CHAPTER ONE
Mason Carlisle sucked in a bracing breath of icy cold air, and then, ignoring the heavy pool of dread that settled in his stomach, stepped into Ralphie’s Pub. A wall of humidity and noise slammed into him and stole the clean air from his lungs in an instant. He hadn’t set foot in this place in over a year; it wasn’t really his scene. Not anymore.
“Hey, Mason. Long time, buddy. What can I get for you?” the heavyset bartender said as Mason sat down at the end of the bar. Mason dipped his head in greeting and cast a glance around the unusually full local pub. He couldn’t recall ever seeing the place this busy before, and he wondered what the occasion was.
“Just a beer, thanks, Ralphie,” he said. “It’s really pumping in here tonight.”
“Yeah, hey? A hen party.” Ralphie pointed his double chins toward a corner of squealing, giggling women, and Mason frowned. Ralphie’s wasn’t the sort of place to attract hen parties—or women, for that matter—so their choice of venue was perplexing to say the least.
“Who’s getting married?” Mason asked, running a hand over his stubbled jaw, absently noting the need for a shave. He wasn’t particularly interested in Ralphie’s answer but was killing time until his brother, Spencer, showed up.
“Andrew McGregor’s girl, the pretty one. Marrying some fancy rich guy.”
The local veterinarian, Andrew McGregor, had three daughters, and just about every guy in high school—Mason included—had had a crush on the pretty one, Dahlia. Daffodil, the cute, older one, had been in Mason’s class. He recalled her being obnoxious and sarcastic. He didn’t really remember much else about her or the other, youngest one.
Mason didn’t particularly care to dwell on McGregor’s girls right now; he was more interested in where the hell his brother was. Spencer had begged Mason to join him at Ralphie’s and now couldn’t be bothered to show up on time. If not for the fact that Spencer was going through a rough spot after his separation from his long-time girlfriend, Tanya, Mason would have ditched his ass and headed home. He had a dog that needed walking, a six-pack that wanted drinking, and a classic eighties action movie to watch.
Yeah, all things considered, he’d much rather be at home.
A scandalized squeal coming from the corner had him swiveling his head instinctively to the rowdy crowd of women just in time to see a huge green dildo being passed around.
“Seriously? That thing looks like the Hulk’s cock. Talk about placing unrealistic expectations on a guy. I hope her groom can compete.” Spencer’s voice came from behind him, and Mason turned to glare at his brother.
“You’re late,” he groused.
“Yeah, sorry,” Spencer said, rubbing his hand tiredly over the nape of his neck. “A couple of tourists came in for some hiking equipment. It was a big sale; I couldn’t just close up shop.” Spencer owned a successful sporting goods store in the center of town.
“So why’d you want to meet?” Mason asked, cutting to the chase as he took a thirsty pull from his beer. “It sounded urgent.”
“It is . . . I need a favor, Mase.” His brother looked so damned serious that Mason sat up straight, alarmed.
“Anything,” he promised, somewhat rashly.
“They’re having Lia McGregor’s hen party here tonight,” Spencer pointed out unnecessarily, and Mason spared an impatient glance at the gaggle of giggling women before slanting his gaze back to his brother.
“Get to the point, will you?” he prompted, and Spencer shrugged.
“That kind of is the point,” he muttered, his voice so low Mason barely heard it above the chatter of the crowd and the overloud laughter of the women in the corner.
“I want to spend some time with Daff tonight. You know I’ve always liked her, and if she’d given me the time of day back when, I would probably never have hooked up with Tanya. I was too damned stupid to really try in the past, but I won’t let the opportunity slide by again. The McGregor sisters hardly ever hang out in the same places we do. This could be my last chance.”
“Yeah, they don’t hang out where we do because they think they’re too bloody good to spend time with the likes of us,” Mason scoffed. “Spence, we’re hardly their type. They go for the preppy guys with the right backgrounds. A guy like you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
The Carlisle brothers had been the rebels at school, the troublemakers from the wrong side of town. They had both long since outgrown that reputation and, despite their tough upbringing, had made successes of their lives. Spencer, with a rugby scholarship in hand, had graduated debt free. After a relatively successful amateur rugby career, he’d gone on to obtain his MBA and had returned home a local sports hero, capitalizing on his reputation by opening his sports store.
