The Supermodel's Best Friend (A Romantic Comedy) (36 page)

Miles put Huntley down and gave him a final
whack on the shoulder for good measure. He deserved to be happy,
the little rich dude.

“He’s about to ruin his life,” Huntley said
to Alex. “We need to keep him away from Lucy until he sobers
up.”

Alex and Krista looked at each other for a
long moment. “I don’t think we can interfere,” Alex said
finally.

“Hah! See there?” Miles patted Alex on the
shoulder. “Finally came around, huh? Good man. First time you’ve
minded your own business since I’ve met you.”

Huntley put a hand on his other arm. “Please.
Start an argument with him. Distract him. Just a few minutes until
I can find Fawn so she can take over.”

Alex stepped back and put an arm around
Krista. “I don’t feel like arguing with anybody.”

“You owe me this, Alex,” Huntley said. “The
last night of my life as a single man, I wanted a burger and you
made me eat seaweed. This is my price.”

“I heard the sushi was fantastic,” Krista
said.

“He can eat there on your wedding night.
Right now I need you to stop Miles from scaring the shit out of
Lucy,” Huntley said.

Miles grinned and patted his chest. “Too
late.” He turned his attention to Alex and Krista. Handsome couple.
Easy to be happy for them, too. He could forgive them for publicly
displaying their affection. Though it might make Lucy a little
depressed to face the obvious collapse of her theoretical
engagement, he’d be right there comforting her. Like, soon. With
his body.

That was his mistake yesterday; he should’ve
seduced her first. Wore out her defenses. She was a passionate
creature, a woman with needs. He’d exploit every weakness to get
through to her.

“I’m sorry, Huntley,” Alex said as Miles
strode past him. Lucy’s bright head had disappeared in the crowd.
“I can go look for Fawn if you like.”

Miles didn’t hear whatever was said after
that.

She was only ten feet away. Her back was to
him, but there was no mistaking the red curls. Her hourglass shape.
The fantastic ass. He recognized a mole on her left shoulder,
delightfully exposed by the open neckline of her bridesmaid dress.
She’d giggled when he kissed her there that night in the
B&B.

The cravings in his heart, inflamed by other
more earthy feelings, became a physical ache. He needed to get her
alone.

She was dancing with a touchy-feely jerk with
big teeth. Miles fisted his hands. You weren’t supposed to grope
your dance partner during Top 40. Lady Gaga wasn’t a fucking
waltz.

He put a hand on the other man’s
shoulder.

“Hey!” The guy flinched under the contact, as
if Miles had broken his collarbone.

What a wimp.
Miles bit back a smile.
“May I cut in?”

The guy frowned. “What?”

“It’s not that kind of dance,” Lucy said.

He hooked an arm around her waist and swept
her up against him. “It is now.” Ah, that was better. He ducked his
head to smell her hair. So right, so nice. He didn’t move his feet.
Not everyone was a dancer.

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re beautiful.” He ran his hand down her
back, savoring her curves. “Lucy.”

“That’s me,” she muttered into his chest.

He nibbled her ear. Licked the pearls along
the lobe.

She jerked free, glancing around at the
crowd. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Why is everyone so interested in my fluid
intake?”

“Gee, I wonder.” She gave an apologetic smile
to the guy with big teeth before walking away from both of them.
With a single glance over her shoulder at Miles that he couldn’t
read, but set his heart pounding.

She’s afraid to admit how much she wants
you.

“You look like you need company,” a silky
voice said in his ear as a hand slipped under his jacket. “What’s
the matter, Miles, didn’t she want to keep you either?”

Distracted by Lucy, Miles hadn’t seen her
coming. Her heat-seeking, pointy fingers twisted under his
cummerbund like an invasive plant. Even with him swatting at her
skinny arms, she just wiggled closer.

“Not now, Heather.”

She went up on her toes. “Good point. Too
many witnesses. Tonight then?”

She had to be kidding. Or deranged. They were
surrounded by all kinds of people she probably knew through her
marriage or her shallow, plastic, manipulative life. Holding
himself as still as a rock—or as close to it as he could get, given
how buzzed he was—Miles let her paw and squeeze him while he did
nothing at all.

