My hand shakes like a leaf as I carefully apply eyeliner. So embarrassing.

Then again, it's not like I can blame myself too bad.

One, I’m not used to doing this. I can count on one hand the number of days I ever wear makeup.

Two, Hunter is on the other side of the bathroom door. I’m in his hotel room suite. With him. Alone.

If that’s not enough to make me nervous, nothing is.

I draw in a deep breath, lifting the liner pencil to my other eye. I’m not even sure how all this happened.

Wait, I do.

Mother threatened to fire Ben if Hunter didn’t escort me to the wedding, which still pisses me off. After this is over, I swear I'll have words with her.

I might've done it already, if Rochelle hadn’t called me shortly after I’d arrived home from the light tour with Hunter.

She’d been pissed. More than pissed. Livid.

Her big, jealous mouth insisted that there was no way I could have a friend like him. And that we didn't have the budget for actors. And that she was just being prudent.

Right. Prudent. Totally not a spoiled brat bitch up in my business.

I didn't back down. Said if Hunter didn’t go, I wouldn't either.

She’d said that was fine with her in a sassy, cold way that really meant totally not fine.

Honestly? It would've been fine with me if she'd pushed her limits. But it wasn't with my parents.

I’d known it, as soon as Mother went after her, and the following day she said Rochelle would calm down.

I don’t know if she really has or not. She didn’t speak to me during the spa bachelorette party, and I haven’t seen or heard from her since then. Until today.

I wish I'd protested. Not let Hunter save the day when it came to those effing goldfish, but it was too perfect.

Just the way he stepped in, convinced the hotel to handle it for a price, which I'll definitely be paying him back for, no matter how much it is.

Rochelle was furious that the hotel refused to have anything to do with safeguarding the fish. She’d even tried moving the wedding, but she couldn’t find another venue.

Leaning in closer to the mirror, I examine the liner on both eyes, making sure they look even.

Satisfied, I then pick up the mascara I’d bought just for today and go to work.

Once that’s on – as good as I can get it – I pull the ponytail band out of my hair, give it a good brushing, and then hit it with the curling iron.

I finger-comb out the curls, turning them into waves, and then step back to give myself a full appraisal.

“Not bad,” I whisper to myself, pushing up my breasts.

The dress is short, black, and of course, snug. It'll do by my standards.

But Hunter...

I'm already flushing just thinking what he'll think the instant I step out of this room. Two possibilities come to mind, and I'm not sure which is worse.

Him, laughing me out of the room. Or him, so turned on he gives me that blue-eyed animal look. The one that's far too good at forming bristling goosebumps over every inch of me.

Holy hell.

I can practically count the number of days I wear a dress per year on one hand, too.

Twisting, so the mirror catches my backside, I give another critical appraisal. It’s cut low, but not too low. My bra straps don't show.

It’s sleeveless, and for a minute, I wonder if I should've gone to a tanning salon just a couple of times. My skin doesn’t get much sun. Not even in the summer.

Stepping forward, I gather up the makeup and drop it back in my bag. It’s all a moot point.

Half the crowd, our family, will probably be pastel white from a long Minnesota winter. Leave it to Marco's side from Miami to have the splash of color where there's plenty of sun.

Besides, no one’s going to be looking at me.

No one ever does.

I grab my bag and exit. As I walk past a chair in the bedroom, I set the bag down and continue to the other room, looking for Hunter.

There’s still time for me to let him off the hook. I probably should. He's gone above and beyond, maybe into another universe helping out.

I don't see him before I get my ears blown out.

A wolf whistle sounds as I step out of the bedroom. It's so absurd, I burst out laughing.

He's there, wide-eyed and intense, holding up a finger he twirls in the air, silently telling me to turn around.

So I do, but keep one eye on him as much as possible. I'm about to die.

He looks good in everything he wears, but right now, dressed in a black suit from head to toe, he's a human torch specially made to ignite my blood. My thighs press together, desperately trying to ignore the heat, the wetness, the ache that only builds with every passing second his eyes are fixed on my slowly revolving body.

They never leave me.

That black makes his blue eyes stand out even more. It isn't fair.

“Wendy,” he mouths, pausing for a husky breath. “Yeah, Sugar. Yeah, fuck. You look fabulous.”

I notice how his voice hitches down an octave when he says the last word. Then it's hard to notice anything because I'm fighting not to give in, not to stumble, not to pass out.

“Y-you, too,” I whisper. So lame I want to smack myself.

He makes a mockery of rolling his eyes. “This old thing? It was just hanging in the closet. Probably haven't worn it since June, when I had a presentation for the Armed Services Committee.”

I laugh, shaking my head again. It blows me away how he talks like it's nothing. This man, who's richer than Midas and hobnobs with Senators. This beast, who for some godforsaken reason actually finds me attractive.

It's ridiculous.

And I realize just how much I'm starting to love ridiculous things.

The way he makes me laugh.

The way he kicks my libido into overdrive.

The way he's always there with a kind word or a strong hand or one of those kisses that leave me feeling like I've just survived a hurricane.

That's ridiculously beautiful. Ridiculously dangerous. Ri-donk-ulously scary.

Especially for a girl who's never had a serious boyfriend.

My phone dings, and I jump. It’s on the coffee table, and I really don’t want to look at it.

“That's been happening. Went off a couple of times while you were in the bathroom,” Hunter says. “My advice would be ignore it. It's almost time.”

“Oh?” I eye him softly, drinking him in, loving his beard and his blues and those two broad mountains he calls shoulders. I love his chest, his abs, and just the hint of dark, feral ink that's always at the edge of peeking out of his clothes. As if he's got this strange, mad thing tucked away inside that's always pulling at his chain.

Hunter nods. “Time, Sugar. Not much of it.”

Damn, he’s hot. All fire. Those eyes. That grin. That suit.

I can't handle this anymore.

“I have another piece of advice,” he tells me, taking a step closer.

“You do?” I ask, craning my face up to look at him as he towers over me.

He steps forward and takes both my hands. Oh, God.

