To Have And To Hold: The Wedding Belles Book 1 (16 page)

Well, except for stopping his sister’s asinine plan to marry this Neil character. But that’s what he had Brooke Baldwin for. He knew that Brooke thought she was in the right about Neil, and he had every intention of proving her wrong.

“Mr. Tyler?”

Seth turned toward the sound of the soft, familiar voice, and for a second he forgot all about why he’d called her here. Forgot about Neil and his sister and the fucking wedding.

There
was only her, as she was, standing there in a slim-fitting blue dress that perfectly matched her eyes, her slim calves tapering down into dangerously sexy fuck-me heels.

And suddenly, he knew exactly what Etta meant about him not being alive.

Not until now. Not until this minute.

Or at least the bottom half of him was.

Shit, he hadn’t had a boner this unprovoked since puberty. The woman was just standing there, and all he could think about was sliding his hand under that dress and finding out if her ass was as perfect as it looked.

He was betting yes.

Fuuuuuuuck
, this was inconvenient.

“I’m really sorry I’m late,” she said, coming into his office and looking sweetly frazzled. “I was with Maya, and then we were going to be done with the shopping, but then there was wine, and she decided she wanted to go to the appointments after all, only we’d missed the appointments, so they had to squeeze us in, but it took a while, and—”

He shook his head. “It’s fine.”

She gave a crooked smile. “You looked mad when I walked in.”

Horny. Fucking horny.

He shrugged. “That’s just my face.”

She burst out laughing. “Well, that’s good to know. Here I’ve been thinking I just always bring out the worst in you.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s not true,” he said, walking past her to shut the door to his office.

She
looked at him in surprise. “I thought we were going to dinner?”

Yeah, well, that was before I realized I couldn’t be around you without getting a fucking hard-on.

Of course, he wasn’t at all sure that them being alone in his office was the right solution, either, but he felt like he couldn’t even think, and he needed a moment to clear his head.

A moment he wouldn’t get when they left the quiet of his office.

“I thought we might have a drink first,” he said. “But if you’re hungry, we can get going.”

“No! No, I’m . . . a drink would be nice. And a chance to sit down. I had a half glass with Maya, but it wasn’t nearly enough to prepare me for the world of New York bridal shops.”

“Different from Los Angeles?” he asked.

“Yes. LA is certainly intense in its own way, but vendors over there at least pretend to be chill about things.”

“No such thing as chill in Manhattan,” Seth said, walking to the left side of his office, where he kept a few bottles of wine and liquor alongside his precious espresso machine.

“Yes, I’m learning that,” Brooke said.

He glanced back in time to see her sinking into the leather couch against one wall of his office with a little sigh and rubbing her temple, and he realized that all of her talk about the stress of the afternoon wasn’t just small talk, and he had the uncomfortable urge to comfort her, even though he’d never been good at any of that.

“What
can I get you?” he asked. “Martini? Wine?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she said, still rubbing her temple.

Seth poured vodka into two crystal tumblers, topping them both with tonic and a lime wedge.

She smiled in thanks as he walked over to the couch and handed her the drink. Their fingers brushed, and for a second their eyes met and held before she glanced down. Tempting as it was to sit next to her, Seth forced himself to sit in the side chair.

Not nearly close enough, but with the added benefit of being able to better see her.

Get a grip Tyler, you’re acting like a stalker.

She took a sip of the drink and then closed her eyes in gratitude. “It’s almost wrong how right this vodka tastes right now.”

“How’s the head?”

Her eyes opened and her nose scrunched. “Huh?”

“You were rubbing your temple. Headache?”

“Oh, just the beginnings of one,” she said, rolling her neck a bit. “But I think it’s on its way out rather than its way in. It feels good to sit.” Then she laughed. “You must think I’m ridiculous. A wedding planner who can’t handle an afternoon of dress shopping.”

Seth smiled. “You forget that I’ve been shopping with Maya. I’m pretty well-versed in the headache and cocktails that follow.”

She smiled back even as she shook her head. “It’s not your sister. Truly. She’s great. It’s more getting used to this city. Manhattan looks so small and orderly on a map, but it’s not, is it?”

He smiled into his drink. “Definitely not.”

“You
like it here?” she asked.

“Love it,” he said without hesitation. “But, that’s not to say I don’t feel the need to get away sometimes.”

“Do you? Get away, I mean?”

“Not as often as I’d like, although I do have a vacation home on the coast of North Carolina.”

“No Hamptons beach house for you?”

“Nah. When I want to get away, I want to get all the way away. The Hamptons scene is a little too happening for me.”

“Shocking, what with you being so social and all,” she said with a wink.

Seth felt a little surge of satisfaction at the playfulness in her tone. While her words were as tart as ever, he didn’t think it was his imagination that some of the antagonism between them seemed to have faded.

Brooke reached down and surreptitiously ran a finger over the arch of that damn sexy stiletto-clad foot. Seth gave her a knowing look. “You can take them off, you know.”

“Oh gosh no,” she said, sounding horrified at the prospect.

“Ms. Baldwin, you can’t tell me those five-inch spikes are comfortable.”

“Of course they’re not,” she muttered. “But I certainly can’t take them off around someone who calls me Ms. Baldwin.”

“All right, then,” he said, his voice coming out low and gruff as he held her eyes in challenge. “You can take them off.
Brooke
.”

S
INCE WHEN
HAD A
man suggesting she remove her very stylish, very expensive, very uncomfortable shoes become just about the biggest turn-on in her adult life?

Since now, apparently.

Because when Seth Tyler was looking at her with those ice-blue eyes, and her name—her first name—on those lips, Brooke wanted to take off a hell of a lot more than her shoes.

