The Best Man (Alpha Men Book 2)(12)

“Shit,” Daff hissed when she seemed to be making absolutely no progress. The dress, dripping with sparkly beads and sequins, weighed a mother-loving ton, and Maggie was starting to wobble precariously. It would look amazing in the window display, but Daff was starting to regret her decision to start this task just before she knew Spencer would arrive. She had wanted to look busy, not completely clumsy and incompetent.

“It has nipples,” Spencer suddenly said, his deep voice layered with incredulity. “Why the fuck does it have nipples?”

“What?” She stopped what she was doing and met his wide green eyes over one of Maggie’s narrow shoulders.

“The mannequin. Why does it have nipples?”

“Oh.” Daff gaped at where one of her hands was resting on Maggie’s perky breast, the lifelike little nipple peeking out between her fingers. She reddened and snatched her hand away, but Maggie started to topple and Spencer made a grab for the heavy mannequin. This time his huge mitt of a hand covered the small breast completely, and Daff’s throat went dry. Maggie’s breasts were almost exactly the same size as hers . . . and seeing Spencer’s hand so completely engulfing it made her stomach flutter alarmingly. She couldn’t help but wonder how that same hand would feel on her breast, and it was messing with her head.

Spencer, unaware of Daff’s wayward thoughts, held on to Maggie while yanking the strap over her hand and then her arm, his longer reach making the task look easy. Determinedly shoving her unexpected and inappropriate thoughts aside, Daff felt her face settle into a glower.

“I don’t need your help,” she protested, and he silenced her with a long, speaking look that really made her feel like a petulant child. When he was certain that he had silenced her protests, he refocused on the task at hand.

“Why the hell does this thing have so many straps?” he growled beneath his breath as he wrestled with Maggie’s other arm. Daff eased the straps over the mannequin’s fingers and up over the smooth, plastic arm. The task was much easier with his help. She tried to ignore his closeness, the heat coming off his huge body, and the warm, delicious musk of his aftershave. He made her feel small and delicate, and Daff didn’t like feeling small and delicate—it made her uncomfortable.

Once they had Maggie dressed, they both stepped back and took in the effect. The dress had a plunging cowl neck, dipping very low between the mannequin’s breasts and resting just above the perky nipples that had so disturbed Spencer. The confounding off-the-shoulder straps settled beautifully on her upper arms.

“Seriously, why the nipples?”

“I don’t know,” Daff said, resting her hands on her hips as she tilted her head, trying to figure out how to accessorize with the dress. Because it was so damned sparkly, it didn’t need much embellishment, so she decided to leave it as it was. It was going to look fantastic backlit in the window at night.

“They seem pointless as fuck,” he said, still on about the damned nipples. Daff was trying very hard to forget the image of his big hand over that small boob, because the memory deeply, deeply unsettled her. She crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to hide her own perky nipples, which were starting to stand up and beg for attention. They were probably well hidden by the padding of her bra, but she wasn’t going to chance him figuring out that she’d had a rogue moment of attraction toward him.

“Ready for lunch?” he asked, giving the nipples a rest, and Daff huffed impatiently.

“I told you I’m busy.”

“Not leaving till you eat,” he said in that terse way of his, and she shoved a stray strand of hair out of her face before sighing.

“What did you bring?” she asked, recognizing that the fastest way to get rid of him was to just get this over with.

“Couscous, grilled chicken, and some fruit.”

“That sounds”—delicious—“nice.”

He shrugged and started opening up the containers he’d laid out on the counter. He’d placed everything on a tea towel, which he’d brought with him, and she found the gesture unexpected and really thoughtful.

“Hmm. You can eat healthy without starving yourself,” he pointed out as he began to heap a large pile of cold couscous onto one of the plates. He stabbed a piece of grilled chicken with his fork, dumped it onto the plate, and pointedly put it down in front of her. Daff’s eyes widened as she took in the huge portion.

