Page 18 of The Worst Best Man

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. He moved his hand an inch higher, watching her watch him.

He was hard, not just half-mast but achingly, throbbingly hard, and all he’d touched was her leg. Testing again, he let the tips of his fingers trace small circles up the inside of her thigh.

She reached for her beer and drank deeply but didn’t ask him to stop. Didn’t call him an asshole. He didn’t know what he was doing, what he hoped to gain from it. He just wanted to keep touching her.

Another inch, another circle. Was it his imagination? Was she opening her legs just a little wider? Her knee pressed into his. His food was forgotten in front of him. The laughter and chatter around the table disappeared as his world refined itself down to just Franchesca. The only thing he was aware of was Frankie’s silk-like skin and the hem of her dress, the way her lips were parting as if to draw a breath.

When would she stop him?

“This is stupid,” she whispered, her eyelids heavy.

“So stupid,” Aiden agreed.

“I don’t like you.”

“Yes, you do.”

She dropped her hand to his thigh and squeezed. “I don’t like to be left out.” His cock throbbed painfully an inch from her fingers. He gritted his teeth. He felt like a horny teenager, unable to control his body in the presence of a pretty girl. But Franchesca was more than just pretty. She was a temptress.

He toyed with the hem of her dress. Just another inch higher and he’d catch a glimpse of what she wore underneath. He wanted to stroke his fingers over the lace or silk or cotton whatever she’d covered herself with. Wanted to trace the edge of it until she was begging with her body. Then he’d slip his fingers underneath and trace that wet seam that protected what he wanted most—

“Franchesca, right?”

She jumped a mile, yanking her hand away from his lap. He missed the contact immediately. Aiden could practically hear his dick whimper.

“Oh, my God. Hot Aussie Surfer,” Frankie breathed, shoving Aiden’s hand away from her promised land.

Chapter Eight

Frankie was one second away from spontaneously combusting. Why had she let Aiden Kilbourn take his fingers on a walking tour of her inner thigh? And why had hot surfer guy magically appeared the second that she was going to let Aiden do dirty, evil things to her?

“It’s Brendan, actually,” he told her with a crooked grin. His hair was still messy, his eyes still blue, and his body was still rocking under a t-shirt and worn cargo shorts.

“Still Frankie,” she said, smiling until she felt Aiden’s fingers skim up the back of her thigh.

She slapped at his hand behind her while grinning maniacally up at Brendan. Aiden captured her hand and gave it a hard squeeze. Message received.

“’Scuse me!” Taffany waved and crawled across the picnic table revealing her nether region to all of Uncle George’s. “I’m Taffany,” she announced extending her hand, knuckles up to Brendan.

The surfer shot Frankie a “what the fuck” look before accepting Taffany’s hand.

“Taffany, yeah? That’s an… interesting name.”

“I rebranded myself,” Taffany announced proudly, shoving her hand toward his mouth. “Kiss it!”

Frankie stepped between them and broke Taffany’s hold on the surfer. He shook his hand to get the circulation back.

“Anyway, I’m happy I ran into you. I was hoping I’d see you here.”

“Yeah, me too,” Frankie said. Her brain wasn’t working fast enough. She couldfeelAiden glaring holes into her. “You want to dance? Way over there. Away from here?”

He flashed a dimple at her. “Love to.”

Frankie wrestled her hand away from Aiden. “Be back in a few minutes, Pru,” she called to the bride.

“Have fun storming the castle,” Pru sang.

“Feed her and water her,” Frankie ordered Chip as Brendan led her into the crowd.