Hank had to admit it, the Americans, at least the ones in Georgia, knew how to throw one hell of a wedding rehearsal. After the various family members were assigned their roles and the minister was satisfied with everyone’s ability to correctly march up and down the aisle, the rather large group was taken to dinner via an actual hayride. Although cousin Pat had apparently offered the use of his tractor, the bride and groom had opted to have a team of horses pull a wagon that could best be described as a wooden flatbed. Bales of hay formed rows of seats while a lone fiddle player serenaded the group from beside the driver on the front bench. The entire scene was like something out of a film, right down to the sun setting in the distance. Golden rays fanned out across the horizon and when a gentle breeze blew across the field, Hank knew it was exactly what the lyricist had meant by “amber waves of grain.”

Cassie sat next to him, her eyes bright and her cheeks pink. And while to the rest of the group her auburn curls might have looked merely windblown, Hank knew the truth of her flushed and slightly disheveled appearance. She was a woman who’d been thoroughly pleased, not only once, but twice, and in that moment Hank was quite certain he’d never seen anyone look more beautiful. Except maybe how she’d looked not thirty minutes before—her head thrown back against the wood partition, her thighs trembling, and her fingers clutching his hair. Just the thought of his little vixen writhing against his mouth had him covertly adjusting his cock. Of course it didn’t help matters that he hadn’t come, a decision the ache in his balls had him regretting. Hank could never be described as a selfish lover. He gave as good as he got. But make no mistake, he always got. Yet behind that velvet curtain, kneeling before his sweet and sexy chef, all he could think about was how badly he wanted to please her, how drunk he felt off the mere taste of her, and how he could quite possibly die a happy man for no other reason than having heard his name like a prayer upon her lips.

Except it wasn’t his name. Not really. And while the fingers, lips, and tongue that drove her mad might have been one in the same, the man was not. The suspended reality he’d created had an expiration date, but Hank still had at least thirty-six hours before the weekend officially ended. He intended to make the most of the time he had left with her, time he would have rather spent just the two of them. Preferably naked.

But there was a dinner to attend and a team of horses waiting to transport them, so instead of whisking Cassie back to the room with the oversized bed and the claw-foot tub, Hank had to settle for sitting next to her on a bale of hay. It was its own unique brand of torture. Because although he wanted nothing more than to hold her close, he also wanted to spare her any speculation or gossip among the closely seated crowd. The cramped conditions did have one benefit however, in that they allowed him to sit close enough for their thighs to touch. Even from that one point of contact Hank felt the undeniable attraction that seemed to pulse inside him whenever this woman was near.

He glanced at his watch. With any luck dinner would be quick and they’d be on their way in no more than an hour, maybe two.

But he’d no sooner had the thought when the wagon rounded a bend, bringing a small rustic barn into view. Copper lanterns lined the path leading to the open doors and as they drew closer Hank could see dozens of tables and a small dance floor waiting inside.

“Looks more like a wedding than a rehearsal,” he murmured.

“Tomorrow is a traditional event at the country club,” Cassie explained. “This was the compromise for not having a square-dance theme at the reception.”

His brows shot up. “Square dance?”

She nodded. “Oh yes. One of Emily’s uncles is a caller. Tonight is his gift to them.”

Fuck me, Hank thought. So much for a fast getaway. He didn’t know which was causing him more pain, the idea of a do-si-do in his near future or the case of blue balls taking hold in his trousers. Either way, one thing was certain. It was going to be a damn long night.

* * *

It was official. Cassie was going to Hell. She’d told Olivia as much in a text, but her best friend hadn’t been much help. Instead of consoling her she’d merely replied with something to the effect of “Don’t worry, I’ll be driving the bus.”

What in the world had she been thinking? Seemed that was a question she’d been asking herself nonstop over the last twenty-four hours, but this was an all-time low. In a church. In the confessional. It was like every single Catholic school girl taboo all rolled into one, and to say it was out of character for her was like saying the Titanic was a fairly good-sized boat. This wasn’t at all like her, something she reminded herself throughout dinner: as the best man and maid of honor made their toasts, as baby pictures of the bride and groom were flashed across a screen in a slide show meant to evoke tears from their mothers and laughter from their friends, and as Hank met her eyes from across the room in glances that told her he’d not only enjoyed their tryst behind the velvet curtain, but he was more than ready to do it again.