Mason, in the meantime, had used his dual South African and UK citizenship to join the British military. At just nineteen, Mason had been better at soldiering than he’d ever expected, and after only a year in the military, he had undergone the grueling selection process for the Special Air Service. After leaving the SAS five years later, he had, to the hilarity of his former brothers-in-arms, used his “abs of steel”—so hard-earned in the SAS—in a short-lived and embarrassing underwear modeling career.
He still cringed when he thought about it and preferred to wipe that year of his life from his mind.
“Look, I have to grab this opportunity,” Spencer was saying urgently. “I’ll regret it forever if I don’t try, Mase.”
Mason peered at his brother for a moment before shrugging and waving toward the women with his beer bottle.
“So go for it,” he said. “I’m not stopping you. In fact, I have no idea what this has to do with me. Am I supposed to hold your hand? Applaud when you score? What?”
“You know how close the sisters are. Dahlia’s distracted by her friends, because it’s her hen night, but Daff probably won’t allow herself to be diverted by me if the other one is left to fend for herself.”
“And you want me to what?”
“Talk to her.”
“Her who?” Mason asked, genuinely confused.
“The other one, Daisy . . . distract her. Flirt with her, pay her some flattering attention. Daff will—”
“See right through that,” Mason completed with a snort. “That’s the dumbest plan you’ve ever come up with, Spence, and that’s saying a lot, considering your history of dumb ideas.”
“Come on, Mason, you can be convincing. You’re great with women. She’ll be so flattered to get some attention from a stud like you that she’ll probably fall all over herself for the opportunity to hang out with you.”
“I’m kind of insulted on this chick’s behalf, Spencer. You’re being a dick.”
“It’s Daisy McGregor,” Spencer dismissed. “She’s used to it.”
“Doesn’t make it right.” Mason was a little disgusted with his brother’s attitude. He couldn’t believe that people actually treated the poor girl this way. She was a McGregor; she couldn’t be that bad. And if she were, it was still no excuse to be an asshole to her.
“Come on, Mase, please. It’s Daffodil McGregor. I’ve been half in love with the girl since high school.”
“Man, this is just all kinds of wrong,” Mason muttered, running an agitated hand over his head. He kept his hair cropped military short. Seven long and eventful years after leaving the army, and it was still hard for him to wear it any other way.
“I’m asking you to be my wingman, bro,” Spencer pleaded. “I’ve never asked you for anything before. Well, hardly ever . . . but this is important to me.”
“It’s not going to work.”
“But can we at least try? There’s no harm in trying, right? If they shoot us down, so be it, but I really need to try.”
Mason stared at his brother for a few long moments. That bitch, Tanya, had really done a number on him. Spencer had always been a steady guy, had loved Tanya with everything in him, yet she had cheated on him with just about every available guy in town. Worse, after Mason had returned from England, she had tried to seduce him as well. Luckily Spencer had discovered her infidelity before Mason had been forced to tell him about it. But he still felt like a douche for not warning his brother about Tanya before Spencer caught her in bed with two guys at the same time. And it was because of that guilt that he now found himself nodding in response to the plea he saw in his brother’s eyes.
“So what’s the plan?”
“Well, they’re still busy with the hen party thing—no boys allowed—but according to Ralphie’s intel, Lia has to leave the party early, so they’ll probably be winding down soon. Daff, the other one, and a few of the ladies will be staying on a bit afterward, so that’s when we should make our move.”
Mason thought this was all a bit skeevy, but he folded his arms over his chest and nodded, keeping his discomfort with the entire plan hidden behind a blank mask. A thought occurred to him, and even though it pained him to ask, he felt he had to.
“Spencer, if she rejects you, that’s it, right? You won’t persist?” His brother looked wounded that he had even asked, but Mason had seen enough crazy shit in his lifetime to feel that the question was warranted, even if the guy he was asking was his brother. Spencer had been through so much with Tanya that Mason wasn’t sure if any of his brother’s hatred for the woman had bled over into his dealings with other females. He hoped not, but one could never be certain.
