutter.

“I do.” Kellan nods, his eyes not leaving mine. “It cost me
a few bucks to repair the chip she caused.”

“A few hundred?” Mandy’s gaze is going back and forth
between Kellan and me.

 
“A few
thousand,” Kellan says coolly. “But it’s okay. It was worth it because I got to
meet her.”

For a moment, I’m stunned and actually believe his
words…until his gaze oh so innocently brushes my chest and settles there for
way too long.

I wish I could slap his stupid grin right off his face, but
instead, I find myself strangely breathless.

 
“Oh, my God,”
Mandy suddenly exclaims. “That’s why you mentioned Club 69. You’re—” Her
voice breaks off mid-sentence as her gaze sweeps from me to Kellan and then
back to me.

I shake my head, a warning look in my eyes.