It was all his fault really. She was a good girl. A boring girl. She knew better. But for some inexplicable reason all sense, not to mention sensibility, left her when she was around Hank Green. And when he’d dropped to his knees in front of her, his lips drifting up her inner thigh as he worked his way toward . . .

“Cassandra,” a voice called out, jolting Cassie from her delicious daydream and spilling her drink in the process. And it wasn’t just the interruption that sent Pinot Grigio dribbling down the front of her peasant top, it was the realization of what was about to happen. There was only one person who called Cassie by her full name . . .

“Mom,” she said as she turned to find her mother headed her way. She was wearing a form-fitting, charcoal gray cocktail dress and carrying a mason jar filled to the brim with what Cassie hoped was merely lemonade. Her mother was a bit of a challenge sober, but a tipsy Judy was a little more than she could handle at the moment.

“There you are. I’ve barely seen you since I got here.” Her mother greeted her with a warm smile and a hug. “I’d hoped maybe we could catch up on the way over, but then Emily’s father asked me to ride with them in their car and—”

“It’s no problem.” Really, it wasn’t. Being the focus of her mother’s nonstop attention was exhausting even on a good day, but considering the fact that her radar might have picked up on the glow Cassie was sporting that had nothing to do with an afternoon at the spa and everything to do with the express train to Hell, the less time for scrutiny the better. “I know you’ve been busy with the Fords, and that’s cool. It’s Matthew and Emily’s big weekend.”

“Well a chat with my daughter would have been nice too. Although I’m not sure I could have managed the hayride in this dress.” She laughed a bit as she smoothed a hand over her backside. “Still can’t figure out how I let the sales girl talk me into this one.”

“You look great, and it’s about time you started showing off all your hard work.” Cassie’s mom had discovered spin classes about the time Cassie moved to Chicago. She’d gotten in great shape although she usually hid it under matronly clothes that made her look far older than her actual age. It was good to see her dressing up a bit more.

“So what have you been doing all this time?” her mother asked after a healthy sip of whatever was in the jar.

As if on cue a waiter in jeans and a flannel shirt passed by with a long shallow basket. Cassie nodded to the miniature cupcakes lined up neatly inside. “Well, making those for starters.”

Her mother stopped the young man and helped herself to a lemon chiffon. She took a bite and her eyes grew wide. “These are fabulous!” A few crumbs flew as she spoke, leading Cassie to believe there was probably a bit of vodka in that jar of lemonade. “The pay might be less but I think the switch to baking is going to do wonders for your social life compared to all those late nights crunching numbers.”

Cassie was about to remind her mom that the bakery was actually taking up more of her time than the firm had, but that was beside the point. What mattered was that she was doing something that made her happy. But before she had the chance, her mother finished her thought.

“I mean, imagine the man you could catch with these?” She popped the rest of the cupcake into her mouth. “Just be sure not to sample too many or your ass will get as big as this barn.”

Oh yeah, definitely vodka. Lots and lots of vodka. Ironically, Judy didn’t know how close to the truth she actually was, at least about catching a man. Although to be fair, snagging a hot stranger for a one night stand probably wasn’t what she meant. Not that the cupcakes brought Hank into Cassie’s life per se, more the bakery itself, although their subsequent burning certainly helped. Or was it the strawberries? Or the innuendos? And while their afternoon at confession had put the one night stand question to rest, was there such a thing as a one weekend stand? Gah, she was rambling now even when she wasn’t talking! Time to change the subject.

“Speaking of barns,” Cassie said in a less than smooth transition, “this one looks great, huh?” It was an awkward attempt at diverting the conversation, but the truth was the small one-hundred-year-old barn had been transformed into something quite spectacular. Wooden wagon wheels had been converted into glass-top tables, and bouquets of white tulips had been tied with raffia and placed in the center of each one. On the walls copper lanterns hung from iron hooks casting the room with a soft amber glow, and above them tiny lights stretched from one hayloft to the other like stars twinkling across the night sky. It was personal and romantic and absolutely perfect.

