Page 6 of Daddy’s Naughty Bridesmaid (Naughty Girls Book Club #4)

"Foundation's solid, but we need to move the guests to the upper floors, just in case."

I push the door open without thinking. Matt stands with the venue manager and two staff members, looking at what appears to be blueprints of the building spread across a large table.

"Jackie," he says when he spots me, surprise evident in his voice. "You shouldn't be down here."

"I was using the bathroom," I explain. "What's going on?"

He hesitates, then seems to decide I deserve the truth. "Flash flooding in this district has caused some major issues. We’re in the floodplain and water's rising faster than expected. We need to move everyone upstairs as a precaution."

"Is Catherine aware?"

"Not yet. We're trying to avoid panic."

I nod, already shifting into problem-solving mode. "I can help with that. Tell me what you need."

He studies me for a moment, then nods. "We need to clear all the lower rooms, then start moving guests upstairs in a way that doesn't cause alarm."

"I'll take the east wing," I volunteer. "I noticed some storage rooms down that way when I was exploring earlier."

Matt shakes his head. "Not alone. Some of those doors lock automatically."

"I'll be fine?—"

"I said no.” Man. If I had to imagine what a Daddy Dominant voice sounded like, it would be the one he is using right now. I half expected him to add, ‘little girl’ to the end of the statement. He pauses for a second, as if expecting me to argue with him. When I don’t he continues.

“I'll go with her," he tells the others, his tone brooking no argument. "Coordinate with the staff to move people upstairs. Frame it as a better view of the storm or something."

The venue manager nods, gathering up the blueprints. "We’ll start moving everyone."

As they leave, Matt turns to me. "Come on. East wing first, then we'll check the wine cellar."

"You don't have to babysit me," I say, following him into the corridor. "I'm perfectly capable?—"

"Of getting locked in a storage room during a flash flood? No thanks. I've seen what happens when people underestimate water. It's not pretty. Especially in areas that don’t normally see this much water. Be a good girl and obey me."

My mouth drops open. What did he just say? I want to argue, but the grim set of his mouth stops me. This isn't about me or his suspicions or whatever tension exists between us. This is about safety, and he clearly takes that seriously.

We move quickly through the darkened downstairs, checking rooms methodically. Most are empty, those that aren’t we quickly clear. The emergency lights cast long shadows, creating an atmosphere that would be almost romantic under different circumstances.

"All clear," I say after checking the last room in our assigned section. "Now what?"

Before Matt can answer, a tremendous crack of thunder shakes the building, followed immediately by the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. Water rushes in through a window at the end of the hall, a sudden torrent that seems to expand faster than should be possible.

"Shit!" Matt grabs my hand, pulling me back the way we came. "Move!"

We run, the water pursuing us with alarming speed. It's already ankle-deep, cold and murky, making each step treacherous on the smooth floor.

As we round a corner, Matt suddenly stops, causing me to slam into his back. "Damn it."

Water flows from the opposite direction as well and we're caught between two advancing currents.

"In here," Matt says, yanking open a heavy wooden door to our right.

I follow him without question, adrenaline overriding everything else.

The door closes behind us with a heavy thud, and I find myself in a wine cellar.

Its stone walls are lined with racks of bottles, a tasting table in the center, and, most importantly, a raised floor that puts us several inches above the water level in the corridor.

Matt pulls out his phone, grimacing at the lack of signal. "We're cut off."

"They'll come looking for us," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "They know where we are."

"Eventually." He runs a hand through his damp hair. “We should be safe here. The water will recede."

I glance around. It's dry, at least for now, and the thick wooden door seems to be keeping the water at bay. But there's only one way in or out, and if the water rises much higher...|

I push that thought away. "So, I guess we wait."

"We wait," he agrees.

We stand in silence for a moment, the only sound the muffled rush of water outside and the distant rumble of thunder.

"Well," I say finally, perching on the edge of the tasting table, "at least we're not stuck with boring company."

The corner of his mouth lifts. "Is that a compliment, Jackie?"

"An observation." I smooth my still-damp dress over my knees. "Though I suppose there are worse people to be trapped with during a flash flood."

"High praise." He leans against the stone wall opposite me, arms crossed over his chest. "So. While we're here with nothing but time... want to tell me who you really are?"

I should have seen that coming. Of course, he'd use this opportunity to continue his investigation.

"I told you?—"

"The truth," he interrupts. "I don’t like being lied to. No one's listening. No one to perform for. Tell me the truth."

Maybe it's the surreal situation, or the adrenaline still coursing through my system, or simply the way he's looking at me, but suddenly, keeping up the pretense seems exhausting.

"Fine," I sigh. "I'm a professional bridesmaid."

His eyebrows lift. "A what?"

"A professional bridesmaid," I repeat. "Women hire me to stand up in their weddings, handle logistics, manage family drama, and make sure everything goes smoothly. I'm like... support staff in a pretty dress."

He stares at me for a long moment, then lets out a short laugh. "That's a real job?"

"A very real job," I confirm. "And a lucrative one. Weddings are high-stress events. People will pay good money for someone who can reduce that stress."

"So Catherine hired you to be in her wedding party," he says slowly, working it out. "But why the charade? Why pretend to be her lifelong friend?"

I hesitate, weighing professional discretion against the reality of our situation. We're literally trapped together and there's no avoiding this conversation. I know he won’t let this go.

"Catherine's former maid of honor, her actual best friend, tried to seduce Greg," I explain.

"Made a drunken pass at him. Catherine confronted her, and a massive fight ensued.

Turns out the former best friend has had the hots for Greg since the night Catherine met him.

With the wedding so close, Catherine needed a replacement who could step in seamlessly.

Hence, the backstory about reconnecting with an old college friend. "

Understanding dawns in his eyes. "So the guests wouldn't know there was drama."

