Just This Once Read online

  Also by Mira Lyn Kelly

  The Wedding Date

  May the Best Man Win

  The Wedding Date Bargain

  Back to You

  Hard Crush

  Dirty Player

  Hot Friction

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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2018 by Mira Lyn Kelly

  Cover and internal design © 2018 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Dawn Adams

  Cover image © Shirley Green Photography

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

  sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  To Sheila Thompson

  Chapter 1

  Fucking show-off.

  Sean stood at the front of the Chicago Wyse Hotel circle drive and watched Max rev his engine and pull his bike to a stop. The pair of shapely legs—a fair observation, not some pervy, inappropriate last-minute play on his part—bracketing Max’s shifted, and then Sarah was stepping off the bike, somehow managing the frothy pile of white dress enough to keep herself decent in the process. The girl had skills.

  Max crawled off the bike himself, and despite the guy’s inexplicable refusal to tux up for the big day, the off-white suit and open shirt collar looked damned good. And Sarah… Well, shit, she was a knockout. Total boner material—or she would be if she wasn’t marrying one of his best friends.

  “Sarah, you’re breathtaking. Absolutely radiant,” Sean offered, the filter between his brain and mouth fully engaged on Wyse Hotel grounds.

  “So awesome!” Molly squealed, bouncing over to her brother and future sister-in-law. “How was it getting over here?”

  Her feet were bare, and there was a bruise the size of a quarter next to her shin. Sean felt a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. How the hell had she gotten that? With Molly, it could be anything. As with that shock of hair in the front. When he’d seen her at eleven the night before, it had been purple, but now it was the hottest pink he could imagine.

  “The ride of my life.” Sarah beamed, toeing off the clunky motorcycle boots that had served as her “something borrowed” and exchanging them for the pair of strappy heels dangling from Molly’s fingers.

  “You ready to do this, Big Brother?” Molly asked, sticking her feet into her boots.

  “Like eight years ago.” Max grinned, then checking his watch, he looked back to Sarah. “Why’d we have to get here so early again?”

  Sean knew why. Molly had clued him in the night before while making that little squick face of hers. Turns out Sarah was all about too-much-informationing Molly into sticking to a set of boundaries no one had managed with his girl before. So any time Molly even edged into inappropriate-question territory, Sarah gave her an answer sure to scar her for life. This time, the answer had to do with how hot it had made her to remember Max pulling up to CJ’s wedding in a tux, and that actually being the bride on the back of Max’s bike might mean a little “alone time” was in order before the ceremony.

  Hence the additional room booked for the pre-wedding activities. Definitely information Sean didn’t need about his very fucking favorite employee. But since Molly had to bear it, he did too.

  Sarah tugged Max down to whisper in his ear, and Molly grimaced beside Sean.

  Max’s brows rose. His expression darkened. And then Molly wasn’t the only one uncomfortable with the way the heat had just cranked up there on the sidewalk.

  Without taking his eyes off his bride, Max tossed his keys to Sean. “Yeah, so we’re gonna go get cleaned up some before the ceremony. See you in about an hour.”

  Sarah had her finger hooked into a button on Max’s shirt and was walking backward, leading him into the hotel.

  Damn, Max had found his perfect match in that girl.

  One of these days, Sean would find his own perfect match. He’d been looking. Even thought he might have found her once or twice. But despite everything on paper being right—the right name, the right school, the right looks and connections—he hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. Then again, after the shit storm between his parents these past months, that was probably a good thing.

  “It’s not the infidelity,” his mother had spat out that day in their Manhattan Wyse apartment. “It’s your lack of tact I take issue with, Warren. We’ve both had our indiscretions…but at least I had enough respect for you and what we’ve built together to make sure they didn’t follow me home. You humiliated me.”

  His father had straightened his tie where he stood, his voice as calm as if he’d been ordering room service. “I thought it was enough. A million dollars, Beverly. It’s not like I could force them—”

  Talk about pulling the curtain back.

  And ever since, Sean had been looking at things…differently.

  Reevaluating the plans he’d had in place forever.

  Questioning exactly what he wanted his life to look like, and the only solid answer he’d come up with so far was…not like that.

  But he’d figure all that shit out another day. Today he was Max Brandt’s best man, and he had one last gift for the groom.

  “Hey, Moll,” he said, catching her hand in his before she could dart off. “Hang back a sec.”

  “Yeah?” She peered up at him with those vast blue-sky eyes and that open, excellent smile.