“It’s a bit rustic don’t you think?” her mother asked in a hushed voice.

“I think it’s just right.” For a moment Cassie wondered if this was the type of reception Matthew and Emily would have actually preferred. Her gaze shifted to her brother and the bride-to-be, slow dancing on a wood-plank floor as if there was nowhere in the word they would rather be. Tomorrow’s extravaganza would be more for extended family and friends, half of whom they probably didn’t even know, but tonight was truly just about them. Shame really, how a wedding took on a life of its own. Guests lists and seating charts and all the things the couple should and shouldn’t do. If Cassie ever got married she wanted it to be a simple affair. Just close family and friends wearing whatever they wanted and eating food they actually enjoyed. Not standing around in shoes that killed their feet eating whatever the caterer could serve to the masses.

“Well Aunt Maeve sure does seem to be enjoying herself.”

Cassie followed her mother’s nod to where her great aunt was dancing with Hank. As if feeling the weight of her stare he glanced up and a mischievous glimmer lit his eyes. He held her gaze for a few long, electrically charged beats, then a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. A warmth spread through her body and without even meaning to she smiled back at him.

“Do you know who that young man is?” her mother asked.

“Um, not really,” Cassie stammered. Had her mother picked up on the secret they shared or was she merely asking because Aunt Maeve seemed completely enthralled with her mysterious partner? “I just met him this weekend,” she added, which was technically true. After all, her mother didn’t ask how well she knew him. Another smile formed on Cassie’s lips as she imagined answering her mother with full disclosure. Why, yes I do actually. We had crazy monkey sex all night long.

Hank cocked his head to one side in question, then his eyes darkened as though he’d realized exactly the direction her thoughts had taken.

Judy took a healthy sip from her mason jar. “Well, he looks awfully familiar.”

“One of Matthew’s friends from college,” Cassie said, hiding what was surely a goofy grin behind her wine glass. “You probably met him at graduation or something.”

Mrs. Ford approached just as the song came to an end. “There you are, Judy,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I want the photographer to get a picture of the two of us.” She turned toward Cassie and smiled. “Mind if I steal your mom away for a bit?”

“Not at all.”

“The desserts were delicious by the way. I think Mr. Ford ate at least a half dozen and I bet if you check his jacket pocket there’s one wrapped up for later.”

Cassie beamed. “Tell him I’ll fix him up a box to take home.”

“That’s very sweet, dear.” She gave a delicate laugh. “And a savior to our dry cleaning bill. Thank you.”

The two women set off in search of the photographer leaving Cassie alone with what was left of her wine. She took a sip as she scanned the dance floor but there was no sign of Aunt Maeve or her handsome dance partner. She was about to turn away when she saw him standing just beyond the crowd in the shadow cast by one of the haylofts. He was sipping a beer, watching her, and when their eyes met there wasn’t even a hint of remorse at being caught staring. He enjoyed watching her and more than that, he wanted her to know it.

The scrutiny was intense, exhilarating, and more than a bit unnerving. Cassie’s gaze dropped as heat flushed her cheeks. She took another sip of her wine but when she looked up, she saw only darkness in the shadows. Her handsome stranger was gone.

* * *

Hank could have watched her all night. And if it wasn’t for an overwhelming urge to touch her, he just might have. But as much as he loved the sight of his sexy chef, he liked the feel of her even more. Which is why he found himself crossing the wooden floor within minutes of catching her eye.

Perfect, he thought, as the band began to play a slower song. It was still up-tempo but something that would allow him to hold her rather than swing her. He stepped to the side, allowing a few couples to pass in front of him as they made their way onto the dance floor, then skirted the edge of the barn until he came up behind her.

Hank tapped her bare shoulder and she turned around. “Have I told you how lovely you look tonight?”

She smiled over the rim of her glass. “You may have mentioned it.”

“Well it bears repeating.”