“Eat,” he commanded, stabbing his fork in her direction. Daff cleared her throat and sat down before delicately dipping her fork into the fluffy pile of couscous and lifting it to her mouth.

God, it was good.

“This is delicious,” she said around a mouthful of the stuff, and he merely grinned in response. He’d garnished the grain with cucumber, olives, tomato, avocado, feta cheese, coriander, and some lemon juice, and it tasted light and fresh and very satisfying.

He grunted suddenly and reached into the bag to produce a couple of bottles of water, which he plonked down between them. Daff didn’t say anything, merely nodded her thanks. She was starting to understand that Spencer didn’t need much in the way of conversation, and Daff—the consummate talker—was strangely okay with that.

They both devoured their lunch before speaking again.

“I was wondering if we should have the parties out of town. Plett, maybe?” Spencer said after taking a sip from his water.

“Like an overnight thing?”

“Hmm.” He picked up an apple and held it out to her, and she accepted with a soft “thanks” before crunching into the ripe, red fruit appreciatively.

“That’s a really good idea,” she said around a mouthful of sweet apple, and when he didn’t respond, she looked up and caught him staring. Wiping self-consciously at her chin, where some of the apple juice had dripped, she lowered her eyes.

“So . . . uh . . . what exactly did you have in mind?” she asked, taking another, smaller bite of the apple.

“I don’t know; it was just an idea. Figured we could brainstorm together,” he said almost shyly, and she raised her eyes to meet his. His expression was hard to read. He really was the most frustratingly enigmatic man. It was weird how she could see that now, where before she’d simply dismissed that closed-off personality as a man without much intelligence, having nothing of note to say. An unfair assumption based on nothing more than the fact that he was good at sport, rarely spoke, and couldn’t flirt worth a damn.

“Well, it’s a start,” she said, and he nodded.

“That’s what I thought.”

“How do you feel about Mason and Daisy moving?” she asked, the words tumbling from her lips without warning. Maybe she wanted to see if Spencer was as affected by the news as his brother had said he was.

“I knew it was coming,” he said, his voice and face without expression, and Daff was about to dismiss Mason’s words of the other day as sheer bollocks when she saw it—the brief tightening around his eyes and mouth, the tense set of his huge shoulders. He looked like he was bracing for a hit.

“You knew it was coming but you were upset by it,” she elaborated, and he shifted uncomfortably, saying nothing in response. Not even a grunt this time.

“Not my place to be upset by it.” He shrugged, gathering up the empty containers.

“Bullshit, you’re his brother. I’m bummed Daisy’s leaving. I’ll miss the hell out of her. We were just starting to reconnect, and I think it sucks that she’s leaving just when we’re starting to act like sisters again.”

“You seemed sisterly enough before,” he said.

“Not really. We got along and loved each other, but we never seemed to have very much in common. It’s been a lot better since your asshole move last year.” He grimaced at the reminder.

“So maybe you can thank me instead of constantly bitching about it?” he suggested, and she laughed incredulously.

“You’re joking, right? Dude, you treated my sister like she didn’t matter.”

“Yeah, and I’ve apologized. More than once,” he reminded her through clenched teeth. Spencer Carlisle looked seriously pissed off and Daff—perversely—found herself mildly turned on by that. She was beginning to discover that she liked pushing his buttons. It kept her in control. She preferred being in control these days. She had allowed others to control her too often in the past. She was done with that.

“Anyway, I was saying that you have a right to be upset about your brother leaving.”

“It’s none of your business how I feel,” he muttered, carelessly dumping all the cartons into the large brown paper bag. He shoved to his feet, looming threateningly above her, and Daff was secretly thrilled by the deliberately intimidating display. Big, bumbling Spencer Carlisle seemed almost scary, and it was pretty damned awesome.

God, I’m so messed up, she thought, shaking her head slightly. One second wanting to be in control and the next thrilled because of his show of dominance.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” he snapped.

“Okay. Thanks for lunch,” she said in a sickly-sweet voice with a matching smile. He said nothing in response to that, just glared at her before slamming his way out of the store.