Beautiful Distraction(16)
What the hell!
Is he suffering from short-term memory loss? Because I’m pretty sure he recognized me on the porch, so why the question? Taking a deep breath, I catch the glint in his eyes.
He must be playing with me.
The sudden knowledge angers me. Mr. Hot Guy is off-limits, and Mandy isn’t exactly the kind of person you can tell everything without her wanting to meddle in one’s private affairs. And then there’s his girlfriend. I’ve no idea what he’s trying to achieve, but I don’t do cheaters. Ever.
Two can play this game.
Planting a fake smile on my lips, I stare him down. “I’m sure we haven’t. You must be confusing me with someone else.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I have a feeling we’ve met before. Ford, right?”
“The car?” I shrug. “It’s a popular brand.”
“I’m sure it is.” His eyes lock with mine, forcing me to keep his heated gaze until I feel myself melting under his scrutiny. “But my feeling’s never wrong.”
“It is this time.”
“You sure?” he asks.
“You’re mistaking me for someone else.”
“Ava’s driving a white Ford,” Mandy butts in, not really helping. “Where do you think you met her?”
I lift a hand to stop him before he gets a chance to reply. “It’s none of your business, so butt out.”
“Whatever.” Mandy shrugs.
“Maybe I am confusing you with someone else,” Mr. Hot Guy says.
“You are.” I groan inwardly. Not because he’s trying to expose me so openly in front of my best friend, but because I’m forced to look at him…and don’t like what I see.
In the indirect light of the fireplace and several table lamps, he looks magnificent…and oh so intimidating.
He’s beautiful, no doubt about that. His features are something you usually see on movie posters, and his clothes barely hide the Adonis body underneath them. But what makes him dangerous material to any woman’s heart—and panties—are his magnetic eyes.
The kind that whisper sweet promises of nights filled with endless lust and clutching at the sheets in ecstasy.
The kind that draw you in with no guarantees of a tomorrow. Or even post-sex breakfast in bed. Come morning, he’ll be gone, carrying your damp panties in one hand and your heart in the other. His eyes narrow on me, taking me all in, from head to toe.
“Hmm.” He leans forward, and his knee almost brushes mine. The gesture is so intimate, I can almost feel his touch on my skin.
Why won’t he just drop it?
Maybe he really has no idea where we’ve met.
Irritated, I turn away, sipping on my cup of tea and burning my tongue in the process because I don’t know what else to do with myself.
“I don’t think we have met,” Mandy says. “I never forget a face, and most certainly not someone like you. I’m Mandy, and this is Ava. We’re from New York, by the way.” She points her hand at me and leans forward, her ample bust on full display.
“Kellan Boyd,” Mr. Hot Guy says, ignoring her attempt at flirting.
Kellan?
I fight the sudden urge to say his name out loud, just to hear what it sounds like on my tongue.
I lean back and deliberately turn away from him as I watch Mandy’s reaction.
Her whole posture’s changed. She looks kind of agitated. Is that shock etched in her features?
But why?
“Did you just say Boyd?” she asks slowly. “Like the Boyd brothers?”
Licking her lips, she crosses one leg over the other and brushes a strand of blond hair out of her face. The gesture is so innocent and yet provocative I almost cringe. She peers at me meaningfully, like I’m supposed to understand something major. I shrug my shoulders at her.
Does she know him?
Am I supposed to know who he is? Because I sure as hell have no clue.
Do you know who I am?
I remember his question. I didn’t know the answer then, and I sure as fuck don’t know it now, so I shoot Mandy a questioning look.
“The Boyd brothers own a string of nightclubs,” Mandy explains to me in an excited whisper.
“That would be my brother, Cash. I’m just an investor,” Kellan says coolly and raises his eyebrows. “What’s someone from NYC doing around here?”
He’s an investor.
I barely have time to digest the news before Mandy opens her mouth. “We’re going to—”
“A road trip.” I shoot her a venomous look that instantly shuts her up. As much as I love Mandy, I will not give off the impression that I’m in Montana to visit a stupid gig. And most certainly not that I’m a fan, and most certainly not a groupie, no matter how many chicks out there think Mile High’s great.