She just wants the attention.
Being
with children all day had taught him a lot. Some people just wanted
to get a rise out of you. What they hated most was to be
ignored.

So he stared off into space and mustered up a
yawn while Heather felt him up. Even when her bony pelvis began
rubbing up against his hip.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work. She kept at
it, even moving her hand down to squeeze his ass. “I’m so glad
you’ve stopped fighting it, sweetie,” she purred.

She was a bully. A tease.
Somebody should
call her bluff.

He grabbed the hand on his butt and pressed
it down on his cock. When she tried to pull away, he mashed his
mouth against hers.

She went rigid underneath him, not enjoying
his play at all. He released her with a sense of triumph.

But then he saw his father’s face across the
dance floor. Lips in a flat line, his eyes wide, Alan Girard stared
at his wife and son groping each other and didn’t move. As still as
the archway over his head.

And then turned and walked away.

* * *

Lucy saw Miles’s father walk past the DJ onto
the gravel path that led to the garden. The anguish on his face was
clear from the other side of the dance floor.

She went after him. What had Miles been
thinking? Pushed too far, apparently. Lucy saw the way Heather had
attacked him. Obvious to everyone around that her come-on was
unwanted. More a parody than anything.

And yet… Lucy had felt jealous. Even knowing
how Miles felt about his stepmother, knowing he would’ve rather
punched the lady than kissed her, she felt jealous.

How can you throw me away?

She ran after Alan Girard, telling herself
she had an idea of how he was hurting. If Miles had been off his
rocker enough to kiss Heather, God knew what he might say to his
father. And at this moment, it would ruin everything between
them.

“Mr. Girard!” she called.

He was stepping onto a brick-in-sand path
toward a formal herb garden. Rosemary and lavender were clipped
into short, overlapping rectangles, punctuated with globes of
boxwood every few feet.

He turned around, frowning. Then he seemed to
recognize her, because he sighed and ducked his head. “Excuse me.
I’m not feeling well. I just need a moment alone.”

“Forgive me, but—it wasn’t what you think. It
was all… for show. Not what it seemed.”

He smiled tightly. “Lucy, right?”

She nodded.

“It was exactly what I think,” he said.

“No, please. Listen. It means so much to him
that you… believe him. He wants you in his life.”

He just stared down at her.

It may have been wrong for her to intrude,
but she couldn’t stand by and do nothing. If anything she said
could help Miles reconnect with his dad, she had to try. “Please
give him a chance to explain. Don’t let—” She stopped herself, not
wanting to attack a person’s spouse, no matter how loathsome.
“Don’t let another decade go by without talking to one
another.”

His eyebrows went up. “You think—ah, of
course.” He managed a weak smile and put a heavy hand on her
shoulder. “I hope Miles appreciates you. Tell him I said that.” He
started to leave.

“Wait. Please. I think—”

He turned around. Whatever else Lucy was
going to say died on her lips as she looked into gray eyes so much
like his son’s. But these eyes were watery, broken, sad. She was
struck by a vision of Miles sinking this low years from now, with
an estranged son, a failed marriage.

Never. He should never look like this.

“It would be wrong to give up again,” she
said finally, softly.

His thick, silvery brows came down over his
eyes. “No,” he said, rising up to his full height and looking past
her, the grief in his eyes morphing into fury. “It would be just
right.”

Poor Miles.
She twirled around,
prepared to separate the two men by any means necessary until
they’d cooled down.
Pigheaded, stupid men!
Both had shown
how long they could carry a grudge.

But it wasn’t Miles behind her.

“Would you leave us, Lucy?” Alan said.

“Is she trying to give her boyfriend an
alibi?” Heather said, tiptoeing her heels over the brick path. “How
cute. Or is she trading up? Think there’s a job opening coming up,
honey?”

Lucy glanced at Alan. He watched Heather
approach, his jaw clenched. Twitching.

He’s through with
her
,
Lucy
realized
. Not Miles.

