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She’d been wrong.
Maybe she was just as wrong to think she could work with Wes and not be affected by his smile. His charm. His incredible body.
Bree shut her eyes and tried not to think of it. Or the way his hard muscles felt beneath her fingertips, both times she ended up in his arms tonight.
Stretching her legs, she reached for the remote and turned on the television.
Focus on the plan, not the man. She silently repeated the words her high-school volleyball coach would recite to her when she got too caught up with the opponent on the other side of the net.
Don’t be fooled by his good looks and charm. Wesley Adams is the enemy.
A frenemy, at the very least. She’d dealt with plenty of those in her career. Had even partnered up with a couple.
Bree closed her eyes and visualized herself facing off against Wes on the volleyball court. As long as she held onto that image, she’d be good. In control of her thoughts and emotions. Her body’s response.
Everything will be fine. She headed back down to the kitchen, repeating the words to herself.
She could do this. But first she needed a bottle of wine. No glass required.
CHAPTER 5
Wes slipped into the passenger seat of Liam’s BMW a few minutes before ten and mumbled his greeting. Despite the comfortable mattress and room-darkening curtains, he would’ve gotten just as much sleep had he slept on a slab of cold concrete below a bustling railroad bridge. At five in the morning he gave up the pointless battle and went for a run on the beach. But his lack of sleep was catching up to him.
“You’re all sunshine and roses this morning, I see.” Liam grinned as he turned out of the parking lot and onto the main road. “Why do I feel there’s a story involving Bree behind your obvious lack of sleep.”
True. Though not in the way his friend was imagining. He’d lain awake last night, his words to Bree and her reaction to them replaying in his head on an endless loop. That was twice he tried to do the right thing where Brianna was concerned, only to have it blow up in his face. A vivid reminder of why he avoided serious relationships. He had a special gift for messing them up. It was a trait he’d gotten from his old man.
When he hadn’t been thinking of Bree, he’d been worried about his mother. When sleep finally came, he dreamed of Bree’s soft, warm, shapely curves stretching those poor yoga pants to their limit. A shiver ran down his spine now thinking of them.
Still, there was no way he’d give his friend the satisfaction of thinking he was right. Sliding his shades down the bridge of his nose, he peered at Liam. “So you admit that inviting Brianna and I both to work on this project was a harebrained attempt at matchmaking?”
“I’ll admit nothing of the sort.” His friend’s voice was insistent, though the edges of his mouth quirked into an involuntary smirk. He cleared his throat and straightened his expression. “You and Bree are the best people for this project. If something more becomes of it—”
“It won’t.”
“Fine.” Liam kept his eyes on the road ahead, another grin sliding across his mouth. “Though some might say the man doth protest too much.”
“Save the Shakespeare bullshit. I’m serious.” Wes sighed, softening his voice as he ran his hands through his hair. “Look, I know you see love and happy endings everywhere you look, now that you and Maya are about to get married. But I’m fine with things the way they are.”
“I used to think that, too.” His friend sported a self-satisfied grin. As if he was in possession of all of the universe’s answers about love. If Wes wasn’t so damn happy for the guy, he’d slap him on the back of his head, Three Stooges-style, and tell him to get a grip.
“I’m not just saying it.” Wes stretched his long legs out and leaned into the headrest, his arms folded over his abdomen. “Not everyone is in search of love. Or even believes it exists.” He muttered the last part under his breath and closed his eyes.
Liam chuckled. “I used to think that, too.”
* * *
Wes brushed crumbs from his navy slacks and pushed the sleeves of his heather gray sweater up his forearms. Though it was mid-February, it was nearly seventy degrees. They had breakfast at the club before hitting the golf course. Despite Liam’s reminder to bring his clubs, Wes left them back in London, hoping they’d skip the links. But Liam was two steps ahead of him. He’d purchased himself a new set of clubs and loaned Wes his old ones.