“I like her, and I just want a chance to prove that to her,” Spencer said. “I won’t go all crazy stalker on her, Mase. Come on.”
Mason held his hands up and shrugged.
“So which one is Daisy McGregor?” he asked, changing the subject as he glanced discreetly over at the women.
“You serious?” Spencer gaped at him, and Mason lifted his shoulders again.
“It’s been years since I’ve even thought of the McGregor girls. And I don’t think I’ve exchanged a single word with the youngest one. Refresh my memory.”
“In the corner, next to Dahlia.”
Mason subtly scrutinized the woman he hadn’t noticed before. She seemed to be hiding in that corner, completely overshadowed by the beauties sitting at the table with her. She didn’t appear to be interacting with them much and kept looking down at her phone. Mason wondered if she were chatting with someone or keeping an eye on the time.
She seemed as interested in being here as Mason was, which was not at all. It piqued his interest, and he diverted his attention back to his beer.
“You’re in, right?” Spencer asked, and Mason hesitated, directing another quick look over at the woman in the corner.
“Sure, why the hell not?”
Daisy McGregor sat in her corner, quietly sipping her drink while listening to the avid gossip of the other women around the table. She really wished she was at home, cuddled under a blanket in front of the TV with her sweetie, but her sister was getting married. Daisy loved her sisters and would do anything for them, even if she sometimes felt like she had nothing in common with them.
“Mason apparently sold his stake in the security business last year. For millions.” Sharlotte Bridges, one of her sisters’ friends, said in a stage whisper, referring to the younger Carlisle brother. The women had been all abuzz since spotting the two men at the bar. Mason Carlisle was something of a unicorn around these parts: a mythical, wondrous, and beautiful creature.
“Can you believe how well the Carlisle brothers have done?” Zinzi—another friend—hissed.
“Look at them.” Shar sighed, dropping her chin into her palm and making googly eyes at the two huge, gorgeous guys seated at the bar. “They’re so freaking hot.”
“You’ve always liked the bad boys, Shar,” Daisy’s sister, Daffodil, said, giggling.
“Well, yeah. Who wouldn’t? They can be so . . . imaginative in bed.” Shar grinned.
“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever dated a real bad boy,” Zinzi pointed out skeptically. “And that Mason—from soldier, to model, to bodyguard of the rich and famous—he might be a little too much for you to handle.”
“I bet I could get one of those two in bed,” Shar said, and Daisy sank farther back into the recesses of the booth. She really disliked Zinzi and Shar, and she couldn’t understand why her sisters were friends with them. They were totally superficial and materialistic. Shar, the gorgeous blonde who was taking bets on whether she could seduce a Carlisle brother, was married, for cripes’ sake. Granted, her husband was three times older than her and rumored to have mistresses on four different continents, but he was still her husband. They could both practice a little bit of discretion, at the very least.
Zinzi, the daughter of a phenomenally wealthy philanthropist, had dated princes and politicians but routinely slept with her drivers, bodyguards, and fitness instructors. But God forbid she ever openly date one of them. Now Lia seemed to be following them down that same path. She was marrying Clayton Edmondton III, heir to the Edmonton Diamond Company and pretentious asshole of note. Daisy couldn’t stand him, and she knew Daff didn’t care for him either. But Lia firmly believed that she was in love, and nothing her sisters said—or Clayton did—would change her mind. It was painful to sit back and watch Lia make such a huge mistake with her life, but to protest too much would be to alienate her completely.
The other women were still oohing and aahing over the Carlisle brothers, and Daisy couldn’t help but slide a glance over at the two men. They were definitely good-looking guys, both tall, dark, strapping specimens of hotness. Spencer had the heavy build of a rugby player, not an ounce of fat on him, just big and brutish and entirely savage looking.
But while Spencer merely looked savage, Mason Carlisle exuded menace and danger from every single pore. He was more sparely built than his older brother and a couple of inches shorter than Spencer’s six foot three, but while Spencer was thick with muscle and seemed to possess brute strength, Mason’s power and strength had a lethal grace. He was perfect, absolutely perfect. And even if Daisy weren’t already familiar with his eight-pack, his beautifully strong shoulders, tight butt, and perfectly sculpted legs—thanks to those revealing underwear ads—she would still have known that utter perfection lay beneath that gray formfitting Henley and those faded blue jeans.
