N. Walters: MacNamaras Lady

Missy Sinclair sniffed delicately and blinked hard to keep from crying. She wasn’t usually the sentimental type, but it wasn’t every day she watched her best friend get married. Candy was staring at her husband-to-be with such a rapt expression of love on her face it was impossible not to be moved by it.

The chapel was quiet, except for the even tone of the minister’s voice. A small group of family and friends watched on as the couple exchanged vows. Candy’s bouquet—pink roses—filled the air with its perfume. Fabric rustled and someone in the back coughed.

The bride was wearing a three-quarter length, off-white dress that hugged her curves to perfection. She and Candy had spent days searching for just the right dress. Her cinnamon-brown hair was swept up and held with several silver clips that Missy had helped her pick out.

Lucas Squires, the groom, looked handsome in his black tuxedo with his blond hair and pale blue eyes. He’d wanted to be married right away, but Candy had wanted a real wedding. She’d stated in no uncertain terms that since she was only doing this once she wanted to do it right. The tough guy had caved immediately, wanting Candy to be happy.

How must it feel to be loved like that?

She looked away from the happy couple and her gaze was immediately snared by that of the best man—T.S. MacNamara. Now there was a man to catch any woman’s attention. She’d have to be dead not to notice such a prime specimen.

Strangely enough, he wasn’t handsome in a classical sense, but his rough good looks drew many a female eye. His nose looked as though it might have been busted once and even though he’d probably shaved this morning, his jaw was already starting to darken. With his shoulder-length black hair, olive complexion and golden-brown eyes, he looked tough and compelling, strong and confident.

She’d met him back in early spring when Lucas and Candy had officially become a couple. Now it was only a couple of weeks away from Thanksgiving. This year had certainly flown.

He looked right at home in blue jeans and work boots, which was fortunate considering he was a general contractor and owned his own business—MacNamara Contracting. But he looked equally at home in a formal tuxedo. His shoulders strained at the seams of the jacket, hinting at the muscular physique beneath.

She’d noticed that body more than once over the past months as they’d been thrown together more and more. They’d shared many a dinner with Lucas and Candy as the couple planned their wedding. T.S. was an easygoing guy. He laughed and smiled easily, conversed readily about current events and sports, but Missy always had the feeling there was much more to him than he allowed anyone to see. Or maybe he was exactly what he seemed to be, a hardworking, fun-loving man who had no intentions of ever settling down. She’d never seen him with one particular woman and Lucas ribbed him from time to time about the way he played the field.

Missy was not a one-night-stand kinda girl, but that hadn’t stopped her from fantasizing about T.S. over the past few months. And why not? She was a healthy woman, even if she didn’t have a very active sex life. Oh, she dated frequently enough, but she was very picky when it came to who she let into her bed.

But a fantasy didn’t hurt anyone. And T.S. had featured in all hers lately. She was a tall woman, but in her stocking feet he’d probably top her by a couple of inches. His shoulders were incredibly wide, his chest broad and roped with muscles. He’d done a lot of the work on Lucas’ building and she’d seen him once without a shirt. It was a sight a woman would never forget. The image was burned on her brain forever.

Hot and sweaty, he’d removed his shirt and tossed it aside. Dark chest hair thinned as it angled downward and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. The weight of his tool belt had pulled the jeans down slightly, exposing his bellybutton.

He’d been swinging a hammer, the muscles in his biceps flexing and rippling. The man had corrugated steel for abs and her fingers had itched to run up and down the broad bands.

She’d spent many a night wondering what he looked like without the jeans. His thighs were thick and solid and a substantial bulge filled out the front of his jeans.

Missy shifted restlessly, her pussy beginning to pulse. She was mortified by her thoughts and behavior. She was at a wedding, in a chapel. She shook herself and looked away from T.S., focusing on her friend instead.

The ceremony was almost done. The couple exchanged rings and then Lucas was kissing his bride. Applause erupted and the couple started down the aisle. Missy waited for T.S. so they could follow.

“You okay?” His voice was low enough so no one else could hear.

“I’m fine. Why?”

His eyes studied her face with concern. “You look a bit overheated.”

Her spine stiffened and she tilted her head up. With her heels she was a bit taller than he was and she used that now to build her confidence. No way did she want him to ever know she was flushed because she’d been imagining him naked. “It’s a bit warm in here.”

She hurried down the aisle, not giving him the opportunity to continue his line of questioning. He could either keep up or be left behind.

Missy glanced at T.S. out of the corner of his eye. Damn man was watching her with a speculative gleam in his eyes. His eyes dipped low. She refused to look down. She knew her nipples were puckered. She only hoped that no one else noticed.

Plastering a smile on her face, she congratulated the newly married couple and took her place in the small receiving line. The reception couldn’t come fast enough to suit her.

Women were trouble.

But a beautiful woman was serious trouble. And Missy Sinclair was a beautiful woman by anyone’s definition of the word.

T.S. MacNamara lifted the cold bottle of beer and took a swallow of the mellow brew, his eyes never leaving Missy. Now that was a woman to inspire a man’s fantasies. And he’d had more than his share since he’d met her.

She stood about six feet tall. And that was before she slipped on those four-inch killer heels she was wearing. She was lean with subtle curves that tempted a man to put his hands on them. With her smooth ebony skin and piercing brown eyes she resembled an ancient African goddess. It was all too easy to imagine men falling to their knees and worshipping at her feet.

Intimidating was one word he’d heard to describe her. Cold was another. From what he’d observed the past few months, Missy kept men at arm’s length. Her daunting demeanor put off some men. But not T.S. If anything her confidence and innate intelligence made him want her even more.

“Thanks for coming.”

T.S. raised his bottle to his best friend, Lucas Squires, as he came to stand beside him. They’d met in prison when they were still practically kids, two eighteen-year-olds scared out of their minds. And they’d been tight ever since.

The saint and the sinner. The angel and the devil. That’s what the other inmates had nicknamed them. Lucas with his blond hair and blue eyes was the angel. He with his olive-toned complexion and black hair was the devil. If you messed with one you messed with them both. Their shared experience had forged one hell of a bond. One that had stood the test of time.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” And he meant it too. He was honored to have been asked to be the best man. As emotion welled up inside him, he let his gaze flow over the small crowd of family and friends who’d gathered back at the couple’s home for food and drink.