She bit her lip and took another sip of her drink. “I really—no, I’m fine.”

He nodded once, setting his drink on a small end table. She assumed he was going to drop the topic, but to her utter surprise, he slowly bent forward, and, slipping a hand around her calf, he pulled her leg gently forward, just enough so that he could ease the shoe off.

The cramped bones in her toes immediately sighed in relief, but even as her foot relaxed, the rest of her went on high alert.

Seth
reached for her other leg, not meeting her eyes as he repeated the same motion with the other foot. Only when both shoes were carefully set aside did his gaze lock with hers, and Brooke’s breath caught, not just at the warmth in his eyes, although there was plenty of that.

No, what made her heart beat just a touch faster was the shyness there. It told her that the boldness was uncharacteristic of him, and she felt . . . damn it. She felt a wave of tenderness.

Her smile felt tremulous. “A bit of a reverse-Cinderella thing we have going on here,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Reverse indeed,” he said, seeming relieved at her response. “Since I’m no prince.”

“You sure about that?” Brooke said as she made a sweeping gesture at his office. “Because if where you work looks this much like a palace, I can’t even imagine where you must live.”

Seth sat back in his chair and reached once again for his drink as though they hadn’t had a moment more akin to a couple that had been together for years rather than business acquaintances who’d known each other for a few days.

He grinned a little evilly. “Ms. Baldwin, are you trying to wrangle an invitation to my home?”

They were back to Ms. Baldwin, then. That was okay though. He could call her whatever he wanted as long as he kept smiling at her all friendly and familiar like that.

“Where do you live?” she asked, taking advantage of the rare easy mood between them.

He
glanced down at his drink. “My dad was big into real estate. Maya and I inherited a few properties around the city.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“That’s because I hate this question.” Seth blew out a little breath. “Okay, fine. I live in one of my hotels.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Seth blinked. “You don’t think it’s . . . cold, or impersonal?”

Brooke laughed and took a sip of her drink, pulling her feet up beneath her on the couch before she could think better of it. She felt a little stab of embarrassment, but reversing the gesture would be even more awkward, so she decided to just roll with it in the name of comfort.

“No, not really. I mean, do you like living there?” she asked.

He chewed a piece of ice thoughtfully. “Nobody’s ever asked me that before.”

“Dude, you need to get some new friends,” she said. “You seem to know a lot of people who either don’t like where you live or don’t care.”

He winced, and Brooke immediately regretted her words. She’d meant them jokingly, but obviously it had struck a nerve. “I didn’t mean—”

Seth held up a hand. “Don’t apologize. Please. And you’re right. I do need some new friends, probably. As far as whether or not I like where I live . . . I do. I don’t know that I want to live there forever. Or even next year. But where I’m at in my life right now, I like the convenience of it. I’m close to the office, I can get room service whenever I want . . .”

“And
you own the building,” she said.

“Yes, there are perks to the job,” he said.

They were both silent for a moment, and Brooke let herself relax into the quiet.

Finally, however, she realized they probably couldn’t put off the inevitable, and she reached into her bag for her planner. “So, let’s talk wedding, shall we?”

He groaned. “Do we have to?”

Brooke glanced up, startled. “This was your idea, Mr. Tyler.”

“I know,” he said, draining the rest of his drink. “And at the time, it seemed like a good one. Hell, it’s still a good one. I want—need—to know what’s going on with Maya, but with you all curled up on my sofa with your shoes off, I find that it’s not what I want to be talking about at the moment.”

Brooke’s belly flipped at his words—at the picture he painted.

And even more so because he looked embarrassed by the admission.

“What do you want to be talking about?” she said, her voice a little bit lower than she was used to hearing it.

He nodded at her drink. “Another?”

She glanced down. “I better not. I haven’t eaten much today, so I should probably wait to get some food in me.”

“Is that a hint that you’re ready to get going?”

Brooke didn’t think she was misreading the regret in his voice, and she definitely wasn’t misreading
what her own instincts were telling her: that she was in no hurry to leave whatever was happening here, despite the fact that every inch of her knew it was a bad, bad idea.

“Not at all,” she said softly.

He leaned forward again, his face taking on that slightly urgent look that she suspected he must get before closing a big deal.

“Would it be out of line to suggest that we eat here?” Seth asked.

“Here? In your office?”

He nodded. “We could order in. Sushi, Italian, whatever you want. Unless of course you’d prefer something less . . .”

Intimate
, she silently finished.

“If you want to go out, I’ve made reservations at a few places so we had options. I wasn’t sure what your tastes in restaurants are.”

“You, or your assistant?” she said with a smile.

“Me. Etta doesn’t manage my personal life.”

She tilted her head. “But this is a business dinner, isn’t it, Mr. Tyler?”

He smiled. “Well, it certainly feels like it when you continue calling me Mr. Tyler.”

She glanced away. She couldn’t call him Seth. Not yet. It was bad enough that she was barefoot, curled up on his couch, debating eating dinner just the two of them, in his cozy office, with nobody around, no audience to ensure they kept their distance.

“I can call the car around,” he said gruffly, misunderstanding her silence.

“No!”
she said, holding out a hand. “Please don’t. The thought of putting those shoes back on . . . I’m not ready. Staying in sounds great.”

They both knew the shoes were an excuse, but he didn’t call her out for it. “One of my favorite Italian places in the city knows me. They’ll be here in thirty if I ask them to.”

“I’m betting everyone in the city knows you,” she said dryly. “But Italian sounds great. I pretty much like it all, so whatever you think are their best dishes, go crazy.”