She was practically boy-shaped under the champagne-colored silk bridesmaid gown she wore today, and yet he couldn’t stop staring at her.
Maybe it was her massive dark-brown eyes that took up half her face like a Margaret Keane portrait come to life…or the creamy-looking texture of her olive-colored skin…or the fact that her lips were almost perfectly bow-shaped and plump enough to pillow around a man’s cock and take him to heaven. Or maybe it was that she just seemed so fucking ambivalent about everyone at the wedding except for Kate, whom she affectionately called “KK.” He wondered what it would take to impress her—literally, to make an impression—but damned if he knew. Last night at the rehearsal dinner, he’d discovered that she was utterly immune to his charm.
“You must be the famous Libitz,” he’d opened, taking his assigned seat beside her and flashing his sexiest grin. After all, if she was his chosen conquest for the weekend, there was no time like the present to work his wiles.
Wearing a simple black sheath dress with aqua circles, seventies-style mod makeup, and oversized silver and crystal chandelier earrings that almost brushed her thin shoulders, she’d turned to him and blinked those wide, all-seeing eyes.
“And you…must be kidding.”
Taken aback, he’d stared at her for a second before chuckling. “Wha—I mean, how’s that?”
“Let’s start over,” she said, cocking her head to the side. “Here’s your line, Romeo: ‘Hi, I’m étienne’s brother, Jean-Christian. It’s nice to meet you.’ Want to give it a try?”
He cleared his throat, his smile fading. “Hi, I’m étienne’s brother, Jean-Christian. It’s nice to meet you.”
She locked eyes with his, her lips neutral, tilted neither up nor down. “Hi. I’m Libitz Feingold, Kate’s best friend…and it’s not cold enough.”
“What?” asked J.C., feeling completely turned around.
“It’s not cold enough in hell for me to fall for someone like you,” she said, then shifted back around to talk to the person on her other side.
Well, fuck me, thought J.C., taking another gulp of beer as he tried to figure out if he was insulted or impressed. After a moment, he nudged her in the side with his elbow, and she looked at him over her shoulder, her expression annoyed.
“Yes?”
“I hear the temperature’s dropping there,” he said casually, then added, “because they’re expecting a visit from you.”
“Ha!” she chortled, a genuine grin brightening her eyes for a moment before she quickly reigned it back in to practiced ennui. “Is that right?”
He shrugged, tipping his bottle of beer back as he held her eyes, challenging her to come back at him with something clever. “So I heard.”
“From all the friends you’ve got there?”
He almost spit his beer out. Damn, but she was quick.
“Truce?” he asked, placing his beer on the table and holding out his hand.
She stared at his hand for a moment, then looked away, leaning forward to pick up her champagne glass and bringing it slowly to her lips. “No, thanks. Mama didn’t raise no fool.”
“You’re unreal.”
She shook her head, that bored look still in place. “Nope. I’m real. I’m just not a good target for charming scamps looking for trouble.”
“A target? Shit. Who got to you?” he asked, feeling a little abused by her insta-judgment of him without actually getting a chance to know him in person. Not that she was wrong exactly. But getting into trouble with the right person could be a hell of a lot of fun.
“The list is long and distinguished,” she shot back.
His eyes widened and his lips wobbled.
“Oh, God,” she said, shaking her head as her cheeks bloomed an appealing pink under her makeup, “I walked right into that one didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did,” said J.C. with what he hoped was a disarming grin. “All together, now…”
“So’s my Johnson,” they said at the same time, quoting the rebuttal line from Top Gun.
“Hey, look at that,” he said, still smiling at her. “You do know how to have fun. I was beginning to worry.”
Her smile instantly faded. “You’re not as cute as you think you are.”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding as he finished the last of his beer, “I am.”
She rolled her eyes and presented him with her full back, their conversation apparently over.
“Jean-Christian!” muttered étienne, elbowing him in the side again as the priest gave him a dirty look.
“Père?” he asked, wondering what he’d just missed.
The priest sighed with exasperation. “The rings, my son?”
Fuck.
J.C. patted down his pockets, finally remembering he’d placed the two gold bands in his inside pocket and winking at Libitz as he handed them to étienne. She awarded him with a scathing look, shaking her head with disgust as the priest continued the ceremony by blessing the rings.
Damn, but he couldn’t catch a break with her. It was frustrating as hell.