But not for all the chocolate cake in the world would Daisy ever let on that she found either one of the brothers attractive. The women would all—with the exception of her sisters and their childhood friend, Tilda—tease her mercilessly and cruelly, knowing that she didn’t stand a chance with either man. Daisy was well aware of her so-called shortcomings, and she was resigned to them, but that didn’t mean she would ever give this bunch of bitches any fodder to chew on.
So she remained hidden away in her corner, pretending to laugh at their stupid comments and have a blast while they played their silly little hen party games in a venue that they had chosen because they wanted to “live dangerously.” Please, like Ralphie’s was such a dive. It was just a regular sports bar, but it was so far removed from these women’s lives that to them it probably seemed like the ghetto.
Daisy sighed and reminisced about a time when her family had been just normal. A bit more well-off than some, but normal just the same. Their father was a vet, for God’s sake. You couldn’t get more ordinary than that.
Normalcy had fled after her parents had joined a snooty local country club when Daisy was ten and her sisters thirteen and fourteen. Daisy had watched the other women in her family go crazy after that. Everything became about the right clothes, the right makeup, the right jewelry, the right men . . . and because she would rather hang out with her father and the animals, Daisy found herself drifting apart from her mother and sisters. Her father was as baffled by the transformation as Daisy, and together father and youngest daughter weathered the storm of shopping and pretentiousness that became their new norm.
The other women were moving on from their previous topic of conversation and were once again focused on Lia’s party.
“This one next.” Nina Clark, one of their long-standing—and more likable—family friends held up a tiny gift bag. Lia peeked into the bag and squealed when she saw what was hidden beneath the tissue.
“Don’t act all coy, you’re so using those on your wedding night.” Nina laughed as she took a sip of her rum and coke. Everybody had been disappointed upon discovering that Ralphie’s wasn’t the type of establishment to serve frothy, pretty cocktails. In fact—after the women had delighted in inundating their shy young server with orders of “screaming orgasms,” “slippery nipples,” and “blowjobs”—Ralphie himself had hastened over to curtly inform them that he didn’t serve exotic cocktails and they would have to order beers or hard liquor.
“Show us,” Zinzi demanded, and Lia lifted a pair of furry pink handcuffs and a satin blindfold to the squealing delight of the other women.
Daisy winced and once again eyed her gift, which lay at the bottom of the pile. She had somehow missed the fact that they would be doing naughty gifts only, and Daisy knew that her present would go down like a lead balloon. She glanced down at her phone for what felt like the thousandth time tonight and willed time to speed up. Lia had a late dinner with her fiancé and his parents tonight and had to leave at eight. It would be awesome if eight o’clock rolled by before Lia opened Daisy’s present, but her luck was never that good, and she watched nervously as her sister reached for yet another gift from the shrinking pile in the middle of the table.
“What the hell is that?” Tilda asked from the other side of the table when Lia pulled the gift out of the bag, and Daisy was grateful her friend had asked because she had no idea either. It was a weird, alien-looking silicone thing, and Daisy couldn’t quite figure out what it was for.
“Cock ring,” Shar educated smugly. “It vibrates for his pleasure and has a little rabbit attached for hers.”
Lia, who had been as red as a tomato for most of the evening, blushed even more, and Daisy felt her own cheeks heating in sympathy. This evening had certainly been . . . educational, to say the least.
There were only two gifts remaining now, and Daisy cast another desperate look down at her phone. Five minutes to eight. Lia let out yet another scandalized squeak and lifted the crotchless panties with matching demi bra and garter set that Tilda had given her.
“Oh my God, Tilda, those are so naughty.” Daff sniggered and Tilda grinned.
“I figure they’ll thrill the hell out of Clayton Edmonton the Third,” Tilda said drily.
“Best have a killer wax job done on the lady garden before you wear these,” Zinzi advised. “A full-on Hollywood.”
