He's the One: Winning a Groom in 10 Dates / Molly Cooper's Dream Date / Mr Right There All Along. Jackie Braun
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with her tension at the unexpected arrival of Slick Hamilton.
Surely, Sophie hadn’t been going to marry this guy? Worm face?
But a quick glance at Sophie, trying so hard to retain her pride, a plastic smile glued across her face, confirmed it.
Not only had she been going to, it looked like she regretted the fact she wasn’t! The little ceremony he’d interrupted at the fire pit last night was all beginning to make an ugly kind of sense now.
Well, that’s what happened when you left a lovely hometown girl, innocent to the ways of the world, to her own devices for too many years. She had all kinds of room to screw up.
“Um,” Sophie stalled, “I haven’t checked the calendar yet. What day was it?”
Brand hated seeing her squirm, and he hated it that she was so transparent. The little worm could see just how badly he’d managed to hurt her—which was exactly the kind of thing that made little worms like him feel gleeful with power.
Gregg actually looked as if he was enjoying himself enough to pull up a chair and have a croissant with them!
Brand slid Sophie a look. Slick Hamilton wasn’t the kind of threat you had to keep a hand free to get at your hidden holster for.
The look on her face reminded him of another time when he’d found her on this porch, alone, on the swing over there, listening to music drifting up from the high school. It had probably been sometime in that year before he left.
He’d been rushing somewhere, though it was funny how that somewhere had seemed so important at the time, but he couldn’t remember it now.
But he could remember the look on her face as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.
“What’s up?” he’d asked her.
“Nothing.”
“Come on. You can’t lie to me, Sweet Pea. How come you aren’t at the school dance?”
“It’s the Sweetheart Prom,” she said and then her face had crumpled even as her chin had tilted proudly. “Nobody asked me to go.”
At nineteen what did a guy know about tears except that he didn’t want to be anywhere around them? A better person than nineteen-year-old him had been might have dropped his other plans, changed clothes, taken her to the prom.
But he hadn’t. He had chucked her on the chin, told her proms rated pretty high on the stupid scale and gotten on with his own life.
Brand thought suddenly of all those cute letters she had sent him when he’d joined up, when he’d been posted overseas. His one-gal fan club. The envelopes always decorated with stickers and different colored inks, the contents unintentionally hilarious enough that he had read every word.
Never answered any, though. Not even once.
Had her younger self waited by the mailbox, hoping?
So, maybe it was because he regretted doing the right thing by her only when it was convenient for him back then that he made a decision now. He owed her something. A smidgen of decency, compassion in a hard world.
Being undercover had taught him to read situations, and this one was obviously going as badly for her as it was going well for Gregg.
It felt like the most natural thing in the world to rescue Sophie.
“I think Sophie’s going to have to say no,” Brand said smoothly. “I’m only here for a little while. We don’t want to waste any of our time together, do we, honey?”
He turned to look at her. She was no actress. If Slick Hamilton saw her mouth hanging open in shock, he’d know the truth.
And Brand didn’t want him to know the truth. That she still loved Gregg Slick Hamilton. Or thought she did.
There was one way they both could find out.
He caught her cute little puffy bottom lip with his. Touched it, ran his tongue along it, made her world only about him.
It was probably a sin how much he liked it, but Brand was pretty sure his place was reserved in hell, anyway.
And the kiss accomplished exactly what he wanted.
Sophie was staring at him with wide-eyed awareness as if Gregg had vaporized into a speck in front of them. She licked her lip and her eyes had gone all smoky with longing.
Nope.
No matter what she might have convinced herself, she didn’t love Gregg Hamilton and never had.
Not that Brand considered himself any kind of an expert on love.
Lips, though, that was quite another thing.
And he liked hers. A whole lot more than he’d expected to. His sense of having sinned deeply grew more acute.
“Well, Sophie,” the swagger was completely gone out of Gregg’s voice, “You know you’re welcome to come. Bring your new friend with you.”
The invitation was issued now with the patent insincerity of a man who saw something he’d been using to puff himself up disappearing before his eyes.
“We might just do that,” Brand said easily.
Gregg got in his car and roared away, spitting stones as if they proved his testosterone levels were substantially higher than those of the next guy.
Brand committed to getting rid of his own sports car sooner rather than later.
“Were they to swine for?” Hilde demanded, mixing German and English.
“What?” Sophie asked, dazed.
“His lips!”
“No. Yes.” She closed her eyes, gathered herself and then looked sternly at her grandmother. “Stop.”
And then she turned to Brand. The dazed expression was completely gone from her face.
“What did you do that for?” she demanded.
He tried not to smile. The girl was transparent! It was written all over her that she was torn between yes and no, stop and go, hitting him or thanking him.
And it was written all over her that that kiss had rocked her tidy world in a way she would never want him to know. But then again, he didn’t really want her to suspect it had rocked his, too.
“Your ex was just gloating over your discomfort at his arrival a little too much,” he said quietly. “It bugged me.”
“How did you know he was my ex?” she asked, aghast.
“I’m good at reading people,” he said. He didn’t add that it was a survival mechanism, that over the past few years his life had depended on that skill. “I’m glad about the ex part, Sophie. I didn’t care for him much.”
Her grandmother snickered with approval and Sophie shot her a quelling look.
“You only saw him for thirty seconds!”
“Like I said,” he lifted a shoulder elaborately, “I have a gift for reading people.”
“He looked like a good kisser,” her grandmother insisted in German.
“Stop it!” Sophie said in English.
“Stop what?” Brand asked innocently.
She looked him straight in the face. “Stop rescuing me, Brand. I’m not fifteen anymore. I don’t need your help with my personal affairs.”
She blushed when she said affairs in just about the way she had when she’d said dork all those years ago, as if she was fifteen and had just used a risqué word. It was very sweet. She was very sweet. The kind of girl he knew nothing about.
She was right. He needed to stop rescuing her.
“It was