Heat rushes through my system, making my legs weak. I’ve tried so hard not to think about the way he’d kissed me in the limo that night, but it’s been impossible. Utterly.

“You ready for this, Sugar?” he asks. “Later, I mean? After all's said and done and we're back here...”

He pauses, leaving me in brutal anticipation. I can't even form words so I just moan, leaning into him.

“Fuck yeah, you're ready. Picture it for me.”

I'm biting my lip, but that's not what hurts. Before the next words are even out, I notice my thighs burning, twisting and writhing, desperately pinched together for an iota of relief.

There's an itch I can't scratch – not right now – and its name is Hunter Forsythe.

He moves closer, brushing his lips against mine, eyes narrowed, taking me over. “Later, Sugar. Dress on the floor. Tongue on your clit. Legs wide open. Shaking. Ready. So fucking ready for every inch of me.”

Oh.

Hell.

It's incredible how few words it takes to completely destroy me. I fall into his arms as he lets out a low, sultry chuckle. His hand moves up to my face, cups it, gingerly presses his thumb into my cheek until I find the courage to look at him.

“Excited, babe?” His eyes already know I am. I couldn't deny it to save my life, and I couldn't control my body right now to save an entire country. “Ready?”

I don't answer. I can't. I'll die.

“Sugar?” His thumb strokes me again, rounding its way to the end of my lip.

At last, I nod wildly. Needing a moment to find my voice.

It's officially a game now. A dangerous one for me, but more so for him, with higher stakes.

My family can be brutal. Still...there's no ignoring the fact that this man just told me he'd lay me down and make me stupid in all the right ways. I can't stop picturing his huge, lethal body on mine, hips driving hard, bent over and screaming as I struggle to take everything I've seen in every dirty movie.

Everything I never thought would happen to me. Sweet mercy.

“Ready. Are...are you?” I'm whimpering.

He chuckles again. “More than ready, Wendy. Been waiting for this from the first day we met.”

My phone goes off again. I jerk my head up at the ceiling and sigh like sandpaper.

Hunter plants a quick kiss on my forehead and then grabs my phone.

“Go ahead. Check it,” he says, handing it to me. “Can't ever say persistence doesn't pay off.”

I flip it over, still so hot and bothered it's got me mad.

Six text messages.

All from my mom.

Wondering where I am. Family pictures start in ten minutes. Ugh.

“Rochelle?” he asks.

“Nope, Mother. Pictures start in ten.”

“Then that's our cue to go.”

“You don’t have to. The wedding doesn’t start for a couple of hours.”

“Too bad. You’re stuck with me all day.” He winks and then walks to the door. Before he opens it, he digs in his pocket and pulls out a key card for the door.

I glance down at my dress. “Crap, I don’t have any place to put it.”

“Okay, then I’ll keep it.” He tucks it back in his pocket. “Anything else you need me to carry for you?”

“No. We're good.”

“Not even your phone?”

I shake my head.

“I won’t need it.” I grab his hand as he reaches for the door. “What’s your other piece of advice? We never really got that far, did we?”

With a knowing smile, he says, “More like a rule: have fun.”

Then he opens the door and we leave the room and I'm bathed in all kinds of awkward emotions.

Dread. Fear. Excitement. Something akin to a whole new feeling touching every one of those fills my stomach. Fun?

Heck, I don’t know that I can even pull this boyfriend act off without losing my mind. Maybe Rochelle's right.

No one's going to believe he’s my friend. Our family will swarm. Everyone peppering him with questions until he's drowning.

Tons of them.

“Breathe, Wendy,” he whispers in my ear. “Just breathe.”

“I...” I shake my damn head. “This isn’t going to work.”

But it's too late for that. The elevator door is open, and we step in.

As it closes, he leans forward and captures my lips so fast, I’m stunned. That smoldering heat I'd felt in the room returns full force. It hits me like a train on fire.

His lips are so warm, so perfect, so delicious, I lose myself in them. In him.

For now, just this once, I shut my mouth and give in.

When he pulls his lips off of mine, I don’t even know what planet I'm on.

Until I realize the elevator door is open, and Aunt Charlotte stands there, open mouthed and gawking.

Hunter takes my hand and leads me out of the elevator.

“Aunt Charlotte, isn’t it?” he asks coolly, almost like nothing happened.

“Y-yes.” She blinks, nodding her head a second later.

Her makeup makes mine look like amateur hour. She’s sold cosmetics for years, and she's decked out in every beauty product imaginable.

“Pleasure seeing you again,” he says, leading me away. “I knew I'd have a reason to remember you.”

Aunt Charlotte blinks again, just standing, stunned.

“Hunter,” I whisper, still feeling her eyes on my back. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Did the only thing I could, babe.” He pulls me closer to his side. “And we'll do it plenty more.”

It's my turn to drag my jaw off the floor. The excitement that arcs through me is enough to make me stumble.

Crap. I’m in for one hell of a night.

We arrive at the ballroom a little later. As much as I criticized Rochelle’s black and white wedding, I have to admit, it looks gorgeous.

Even the goldfish seem peaceful, floating in their vases. Hunter must read my mind because he squeezes my hand, and when I glance up, he winks at me.

“Hunter! Wendy!”

My parents are in the far corner where a silver backdrop has been hung.

Mother waves as if we can’t see her. “Over here!”

Hunter pulls me forward and we move together.

“Rochelle isn’t here yet,” Mother says as we arrive. She fluffs her hair with one hand.

Well, obviously, I think to myself. I wonder if bridezilla will even make it down before she has a stroke.

The only other person nearby is the photographer, who's busy snapping pictures. I don’t know if he's just checking his camera, or taking pictures of the room. Rochelle would've requested some of those.

I smile at him, then at Mother. Both her and Dad are dressed in black, except for the white roses pinned on them. “You both look nice.”

“And you look simply adorable in that dress!” Mother hisses approvingly. “Doesn’t she, Hunter?”

“Sure does,” he growls. “Never seen a woman so perfect in my life.”