“Ugh, I hate going fully bald; it’s so creepy,” Daff said, wrinkling her nose. Daisy heartily concurred with her sister’s sentiment but didn’t say as much, knowing it would only drive some of the other “ladies” present to express surprise that Daisy even tended her “lady garden.”
“Ooh, one more,” Shar cooed as she lifted the huge box from the center of the table. She directed a smug little smile at Daisy, and the latter curled her fingers into the palms of her hands as she realized that Shar—tonight’s “events coordinator”—had deliberately not told her about the gifts. What a spiteful cow. Daisy had no clue why Shar and Zinzi disliked her so much, but they had always gone out of their way to make her feel like a total idiot in public.
“It’s eight o’clock, Lia,” Daisy said, properly speaking for the first time all evening. “You have to get to your dinner with the Edmontons, don’t you? My present isn’t important. You can open it at home.”
Lia, despite the company she kept, was a sweetheart, and even though she didn’t quite “get” Daisy, she was loyal to a fault. Unfortunately that trait worked against Daisy in that moment.
“Nonsense,” Lia said in her sweet voice. “I’ve been dying to see what’s in this box all evening. A few more minutes won’t do any harm. I can’t very well leave my baby sister’s gift unopened, can I?”
“Yes, you can. I don’t mind,” Daisy said, and Daff glanced at her sharply as if picking up on her desperation.
“Yeah, Lia, we can open it later,” Daff chimed in, and Daisy slanted her a grateful look.
“But we’re all really curious now,” Zinzi said with a sharklike grin, and Lia nodded, her mind made up, before tugging the bright-red ribbon off the box. Daisy sank back against the sticky leather seat of the booth and kept her face expressionless as her sister tore off the wrapping and then glanced down into the box.
“Oh,” Lia said blankly as she lifted one of the practical fawn-colored hiking boots from the box. She stared at it for a long moment. “This is . . . nice.”
“It’s for your honeymoon,” Daisy explained bleakly. “Because you guys are going . . .”
“Oh, Daisy,” Lia said softly, a beautiful smile lighting up her face. “How thoughtful. Thank you.”
Lia and Clay were going on a hiking and horseback honeymoon in Peru, which had surprised the hell out of Daisy because Dahlia was not into the great outdoors. The idea must have been Clay’s, and Daisy just wanted to get her sister something to help her prepare for an adventure Lia was totally ill-equipped to deal with.
“Guess you didn’t get the memo about the gifts,” Zinzi pointed out with a snide little smile.
“Shut up, Zinzi. I think it’s an awesome present, and I wish I’d thought of it,” Daff said. “Lia’s going to need that and more for the honeymoon from hell her future husband has planned.”
“I think it’ll be romantic,” Lia said defensively. She was always sensitive to even the slightest hint of criticism aimed at her precious Clayton.
“It will,” Daisy soothed, shooting her eldest sister a warning glare, causing Daff to roll her eyes.
“Anyway, I really love the boots, Daisy.” Lia wrapped her arms around Daisy’s shoulders and hugged her. “So sweet. Thank you.”
“Hmm,” Shar purred. “So practical. But you’re a practical kind of girl, aren’t you, Daisy? Not one for all the naughty frivolities of the evening, I suppose? Well, that’s to be expected, of course. Lack of experience and all that. I hope we haven’t embarrassed you too much?”
“Jesus, Shar, must you be such a cat?” Daff asked in disgust.
“Anyway,” Lia intervened quickly when it looked like Shar was about to retort. “I must be off. Thanks for a lovely evening, ladies.”
Zinzi and Shar got up too; they had been trailing after Lia like lapdogs lately. The news of her engagement to one of the most eligible bachelors in the region had made them latch on to Daisy’s middle sister even more tightly. It was sickening to watch them fawn all over her, when both Daisy and Daff were fully aware that either woman would stab their sister in the back in an instant. Zinzi and Shar had never meant to stick around after Lia left the party, and the other women knew that, which was why they had arranged to stay a bit longer after the hen party disbanded. They wanted to have some real fun, which was almost impossible with Zinzi and Shar around.
