Melissa Bell stretched and smiled. Like a cat in cream. She liked the thought and, cat-like, rubbed her cheek against the thick, muscular chest of Brant Layton. Her fiancé. Even after two weeks the phrase still felt new. Exciting. She ran her fingers through the hair that grew on his chest—just the perfect amount for playing with, thick and curly against her fingertips—and contemplated a lifetime with this man.

She rather liked the thought.

He was snoring a little. It had taken some days to get used to the sound, but she didn’t even hear it anymore. Silly as it seemed, she’d been sleeping better than she had in a very long time. Like having my own personal white noise machine.

My own personal, rather sexy, white noise machine…

His nipple was just under her chin and she kissed it, lips lingering in a gentle caress. He didn’t stir.

“Hmmm…” She raised her head to look at the nipple, then up to his face, then back to the nipple.

Then applying simple problem-solving skills, she wrapped her lips around the hard nub of flesh and gently ran her teeth over the nipple and waited for a reaction.

Nothing.

If anything, he was snoring louder than before.

Mel sat up and looked down at the man in her bed. His bed. Their bed. He was out, dead to the world. She listened to his deep, even breathing for a while. Smiled with each occasional random snore.

Nope, he wasn’t waking for anything.

Or might he…?

Face alight with mischief, she very carefully peeled back the covers to expose him to the knees.

Whatever he was dreaming, it was a good one. Mel suppressed a giggle, likening the image to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. How could that not be considered…cute?

She shifted with infinite care, sitting up and bracing her knees apart with a wary eye on his face. Nope. Still sleeping. Mel tried leaning forward, then mentally cursed herself as her curtain of hair swung forward, the ends fluttering along his hard abdomen. She held her breath and waited him out a beat or two then tried again, this time pulling her hair back over her shoulder. Her lips touched the tip of his shaft. A butterfly kiss, followed by hesitant withdrawal.

He snorted a little. Shifted somewhat.

Mel froze, heart racing. Then in a moment of ‘what the hell’ daring, she leaned forward and licked the length of him. Maybe her tongue lingered a little in that special spot just under the head and waited for signs of life.

This time he stirred a little more, his entire body turning a little more toward her. The snoring stopped. Then started again.

Smiling at her ninja skills, she lowered her mouth onto him, her tongue wrapping around his flesh, in a tender caress as she took him into her mouth. She let him slide down her tongue to the back of her throat and then took a deep breath, relaxing her throat just enough so that she could manage the rest, her lips pressed all the way to the base of him.

There was a startled intake of air from somewhere in the vicinity of the pillows as she raised her butt to get better leverage, and she had just begun sucking on him in earnest when the bedroom door burst open.

“DARLING! I must insist that this is taken care of now, do you—Oh my!”

Mel couldn’t hear the rest, what with her screaming and diving under the blankets. “Whatever is the matter with her?” she mumbled to Brent’s ankles.

“You could learn to knock, Mother!”

Mel peered out cautiously. Brant was still lying there, exactly where she’d left him, shaft still at full mast and glistening with her saliva. It occurred to Mel that she’d stolen the sheet, leaving him fully exposed. Not that he seemed to care.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Brant,” Linda Phelps dismissed his complaint with a wave. “Anything she has, I have, and anything you have, I gave you and cleaned up more times than I can count. Anyway, you’ve had weeks together uninterrupted while I went back to Paris, but now this simply must end. Do you have any idea how long it takes to plan a decent wedding? It’ll be completely off-season by the time the two of you get around to making any plans at all!”

Why is she still here? Why’s she still talking? “BRANT?” Mel demanded under the blankets, her voice wavering in an uncertain ‘do something’ note.

Which, thankfully, he did. Brant got up, the rat, completely unashamed, and walked into the bathroom, scratching his butt as he did, as though he hadn’t a fucking care in the world.

“Learn to knock, Mother!” he called over his shoulder as the door closed behind him. “It’s really not that hard, just beat your fist on the wood.”

“Apparently that’s what I walked in on!” Linda called back, and turned her attention to the large lump still hiding in the bed. Mel scrambled further under the sheets, attempting to back herself under the pillows for good measure.

That sounded suspiciously like a snort. Was Linda Phelps, the Linda Phelps, laughing at her?

“Melissa, please meet Tasha, she’s the top wedding planner. You have no idea how tough it was to secure her on such short notice. I basically had to call in every favor I’ve ever gotten.”

Wait, what?

“Pleased to meet you,” said a feminine voice from somewhere over by the door.

Mel froze. “Wha—?”

“And this is Pierre. Pierre is one of the best pâtissiers. He’s got some simply divine ideas for your cake.”

“Zee best!” a man’s voice protested. “I am zee best!”

“Yes,” Linda continued, seeming nonplussed. “I’m sure he’ll have for you the most scrumptious creation!” She paused. “He’d better…” She paused, apparently looking at this Pierre guy to agree with her.

“A pleasure, Miss.”

Forget the pillows. At this point Mel was trying to figure out how to get between the bedframe and the wall. “BRANT!”

“Oh, don’t worry, dear. We’ll be out here when you’re ready, just take your time. No more than a few minutes, though. After all, it’s after 9:00. The day’s wasting away!”

The blanket slipped, and Melissa Bell, unemployed doctor and social nobody, watched with a wary eye as Linda Phelps, award-winning actress, Hollywood legend, and Brant’s mother, swept the entourage out of the room. The door closed behind her like the very gates of hell.

“BRANT!” Mel screamed.

The bathroom door opened. Brant stood framed in the doorway, the light shining behind him, illuminating every plane, every angle of his body, as though he’d been carved from marble. If she hadn’t been completely freaked out, Mel would have watched him standing there with a certain awe.

Who was she kidding? She was staring at him with a certain amount of awe.

Somewhat overridden by sheer terror and possibly a terminal case of embarrassment.

“I’m NAKED!” she hissed.

“So am I.” Brant looked at her for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “You want to do this right now? Don’t you think it’s a little awkward with everyone just on the other side of the door?”

“THIS ISN’T FUNNY!”

“Well, it’s her house…” Brant shrugged.

“BRANT!”

“I know, I know. But there’s a reason, you know.”

“What?”

“Listen, neither of us has had a job for a couple weeks. We’ve been locked away with each other; not even Alice has seen us, and she’s been here to clean like six times. Mother told me that we either show up or she was coming to get us.”

“You knew?”

“No. I didn’t know she was going to pull this, but she’s been in the Hollywood crowd for forty years. It tends to warp one’s mind a little.”

“Brant, I had your penis in my mouth!” Mel was trying to be reasonable, couldn’t he see that? “My ass, my bare ass, was pointed to the door!” She paused. “Don’t you dare laugh!”

“I’m not laughing.” The rat. Of course, he was. “I’ll talk to her about it, okay? Just…” He walked over to where she was still bundled under every blanket. He pulled the covers away from her face for a kiss. “Let’s start the day. It’ll work out okay. Really it will. She made her point, she’s done. Come on.” He held out his hand for her.

Mel looked to the door. Was there even a lock on the thing? “Are you sure she won’t come barging back in here?”

“Sure as it rains in L.A.,” Brant said cheerfully, kissing her on the tip of her nose.

Half convinced, Mel pulled herself from the sheets and streaked to the bathroom door. Brant barely got inside before she slammed it shut.

This one DID have a lock. Which she made use of. Noisily.

“Does it rain much in L.A.?” Mel asked, shoving hair out of her eyes.

“Almost never.” He kneeled in front of her, his breath warm on her skin as his tongue found what he was looking for.

She dropped her head back against the wooden door and sighed. “I hate you so much right now.”