Mom does a half-swoon then and there, wrinkling her nose. I step between them, trying to save myself from more embarrassment. Even if – okay – I'm secretly loving it.

“Great job on your hair, too, Wendy-girl,” she says, leaning closer. “Isn't it just perfect, Hunter?”

Good God. It’s going to be a long night.

It doesn't feel like it once his hand is on me, though.

He reaches up, brushing a wave of hair off the side of my face. I want to pull my eyes off him so bad, but I can’t. Not with the way he’s looking at me. Not with that charm of his that says, mine, now.

“I like her hair no matter how she wears it,” he says, pushing a secret hand across my hip.

I nearly melt right there. I also wonder if I accidentally did hire an actor. He’s certainly a much better player, a much better charmer, than I’ll ever be.

“Good answer!” Dad whispers loudly, a hand cupped over his mouth.

I know they want me to be happy, to find someone, to not be the pity-talk of the family, but this...it’s not real. They both know that. And whatever happens between us later – what I want to happen so bad it hurts – doesn't mean we're destined to be anything.

“Here, I have flowers for both of you,” Mother tells us. “Then let’s get a picture of the four of us.”

I shake my head, “No, wait, we –”

“Sounds good,” Hunter says.

He's already moving, taking the boutonniere from my mother and passing it to me. There's no time for more second-guessing.

I force my fingers not to shake or linger too long as I pin it on him. Then I hold my breath as he pins a corsage on me, dying a few more times every second his fingers give their delicious pressure.

Once the flower stays in place, he runs a knuckle along the side of my face.

I shake my head at him while I'm biting my lip. Please. Enough.

He grins, then whispers, “Picture time. Consider yourself lucky.”

The photographer takes at least a dozen of the four of us, and then Mother insists he take some of just Hunter and I. My make-believe boyfriend plays it up, missing no opportunity.

He tickles my sides, making me laugh. Stands behind me with his arms around my waist and puts his cheek next to mine, intense and adorable all at once.

Then he grasps my hips and lifts me up in the air. The photographer is clicking pictures the entire time, even while I’m telling Hunter to put me down.

Mother can't stop laughing, telling us how sweet we look. Dad just grins and shakes his head.

It's all too perfect. Then Murphy's law kicks in like we've forgotten it existed.

A wailing screech fills the room.

“What are you doing wasting all our photo time on them? It’s my wedding!”

Besides her freakout, Rochelle actually looks beautiful in her full-length white gown, with sleeves that are little more than thin strips of elastic on her upper arms, except for her red, angry face.

“Ah, finally! We were just waiting for you to arrive,” Mother says.

Rochelle stomps up to me and puts her face right in mine. “Where did you get that dress?”

“I bought it,” I bite off, my patience skipping to its last nerve. “For your wedding. You're welcome.”

Her nostrils flair.

Telling myself it’s her wedding, her day, I smile. “There are three fish on every table. You're welcome again.”

“Yes, there are!” Mother chimes in. “I counted them myself. All thanks to Hunter.”

So much for a save. That’s the worst thing she could've said.

Rochelle’s eyes are shooting bullets, pointed at me and Hunter both. He pulls me aside, putting himself between Rochelle and me.

“Marco!” Dad barks. “It’s time for pictures, my boy. The photographer has been waiting. You’re half an hour late.”

Marco shuffles forward and grasps both of Rochelle’s shoulders. “Over here, baby.”

I grab Hunter’s arm and tug him away from the silver backdrop.

“That photographer has his work cut out,” he nearly growls. “Making her look like a blushing bride isn’t going to be easy.”

“Hush.”

He looks at me with slitted eyes, beaming pure mischief.

I grimace and shrug. But deep down, I'm laughing.

He isn't kidding. Rochelle looks like she's wound so tight her head will pop off.

He grins and shakes his head. “Tell me something, Sugar. You got the looks, the personality, and the baking abilities...what'd she get?”

“A temper,” my dad says.

I whip around, squeezing my temples with one hand, before hissing, “Dad! Don't encourage him. If she heard that, you’re both dead. You know that, right?”

They both shrug and then grin at each other as if they couldn’t care less.

“I owe you a beer after all this, Hunter,” Dad says. “More than one for the fish, really. We heard all about the ordeal.”

“I'll have a drink with you anytime, Will,” Hunter says, giving him a fierce handshake.

How is this even happening? This strange, beautiful man not only has a magic ability to make me feel at ease and poke justified fun at my sister at her own freaking wedding...but he's also somehow a natural with my uptight, grump of a father.

I try not to smile. Somehow, it's getting harder by the minute.

The photographer must be a magician, too, because the next time I look back, I'm not the only one holding in a laugh.

Rochelle is smiling. Finally. Preening as he clicks his camera furiously.

The next half hour includes family pictures, which Mother insists on having Hunter in. Then there's another round of pictures with just the four of us: my parents, Rochelle, and me.

I’m simply relieved when our jobs are done, and the photographer continues snapping pics of the wedding party. People are arriving by the time that’s over, so Rochelle is ushered out of the room until it’s time to make her arrival.

Which we all know will be an entrance to remember.

The family table set is close to the center of the room, near the raised archway, where the wedding will be performed. I bite the inside of my cheek as I see the name plates.

Hunter’s just says GUEST, which makes me glower.

I know Rochelle had them printed last week. After she knew Hunter was attending as my date, and that irritates me.

It’s a table of eight for us. Me and Hunter, Mom and Dad, plus two sets of aunts and uncles. Dad’s brother Sam, his wife Charlotte, and Mom’s brother Joe and his wife Emma.

Marco’s family, his parents and whoever else, are straight across the aisle from us. Marco is busy smiling and visiting with them as Hunter and I sit down.

He walks over to us when he's done, surprisingly.

“I heard about the fish,” Marco says quietly. “Let me know how much I owe you.”

“Nothing.” Hunter sits up straighter, looking him in the eye. “My gift to the happy couple.”

Marco puffs out his chest and lifts his chin. He does that whenever he starts talking about his family’s wealth. Or whenever anyone else questions it in the slightest.