Everyone said their good-byes, and lots of air kisses were exchanged. Daisy received a hug and kiss from Lia, but the two other women simply “overlooked” her in the flurry, which Daisy didn’t mind at all. The remaining women watched the trio leave and then sat down with huge grins.
“Why do we hang out with those two again?” Nina asked and a chorus of “dunnos” followed.
“Habit, probably,” Daff said. “But after this wedding, I think I’ll be spending less time with them. They’re becoming worse. I’m sorry they were such complete bitches, Daisy.”
Uncomfortable with being put in the spotlight so abruptly, Daisy shrugged.
“They’re not worth getting upset over,” she muttered.
“You’re always so Zen about stuff.” Tilda sighed, taking a sip of her drink only to discover that it was empty. “Anybody up for a round of tequila shots?”
When the group responded with high-pitched whoops, she grinned and summoned the waiter over.
“Let’s get this party started,” Nina yelled and turned every male head in the place when she jumped up and did a little hip-thrusting dance to go with her words. Someone behind the bar cranked up the music, and after a few more shots, all the women were soon dancing exuberantly. Daisy groaned and tried to hide in her corner, downing her shot in a desperate gulp. This was so not her scene. The other women, after trying to coax her out of her seat, gave up and swanned off onto a makeshift dance floor and were all happily bumping and grinding away with a few of the younger guys in the bar.
“You don’t dance?” A deep, dark voice suddenly intruded from almost right beside her, and she yelped and looked up . . . and up . . . and up to the tall man standing on her left. He was propping up the wall next to the booth, his back and shoulders resting against the wooden panel as he stood with one knee bent and his foot braced against the wall. He was staring down at Daisy with a slight smile. She shook her head rapidly, trying to dispel the haze from several tequila shots and a flaming black Sambuca as she tried to figure out why the heck Mason Carlisle was standing here talking to her. All the head shaking resulted in a spell of dizziness and nausea as the alcohol rebelled against the movement.
“Mind if I sit?” he asked, his deep voice rolling over her like a wave of warm honey. He didn’t wait for her to reply and sat down anyway, moving around the table to sit in the spot Lia had vacated. None of the other women had noticed him at their table yet and were chatting and flirting with guys on the dance floor.
“You’re Daisy McGregor, right?” She nodded stupidly in reply to his question. Why was he here? This was so weird. “I’m Mason Carlisle. I went to school with Daffodil.”
“I know,” she said, her voice finally returning. It sounded rusty and unused, but at least it was functioning again.
“So how have you been, Daisy?” he asked, taking a long, thirsty pull from his beer. She watched his throat work as he tilted his head back to drink and was riveted by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow. Why was that so sexy to her? Probably the tequila.
“I’ve been good,” she finally responded after he lowered the bottle and stared at her with those penetrating forest-green eyes of his. His lashes were dark, long, and spiky, and she was fascinated to note that she could differentiate between each individual lash. Gorgeous.
“And your sister’s getting married, I hear. Who’s the lucky guy?” Why did he want to know about that? Was he another in the long line of men who had fallen into despair when he’d heard about Lia’s engagement? How very disappointing and predictable of him. She cleared her throat and was irritated to find it parched in the presence of this overwhelmingly gorgeous man. In an attempt to dispel the dryness, she snagged the glass closest to her and downed the contents, which caused her to wheeze, cough, and blink away tears. Amused by her reaction, Mason picked up the glass and sniffed it.
“Scotch. Neat, if I’m not mistaken. Hell of a drink, not quite what I expected from you.”
“What were you expecting?” she asked, her voice full of challenge. Why was she so offended by that comment? It wasn’t even her drink. “Wine?” The last word emerged on the closest thing to a sneer she could manage, and he shrugged as he carefully replaced the glass.
“Well . . . yeah.”
Daisy discreetly nudged her half-full glass of white wine away and lifted her chin rambunctiously.
“I’ve had tequila shots and flaming Sambuca tonight, so a little Scotch is like mother’s milk to me.”
“Of course,” he said, obviously fighting back a grin. “I’m sorry for not realizing that immediately.”
Daisy paused and pinched the bridge of her nose sheepishly, acknowledging that she was being a bit silly.
