Best Man...with Benefits. Nancy Warren

of melancholy to them hanging out getting hammered while Seth was off having sex with his new wife.

      This was the way of the future. One by one, they’d all get married or move across the country for new jobs or whatever. Their carefree youth was slowly coming to an end.

      It was how life was meant to work. But, while they were all still here, minus one, they partied.

      Of course they didn’t exclude women from the party, and between the dancing and the drinking and the laughing, it was late when Jackson figured he’d better call it a night. Cynthia tried to slip him her room key but, even though she was an attractive woman and he was a single man, he couldn’t work up the enthusiasm. He claimed he’d drunk too much and took her number. Which he knew he’d never call.

      The band had packed up, and the tired-looking bartender gave them the fish eye. He knew they were going to be a sad and sorry bunch come morning.

      He got to his feet.

      “Okay, I gotta go to bed.”

      To his surprise, all the guys rose at the same time.

      “Jackson—” Willy threw drunken arms around him “—you’re too drunk to drive. I’ll walk you home.”

      He opened his mouth to tell Willy none of them would be driving and realized there was no point even trying to reason with Willy.

      “Have to be quiet,” Rip warned them, staggering along. “People sleeping.”

      “Right.”

      They piled into the elevator. He pushed the number three. Nobody pushed another button. Seemed they were all on the same floor.

      The whole mob of them stumbled down the corridor. He rooted around in his pocket. Pulled out a valet parking ticket. Nope. Other pocket.

      There it was. His room key card.

      Willy grabbed the card out of his hand. “Allow me,” he said, as if he were the bellhop.

      “You angling for a tip?”

      They all snickered as if he was Chris Rock. Willy stopped at a door and made an exaggerated gesture. “Your room, sir.”

      “No, my room’s down there.” At least he thought it was.

      Willy shook his head. “Good thing we walked you home.”

      He stood back and waited. Willy was more wasted than he’d thought. When the key didn’t work, he’d... Well, his room was around here somewhere. Down the hall. He’d find it.

      But, to his surprise, when the key slid home, the green light glowed.

      Willy opened the door, put the key in his hand and patted him on the back. “Night, Jack.”

      “Yeah, night.”

      Right before the door snicked shut, he heard a gale of laughter. He shook his head, wondering what they’d found to laugh about and hoping they all made it back to their rooms okay.

      He stripped rapidly and stumbled into the bathroom. Peed, brushed his teeth. Damn, he’d bought the spearmint toothpaste by mistake again.

      He drank a huge glass of water, knowing his morning self would thank him. Then he flipped off the bathroom light and walked back into the bedroom where he fell, naked, into the king-size bed.

      As he closed his eyes, he smelled something light and floral and sexy. Someone had worn that fragrance tonight. He couldn’t think who, but his body stirred in memory.

      He edged closer and found himself touching warm, female skin.

       What?

      Apart from Cynthia, one more woman had tried to slip him her room card, but he was sure he hadn’t taken it.

      Had he?

      Oh, she smelled good.

      He eased closer; the curving line of her shoulder captivated him. The curtains were open, as were the French doors, and moonlight cast the palest glow on her skin. He couldn’t resist: he put his lips to the curve where her shoulder met her throat. A pulse beat there, slow and steady.

      And then she made a sound like a purr and turned to him.

      He wished he could remember her name. Damn.

      He might be drunk—okay, he was drunk—but he wasn’t going to have sex with someone he didn’t even know.

      He raised his head to look at her more carefully and at the same time she opened her eyes.

      His heart stopped.

      Her eyes opened wide.

      Holy shit.

      He knew this woman’s name perfectly. And most of the time wished he didn’t. What was Lauren doing in his bed?

      She blinked slowly, not moving or turning on the light or calling security. In fact, she didn’t say anything. He recalled that moment when their gazes had caught, when she was walking down the aisle, and he’d felt that punch of—of something he had no name for. Recognition was the closest he could come.

      For a long moment, they simply looked at each other. He wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come, wanted to move, no idea which way. Backward? Forward?

      She lifted a hand. If she was going to slap him, he was ready. He’d explain, except he had no idea what had happened. Then he recalled the snorts of laughter after his old school buddies had walked him home, and he thought he knew exactly how he got here.

      She didn’t slap him, though.

      She laid a hand on his cheek, slid it to the back of his head and, to his shock, pulled him toward her.

      They’d kissed already tonight. That forced kiss, close-lipped and dutiful, in front of a crowd. He still recalled the feel of her soft lips under his, the light scent that was now teasing his senses.

      And then she put her mouth on his.

       3

      JACKSON EXPERIENCED THE slam of lust, sharp and fierce, as she kissed him. Not some dry-mouthed kiss your great aunt Mildred would give you, like the one they’d shared earlier, but a deep, wet, hungry soul kiss.

      He pulled her against him, feeling her soft, warm skin, the silky slide of a nightgown that was definitely in the way.

      When she moved her mouth like this, he wasn’t reminded of firing squads or poison ivy. He thought of hot skin sliding on hot skin, of what her nipples would taste like on his tongue, the sounds she would make when he brought her to climax.

      He ran his hands lightly up over the silky gown to stroke her breasts through the fabric and felt her nipples respond, hardening beneath his palms.

      Her body began to grow restless, but something about this place, the romantic location, the soft hush of the ocean coming from the open French doors, the moonlight, the wedding, made him want this to be special for her.

      Their first time to be special.

      Those clever artist’s hands of hers began to move over his body, learning him, exciting him. When her hand closed around his cock, his hips jerked helplessly against her hand. He wanted so much more; he wanted her wet heat surrounding him and he was too excited for much handling.

      As though she’d read his mind, she moved on, stroking his chest. Then she pressed herself against him as though their entire bodies were kissing.

      As they rubbed and teased, she rolled right on top of him. She’d taken her hair out of its updo and it spilled over her shoulder in sexy loose curls.

      He reached for her, but she kept rolling until she was off the bed.

      What the hell?

      Stunned, he watched her dash into the bathroom, heard rustling and then she returned carrying—oh,