Then I see a familiar wolfish, cocky grin stretch across his broad face.

“Well, then,” he says, nodding at my uncles, but still looking at Hunter. “If you ever make it down to Miami, I’ll take you out on the family yacht. My personal treat for the helping hand.”

Hunter nods, but then says, “Think I had my share of being on the open water while I was in the Marines, but if Wendy wants to go, I’ll fly her down.” He then nods at my aunts and uncles the same way Marco did. “The jet’s big enough for the whole family. Ready to go whenever.”

Sam and Charlotte’s faces light up. I hear several hushed whispers.

I shrivel up a little inside, more out of amusement than pure shock.

Marco’s eyes nearly bug out of his head.

“Jet? Damn. Yeah. It's...it’s almost time,” he stammers, gazing past us. “I'd better get in place.”

No one at the table says a word, but everyone starts laughing, both my aunts and uncles elbowing each other.

Uncle Joe looks at Hunter. “What do you do for a living, Hunter?”

“I'm retired right now, but technically, still the sole owner of a defense systems company. Landmark.”

“Landmark? Landmark Defense? Boy howdy, my broker just bagged me some shares of that!” Joe's eyes light up. “Will told me I had to get in on it. I'm starting to see why.”

“Guilty as charged,” Dad answers with a grin, before turning to Hunter. “Not just because you're an upstanding young man, Hunter, though that certainly helps. I love everything you do. Hell, that YouTube video I saw just last week, where you guys were testing that drone that flies out of the landing craft, holy –”

Hunter raises his hands for a second and then smiles. “Say no more. I know all about our latest promotionals from Research and Development. I hope the shares perform well for both of you gentleman,” Hunter says.

“How'd you meet Wendy, anyway?” Aunt Charlotte asks.

“Pure chance. A little mishap involving my son,” he answers, smiling at me. “Fate, maybe.”

Glancing back to Charlotte, he adds, “Certainly was my lucky day.”

Aunt Emma, never to be outdone, spools up for the next round of questions.

“Oh, my. How old is your boy? You must be busy? How many kids do you have?”

And so begins an interrogation from both my aunts, pecking at anything and everything Hunter Forsythe.

It might be Rochelle’s big day, but at our table, it's clear who's the center of attention.

I'm relieved he handles it so well. Calmly. Coolly. Just sleek, strong, incredible finesse.

I, on the other hand, remain a jumbled mess of nerves.

The way he keeps rubbing my knee doesn’t help one bit.

If it wasn't such a delicious distraction, I might wonder how he does it. How he possibly stays focused on answering my aunts' endless questions, all the while telling my body every mad, indescribable thing he intends to do later.

Fortunately, it isn't long before the music begins.

Rochelle’s grand entrance is a show like no other, her full ensemble filing in ahead, the full band they've hired roaring to life. Later, there's actually something equally sweet and ridiculous. The personally written vows her and Marco share are long winded, adorable, and a little nauseating.

I can’t resist looking at Hunter.

The merriment in his eyes is too much. I bite my lips together and cover my mouth with one hand to hold in a bout of giggles that desperately want out.

My mother elbows me, which only makes it worse.

Hunter puts his arm around my shoulders and tugs me closer. Snug against him.

Thank the Lord. It's just in time to bury my face in his handsome bulk and let a small laugh or two out.

When the preacher finally declares Rochelle and Marco man and wife, I jump to my feet, clapping like crazy because the damn thing is finally over.

“Need a drink?” Hunter asks.

“Hell, yes,” I reply.

The next hour is scheduled as a cocktail hour, and the crowd rushes over to take full advantage of the open bar, including me and Hunter. Rochelle and Marco have positioned themselves at one end of the room, sitting on a rented, elaborate double-chair that looks like a throne stolen from some old castle.

They're expecting everyone to parade past them with congratulations. Probably kneeling.

I choose to take my sweet time, downing a glass of wine instead. Hunter and I stay near the bar, his hand perched on the small of my back, taking me further and further away from this insanity.

I’m on my second glass in no time. Our attempt to work our way back to our table gets hampered by the crowd, who've heard who he is – the owner of a major defense company – and worth more than Marco’s rich family put together.

Yes, that makes a difference to the people in this room.

Hunter knows a few of Marco’s father’s friends and introduces me to them, but for the most part, it’s people from my side who keep pestering him, wondering why he’s here with me.

My younger cousin, Naomi, wearing a black dress that's cut so low her navel almost shows, lets out a high giggle as she lays a hand on Hunter’s arm. “You're such a surprise! Never thought I'd see the day. Our little Wendy is always the loner. Did she tell you?”

Only about a hundred times, bitch. Somehow, I manage to keep the thought to myself, flashing my cousin a smile that's about as friendly as a tiger's.

It’s about the dozenth time he's heard their disbelief, too. I quiver inside at the disdain showing in his eyes.

“I can see why she prefers her own company,” Hunter says coldly.

Naomi, undaunted, grins and side-steps closer to him. “Aw, she loves me. We're like sisters; I can't believe she hasn't mentioned me. Why didn't you introduce me to your new friend sooner, Wendy-girl?”

I don't answer.

I want to slap her, but why? I should've expected this, too. Every woman here who isn't already taken, coming at him like the world's most eligible bachelor.

Ignoring her, Hunter squeezes me closer to his side and kisses the top of my head slowly. “Can't say you didn’t warn me, babe.”

Damn, he’s good. I have to bite my lip at the thrill that jolts through me as he rubs my bare back, his fingers slipping lower, turning me to the side so Naomi can see.

I swear I hear a teakettle going off somewhere. Or is it just her hissing?

At last, he looks up at the succubus I'm ashamed to share blood with. “Don’t worry, Naomi. Our Wendy’s not alone anymore, day or night. Never will be again. She's with me.”

He nudges me forward then. While elbowing our way through the crowd, he says, “Christ. Is every woman in your family crazy except you?”

I don't know how to answer because it might be true.

I'm about to agree when I finally see the one other sane person in the room. My other cousin, Stacy, sitting at a table in the corner with her husband Josh. “No. Let's go meet one more down to Earth.”