“Okay, it was awful. I didn’t really know what was in the glass,” she admitted and saw his eyes light up in appreciation of her honesty.
“Yeah, I’m not a big Scotch drinker myself,” he confessed.
“I thought it was a man’s drink,” she pointed out, and he lifted his powerful shoulders comfortably.
“Guess I’m not the man I thought I was.” She scoffed at that response and gave him a pointed once-over.
“Mr. Super Soldier slash Underwear Model slash Bodyguard to the Stars not the man he thought he was,” she mused, and he grimaced.
“How the hell do you know all that about me?” he asked, clearly astonished.
“You’re joking, right? The town has a website dedicated to your accomplishments,” she said, taking a casual sip of her wine to swallow down her laughter at the appalled look on his face.
“What?”
“Oh, you didn’t know?” she asked. “It’s plastered with pictures of you in those tight boxer briefs. And in uniform, of course, and there are a few of you in a tux, hulking behind that princess at the Cannes Film Festival last year.”
“I . . .” He seemed at a loss for words, and even in the dimly lit pub she could tell that his face had gone bright red. “That’s . . .”
She covered her mouth and doubled over as she finally allowed her laughter to escape.
“Oh my God, the look on your face!”
“It’s not true?” he asked, looking half relieved and half annoyed at her.
“No, of course not,” she said between unladylike snorts. Her eyes were streaming, and he sat back, folding his arms across his impressive chest as he eyed her with an inscrutable look on his face. When her laughter finally died down, he handed her a napkin.
“Your cheeks are wet,” he explained when she looked up at him questioningly. “From your tears of laughter at my expense.”
His delivery was so deadpan that she sniggered again and grabbed the napkin to dab at her flushed, damp cheeks.
“I’m glad I amuse you,” he said, quirking an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. You looked so horrified.”
“How did you know all that stuff about me?”
“Come on, it’s a small town . . . everybody knows everything about everybody, and the Carlisle brothers were always fodder for gossips anyway.” She winced and then shook her head. “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right.”
“No worries. I know what you mean. After all, the McGregor sisters were the talk of the town on occasion too. All the guys wanted to date”—his voice petered out as he realized what he was about to say, and he stumbled over the last words—“you girls.”
The delivery was so lame and unconvincing that Daisy laughed.
“You mean my sisters?”
“Uh . . .” He seemed at a loss for words, and she grinned.
“Don’t worry, I haven’t spent all these years under any illusion that the men in this town see me as anything but the other one. The pretty one, the cute one, and the other one, right? That’s what they call us?”
He kept his own counsel, taking another almost desperate gulp from his drink while remaining stubbornly silent.
“I don’t mind.” She leaned over and patted his arm, unable to believe that she was initiating contact with him, but she couldn’t resist it. “It’s better than being called the ugly one.” His arm tensed beneath her hand, and his eyes snapped up to meet hers. He looked so pissed off that she lifted her hand abruptly.
“Has anybody ever called you that?” he growled, and she understood—hopelessly charmed—that he was seriously offended on her behalf.
“Well, no. Not that I know of,” she said, and he gave her another long, penetrating look before dropping his gaze down to his beer bottle. He had looked so dangerous in that split second that Daisy had no doubt that if she’d said yes, he would have found whomever had insulted her and done something very nasty to them. A notion that was both ridiculous and flattering.
“So what have you been doing since leaving the glam bodyguard job?” she asked, and he shook his head.
“It wasn’t that glam,” he said, gracing her with a gorgeous smile. “Most of the time I had to do stuff like hold a certain pop princess’s hair out of her face while she puked, or stand around for ages while a very well-known actor got fitted for hairpieces . . . or pick up the shit of a spoilt starlet’s pampered pooch. And for the most part, it was mind-numbingly boring.”
“I don’t suppose you can name names?” she asked, dropping her chin into the palm of her hand as she watched him.
“Nondisclosure agreements,” came his succinct response, and she thrust her lip out in a pout and then immediately sucked it back in as she wondered what the hell had prompted the reaction in the first place. Daisy didn’t pout, preen, or primp for a man. It wasn’t her style, and—according to her mirror—it looked ridiculous on her. Was she flirting with this guy? With Mason Carlisle? She didn’t even know how to flirt. Was it just instinctive after all?