  Dropping her hand, he took a step back, giving her a jut of his chin. “You get the rent from your roommate
yet?”

  The big blues cut away, and her smile firmed into a flat line. “I said I’d take care of it.”

  She had said so. Six months ago, when the dick cheese holed up in her spare room stopped paying rent on time, sometimes skipping a whole month before giving half of what he owed. Why did she have to be so stubborn? If she’d let him, Sean would’ve had the rent paid in full and the guy out within a week. But no. Not little Miss Independent-to-a-Fucking-Fault.

  That tightening sensation across his chest warned he needed to rein it in. Because as pissed as he was that this bullshit was still an issue—that Molly wouldn’t let him help her—going nuclear beneath the awning of his hotel wasn’t going to happen.

  But he knew what would.

  “You remember what I told you, Moll?”

  She didn’t answer, but the subtle tensing of her shoulders told him she remembered just fine.

  “If you didn’t take care of it, I would.” He’d warned her, but she hadn’t listened.

  Turning abruptly, that sheer, creamy skirt twirling around her pretty knees, she glared up at him. Her arms crossed, turning her into a miniature version of her brother. Well, a miniature hot and cute and not-quite-as-tough-as-she-wished-she-was version.

  “Don’t you even think about getting Max involved in this.” She sucked a breath through her nose and narrowed her eyes at him.

  Damn, she was fun when she was fired up. But he had to stay tough—he was fired up too.

  “Sean, just stay out of it. This is my problem. My apartment. My life. My situation to handle. If I wanted your interference, I’d ask for it. Understand?”

  He nodded once, watching as she started inside for the wedding that would be held on the garden terrace.

  He understood exactly. Molly had too much damned pride, and there was no fucking way he was going to stand by and let this wad screw her over for even one more day. Pulling his phone from his pocket, Sean hit Dial and waited for the call to connect. “Yeah, go ahead and load it up. Use the keys I left on the coffee table at my place to get in to hers… Yep, good.”

  Then, with a twirl of Max’s keys around his finger and the perfect combination of testosterone and righteous indignation thundering through his veins, he hopped on Max’s bike, revved the engine, and took off for Molly’s place.

  Get ready to meet your new roommate, Moll.

  * * *

  Three hours later, Sean stood at the edge of the dance floor in the Wyse Villa Ballroom watching Max dance with his brand-new bride to Ray LaMontagne’s “You Are the Best Thing.” Max was smiling down at her, looking like the happiest man alive.

  They deserved this. The dance, the day, the future. The happily ever after. All of it.

  A smooth hip bumped his, and Sean turned to find Molly beside him, swaying in time to the soulful love song. Slinging his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her in so she was tucked close to his side. His hand rested over her bare shoulder, his thumb playing with that silky braided strap in a back-and-forth rub, until… Shit, right—this was Molly.

  Slip-ups happened.

  She grinned up at him, completely oblivious to the mental lapse on his part. “They look so damn good together. Seriously, can you believe that’s my brother out there? Commitment-phobe of the century?”

  Sean shrugged. “Guess when you know, you know.”

  Letting out the kind of dreamy sigh Molly would skin him for noticing, she nodded. “I guess.”

  At the next chorus, the dance floor opened up to the wedding party.

  Oh yeah. About time.

  Without missing a beat, Sean had her hand in his. “Here we go, Moll. Let’s show ’em how it’s done.”

  He spun her out before reeling her back in, held her against his chest for a beat, and then laughed as they mirrored each other, advancing and retreating into the shared space. He didn’t know how she did it, but even in those clunky boots, every move was fluid and free.

  Pulling her in again, he sang along for a few lines, getting a kick out of his girl’s absolute delight. He meant every damn word.

  Molly was the best thing. The best friend he had.

  And he was going to soak up all her laughter and sweet smiles while he had them, because she was going to be pissed once they got back to her place.

  “What’s with that face?” Molly asked, moving easily in time with him.

  “What are you talking about?” he replied, giving her his polished best, the practiced society-page-ready smile he’d perfected too many years ago to count. The one she hated.

  She fake gagged, giving him a disgusted look. Definitely not photo ready. But that was Molly, and hell, it was probably what Sean loved about her most. She didn’t care what anyone thought.

  He’d caught a snap of her making that face about a year ago—with her lip curled, one lid a little lower than the other as she rolled her eyes at something he’d said—and instead of crawling all over him trying to steal his phone to delete it, she’d blown it up and posted it over the Belfast bar with a caption that read: Don’t Drink and Drive.

