Her Best Man

Regret rifled through him. If only...

Alex slammed the brakes on the thought, not allowing it to go another step. Lindsey, and whatever feelings he may have had for her, was in the past. He’d waited too long to tell her the truth... that he cared.

Now it was too late.

Dammit, it was much too late.

Chapter One

Four years later

The woman of his dreams was tall, slender and dark haired. Her back was turned to him as she stared out onto the ocean, giving him a mouthwatering view of shapely curves outlined in a sexy red dress. A light breeze softened the air, molding the silky material to her body.

Alex firmly believed he’d died and had gone to heaven. If not heaven, then surely he was in paradise.

Impatiently, he reached out, anxious to learn the identity of his dream woman. His fingers grazed the smooth skin of her shoulder, sending shock waves of awareness tripping through his body. And—

A bell rang.

The woman’s image faded.

Alex moaned, fighting to hold on to the remnants of sleep. He hit the Snooze button on his clock radio. Once again, quiet descended upon his bedroom. With a sigh, he snuggled under the covers for another ten minutes of ecstasy.

The dark-haired enchantress resurfaced in his mind’s eye and...the bell rang, again.

Not the radio, he realized. The phone was ringing.

Grumpily, Alex pried open his eyes and squinted at the clock radio. It was 6:00 a.m. Who in their ever-loving mind would be calling him at this hour?

Another ring.

Alex growled and yanked the receiver from its cradle, effectively stopping the shrill peal. “Speak to me,” he mumbled as he closed his eyes and drifted back into oblivion.

“Alex?”

The woman of his dreams now had a voice. A vaguely familiar, sweet and sexy voice. The rich, velvety timbre reminded him of melt-in-your-mouth chocolate fudge. Alex licked his lips at the thought.

“Alex?” A trace of impatience this time. “Are you there?”

The woman of his dreams had a face. A perfect oval-shaped face with patrician features. Her eyes were the color of smooth, rich caramels, with only a touch of sadness tinging the mix. Her nose was pert and slightly upraised, as though she were ready to challenge his integrity. Smart girl. Her mouth...her mouth was like a strawberry, plump and ripe and ready for the picking.

His empty stomach growled a hungry protest.

“Alex, wake up!”

Startled, Alex sat up straight, knocking the bedcovers aside. Cold air hit his passion-aroused bare skin. He shivered in response. Just a dream, he told himself, shaking off the remnants of sleep. A dream that had been occurring much too often. What had been denied him in waking moments, his subconscious seemed bent on allowing him in slumber.

The woman of his dreams was Lindsey Richards, his best friend’s wife.

“Lindsey?” he croaked, wincing at the strained sound of his voice.

“I was just about ready to give up on you, Alex,” she said with an impatient breath.

Guilt lodged in his throat as he recalled his wanton dream and the major role his friend’s wife had almost played in it. He swallowed hard. “Don’t do that, Lindsey. You know I’m always here for you. Anytime you need me.”

“I know that, Alex.” Her tone softened. “You’ve been—” She paused, her voice catching. “You’ve been very good to me. More than I deserve—”

“Don’t start that again.” He scowled. They’d had this discussion before. It had happened with an annoying frequency in the past two years since Danny Richards had been tragically killed in a traffic accident. “I’ve told you before, we’re friends.” Though, if repressed desires had anything to do with it... He allowed the thought to go unfinished. “Friends look out for each other.”

“I know that, Alex, but—” She gasped. “Goodness, what am I thinking? I forgot to ask. Is this a good time to talk? Or am I, uh, interrupting something?”

He feigned ignorance. “You mean, other than my getting a full night’s sleep?”

“No, Alex, that’s not what I mean.” The impatience was back again. Alex could almost imagine her raising that pert little nose of hers. “I meant... are you alone?”

A blush probably accompanied that last hushed question. Alex couldn’t help but smile. For a woman who’d been married and had given birth to a child, she was such an innocent.

“Hold on. Let me check.” Alex took the opportunity to pull the wayward covers back up to his waist. Then, stacking his hands beneath his head and cradling the phone against his shoulder, he settled back onto the bed. “Nope, no one under these covers but little ol’ lonesome me.”

“Good,” she said, sounding relieved. Alex raised a curious brow, wondering if she were relieved that they were free to talk or that she’d found him alone in his bed. Before he could ask, she continued, “I wanted to catch you before you went to work. Do you remember what day it is today?”

“Jeez, Lindsey. Do you have to give me a pop quiz at six o’clock in the morning?”

“Alex—”

“All right, all right...let’s see, well, it’s Friday. The third week in November. Thanksgiving’s less than a week away. And—wait, I know there’s something else—ah, yes, it’s my godson’s birthday.”

“You remembered,” she said, unable to keep the pleasure from her voice.

“How could I forget?” He chuckled. “Jamie’s been reminding me of the upcoming event every time I’ve seen him in the last two months.”

James Daniel Richards was the spitting image of his father. A towheaded hellion with an angel’s smile. He had everyone who loved him wrapped around his chubby little finger. Alex included.

“Which brings me to the reason I called,” she said, her discomfort obvious.

Warning signals prickled his skin. He waited.

“Alex, I don’t want you to feel obligated to come tonight.”

He sat up in bed again, nearly dropping the phone in his haste. “Lindsey—”

She wouldn’t let him finish. “Hear me out, Alex. Jamie’s been a little overly enthusiastic about his birthday. Turning three’s an important step. When you’re three, you’re officially old enough to go to preschool. And chances are good that you’re going to make a real haul with all those birthday presents.” She stopped rambling long enough to suck in a deep breath. He could almost see the tiny furrow forming between her dark brows, the one she always got whenever she was feeling pensive. “The thing is, Alex, I’m sure you have better things to do with your time than spend a Friday night at a three-year-old’s birthday party.”

“Such as?” he demanded, his grip tightening around the receiver.

“Well...a date, for instance.”

“You think I’d rather go on a date than attend my only godson’s birthday party,” he said, his voice low and deceptively even. Anger simmered beneath the surface of his calm demeanor. “Just what kind of godfather do you think I am?”