The Best Man (Alpha Men Book 2)(14)

“Maybe not, but I’m sure you still want to look nice.”

Daff lifted her shoulders casually. “Makes no difference to me. I mean, we’re probably just going to Ralphie’s or MJ’s. Not exactly fancy.”

“Well, you still look very pretty,” Daisy said warmly, and Daff looked down at the black jersey knit dress that she’d fully intended to change before her sister’s untimely interruption. It was too low in the neck, too high in the hem, and definitely clung to her slender curves a little too lovingly. It was entirely inappropriate for a casual dinner with Spencer Carlisle. An authoritative rap sounded at the door and Daff stifled a sigh. It was too late to change now. She squared her shoulders, smoothed her hair, and moved toward the door. She swung it inward just as he lifted his hand to knock again, and he lowered his arm and his eyes ran over her body solemnly.

“You look nice,” he observed, his voice so neutral he might as well have been commenting on the weather. His regard shifted from Daff to a point beyond her left shoulder, and his mouth quirked while his eyes wrinkled at the corners.

He smiled with his eyes. Daff had never noticed that before. It was as distinct as an actual smile—his expression warmed and his eyes shone. It was devastatingly attractive and she was quite taken with it. Sadly, the warmth wasn’t directed at her but at the person standing behind her.

“Daisy, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Hi, Spencer.” Her sister moved toward him and stood on her toes while he hunkered down, allowing her access to kiss his craggy cheek. “I was just dropping something off. I’m on my way again. I just wanted to thank you for going the extra mile with Daff. Mason and I really appreciate it.”

His eyebrows lifted to his hairline and his scrutiny moved to Daff, who lifted her shoulders behind Daisy’s back.

Go with it, she mouthed, and his head dipped for a very brief instant, acknowledging her words.

“We just want your big day to be cool,” he mumbled, and Daisy wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him for good measure. The embrace was over before he could figure out what to do with his comically outstretched arms and Daff bit back a grin, loving how flustered he looked.

“Anyway, happy planning, guys. I’m sure whatever you come up with will be awesome. Daff, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure,” Daff responded and waved her happily smiling sister off. The silence after Daisy left felt weighted with both expectation and uncertainty, and Daff wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“I should probably drive myself,” she said, voicing the thought that had occurred to her just seconds after their text conversation the previous evening. “More convenient that way.”

“Convenient for whom?”

Whom?

“You? Me? Both of us?” she supplied, her voice breathless.

“Since I just drove here with the intention of picking you up, it wouldn’t be convenient for me,” he pointed out.

Daff couldn’t fault that logic.

“Ralphie’s or MJ’s?” she asked, reaching for the coatrack alongside the front door. He beat her to it and grabbed her double-breasted cashmere coat—not the one she would have chosen considering the rain—and held it open. Damn it. She would not be charmed by his unconsciously courteous little gestures.

Deciding not to say anything about his choice in coats, she slid her arms into the armholes and buttoned and belted it efficiently. She tensed when he unexpectedly dropped a hand onto one of her shoulders and slid the other beneath the hair at her nape, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin there as he lifted the shoulder-length fall from the neck of the coat. He smoothed a gentle hand over her hair, patting it in place before stepping back without a word and reaching past her to open the door.

Still staggered by the alarming intimacy of his previous action, it took Daff a moment to readjust and even out her jagged breathing and erratic heartbeat. This was crazy. It was Spencer, he was harmless . . . he wasn’t the kind of guy who normally attracted her.

Then again, considering how spectacularly all her previous relationships had crashed and burned, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

She shook herself. Allowing herself to think like that was dangerous. Spencer Carlisle wasn’t someone with whom she could have any kind of romantic interaction. When it failed—and it would fail—she wouldn’t be able to simply erase him from her life. He’d always be around, at family gatherings, in town, at work . . . reminding her of yet another failure in her life.

“Daff?” The gruff sound of her name in his voice didn’t help. Why was everything about him suddenly so damned sexy?

“Yes. Sorry. I was trying to remember if I had my wallet or not.” The words sounded lame and unconvincing to her, but it was all she had.

“Doesn’t matter. You won’t need it.”

Rolling her eyes at that bit of macho nonsense, she chose not to respond. She’d fight that battle when she had to. She waved him ahead, and when he gave her that truculent look she was becoming so familiar with, she fought against rolling her eyes again.

“I know you’re a gentleman and ladies first and all that, but I have to lock up, so move your ass.” He stood there for another second before, with obvious reluctance, moving ahead and exiting the house. He stopped on the tiny front porch, opening the umbrella and waiting for her to lock up.

When she turned to join him, he hooked his—much too familiar—arm around her waist and dragged her to his side to shelter her beneath the umbrella before leading her out into the rain. She was in his car before she even had time to protest, watching him run around the front, not bothering with the umbrella this time.

She had been expecting the pickup truck, but this sleek, masculine automobile was a lot more elegant and beautiful than the truck he normally drove. She’d seen him drive by in it a couple of times, of course, but not often enough for her to begin associating this sexy ride with the Spencer Carlisle she’d known all her life.

Because of his humility, the fact that he drove around in an old pickup truck, and dressed in sweats most of the time, it was easy to forget how successful he was. This car was tangible evidence of that success and wealth. A gorgeous, metallic-blue panther of a machine.

“Nice car,” she said drily when he climbed into the driver’s seat, and he glanced at her for a second before starting the engine.

“I like it,” he said without inflection after he had himself belted in.

“What is it? Maybe I’ll add this one to my Christmas wish list or something.”

“Audi R8, and you should stick to your VW. You’d be a menace on the road in one of these.” He eased the car onto the road, and she gasped at the slur.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked indignantly.

“I’ve seen you drive. I’ve had the bad luck to be stuck behind you on occasion. You never use your turn signals and God, woman, you’re a road hog. You tailgate, speed, weave in and out of lanes like you’re doing some kind of crazy dance. And that’s just in an ancient, shitty little hatchback. Can’t imagine you in one of these.”

It was the most she’d ever heard him speak at one time, and every word was an insult. What an asshole.

She’d be a lot more pissed off by his words if they weren’t also true—she had a few (dozen) traffic violations to her name to corroborate what he was saying. Both of her sisters would rather walk than get into a car with her behind the wheel.

“I’m an awesome dri—” she started to say, but a rude sound from him, this one unmistakably scathing, shut her up.

“You don’t even believe that,” he said, and she glared at him before crossing her arms over her chest and diverting her attention out of the window. She sat up a moment later, her mien alert as she watched the scenery slide by.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Dinner.”

“We’re heading in the wrong direction,” she stated. “Town’s the other way.”

“We’re not having dinner in town.”

“But . . .” Panic flared in her chest. This wasn’t the plan. She wasn’t comfortable with the thought of seeing him outside the usual familiar settings.

“I’m bored with MJ’s and Ralphie’s.” He shrugged and she chewed on her bottom lip, wondering if she should insist they head back to town. It seemed like an unreasonable response to a casual dinner, and she bit back the words.

“So Knysna?” It wasn’t a long drive, twenty minutes to half an hour at most. Maybe faster when the roads were this empty.

“Yeah, I read about this great place.”

“I see.” She nervously folded and unfolded her hands in her lap, a habit she had developed in an attempt to stop chewing her nails but that had just devolved into a different nervous tic. Still, it was preferable to ruining a perfectly good manicure.

She continued to fidget until he reached over and engulfed both of her hands with his free one. He gave them a brief squeeze before lifting his hand back to the steering wheel. The gesture made her breath catch, as did the lingering warmth of his touch, and she found herself striving to appear casual after the fleeting contact.