  Just thinking about it had the more genuine smile she never failed to score breaking through his professional one.

  “There we go,” she said, her head rocking to the beat of the music just a little. “That’s more like it. But seriously, what’s got your manties in a twist?” She scanned the ballroom around them. “Everything looks perfect. Your guys are bringing their A game tonight for sure. The food was tasty, the servers are rocking their jobs…and you know, being in the industry, I’m picky about that stuff.”

  She was. And the event team was working like a well-oiled machine. But then they’d be nuts not to, considering Sean signed their paychecks and the bride headed sales and marketing for Wyse Hotels’ Midwest territory. Still, he liked hearing it.

  Molly cleared her throat, waiting. Right, because she didn’t bother with questions she wasn’t fully expecting an honest answer to.

  He shrugged. “Little jealous, maybe.”

  Her big, blue eyes went wide with alarm as she grabbed his lapel, jerking him close to her face. Subtle.

  “Over Sarah?” Molly sounded like she was going to puke, and who could blame her if she thought he was pining over her brother’s new bride? Okay, and sure, Sarah was the one who got away, though technically speaking, she’d been Max’s one who got away before she’d been Sean’s, and ix-nay on the pining, because he’d seriously only begun to register the assortment of desirable traits that might have qualified her as a potential Mrs. Wyse when Max started beating his chest and tripping over his damn feet because of her.

  No way Sean was getting in the way of that. His real friendships were too few and far too important to risk over a maybe, possibly kind of interest. So after Max’s first chest thump, Sean had shut down the maybes and possibilities altogether. A skill he’d perfected over the years. And aside from the occasional clinically dispassionate observation that, under different circumstances, yeah, Sarah would have fit in with his former plans pretty damn well, he hadn’t thought about her like that again.

  “Nah, not Sarah,” he assured Molly with a curt shake of his head. “But the nailing-down-their-forever, yeah, some.”

  Molly’s smile went full-on imp. “Always a best man…never landing your bride?”

  Sean coughed out a laugh. Because this girl. “Something like that,” he acknowledged.

  Then more seriously, she added, “Must be nice to have someone love you like that.” Cutting him a sidelong look, her eyes narrowed. “Not that I’m interested.”

  Right. She didn’t like people to know what a softy she was underneath her tough outer shell, but he knew the truth. Molly was all marshmallow inside. Sweet and gooey and his favorite platonic treat.

  He tugged her close. “Liar. But it’s okay, Moll. Your secret’s safe with me. You want lurve,” he joked.
r />   A motorcycle boot on his toes was her answer, but the way she was fighting that grin, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink, was reward enough. “Yeah, right.”

  “You know you do,” he added, all singsong just above her ear. More of the blush filled her cheeks, hitting him like a drug and giving him everything he wanted.

  Teasing Molly had been his favorite pastime since she’d basically moved into the quad he was sharing with Max, Jase, and Brody the second week of their freshman year in college. She’d been fifteen, still in high school, but so desperate to escape the war zone at home that she’d been willing to make the hour commute each day. It still killed him to think about that girl who’d been as lost and displaced as they came. Sullen and isolated. Shut off from everyone, even her brother.

  It got to him. Seeing a kid like that with eyes so sad.

  His family wasn’t anything like the Brandts’, but he knew what it was like to feel alone, so he’d made Molly his pet project. Chatting her up as if they were long-lost friends. Carrying on conversations between them where he’d ask her a question and then—because even pulling a single-word response from her could be damned near impossible—answer for her, making up outrageous claims. Clowning around and making faces at her every time he caught her sneaking a look from beneath the too-long fall of white-blond hair that was always in her eyes. Until finally, one day about three months into school, he did it. He teased that first smile out of her, and—Christ—he’d never gotten over it. Even eleven years later, Molly’s smile still topped his list of favorite things.

  “Whatever. I’m not the one who’s been taking applicants for a wife for the past five years. Looking at every spoken-for female, like there’s another one who got away. You’re the one desperate for love.”

  He barked out a laugh, knowing she was only half joking. He’d been serious about settling down, but not like that. “Love wasn’t really the objective.”

  “Even worse.” She snorted. “But I know. You wanted the partner. The pedigree.”

  “Come on,” he groaned, though why he gave her the satisfaction, he had no idea.