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Chapter One
Stella
“You’re ignoring your date. Again.” I nudge my friend Bonnie, as she takes the empty seat beside me for the third time during this wedding reception.
“I could say the same for you, Stella,” Bonnie retorts, staring pointedly at Greg, my own date, who is way across the room with a group of guys, laughing and arguing over something.
The man is great for booty calls, he’s just not the attentive date type, which works for me.
Although the bride and groom have long disappeared, the party shows no signs of slowing down with music from the string quartet blending into the laughter and chatter.
I take a deep breath and the smell of the white roses I’d splurged on hit me again, drawing my attention to the large arrangements on each table. The dent in my savings is so worth it.
I release my breath on a contented sigh, glad that the day turned out even better than I’d hoped. “I’m the maid of honor, Bonnie, I’m busy.”
Well, I was busy. Not anymore though. Now that Brooke and Xavier have finally jetted off on their honeymoon, people are starting to really let their hair down, moving between tables and indulging in food, wine and lively conversation.
I turn to Bonnie, “What’s your own excuse for leaving Sam by himself? You said he was ‘great arm candy’ when you met him three hours ago.” I air quote, mimicking her.
“Yeah, he is, nothing wrong there.” Bonnie pinches her thumb and index finger together and squints, “He’s just a tad boring.”
I notice however, that Bonnie isn’t looking at her date when she says that last part. Instead, she’s glaring daggers into the back of Ethan’s head.
“Besides,” Bonnie continues, no doubt satisfied that she has now annihilated Ethan with her laser gaze, “Sabrina’s keeping him company.” She nods to where Sabrina, our other friend, smiles then shakes Sam’s hand before sauntering away.
“Nope, Sabrina’s not keeping him company. She’s just offered the man a modeling job at her gallery.”
Bonnie reaches out and plucks a white rose from the confection on the table. “At least he landed himself a gig. What’s there to complain about?”
My response gets snatched out of me because the bane of my existence, the best man of this wedding, Ryan Fairchild, leaves the group of men at the back of the room and starts to walk toward our table.
I don’t plan to stare, my eyes just aren’t taking instructions to look away. And it seems I’m not the only one with that particular problem. A few heads are turning around the room. The man moves like a panther – sleek and arresting.
I’d love to see his family photos because, damn, if those aren’t good genes.
Easily one of the tallest men in the room, he’s broad and muscular, but in a way that makes his overall look graceful rather than overpowering. With sandy blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and a jaw that seems hewn out of granite, Ryan Fairchild is one hell of a show-stopper, a fact that is, unfortunately, not lost on him.
Bonnie pretends to fan herself. “That man is smoking hot. Quick, Stella,” she passes me a napkin, “catch the drool leaking out the side of your mouth before he gets here!”
I can’t help the answering laugh that bubbles out of me, which is the last thing Ryan’s overinflated ego needs. A couple of grown-ass women giggling like teenagers because he’s on his way over.
I tear my eyes away from him to face Bonnie. “Yes, I’m sure the whole of Manhattan’s womenfolk would agree he’s quite something to look at, but that’s where the appeal ends, isn’t it?”
Unfortunately, for me, it’s not. I’m intrigued by him. And I hate that he gets to me easily. That I always seem to do whatever he tells me, and while I won’t admit this on the pain of death, those nights I’m seeking relief from my own fingers, it’s always his face I see when I’m tumbling over the waves of ecstasy.
But more than anything, it’s his smile I can’t get over. The blinding smile that never reaches his cold blue eyes. Its playful edge draws me in, yet there’s something equally chilling about that smile.
“Sorry to burst your bubble,” Bonnie laughs again then takes a sip of my champagne. “But he’s packing a lot more than looks. He’s got a name that swings all kinds of doors wide open—and slams them shut. We’re talking old money here.”
Although you couldn’t tell by speaking to the guy just how wealthy he is. You’d be too busy trying not to poke him with something sharp out of sheer irritation. “Ugh. Well, I can’t stand him. And the feeling is mutual.”
“Hell no, not with the way he looks at you. Sabrina and I think he likes you, Stella. Maybe you could try to be a bit nicer.”
I roll my eyes, dropping my voice to a whisper and speaking faster as Ryan gets nearer. “Bonnie, he looks at every female like they’re juicy game and he’s the hunter. He probably has women falling all over him with that well-practiced smolder.”
Bonnie snorts into her drink. “Hey, pot, meet kettle.”
“I’m so not like him,” I say with a dismissive wave.
