The Worst Best Man

by Lucy Score

A good stiff breeze could have knocked Frankie over. It had to be a mirage. She was certain of it. That was not Aiden Kilbourn leaning against a Jeep in shorts and a sexy short-sleeved button down. Boat shoes and Ray-bans. His beard looked a little scruffier than the last time she’d seen him.

And for one glorious second, the image of Frankie naked and sprawled across his bed materialized, unbidden in his mind’s eye. “Picture perfect,” Aiden agreed.

As if she’d heard his thoughts, Frankie turned to him. She looked him up and down and arched an eyebrow. “Thank you for the ride. You can go now.” He gave her a slow, dangerous smile. Franchesca Baranski had no idea who she was taunting. He wasn’t a man who was dismissed. He stepped closer to her, crowding her against the desk, and saw the surprise, the concern in those big eyes. There was something else too. A little flare, a spark of desire. Aiden reached for her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips. “The pleasure was all mine.” He saw the goosebumps that rose on her arm and grinned. “I’m sure it usually is,” she shot back, yanking her hand free and turning her back on him.

Ugh. Fine. But keep your attention on the ball, Aiden.” Pru sat back down. “It’s like herding kindergartners at a candy factory. Now, sit down Frankie before Aiden loses an eye checking you out.”

This? This was what happened with too much inbreeding amongst Manhattan’s wealthy.

I’ll glue Chip to a table and meet you on the street. We can revisit the making out suggestion when you get here,” Aiden offered.