“Do I dare trust you?”

I laugh at the twinkle in his eye.

Stacy stands, a genuine grin on her face, and gives me a hug. “Wendy! I was going to say hi earlier, but you were surrounded.”

“You should've saved me,” I tell her. “Next time, we're working out our signals in advance.”

“Oh, I heard your SOS, but...” She pauses, patting her very round belly. “There are just some things even an unborn child shouldn’t hear.”

I laugh and give her another hug. “I heard you’re expecting again. Congratulations.”

“Heard from my mother?” Stacy rolls her eyes. “She thinks we're crazy, having three kids in this day and age.”

I give her husband Josh a hug. He's a lean, decent-looking man with thick spectacles. “Congratulations to you, too, no matter what Aunt Emma thinks. I’m happy for you guys.”

“Thanks, Wendy,” Josh says. “We've had plenty of practice for raising number three.”

Wrapping an arm around Hunter’s, I nod. “I'd like you to meet Hunter Forsythe. Hunter, these are my cousins, Stacy and Josh Gustafson. The only sane family members you’ll meet here tonight.”

We all laugh and then sit down at their table together when Stacy points at her feet. “I had to take my shoes off half an hour ago. They were absolutely killing me!”

“When's your baby due?” Hunter asks.

“Middle of January,” Stacy says. “Coming up fast.”

“That soon? Wow, I just heard the news a few months ago. It's been a crazy year,” I tell them.

“Yup. Kiddo won't wait much longer.” Stacy and Josh share a private look before she says, “Wendy, there's...something else. Mom didn’t want us to tell anyone, but...”

I can believe that, but I also know Stacy, and now I'm a little worried at whatever she's holding in. “What’s wrong?”

She picks up a glass of water and takes a long sip. “Nothing, maybe.”

“Don’t lie to me, cuz.” I look at Josh seriously. “You either, big boy. Let's hear it.”

He lays his hand on top of Stacy’s. “It's me. I was laid off last week, I'm sorry to say. Which means we won’t have health insurance come January.”

I pinch my eyes shut bitterly. God, what a nightmare.

Stacy shakes her head, rubbing Josh's shoulder. “It'll be fine, I guess. But we can’t afford the Cobra payments. They're just outrageous, even with all the new laws.”

“Aw, Stace,” I whisper, shaking my head, truly feeling bad for her.

I wish there was something I could do. If I could give either of them some hours at Midnight Morning, I would, but it's no place for a pregnant woman. And I doubt a full day there would even make a dent in the fee for the delivery room.

I'm stuck in my own head, struggling for words, when I realize Hunter is talking.

“Where'd you work before, Josh?” he asks.

Josh tells him all about how his company was bought out. It's a familiar sad tale.

Seems the IT department he worked for moved its headquarters overseas to save the company money. He just finished the last few weeks training his replacement.

I keep one ear on their conversation, just the two of them talking about software and such, while Stacy fills me in on how her other two children, both girls, are doing. Up until Rochelle announces that dinner is ready to be served and everyone needs to return to their assigned seats.

“She’s at her finest tonight, isn’t she?” Stacy whispers.

“You think?” I answer. “Well, maybe now that the pressure's off...yeah. She does seem happier.”

Josh, a guy I’ve always liked, says, “I’m just trying to figure out who’s gonna be the first one drunk enough to swallow one of her goldfish.”

“Oh my God.” Hunter catches me as I bend over laughing so hard it hurts my face. Perish the very thought. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“I don’t know,” Josh says. “There're a few here who might. You see Marco's cousin, Eddy, over there?”

As if anyone could miss him. He's a second-generation Cuban-American kid with a smile like he owns the world and gold rings on each hand. I think he's hit on everything female here at least four times in the space of an hour.

Hunter pulls out his billfold and hands Josh a bill. “A hundred bucks to the first guy you convince.”

“Hunter, no!” I'm grabbing at the bill.

Stacy reaches in, stealing it first. “Come on, Wendy. Lighten up. Doubt there'll be any takers but...wouldn't it be hilarious to try?” Her green eyes are twinkling. “Give your big sis something worth remembering. And a small payback for all the shit she’s done to us over the years.”

“Stace, we aren’t seventh graders anymore.”

“Maybe. But I haven't exactly forgotten that summer in Grand Rapids. Remember?”

Oh, God. How could I ever forget? It was right before our junior year, at a camp up north, and poor Stacy had a crush on Mickey, the lifeguard. Rochelle thought it'd be a lark to dare us into skinny dipping. Funnier still to run off with Stacy's clothes, leaving her stranded with barely a towel long enough to cover her as she ran square into Mickey coming out of the activity center and screamed.

My protest falls on deaf ears, and honestly, I can't find the energy to put up more of a fight.

As we're walking to the table, I tell Hunter, “Now you've done it.”

He shrugs. “Had to, Sugar. Whatever else happens was coming anyway, one way or another.”

I let it go. What’s the worst that can happen?

Someone gets kicked out. Rochelle throws a fit.

Those things are probably already scheduled to happen. Maybe he's right.

We sit down and eat our dinner while listening to a plethora of speeches that I have no doubt Rochelle wrote, or at least edited. We watch the bride and groom kiss so many times, I’m getting a headache from the sound of forks clinking glasses.

The folding wall behind the cake is finally pulled open, revealing a dance floor and bigger stage for the band. Rochelle was adamant about not having a DJ. Thankfully, these guys are skilled, and they're ready to rumble with their instruments after a quick break for their own dinner.

Naomi is officially in charge of the cake cutting. She makes a show of leading Rochelle and Marco to the cake table.

A low murmur rolls around the room, and finally makes it to our table. People are complimenting me on how lovely the cake is. As quietly and humbly as possible, I accept their praise, but not before Rochelle takes notice.

She and Naomi are whispering, both of them shooting haughty looks our way. My stomach sinks even as Hunter puts an arm around me. “Ignore her, babe. You deserve every damn word.”

I try.