She took a sip of white wine then her tongue darted out to lick her lower lip. The tiny gesture had him wanting to suggest they make a fast getaway, someplace secluded where that tongue could be put to better use. But he was a man on a different kind of mission, at least temporarily, so instead of whisking her away Hank straightened his shoulders and stayed the course.

“Might I have a dance?” He stepped closer and let his fingertips drift down her arm until he reached her hand, taking satisfaction at the tiny shiver elicited by his touch.

“I’d love to,” she said in a sultry voice that shot straight to his cock. Down boy, we owe this pretty lady a dance. He let his fingers entwine with hers then lifted Cassie’s arm over her head and spun her into the middle of the dance floor. She was near breathless when they came to a stop.

“You sure know how to make an entrance.”

He chuckled as he pulled her into his arms. “Years of practice.”

One eyebrow quirked up. “Square dancing?”

“Something like that.” More like walking into a room to a trumpet fanfare, but the distinction was irrelevant. Hank was used to having all eyes on him, but at the moment he only had eyes for her.

“Well I bet you never thought you’d be dancing in a hundred-year-old barn.”

“Ah yes, a long time in the scheme of U.S. history, but barely a blip to those of us across the ocean.”

She reared back to look at him. “You’re not some elitist snob are you?”

“Not at all.” Hank tried his best to laugh off a question that was clearly meant as a joke, although in reality his family had been called exactly that, and far worse. “But I once heard someone say that a hundred years was nothing to Europeans, while a hundred miles was nothing to Americans.”

“That’s actually quite true.” She glanced to where her brother and his fiancée were swaying in what was more dopey canoodling than an actual dance.

“So I know you went to college with Matthew in the UK—”

“Uni,” he corrected.

She narrowed her eyes. “What was that about not being an elitist snob?”

“Point taken,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. “You were saying?”

“I was just curious where you’re from? I never asked and your accent is a bit hard to place.”

Definitely not the direction he wanted the conversation to take. “I’m afraid my accent is something of a hybrid.” That part at least was true. “Product of not spending much time in any one place growing up.”

She nodded. “It’s hard on kids when their parents relocate for work. I had a friend who’d gone to four different schools before she was twelve.”

To a certain extent, she was right on the mark. While technically Prince Edgar never relocated for work, he traveled on official business nearly every week. For the most part he took Henry with him. And while he was traveling with a private tutor rather than transferring schools, the effect was quite similar.

“Have you been to the states before this trip?”

“Mmm, a few times. But all on the east coast. Never to the south.” Hank guided them effortlessly around the plank floor all the while debating how best to divert the conversation from the topic of his past. A giggle from above drew his eye to the hayloft where several of the happy couple’s nieces and nephews had gathered to no doubt make fun of their elders.

“Truth be told,” he said, “when I found out Matthew was marrying in the south, I had visions of a tryst with a bridesmaid in a hayloft.” He glanced around at the barnful of guests. Nearly a dozen couples had joined them on the dance floor while others stood in small groups around the various bars, engrossed in animated conversations while drinking beer from long-neck bottles or cocktails served in mason jars. “I must admit I envisioned it to be a tad more private. Although to be fair, if there weren’t currently a gaggle of children in said hayloft, I’d be game to give it a go.” A wicked grin lit his face. “Assuming of course we could find a way to keep you quiet.”

A rosy blush spread across Cassie’s face causing Hank to wonder if perhaps he wasn’t the only one who had imagined a proverbial roll in the hay.

“Are you all right, luv?” he teased. “Your face is a bit red.”

She blinked up at him and a look crossed her face that he was beginning to know quite well. It was one that said she was game for anything. “Rather warm in here, don’t you think?”

“You’ve read my mind, Little Vixen.” He slid his hand to the small of her back and eased her against him. Her sharp intake of air told him she felt the effect she had on him pressing insistently into her soft curves. “Shall we take a walk?

She looked up at him, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she gave an almost shy nod. The sight of her, so seemingly innocent and yet so utterly open, was nearly enough to make him lose it right then and there. The hayloft might not have been available but he was sure as hell going to find someplace to bury himself inside this beautiful woman. Sooner rather than later.