Aidan’s dark eyes flickered with intrigue. “The bride. Interesting. But no groom.”
Claire met his gaze again. “The groom decided he didn’t want to marry me so he left without telling me.”
He looked startled. “What do you mean, without telling you?”
“Oh, don’t worry, he recruited his brother to dump me. I suppose that’s better than nothing.” The bitterness in her tone belied the smile she’d attempted.
Those magnetic eyes softened with sympathy. “I’m sorry. That must have been tough for you.” He turned to Dylan. “You didn’t need to stay with your mother?”
“I wanted to get Claire outta there. I’ll call my mom in a bit.”
Claire’s heart skipped a beat at the knowledge that Dylan had put her first, but her response was so infuriating it resulted in making her crabby again. “I’m sure you have more questions,” she told Aidan, “but can one of you direct me to the washroom first? And maybe a room where I can get changed?”
The latter request directed both men’s eyes to the dress clinging to her body like plastic wrap. When those hot male gazes rested on her chest, Claire experienced another baffling moment of were-they-or-weren’t-they. Gay, that was. Because from the hungry way they were staring at her breasts, she would bet on were not.
“You can stay in my room,” Dylan finally said.
“I can’t take your room,” she protested. “Where will you sleep?”
She regretted the question the second it exited her mouth. Her cheeks scorched again, burning hotter when she spotted the smirk on Aidan’s mouth.
“I’ll sleep in the office.” Dylan picked up her bags. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”
She took a step after him, then paused awkwardly and looked at Aidan. “It’s really nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.” He still wore that secretive little smirk, but after a beat it faded into a frown. “And I really am sorry about your wedding.”
“Thanks,” she murmured before trailing after Dylan.
He led her into a bedroom with dark-blue walls, a neatly made double bed, and modern, black-painted furniture. Other than a stack of books and magazines on the bedside table and the bulletin board on the closet door, the room lacked any personal touches. It smelled like Dylan, though, that woodsy, masculine scent that had filled her nostrils during the entire helicopter ride.
“Do you mind giving me some time alone?” she asked after he deposited her suitcase and carry-on near the foot of the bed. “I want to shower and call my parents, and maybe lie down for a little while.”
“No problem.” He headed for the doorway, then lingered there. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to whip up something for you to eat?”
She blinked in surprise. “You cook?”
Annoyance flickered in his green eyes. “Yes, I cook.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
She felt like he was making a jab in there somewhere, but his tone was light and his expression veiled, so she decided not to push it. “Anyway, I’m not hungry. My appetite left me around the same time Chris did.”
Dylan let out a breath. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a shitty day, Claire.”
“Yeah, me too.”
They both went quiet for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. “Okay, well, let me know if you need anything. I’m gonna fill Aidan in on what happened and then deal with my mom.”
“Thank you for everything you did today,” she said, shifting uneasily.
“No prob,” he said before sliding out the door.
Once she was alone, Claire sat on the edge of the mattress and ran her fingers over the soft, navy-blue comforter. She felt uncomfortable being here, in Dylan’s space, in Dylan’s home, yet somehow it felt oddly appropriate. This entire day had been a nightmare, so why not finish it out in the company of a man she hated?
Dislike, a voice corrected.
Yeah, hate might be too strong a word, Claire had to concede. She still didn’t approve of his behavior or the way he’d abandoned his family, but she couldn’t deny that he’d been decent today.
Sighing, she reached into her purse and found her phone. A moment later, she had a tally that made her gawk—forty-two text messages, twenty-one voice mail messages, twenty-four missed calls. Didn’t bode well for her email, which was her preferred method of communication.
She only bothered responding to the messages from her parents and her boss, reminding the former that she’d requested space, and thanking the latter for the reassurance that Claire still had the next three weeks off, honeymoon or no honeymoon.
After she pressed send, she checked the world clock app on her phone and nearly wept with joy when she realized she could now call Natasha and actually receive an answer. Long-distance charges be damned, she dialed Nat’s number and prayed her friend was still awake.