Then Rochelle takes the microphone. “Thank you, thank you, everybody! Yet again, my little sister is busy trying to steal my thunder.”

She laughs, and so do others, but I cringe.

She’s not joking. Her tone is too real.

Unbelievable. It’s a freaking cake! No one's stealing your anything. I want to shout.

I'm already seething at the unbelievable when the unthinkable hits me in the face.

“It appears,” Rochelle says, leveling a slow sneer on me, “our little Wendy has not only baked my wedding cake, but she’s gotten herself engaged. I just want to be the first one to say – here at my wedding – congratulations, sis.”

What. Is. Happening?

I'm going to be sick, for one.

The room goes silent as all eyes turn my way.

As I’m slinking down in my chair, wishing I could turn invisible, Hunter stands calmly. He's like a tall guardian angel protecting a woman whose spine just evaporated. And who's confusion may just set the whole room on fire.

Even worse, he's clapping. His huge hands slam together several times in quick, fierce staccato applause.

“Very good, Rochelle. I'll admit I'm not certain who's stealing whose thunder, considering I haven’t officially asked her yet. But if that’s what you'd like while we've both got an audience...”

Oh my God. Oh, dear Lord. Oh, crap.

I grab his arm, sitting up again, clutching at him like I'm about to go down a cliff.

“No,” I hiss. “No, no, no. Don’t. Not here. Please.”

He pushes his chair away and starts to lower himself like he’s going to kneel before me.

I grab both of his arms, stopping him from going any lower, and shake my head. Is this real life?

Not even the merriment, the strength, the determination in his eyes calms the absolute terror inside me.

He cups my shoulders. “Not now? You sure?”

“No. Not now.” I can barely mouth the words.

Without taking his eyes off me, he says, “Sorry, Rochelle, but Wendy wants me to wait. For just the right moment. Fair.”

Seriously. I'm going to die.

He runs a knuckle under my chin, ever so slowly, turning the slow blush on both cheeks into an inferno. “And what she wants is the most important thing of all.”

Then comes the kiss.

Fire. Angst. A million different ways to drop me on my head in one fusion of lips and chasing tongues.

I meld into Hunter Forsythe and officially lose my mind.

The kiss fires up a deafening round of applause and more than one rowdy cheer. God.

I’m trembling from head to toe when we sit back down. My wine glass is empty, so I grab my mother’s and chug it. So fast I nearly choke.

My parents know the truth, and the empathy in their eyes is enough to gut me.

It shouldn't, though.

Not when Rochelle always believed the way to look better is to make others look worse. She’d done that for years. Not only to me, but Stacy, our parents, her so-called friends. Everyone.

And now she'd finally been served by this beast of a man who's helping me back into my own body with a squeeze of his massive hand around mine.

“Congratulations in advance!” Uncle Sam says cheerfully.

“Wow. Naomi told me you hinted at being engaged,” Aunt Charlotte tells me. “But I told her she must've been mistaken. Now...”

She doesn't finish that thought. It's as much for herself as it is for me. She's just staring in disbelief.

I hold my breath, waiting for Mom or Dad to let out the truth, to save the family from a total disaster.

“I'll tell you what,” Dad says with a grin. “I guarantee Wendy’s wedding will be a hell of a lot easier than this one.”

Mother elbows him. “Will!”

“And there won’t be any goldfish,” Hunter adds across the table.

The entire table busts a gut, and the subject changes as plates of cake appear in front of us.

Once again, I accept the compliments, but cake is the last thing on my mind.

Engaged. To Hunter Forsythe. Nearly.

Too nearly. And all for show.

My brain can't even process what just happened, or where it even goes from here.

I stand. “Excuse me.”

Hunter gets up, too, and puts his hand on my back, following me as I weave around the tables. Once in the hallway, I whisper, “What the hell were you thinking?”

“That your sister finally got what she deserved.”

“That didn’t mean –” I stop, catching myself as someone walks out of the restroom door, peering our way.

They pass by, and I lean against the wall, sighing. So ready for this night to be over. Hunter plants a hand on the wall behind me and leans closer. I catch a flash of some sharp, seductive ink on his muscular wrist.

“Don’t worry, Sugar. I've got everything under control.”

I blink. “Worry? Oh, you’ve done enough. I’ll take care of it from here.”

“Sure, but not tonight.”

I shake my head as my stomach sinks. “Whatever. Anything I say tonight will just make it worse, probably.”

He puts his other hand on my stomach. The warmth of his palm penetrates my dress, heat welling deep inside me.

“Then let’s play it up. Have some more fun.”

Fun? This is his idea of fun?

Is he out of his mind?

Sigh. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t so flipping good-looking.

If he didn’t smell so good.

If his every touch didn’t ignite my insides as surely as striking a match.

He steps closer. My mouth goes dry.

It's too much. The heat inside me is spiraling out of control. He knows it, too.

That devilish grin on his face says so. He moves in closer still, pressing me up against the wall, all fire breath and beard grazing my throat.

Then there's his body. So hard. So firm. So sexy it hurts.

I can't even stay mad. I can't stay anything when he's got my panties drenched at the thought of what's coming next.

“You hear me, Sugar? That thing I said about fun?” His breath is a whisper, equal parts husky and erotic.

“You're insane.” I tilt my head up, giving him a gentle shove. He doesn't move an inch and his smile only grows.

Frick.

“I did you a solid, babe. Your sister was trying to embarrass you, call you out as a fraud. Right in front of the whole family.” His mouth is so close, mere inches from my total destruction. “Let’s prove her wrong.”

Like hell.

But my thoughts aren't on Rochelle, or anyone, but him.

His rough hand slides around my waist, then lower, cupping one of my butt cheeks. I moan so loud, it surprises me. It also makes that incessant burning so much more intense.

Unable to take much more, I arch into him, looping my arms around his neck. “Hunter...be careful. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Nah, I do.” His breath mingles with mine for the faintest second. “Let me show you exactly what I'm into.”

And he does the instant our lips connect.

Stars. That's what I see as his tongue sinks against mine, hot and possessive and oh so right.