"Exactly. Appearances matter in Catherine's social circle. Having to explain a last-minute maid of honor change would invite questions she doesn't want to answer."

"And everyone would gossip about the 'real' reason her friend isn't in the wedding anymore," he concludes.

I nod. "Catherine's paying me double my usual rate to step in at the last minute and maintain the fiction through the wedding. After that, we'll 'naturally drift apart' again, and no one's the wiser."

Matt pushes away from the wall, taking a step toward me. "So everything you've said since you arrived has been a lie."

"Not everything," I say, oddly defensive. "I do like Catherine. She's genuinely sweet. And I am good at my job. The only lie is the nature of our relationship."

He takes another step closer. "And what about us? Has that been part of the performance too?"

My pulse quickens. "What 'us'? You've been interrogating me since I arrived."

"Is that all I've been doing?" His voice drops lower, his eyes never leaving mine. "Just interrogating?"

The air between us seems to thicken, charged with something that has nothing to do with the storm outside and everything to do with the one brewing between us.

"You tell me," I challenge, lifting my chin. "What exactly have you been doing, Matthew?"

He moves closer still, until he's standing directly in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.

"Testing a theory," he says quietly.

"What theory?"

His hand comes up, fingers brushing against my cheek in a touch so light it's barely there. "That there's something real happening here, despite all the lies."

My breath catches. I should back away. Should maintain professional boundaries. Should remember that he's the brother of my client's fiancé, and any involvement would be wildly inappropriate.

Instead, I hear myself ask, "And? What's your conclusion?"

His eyes darken, dropping to my mouth. "Inconclusive. I need more data."

"Very scientific," I murmur, my heart hammering against my ribs.

His thumb traces my lower lip, sending shivers cascading down my spine. "I'm a methodical man."

"I've noticed."

He's so close now that I can feel his breath against my skin, can see the individual droplets of water still clinging to his eyelashes from our mad dash through the flood.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he says, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear. "Unless you tell me not to."

I should tell him not to. I really, really should.

"I'm not stopping you," I whisper instead.

His mouth claims mine with a hunger that steals my breath. There's nothing tentative about the kiss. It's all heat and demand and suppressed tension finally breaking free. His hands frame my face, holding me steady as he explores my mouth with devastating thoroughness.

I respond with equal fervor, my fingers clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer until he's standing between my knees where I sit on the edge of the table.

When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, his forehead rests against mine. "That wasn't part of the job, was it?" he asks, voice rough.

"Definitely not in my contract.”

His smile is slow and dangerous. "Good."

Then he's kissing me again, deeper this time, his hands sliding from my face to my shoulders to my waist. I arch into him, all professional pretense abandoned in the face of this overwhelming attraction.

His mouth moves from mine to my jaw, then lower, trailing hot kisses down my neck. I tilt my head to give him better access, a small sound of pleasure escaping me when he reaches the sensitive spot just below my ear.

"Been wanting to do this since I first saw you," he murmurs against my skin. "Even when I was sure you were lying to me."

"I was lying to you," I remind him, gasping as his teeth graze my collarbone.

“Yes, you were. The next time you lie to me, you’ll find out exactly how I feel about my woman lying to my face. But, you weren’t lying about everything. Not about this." His hand slides up my ribs, thumb brushing the underside of my breast through the damp fabric of my dress. "This is real."

He's right. Whatever's happening between us, it has nothing to do with my job or his suspicions. It's pure chemistry, undeniable and powerful.

His other hand finds the hem of my dress, fingers skimming along my bare thigh. "Tell me to stop," he says, voice strained.

"Don't stop," I breathe, beyond caring about propriety or professionalism or anything but the feel of his hands on my body.

He groans, capturing my mouth again as his hand moves higher, tracing patterns on my inner thigh that make me tremble. I'm lost in sensation, in the taste and feel of him, in the?—

A sharp knock on the cellar door jerks us apart.

"Hello?" calls a voice from the other side. "Anyone in there?"

Reality crashes back with jarring speed. Matt steps away from me, running a hand through his hair as I hastily straighten my dress.

"Yes," he calls back, his voice impressively steady. "Two of us. We're fine."

"Water's receding," the voice informs us. "We'll have you out in a few minutes."

"Thanks," Matt replies, then turns back to me.

We stare at each other for a long moment, the magnitude of what just happened and what almost happened settling between us.

"Jackie—" he begins.

"Don't," I interrupt, sliding off the table and smoothing my hair. "That was... We were caught up in the moment. Adrenaline. Close quarters. It happens."

His eyes narrow. "Is that what you think that was? A stress response?"

No. It was chemistry and attraction and something deeper that I'm not ready to examine. But acknowledging that would make this real, would complicate an already complicated situation.

"It doesn't matter what it was," I say instead. "I'm here to do a job. That's all."

He steps closer, purpose in every line of his body. "Liar. I just warned you about lying to me, little girl."

The words have my insides clenching. What does he mean? What is he going to do? Before I can respond, the door opens, revealing the venue manager and two staff members.

"Everyone okay?" the manager asks, glancing between us with obvious curiosity.

"Fine," I say quickly. "Just waiting out the flood."

Matt says nothing, his eyes still fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin heat despite the chill of my damp clothes.

"Guests are all upstairs," the manager informs us. "We're telling them it's a special storm-watching event. Most of them think it's exciting."

"Great," I say, forcing enthusiasm I don't feel. "I should get back to Catherine."

As I move toward the door, Matt's hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me. "This isn't over," he says, quietly enough that only I can hear.

I meet his gaze, seeing the promise there. "I know."

Then I pull away and hurry back to the party, my lips still tingling from his kiss and my body humming with unfulfilled desire.