“I need to get back to the reception,” Lucy
said quietly.

Neither of them watched her go, weaving
around the tufts of thyme growing through the cracks underfoot on
her way to find Miles.

He had to reach his father before Heather
did.

Where had he gone? Trying to get through the
crowd on the dance floor without hurting anyone took time and grace
Miles didn’t have at the moment.

Ducking through an archway, he strode down
the tiled great room of the half-restored villa. A handful of women
lined up near a doorway suggested a bathroom. Other people lounged
in a sitting area, laughing and drinking, while the music from
outside blared through the open windows.

Not inside. Maybe the garden.

He strode out another door that led to a
covered patio, where the cake was set up on an enormous table
against the wall. Stone steps led down to the garden out the
back.

Just as he passed the cake, Lucy popped into
view. She was coming from the garden, jogging as if in a track suit
and not a pink silk dress that reached her ankles. She still had
flowers in her hair, though they bounced wildly with each step,
sliding down over her vivid green eyes.

Damn, she’s beautiful,
he thought,
stopping to stare.

As much as he wanted to talk—touch—be with
her, he had to get to his father first. Who knew what Heather was
saying?

He ducked his head, prepared to plow past
her.

“Miles, stop!” She put both hands on his
chest, short of breath, upset. “Don’t.”

She’d probably seen him with Heather, just as
his father had.

Good.

He froze, stunned by the thought.
You
idiot. Were you hoping she’d be jealous? Because you kissed your
stepmother?

“I know, I know,” he told her, disgusted with
himself but pulling away from her. “I’m so sorry. I suck, I really
do and all that, but right now I’ve got to stop Heather from
talking to my dad before I can explain.”

“No!” She grabbed his arms. As if she had the
strength to overpower a man his size. “You have to wait. He
understands.”

“He thinks he does—”

“I was just there. With him. And Heather.”
She sucked in a breath. “I think this is it. He’s through with
her.”

Her confidence brought him no comfort. “She
won’t let him.”

“He’s really angry this time, Miles. I saw it
in his eyes.”

“Since when are you an expert on my
father?”

Lips flattening, she moved back an inch but
kept her grip on his arms. “Give him a chance.” She squeezed. “Just
a few minutes. They need to hash this out in private.”

“He saw what I did—”

“And so did I. You lost your temper. That’s
all.”

He gaped at her. “You freaked out when I
wanted to punch Alex, but it’s okay if I sexually assault my
stepmother?” He pulled free. Of all the times to get drunk and
stupid. Major donors to youth charities would be at weddings like
this. He could lose everything, pulling stunts like that, no matter
the context. Grabbing a woman and forcing himself on her. “If I
hadn’t looked up and seen my father, who knows how far I would have
taken it?”

She snorted. “Obviously, since you were
raging with lust, you were just about to pull out your penis and
make love to her.” She whacked him on the chest. “Give me a break.
You kissed her. You pushed her away. Next thing you’d do, my dear,
would involve high-tailing it for higher ground.”

He studied her. She was laughing. At him.
“You’re not angry?”

“Of course not.”

A weak part of himself suggested it was
impossible to make her jealous because she just didn’t care that
much. “Why not?”

“It was like watching little kids fighting.
Some name-calling, a push here, a push there. I was waiting for the
hair-pulling to start.” She reached up and straightened his tie, a
small smile on her face. “Nobody—I mean nobody—could’ve thought
that was a moment between lovers.”

“I saw my dad. He was furious.”

“With her, Miles. With her.”

He wanted to believe her. Slowly, some of the
tension drained out of him. He became aware of her closeness. The
sweet smell of the flowers in her hair.

What difference could a few minutes make,
anyway?

“I was chasing after you when Heather jumped
me.” He stepped close, sliding his hand behind her neck. “So
actually, this is all your fault.”

“Nice try.” Her mouth was a flat line, but
her eyes danced. And she didn’t pull away.

* * *

This could get risky, living in the
moment,
she thought.

He leaned down and lightly brushed his lips
across her temple. “Did you have any champagne? I’ll get you a
glass. Two. They’re small.”