His Brother’s Wedding Night

MF Contemporary Romance by Isla Wilde

Free with Kindle Unlimited

Pairing: MF (Hetero)

Heat: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Inferno

Tropes: Forced Proximity, One Bed, Opposites Attract, Grumpy/Sunshine, Wedding Romance

The last man she should want is the groom’s older brother. The suite has one bed. The wedding has five days. She’s not going to survive either.

Maya Lin has one job this weekend: keep her best friend’s destination wedding running like clockwork. She is not here to fall into bed with the groom’s older brother. She is definitely not here to fall for him.

Jack Russell is the family disappointment, and he has the half-finished résumé and the ex-wife to prove it. He showed up for his brother. That’s it. He is absolutely not supposed to notice the maid of honor — or the way she organizes everyone’s life while forgetting to live her own.

One overbooked suite. One broken pullout couch. Five days of forced proximity at a lakeside resort.

They should have known better.

Now Maya is sneaking out of wedding events to find him in parking lots and empty ballrooms. Jack is memorizing the sounds she makes when she stops pretending. And both of them are pretending they can walk away when the weekend ends.

They can’t.

You’ll love this book if you enjoy:

✅ Forced proximity with one bed and a broken couch

✅ Maid of honor × groom’s brother (the family black sheep)

✅ Opposites attract — buttoned-up overachiever × gruff contractor

✅ A hero who stays when everyone expects him to leave

✅ Explicit, graphic heat (🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ — counter sex, balcony sex, and a banquet room you’ll never forget)

✅ HEA guaranteed

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⚠️ Content Warning: This novel contains explicit sexual content (graphic MF scenes including semi-public encounters), strong language, themes of family estrangement, and depictions of anxiety and self-worth struggles. Intended for readers 18+.

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Chapter One: The Suite Problem

The florist sent ivory instead of cream, the groom was three whiskeys deep before noon, and I was about to share a hotel suite with the one man guaranteed to ruin my week.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I pulled into the Lakeview Resort and Spa at 3:47 p.m., exactly forty-two minutes behind schedule, because I’d spent the drive from the city managing a twelve-person group text about parking, dietary restrictions, and whether the welcome cocktails were business casual or resort casual. My phone was propped in the cupholder, pinging with such regularity that the Bluetooth speaker made it sound like a heart monitor for someone having a very bad day.

Which, to be fair, was me.

The resort was gorgeous, I’ll give it that. Lily had spent fourteen months choosing this place, and the photos didn’t lie. Stone and timber lodge set against the Finger Lakes, surrounded by old-growth pines, the water glittering through every window like a promise.

My phone buzzed. Lily. Where ARE you? The florist is a CRIMINAL.

I grabbed my bags, my garment bag with the maid-of-honor dress, and my emergency kit — a rolling case packed with safety pins, Tide pens, ibuprofen, bobby pins, double-sided tape, superglue, a sewing kit, two portable chargers, and a flask of bourbon that was technically for emergencies but might get opened before dinner.

The lobby was all exposed beams and leather furniture and a stone fireplace big enough to stand in. A woman at the front desk smiled at me like I was late for my own life, which honestly wasn’t inaccurate.

“Checking in,” I said. “Maya Lin. I should have a single suite — Lily Chen’s wedding block.”

The woman typed. Frowned. Typed again.

“Ms. Lin, I’m so sorry — there’s been a slight adjustment to your room assignment. Due to an overbooking situation, your single suite has been converted to a shared suite.”

“Shared with who?”

“A Mr. Jack Russell.”

The name landed in my chest like a bird hitting a window. Not hard enough to break anything. Just hard enough to stun.

Jack Russell. Groom’s older brother. Family black sheep. The man who showed up late to every event, argued with his father at the engagement party, and had, on exactly one occasion eighteen months ago, made me laugh so hard I snorted champagne through my nose and then looked at me like the sound was the best thing he’d heard all year.

I’d thought about that look more than I wanted to admit. Which was to say, I thought about it never, and I was a liar.

The suite was on the third floor, end of the hall. I opened the door. The balcony door was open, letting in warm late-afternoon air and the sound of water and pine trees. And standing on the balcony, leaning against the railing with a glass of something amber in his hand, was Jack Russell.

He turned when he heard me come in. He looked like trouble. Dark hair that needed a cut, jaw sharp enough to cast a shadow, a scar through his left eyebrow. He was wearing a faded henley with the sleeves pushed to his elbows, jeans, and no shoes, and the bare feet on the balcony tile were somehow the most disarming thing about him.

His forearms were tan and roped with muscle — not gym muscle, work muscle. His hands wrapped around the whiskey glass were broad, rough-knuckled, scarred across the backs. Hands that built things. Hands that knew how to grip.

I was not thinking about his hands.

“Maya.” He said my name like a statement, not a question. “They told you about the room situation.”

“They also told me the pullout couch is broken.”

“It is broken. I tried it.” He took a sip of his whiskey. “You look tired.”

“Thank you. That’s exactly what every woman wants to hear from the man she’s been assigned to cohabitate with.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. More like the ghost of one. “You look tired and pissed off. Better?”

“Take the bedroom,” he said. “I’ll take the couch.”

“You don’t fit on the couch. Your feet will hang off by a foot.”

“Take the bed, Maya. I’m not arguing about this.”

The way he said my name — both times now, he’d said it like he was testing the weight of it. Like it meant something specific that he hadn’t told me yet.

Five days. One suite. One broken couch. One man who noticed details.

My phone buzzed. Lily again. MAYA THE EUCALYPTUS

I walked toward the elevator. My legs were still shaking. There was a mark on my collarbone — not visible above the neckline, but I knew it was there, a secret written on my skin in a language only two people spoke.

I pressed the elevator button. The woman in the mirrored doors looked different. Same dress. Same hair. Same professional composure. But underneath — underneath, everything had changed.

I knew what I wanted now. I wanted him. And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t going to organize that feeling into a box and shelve it. I was going to let it burn.

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The First Tuesday — A scene TOO HOT for Amazon

Maya moves into Jack’s apartment. She reorganizes his silverware drawer. He makes the bed with hospital corners. Carl eats another boot. And the second the boxes are unpacked… the christening begins.

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