Confessions Of A Bad Bridesmaid. Jennifer Rae

hands to move her breasts and the mounds of them above the line of the dress rose and fell. It was very distracting. Didn’t she realise he was trying to drive? She swathed more lipstick over her already wet lips and sucked them in, spreading the gloss over them.

      Olivia Matthews was the sort of woman he took pains to avoid. Vacuous women whose only purpose in life was to supply a young, attractive female body for B-list actors and middle-aged European billionaires to fondle at parties. All high heels and lip gloss. Those women were not his type. She was definitely not his type. Although they were terribly exciting to look at. She was terribly exciting to look at. And why shouldn’t he look? She was making such a show of it; it would be damned bad manners not to notice.

      ‘Your nipples are fine, as far as I can see.’

      That earned him a wry side-glance. Unexpectedly, the sight of her big eyes—which he could now determine were ice-blue—swivelling his way made his gut clench a little tighter, which irritated him. The weekend was going to be bad enough without this little vixen distracting him. He turned to the road, concentrating on the ice and the precarious turns he knew were coming up.

      She went back to the mirror, adding more make-up and swiping at non-existent pieces of fluff on her chin.

      ‘So, is this a party-party tonight, or just an awkward get-together with unattractive single cousins and judgemental aunts?’

      Edward snorted. ‘My family’s reputation obviously precedes them.’

      ‘Does that mean they’ll all be as charming as you, then?’ She snapped the lid on her lipstick and looked at him.

      Edward raised his eyebrows at her sarcastic tone but kept his eyes on the road. The woman seemed to say whatever came into that air-filled head of hers without worrying about consequences. Didn’t she know life was all about consequences?

      ‘My family will all be there for Will and his fiancée. I apologise if we hadn’t given much thought to your need for a wild weekend of sex, drugs and rock and roll.’ He wondered if he’d offended her. He hoped so—perhaps now she would behave herself.

      ‘What? No sex or drugs? This really will be a dull weekend.’

      Her tone was crisp. Now she was really annoyed. Edward’s mouth twitched. He didn’t want it to. But her refusal to be intimidated amused him for some reason. Who was this girl?

      A minute’s frosty silence followed her angry outburst. Edward bit his tongue. Tonight he’d have to keep an eye on his unstable mother as well as shepherding his pernicious sister away from the bride-to-be. That was going to be hard enough. His sister had taken a dislike to Fiona—labelling her coarse and insipid. And Australian. Which was reason enough to bring back transportation, according to his sister.

      Three more days. Seventy-two more hours. Then he’d be back in London. Solid, uncomplicated, manageable.

      ‘Will there at least be wine?’

      Her quiet question made him turn to face her. She seemed totally unable to be quiet.

      ‘Yes, Olivia. There will be wine. Loads of wine, if my father has anything to do with it.’

      ‘At least your father has his priorities straight,’ she said as she turned to look out of the window.

      His mouth twitched again. She was inappropriate. And probably stupid. But she was amusing.

      Another minute passed and she shifted in her seat. His eyes were drawn to her golden legs. They stretched out long and muscular and her thighs glowed against the light of the dash. He looked away quickly.

      ‘Anyway, I didn’t realise this weekend was all about you. I would have thought it was more important your friend was happy,’ he said.

      He glanced at her as she turned to face him. Her cheeks were pink and her mouth was set in a thin, grim line. She hadn’t liked that comment.

      ‘Fiona told me you were nice, but then she never was a very good judge of character.’

      Her blue eyes were like icicles. Edward tried to hold back a smirk. Her little words couldn’t even get close to scratching him. He said worse things to himself when he caught his finger in a drawer.

      ‘Well, you would know her better than me—you are her best friend after all.’

      She huffed. Actually huffed. Like a six-year-old. He almost laughed as he turned into the sticky S-bend that meant he was close to his parents’ house.

      ‘If the rest of your family are like you I can see I’m in for a very long night.’

      ‘Oh, my family are not like me at all. They’re much more unpleasant.’ He could feel her staring at the side of his face. ‘And they’re not big on children, so I suggest you unfold your arms and stop pouting like that.’

      She unfolded her arms and huffed again. He thought he’d made her stop talking, but if nothing else, she was determined.

      ‘You are awful.’

      This time he really did smile. A nice wide grin that made his face muscles hurt. ‘You’re too kind.’

      * * *

      Olivia turned away. What an awful man! Fiona had said he was nice. She should have suspected something then. Fiona never said a bad word about anyone. Nice was code for awful, because that was the worst word Fiona could bring herself to say about anyone. And now she was in for an evening with a bunch of stuffy old people in the middle of the sleepy English countryside with Mr Nicely Awful.

      She let out a breath. She’d been so looking forward to this trip. Fiona and Olivia had been best friends since they were twenty-one. They had bonded over a couple of horrible ex-boyfriends and been soul sisters ever since. They’d partied together, they’d cried together and when Fiona had announced she was leaving to move in with Will six months ago Olivia had felt as if someone had shot a cannonball right through her. Since then she’d been lost, directionless. She hadn’t realised how much she’d relied on her best friend until she wasn’t there any more.

      ‘You must be looking forward to seeing your friend again.’

      His deep voice broke into her thoughts. Why did he keep talking to her? It was blatantly clear he didn’t like her. Was it his English politeness? Or did he like torturing her? She suspected it was a bit of both.

      ‘Yes, I am.’

      ‘Fiona told me you were quite close.’

      She noticed his hands had returned to their normal colour. He had long fingers and solid, thick wrists. A sprinkling of black hair peeped out from the cuff of his crisp white shirt. Olivia turned away quickly. Why the hell was she thinking about his wrist hair?

      ‘We were...we are. We’re more like sisters than friends.’

      She had an actual sister. One she tried not to think about too often. Her sister had asked her to come out with her and her beautiful friends a few weeks ago, when Olivia had been feeling particularly lonely. But she’d refused. Because that would have been like knitting a jumper for a penguin. Just. Plain. Stupid.

      ‘Are you looking forward to seeing her again?’

      Still talking to her! Olivia looked out of the window. He had a deep voice and it seemed to seep through her skin. It was grumbly and a little bit sexy, and she didn’t want to think about him like that.

      ‘I was. I mean—I am.’ She’d been looking forward to seeing Fiona again. And in equal parts dreading it, if she were honest. For some reason she felt a little awkward about seeing her best friend all loved up and happy and moving on—without her. But for this moron to imply she wasn’t happy for her friend and only thought of herself was horrible. And wrong. Of course this weekend was about Fiona.

      ‘I’m very happy for her. Really happy for her. Really very happy.’ And she was. But she couldn’t help but wonder if this weekend there might just be...perhaps...someone she could meet.

      ‘Have