Every ounce of my frustration fades as Hunter deepens the kiss. Our tongues play a game of hide and seek. Command and conquer. Wolf and sheep.

Determined to win, I tighten my hold on his neck. It’s like I can never get close enough to this man. Never get enough of him.

His hand on my ass tightens, adding a forceful, satisfying pressure to my skin. Then I feel his teeth, and my slow burn moan becomes a gasp.

Hunter breaks the kiss but plants several smaller ones on my lips before he leans back.

His smile is all I can see. That smile that's everything.

He licks his lips slowly. “Fuck. You taste like wine. Mulled wine. Love the sugar, Sugar, but now it's time you gave up the spice.”

“Probably because I’ve already had four glasses.”

I tell myself that's why it's so hard to fight. Why the after effects of his kiss leave me so euphoric, I really don’t care how many glasses of wine I’ve had anymore. “And you know...I think I could use one more.”

He laughs and leads me to the bar. The cake table has been pushed aside in our absence. The meal plates are cleared and people are dancing. We get our drinks, put them on the table, and then hit the dance floor.

Dancing with him is so fricking amazing. What else?

I let him lead, pressing myself closer with every song, and I give up a few more kisses he's happy to steal. A piece of paper couldn’t fit between our bodies, and it’s heaven.

Somewhere in the soft music, I shed my fears, my worries, all the thoughts of shame or ridicule.

I just enjoy the moment, being in Hunter’s arms.

His thick, strong, gorgeous arms.

He kisses me as the next song ends. I return his kiss, lip for lip, tongue for tongue.

We dance several more times over the next hour or more. When we aren’t on the dance floor, we're arm in arm or hand in hand.

It feels like a new day. I’m literally having the time of my life.

Not even Rochelle’s off and on glowers get to me.

If she’s not having a good time at her own wedding, that’s her problem. Not mine.

We return to the dance floor several times again. We're in the middle of this slow, velvety jazz tune, my nose in the crook of his neck, breathing every bit of him and loving it, when commotion erupts near the tables.

A crowd gathers. I think they're chanting?

“Ricardo! Ricardo! Ricardo!”

Marco’s brother, Ricardo, the best man, suddenly jumps up on one of the tables. He has a vase in his hand and reaches in, scoops out a goldfish, and then, head back, drops it into his gaping mouth.

“Oh, no!” I whisper, scanning the room for Stacy and Josh.

I don’t see them anywhere, but Ricardo is still on the table, beating his chest like Tarzan as everyone erupts in doubled-over laughter or pearl-clutching horror.

The crowd, mostly the younger, drunken guys, are still chanting his name. Then, to everyone’s amusement, he scoops out another goldfish and swallows it, too.

“Look over there,” Hunter says, gesturing toward the side of the room.

It's Rochelle. Both hands pressed to her cheeks, a look of awesome disgust on her face.

Beside her, Marco claps his hands, chanting his brother’s name along with everyone else, belting it out across the room.

If anyone thought the groom would restore order, it ain't happening.

Ricardo goes for his third fish.

I'm doubled over in disbelief, somewhere between laughing hysterically and bawling like a baby. It's the craziest insanity I've ever seen. And if my sis hadn't been so vicious earlier, maybe I'd feel bad for her.

But right now, in Hunter's arms, I'm just too busy feeling good. Reveling in the absurdity.

Hunter spins me around. “You heard the crowd. That's our sign to exit.”

I agree. Rochelle is about to go ballistic any second.

Her ear-splitting wail fills the hallway just as we reach the elevator. The door is open, several other people are stepping in, and we join them.

“Holy shit. I wouldn't want to be Marco right now,” one of the men says as the elevator door closes.

“Or tomorrow morning,” the woman beside him says. She grimaces then, looking at me. “Um, sorry.”

She looks familiar, some relative of Marco’s, I think, and obviously knows I’m Rochelle’s sister.

“Don’t be,” I say firmly, flipping my hair over my shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to be Marco either. Now or in the morning. It's his funeral.”

Hunter’s back is to the elevator wall, and his arms are around me, holding my back up against his front. I can feel his hard-on, and a thrill shoots through me.

“Glad we agree. I damn sure don’t want you to be Marco, either,” he says, pulling me in tighter.

Everyone laughs and the conversation continues, but stays focused on Ricardo and his freak ability to swallow live fish. We listen to them chatter back and forth until the elevator stops and the woman says, “Enough already! Before I throw up...”

She’s laughing, a little tipsy, but shoots out of the door as soon as it opens. Another couple steps out on that floor, too, leaving just Hunter and me.

He twists me around and captures my lips with a long, drawn out kiss that nearly makes my knees buckle at the same time it leaves me wanting more. So much more.

When the door opens again for us, we practically run down the hall.

Once we tumble into his room, he traps me up against the door.

To say I'm on fire would be the understatement of the year.

He’s had me wet half the night, and I’m dying to have him do something about it.

I want his tongue. His fingers. His guaranteed huge cock.

Everything he promised before we headed down, the world's greatest virgin antidote, if there ever was one.

I slide my hands inside his jacket while our tongues twine around each other again, and then tug his shirt out of his pants so I can feel his skin.

The heat of it against my palms sends a jolt of delight through me.

He breaks the kiss and swoops me into his arms like some hero in an old-fashioned movie.

My shoes fall off my feet as he carries me into the bedroom.

There, he sits down on the bed, still holding me, running those massive hands of his through my hair before going lower. His movement shifts, fingertips up and down my side, as he looks at me for what feels like eternity.

“Before we go any further, I have to know it’s what you want. Say the word, Sugar. Tell me you're ready.”

My heart leaps into my throat at how soft his whisper is.

I'm touched. He's equal parts barbarian and guardian angel. Slowly, it's my turn to brush the hair away from his forehead, loving how it feels between my fingers. “Is it what you want, Hunter? What you're ready for?”