Who knew?
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he suddenly asked, looking genuinely interested.
“Why’d you come over here to talk with me?” she deflected, lifting her gaze to his and surprising a flash of something—was that guilt?—in his eyes.
“I was just curious,” he said. “Wondered why you weren’t out there dancing with your friends.”
“I don’t dance,” she confessed.
“Everybody can dance.”
“Well, I didn’t say I couldn’t dance. I said I don’t dance.”
“Why not?”
“Because the only dance I truly excel at is the chicken dance. Every time I attempt to dance like an adult, I always bust out some stupid chicken dance moves and wind up embarrassing my dance partners.”
“You’re shitting me again, right?” he asked after a beat, looking honestly uncertain.
“Nope.” She kissed her index finger and crossed her heart with it. “God’s honest truth. If I went out there right now, I’d start flapping about and doing that ridiculous butt thing.”
He burst out laughing, the sound so genuinely amused that Daisy couldn’t help but smile at the belly-deep laughter coming from this intimidating-looking man. Now it was his turn to wipe his streaming eyes, and when Daisy silently offered him the napkin back, it just set him off again. The sound was starting to draw attention from people at the other tables and booths. Daisy tried not to notice how astonished they all looked to see him sitting there with her.
His laughter eventually wound down to just a few rumbling chuckles, and he shook his head and stared at her for the longest time.
“Do you want to go someplace quieter to talk?” he asked, his voice still carrying a trace of laughter, and she glanced over at the group of women who were tossing speculative glances in their direction.
“We’re talking now,” she pointed out.
“I suppose so.” He took another swig from his bottle, but upon realizing it was empty, signaled one of the overworked young waiters to bring him another. “So we’ll stay here then.”
“You don’t have to sit with me. You now know why I don’t dance. Curiosity appeased, right?”
“Thanks, dude,” he told the waiter with a nod when the guy brought his beer. He scratched at the edges of the label on his beer bottle with his thumbnail before refocusing his attention on Daisy and responding to her previous comment. “I have no one else to talk with.”
“Weren’t you here with your brother?” she asked, looking around for Spencer Carlisle and lifting an eyebrow when she saw him out there dancing with her group. “He’s got some moves.”
“Yeah,” Mason agreed.
“Why don’t you join them?”
“Nah, I’m okay where I am. I’m enjoying our conversation. And I don’t dance either.”
“Don’t? Not can’t?” she asked sharply, and he grinned.
“Yep.”
“Why not?”
“I never discuss that on the first date. That’s second-date material,” he said, and her eyebrows leapt up.
“This isn’t a date, though,” she reminded him, and he took another swig of beer before shifting those big shoulders uncomfortably.
“Yeah, only because you won’t go someplace quieter with me.” She laughed incredulously at that bit of nonsense. Had her world just taken a turn into crazy town? Because this made no sense. Why was she having “date” conversations with this man?
“Maybe I missed something here,” she said, circling her finger in the space between them. “Or maybe I’m drunker than I thought because this conversation stopped making sense about two minutes ago.”
“I asked you out,” he said, and she blinked, before laughing.
“Guys like you don’t go out with girls like me,” she ridiculed.
“Well, not if you’re going to have that attitude,” he said, looking almost angry.
“Take a look at all of you, and then take a look at all of me.” She rolled her eyes, and his jaw clenched.
“I’ve been looking at you for the last half an hour, and up until this very moment, I saw a smart, funny, entertaining woman with whom I wanted to spend more time,” he said, his voice so low she barely heard him over the crowd and the music. “That was before the self-pity, though.”
“Self-pity? I was being realistic.”
“Fine, don’t go out with me!”
“Fine! I will go out with you,” she rejoined, and he looked completely confused.
“Wait, what?”
“Come on.” She grabbed her jacket. “Let’s go.”
“But . . .”
“Where do you want to go? What’s open at this time of night?”
“MJ’s?” he suggested, still with that confused look on his face.
“Perfect. Let’s go.”