Always the Best Man. Fiona Harper
himself, not extend the aftermath of the wedding with nightcaps with the other guests or jolly communal breakfasts the next morning.
Just before he looked up from his watch he became aware of someone standing in front of him. A quick glance downwards revealed his worst fear—white satin and a pair of matching shoes.
‘Come on, you …’ Sara said in that gentle, clear voice of hers. Damien transferred his gaze to his brogues. She was too close. If he looked up now, really let her see into his eyes, she might guess.
Slim fingers tugged at his jacket sleeve. ‘We can’t have you moping about in the corner on your own. You’ve got your pick of the bridesmaids, you know. Once upon a time that would have excited you.’
He looked up without actually looking at her, and shook his head. Why settle for second best?
‘Well, you’ll have to make do with me, then. Dance with me, Damien?’
He pulled air in through his nostrils and pushed it out again through his teeth. He stood up, unable to refuse this bride anything. Besides, she would think it odd if he refused, would probably send Luke to wheedle the secret he could never tell out of him.
Sara grasped his hand and pulled him towards the dance floor. So much for slipping away.
When she stopped, turned and waited for him to take her in his arms he almost bolted, but instead he stoically took her hand in his and drew her close. Not too close, however.
Imagine it’s someone else, he told himself.
And it seemed to work, because they started to move their feet and he still felt relatively normal. There were no fireworks where they touched, no unexpected jolts or hot flushes. This was good. He had things under control.
‘You’ve been fabulous today,’ Sara said as he led her round the dance floor. ‘Perfect.’
Damien smiled. A smile of duty. ‘It was easy to do this for Luke,’ he said. His words were plain, slightly evasive, but not devoid of truth. It had been easy to decide to support his best friend all the way when Luke had announced—in his own words—that he was going to marry the most wonderful woman in the world. Damien couldn’t have done anything else. It wasn’t in his bones.
But where the spirit was willing, the flesh had been weak. He hadn’t been able to eradicate the growing feelings for the woman he was now holding in his arms. He’d tried. God, he’d tried.
Sara attempted to chat as they danced, but her efforts clanged off him and fell to the floor between their feet. He’d always been able to jest and banter with Sara before now, but after the emotional marathon he’d run today he found himself searching frantically for something to say.
Conversation would be good, Damien! Conversation would distract him from the feel of her waist beneath his fingers, the light touch of her hand on his shoulder, the rose-scented perfume that was flooding his nostrils and drowning his lungs.
He looked down, breaking eye contact. ‘Your ring is beautiful,’ he said.
Sara lifted her hand off his shoulder to inspect it, twisting her hand one way then the other. ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’
Damien looked at the elegant curve of white gold studded with diamonds that was wrapped around Sara’s fourth finger. It suited her perfectly.
She smiled wide and replaced her hand on his shoulder. ‘Zoe really outdid herself this time.’
‘Zoe made that?’
He must have blurted that out in a rather uncharacteristic fashion because Sara burst out laughing and nodded. Damien looked again at the shiny, pale ring against the charcoal of his morning suit jacket, not quite able to get his head round what Sara had just told him.
He knew Sara and her girlfriends went wild for Zoe’s jewellery but, from what he remembered of her pieces, they were chunky, asymmetric things, involving not just stones and settings, but shells or wooden beads or feathers. Sometimes all three. To be honest, he didn’t get it. Must be a girl thing. He had always thought the simple chain and diamond pendant that Sara always wore was much more classy.
He felt a tap on his right shoulder. ‘I think you owe me a dance,’ a deep voice said. He twisted his head to find Luke grinning at his new bride, Zoe in his arms. Sara let her hands slide from Damien’s shoulder and back as Luke moved towards them.
Let go, Damien told himself. It’s time to let go …
It felt as if he had to peel himself from her.
‘Not her,’ Luke said, nodding towards his wife. ‘I meant you, my fine figure of a man.’
They all laughed at the joke, the way Luke held his arms aloft in invitation to Damien, before using them to scoop Sara closer so he could nuzzle into her neck. And off they went like that, joined from forehead to toe.
That left Zoe and Damien without partners and staring at each other.
He knew what the polite thing to do was. Problem was that, right at this moment, he wasn’t feeling particularly polite. He hesitated a fraction of a second too long, though, and one of Zoe’s mobile eyebrows twitched in recognition of his predicament. A wry smile pressed her lips together. Not an expression of humour, but of challenge.
Damien recovered quickly and held out his arms, just as Luke had done a moment earlier, as if that tiny transaction had not just occurred between him and the maid of honour. Pretend it’s all fine. Bury the uncomfortable feeling. That was what normally worked.
Zoe stepped into his hold, but the naughty twinkle in her eye told him her memory would not be so easy to erase. It also told him she would make him pay. Thankfully, the song was almost over.
But, as they started to move, the band segued into another tune, something in a four-four time with a bit of a Latin beat. He could hardly pull away now, thank her politely and head for the fresh night air outside the marquee, could he?
Damien growled inwardly. Now he had a whole song to get through. With a woman who—for no apparent reason—had not only decided she didn’t like him, but had made it her mission in life to wind him up.
What a perfect way to end the evening.
Pompous ass, Zoe thought to herself, grinding her teeth gently as she held her smile in place. She’d show him.
You’d think, on a day like today, when they were both here to support their best friends, he could have let up a little. But, no, Mr Holier-than-thou Stone had to ramp up the superiority factor even further.
Well, thanks to all those ballroom dancing lessons Luke had skipped out on, Zoe knew how to rumba just fine. At least on the dance floor she’d show him who was top dog.
Despite the urge to clench all her muscles ready for a killer right hook, she made herself breathe out, concentrated on relaxing into the rhythm so her hips and waist twisted and flowed. The bridesmaid’s dress was perfect for it. Sara had chosen well. Satin, the colour of old gold, skimmed her hips and flared from her knees in a bias-cut skirt, and it moved sensuously with every step.
They danced in silence, but after a particularly tricky bit of footwork she glanced up at Damien to find him staring down hard at her.
‘I thought the man was supposed to lead,’ he said, his voice expressionless.
Zoe shrugged. ‘This is a rumba. I’m just dancing the steps. Not my problem if it’s beyond you.’
His grip on her hand tightened and he pulled himself up straight, bringing their bodies closer together. Zoe feigned nonchalance.
‘Whoever said it was beyond me?’
Damien continued to stare at her, a slightly devilish smile kinking the side of his mouth, and his feet began to move in a pattern that had become horribly familiar to Zoe over the last couple of months. Rumba steps. Oh, hell. Of course Mr Perfect would be able to do this. Just another superpower to add to his vast