“Fuck yeah, Wendy. Don't be shocked, but I haven't done my fair share of fucking over the past few years. Not hardly as much as I'd like. Being a parent hasn’t left a lot of time for dating. Or anything else. I'm wound so tight, the word ready doesn't mean jack shit. I need you under me.”

I'm in disbelief. It's like a crime, just knowing a man who looks like him hasn't been able to put his body to work on anyone very often.

And anyone he cared about? Did he ever?

His honesty touches me deeply. It also makes me feel like less of a total virgin weirdo.

I wonder if I should tell him I’ve never had sex. Oh, I've toyed with myself, learned how to do that years ago. But sex? With him?

Until this past month, I never could've imagined such a thing. Now, it's just one breath away from becoming anything but imaginary.

I plant a quick kiss on his lips, and then climb off his lap.

I stand between his knees, and holding his gaze, I reach down and grasp the hem of my dress. I don't know what I'm doing, but Lord if I don't try.

Inching it up slowly, fingers shaking, I say, “Hunter...let's do this. You, me, and that bed. I'm so ready.”

He sucks in a breath and utters one word.

“Fuck.”

I can see his pulse thudding, the vein in his neck bulging slightly.

Smiling, I pull the dress up, over my head, and then toss it on the chair.

He grasps my hips and pulls me forward.

“You're goddamned amazing. Just the right blend of sugar and spice.”

My nipples pebble inside my black bra at being so close to his face. “The perfect treat, huh?”

He laughs, and I hope I'm not being lame.

Thankfully, there's nothing remotely lame when he slides his hands up my body.

Heat tenses my pussy the second he pushes my bra up, over my breasts, exposing them for his taking.

First, one nipple meets his tongue. A low moan rumbles from my throat.

Then a whole lot of them. I never had a chance.

“You have no idea,” he tells me, almost snarling. “Treat doesn't begin to describe my Sugar and Spice.”

“You imagined how I taste?”

He licks my nipple again, taking his sweet time and sucks it, then flicks a thumb over the other. It's a miracle I'm still standing. My knees buckle in.

“More than you can possibly imagine, babe.”

I run both hands through his hair. “What else have you imagined?”

“You really want to know? You want me to tell you how many nights I jerked off, thinking about your sweet cunt? You want me to count how many times I came, biting my fucking wrist, thinking about how I'd still be tasting you after I'm balls deep, fucking away till you come real sweet for me?”

Holy hell. Yes.

“Maybe,” I whimper.

He takes my entire nipple into his mouth and sucks it hard. The pleasure forces me to tighten my thigh muscles, afraid I might come then and there.

I can barely breathe, but I manage to tell him, “I really want to know. Tell me everything.”

“No. How about I show you?”

He slides one hand between my legs. I gasp, pressing down against his palm.

I can’t take much more of this. “Please, please show me.”

With movements so swift, I barely have time to think about them, he unhooks my bra, shoves down my panties, and pulls me onto the bed naked.

It happens all at once. My feet dangling over the edge and him between my knees.

He leans over me and sucks another nipple, rougher than before, and then the next.

My thighs can't get any tighter. I’m close. So close.

Too freaking close.

I usually need more, every time I ever used my own hand or a vibrator, but now?

But now, dear God, I'm in untamed country ruled by Hunter Forsythe.

“Hunter.” I can barely say his name.

He looks at me then, barely slowing, easing the delicate, sweet pressure of his teeth around my nipple.

“I’m. Oh, shit, I think I’m about to...”

I can’t speak over another moan rumbling inside my throat. He lets go and rears up.

“Fuck yeah, you are, and it's gonna be so good. Let me finish.” He slides a hand between my legs.

My hips buck up, swinging like mad, as his fingers trace my labia.

“You’re wet. Ready,” he growls. “I'm already in love with this pussy and I haven't even given it a proper introduction.”

“I’ve been wet and ready half the night,” I whisper desperately.

“Yeah? Then I'd better get a closer look.” He kisses my stomach while lowering to his knees.

Then his finger finds my clit and presses it hard. Those circles he starts making are pure heaven.

I arch into his touch, loving the intensity, unable to pull away to save my life.

He spreads my legs farther apart. “Knees over my shoulders, babe,” he whispers up at me.

I follow his directions, wanting, needing more.

“That’s it, babe,” he whispers. “So wet and tight for me. So fucking perfect.”

The heat of his breath on my pussy forces another moan to rumble, loudly, in the back of my throat.

“You like me here? Between your legs? Been dreaming about this tongue on your greedy little pussy for weeks?”

“Maybe. Oh. Yes!”

Oh, gawd, I’m going to lose it. Going to come on this man's insane, filthy talking mouth.

“Wait's over, Sugar. You're gonna come hard for me.”

He licks me then. Just a long, slow, intense tongue-stroke that spreads me apart, a hint of the very best he can do. His tongue circles my clit, teasing and searching, before it pulls me in.

There's swelling, pressure building, this frantic heat in my lungs warning me I'm going to burn down if I don't do exactly what he said: come my brains out.

I don't even notice my hips pumping against his mouth until it's too late.

He licks, sucks, and pushes me until I can’t take anymore.

I bury my hands in the bedspread and brace.

Toes curled. Panting. All fire.

As much as I want the release, I don’t. This is too good. He’s too good.

But I’m close. So close.

“Hunter!” I arch into him one more time before the fireball building in the center of my hips explodes, ripples, tears me in two.

Coming!

He doesn’t stop for anything. Not for the screams, the whimpers, the way I lock my legs around him like a vice and bury my pussy in his mouth. He just keeps on with his mouth long after I'm a shaking mess.

The most amazing, most intense, most grateful mess of my life.

As the last bursts of pleasure slowly fade, I sink deep into the mattress, my chest still heaving. My pussy hurts so good. My limbs are limp. And I haven't even officially given him my v-card.

Holy hell. Times a thousand.

Hunter lifts me, shifting us farther up the bed so my legs aren't hanging over the edge.

“That,” I say. “That was intense, Hunter. Insane.”

“That,” he growls back, before smothering me in another deep, sultry kiss, “was just the beginning, sweetness. Now for the main course.”