I slipped on the dress then looked at myself in the mirror. Liz was right. The dress was very forgiving. It had a slit up the skirt on one side, but it wasn’t a gratuitous slit, just enough to give a peek when I walked. The dress had long sleeves and an asymmetrical dip down the front, giving a slight suggestion of cleavage.
After borrowing a sparkly clutch and a pair of strappy, sparkly sandals, I was ready for a schmoozefest with the wealthy and powerful of Manhattan.
“Hope you have your wedding-planning business cards,” Liz said as we walked to the elevator.
“Wes isn’t coming?” I asked as she punched the down button.
“He’s meeting us over there.”
At my questioning look, Liz explained, “His aunt wanted him there first thing to greet the donors, and I like to arrive fashionably late. Plus she usually has a briefing session about who’s coming and who they are trying to convince to write a check. Also, I feel kind of bad. He’s been basically waiting on me hand and foot. Last night, I was craving calamari from that restaurant on 75thStreet. Wes drove all the way over there to buy some for me before it closed. Then when he brought it home, something in my stomach was like, ‘Nope, I will barf if I eat this.’ So I made him buy me some caramel ice cream instead.”
* * *
When we arrivedat the venue, Wes seemed as if he would gladly not only drive all over Manhattan but fly anywhere in the world if it would make Liz happy. He kissed her softly when we walked into the glittering ballroom. I felt slightly—well, okay, a lot—jealous. As much as Liz complained, I knew she was happy with her perfect soon-to-be husband, her beautiful home, and her future addition to the family.
I wished I had that. My traitorous brain served me an image on a silver platter of Mark Holbrook, shirtless, gaze smoldering. I ran over that image with a forklift and buried it for good measure. There was no way in wedding hell I was going to even entertain the notion that Mark might be desirable.
He is desirable,I thought as he walked in, looking like a snack in his tux.I’m not admiring him, just admiring the craftsmanship on that tux.It was perfectly tailored, and the fabric was understated but of the highest quality.
And he smells really good.
I made a threatening gesture at my libido as Mark stood there, bored and unsmiling.
“Cheer up!” Carter joked with his brother. “I hear you have a hot date tonight!”
He brought a date?A part of me was hurt.No, I’m just befuddled.
Clearly I was just confused that any woman would want anything to do with a man like Mark.
That was until a tall woman with breasts I knew were fake and red hair that I knew wasn’t real because in reality we had the same color and lips slathered with red lipstick that I knew was even faker than all of the above slunk over like Jessica Rabbit and ran her hands up Mark’s side.
“Are you jealous?” Liz whispered in my ear.
Forget jealousy; I was fucking furious.
What the fuck is my sister doing here?
18
Mark
Istormed back down to my condo after seeing Brea half naked not once but twice.
Why did she come back out?
Why did I stand there like an idiot?
And why was I refusing to admit to myself, even though I knew it was true, that I had actually been hoping she would reappear?
Her tits looked amazing.
I shook myself as I opened my front door. That was not happening.
What, fucking her? Kissing her?
“None of it,” I growled to myself. “None of it is happening ever.”
I looked down at my pants; they had tented slightly.
