Free The Wedding Favor by Unknown Page B

terrace toward him, hips swaying seductively, his gaze wandered down the length of her in that lazy way of his, then back up again until his eyes locked with hers, holding them while he took the glass she offered, pinged it to hers, and took a long swallow.
    Isabelle’s brows knit as she watched him give the lie to her words. Her lips turned down in an uncharacteristic frown.
    And Vicky got pissed. On Isabelle’s behalf, and her own.
    Damn you, Tyrell Brown, this was your stupid plan! You’re supposed to flirt with me , not spread it around to every big-boobed stripper who throws herself at you!
    Okay, maybe Annemarie had more going for her than boobs. But predictably, that’s where his eyes kept straying. And who could blame him? Jacked up like she was on those four-inch stilettos, her double Ds were literally under his nose , exploding like mushroom clouds out of her skintight, siren-red dress.
    As if that wasn’t enough, she tossed her lustrous black hair over one bare shoulder and licked her ruby lips so the gloss glistened wetly. Then, incredibly, she reached out to touch his chest, fingering the pearly snaps.
    The woman had no boundaries!
    And Ty, the idiot, ate it up with a spoon, brushing a knuckle down her arm as he whispered in her ear, laughing with her as they shared what was certainly sexual banter.
    Glancing down at her own conservative dress, Vicky bit her lip. The white linen sheath had seemed just right—flattering but not overtly sexy—until Annemarie showed up with her cleavage. And flat sandals had seemed like a practical choice until she got a load of Annemarie’s mile-high legs. How was she supposed to compete with that?
    Her stomach knotted. Rejected again.
    Then she reminded herself that this evening—this whole weekend—was not about her. Whether Tyrell found her attractive—which he obviously didn’t—was irrelevant. He was a jackass anyway. Let him hook up with Annemarie. At least that would put an end to the stupid fake flirtation.
    Turning her attention to Isabelle, she tossed out the first thing that came to mind. “So, how did you find this place?”
    Isabelle dragged her eyes away from the train wreck on the terrace. “You mean this chateau? A friend of the family owns it. He usually rents it to upscale tour groups, but it happened to be free this week.”
    Matt came up behind her, chained his arms around her waist. “Another happy coincidence,” he said over her shoulder. “Like us meeting in Tiffany’s.” He winked at Vicky.
    Isabelle turned in his arms, smiling up at him beautifully. She said something soft that Vicky couldn’t hear.
    And Matt rubbed noses with her.
    Yes, Vicky’s macho brother actually rubbed noses with Isabelle. Vicky didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
    Either way, she needed to get away from them. Their open affection stung like acid in the wound of her most recent rejection. Granted, that rejection was by a man she couldn’t stand and hoped never to lay eyes on again. But still.
    Easing backward, hoping to escape unnoticed, she took a step back, and . . . crunch . . . her heel came down on a toe.
    “Shi—!” A gruff voice bit back the curse.
    Tyrell, of course, who else?
    Reacting instantly, Vicky shifted to her other foot. But she moved too fast and lost her balance. She crow-hopped on one foot, arms flapping, champagne spouting from her glass.
    She prayed with all her might. Please God, please don’t let me fall again !
    Then a strong arm curled around her waist, hauling her back against a solid chest and pinning her like a bug. “Careful now, sugar.” Ty’s drawl rumbled in her ear. “You don’t want to take another tumble, now do you?”
    Her humiliation was complete.
    Well, not quite. She gritted her teeth as he added in an aside, “She’s got some balance issues.”
    “Ah.” Behind her back, Annemarie’s stage whisper sounded sympathetic. “Now I understand why she is having to wear those sandals. My grand-mère , she