We all pile into Luke’s SUV. I let Celia take the front, next to Luke, and I sit in the middle of the backseat. I find myself unable to take my eyes off of her — as if somehow, in just a couple of days, I’d managed to forget just how beautiful she is.

“We’re having dinner at Luke’s tonight,” I tell her. “I hope that’s okay. We could go to the hotel first if you want?”

Celia glances back and forth between me and Luke. “No, that sounds great. Jace tells me you have a beautiful place.”

Luke raises his eyebrows and looks at me. Shit. He knows I had never been there before until last night.

“We talked last night. After I got back to the hotel. I told her all about the farmhouse.”

Luke shakes his head. “Stop. I don’t want to hear about your late night phone calls. I know how those go.”

Celia blushes. It’s the perfect reaction and Luke chuckles as he loops around the on-ramp to the highway.

“So, Celia — Jace talked about you a lot but he didn’t tell us much other than how great you are. And I think he mentioned that you’re a lawyer?”

She nods, seeming grateful for the change in subject.

“That’s right. Corporate law. Mostly contracts and stuff. All very boring.”

It occurs to me that that’s already more than I knew about her job before this moment.

“Are you from New York originally?”

“No, I grew up in Connecticut. We came into the city a lot to shop though, and I always knew I wanted to live there. So as soon as I graduated law school, I started looking for a job there.”

Luke is nodding. “It’s a great city. Trent and I are there occasionally for business. I can see why you wanted to live there. Where’d you go to school?”

“I did my undergrad at Yale. Then law school at Harvard.”

“Oh, no kidding! Trent and I went to Harvard too. Jace, you didn’t tell me Celia was an Ivy-leaguer.” He glances at me in the rearview mirror, grinning.

I feel a knot in my stomach. I hadn’t known Celia went to Harvard — but I also hadn’t known she came from such an upperclass background. Growing up in Connecticut, shopping trips to NYC, Ivy League law degree… she’s got it all.

Celia turns in her seat, so that she’s facing Luke. She glances back at me quickly. “Oh, Jace knows I hate bragging about that stuff.”

Luke chuckles. “Not me. I didn’t even graduate and I still brag about going to Harvard.”

“You didn’t graduate?”

“Nah. Trent did, but I was more interested in pursuing … other interests.”

Celia laughs. “I’m not even going to ask.”

Luke nods sagely. “Probably for the best.”

Luke guns the engine as he passes a silver sedan. When we’re settled back in the original lane again, he turns to Celia.

“Well, I have to say, it’s really nice to see Jace has finally given up the tattooed bar groupies and traded up.”

Celia flinches. Just a little. Luke doesn’t seem to notice but I do. Probably wondering why she let herself get saddled with a bad boy bartender — even in a fake engagement.

“Hey, speaking of bars — is MacLellan’s still open?” I ask Luke, changing the subject. MacLellan’s was a bar we used to frequent back in the day.

Luke shakes his head. “You should see the downtown. Nothing’s the same.”

I lean back and relax as Luke gets lost in a tangent about the changing demographic of the old neighborhood. Every once in a while I catch Celia’s eye in the rearview mirror, but I can never quite make out the expression on her face.

When we finally pull up to Luke’s place, Celia looks as impressed as I was.

“This is amazing,” she says, taking in the huge farmhouse with the wrap-around front porch, the sprawling grounds, and the huge renovated grain warehouse off to the side.

“Thanks,” Luke says. I hop out of the car in time to open Celia’s door for her, taking her by the hand and helping her out while Luke grabs her bag.

“No, seriously, this is like my dream house.”

Luke chuckles. “Thanks. Do you want a tour?”

“Absolutely!”

Celia leaves her hand tucked inside mine and I give it a squeeze, to let her know she’s doing great so far.

Luke walks us around the grounds, showing off the gardens and the gazebo in the back.

“This is where the ceremony is going to be,” he explains. “I think Mom said the flowers and the arch and everything are arriving tomorrow? I don’t know, she and Hannah have everything worked out. I just gave them a set of keys and told them to go to town.”

“That’s really nice of you,” Celia says. “To host the wedding here.”

Luke demures. “It’s the least I could do. Trent and I have always done everything together, so when Hannah mentioned they were having a hard time finding the perfect spot, I jumped at the chance to help. I’d do anything for them.”

I study his face, wondering if he’s making another dig at me, but there’s nothing malicious in his expression, and Celia is just nodding along.

“That’s really nice. It really is a perfect spot.”

“Come on,” Luke says. “I’ll show you where the magic happens.”

“The magic?” Celia looks confused.

Shit. I realize I never actually told her what Trent and Luke do for a living.

“Yeah, honey, you know I told you that Luke does all the designs and prototype builds for Loft & Barn.”

Her eyes widen and she swallows. I know she recognizes the name — every home in the country probably has at least one piece of furniture from Loft & Barn, and every woman probably has at least six things pinned to a Pinterest board somewhere.

To Celia’s credit, she doesn’t let the information faze her.

“Of course,” she says smoothly. “I just didn’t realize the magic happened right here at the house.”

Luke, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice anything unusual, because he just grins and starts leading us to the warehouse.

“You should have told me your brother works for Loft & Barn,” she hisses, when Luke is an appropriate distance ahead of us. We’re still holding hands and I give hers a squeeze.

“He doesn’t just work for Loft & Barn. He is Loft & Barn. He and Trent started the company just after Trent finished up at Harvard. They run it together now — Trent handles the business side and Luke does the creative.”

“Holy shit.” Her eyes are as wide as saucers. I know she’s probably met lots of wealthy business owners in her life, especially working in corporate law, but people always have the same reaction to hearing about what Trent and Luke do. It’s fun and kind of surreal to meet the owners of a company you actually know, that you’ve shopped at. She’s probably cataloguing all the furniture in her apartment right now, thinking about which pieces came from Loft & Barn.

I used to see this reaction all the time, until I stopped telling people what my brothers did. Because it’s always quickly followed up by the same question — asked out loud or not — which is: why am I working in a crappy little dive bar when my brothers own one of the most successful retail companies in the country?

It’s not a question I like discussing, and I especially don’t feel like discussing it with Celia, so I just squeeze her hand again and tug her along to the warehouse where Luke is waiting for us.

After the tour — through which Celia walks around with her mouth hanging open like a six-year-old at a carnival — I suggest we go back up to the house for some beverages.

Celia shakes her head, as if she’s coming out of a trance. “That would be nice. I’d like to freshen up a bit anyway.”

“Oh, sure,” Luke says. “Come on.”

We make our way back up to the house. Celia had let go of my hand at some point during our tour and even though I want to reach for it again, I don’t. Instead I shove my hands deep in my pockets.

“Are you guys hungry?” Luke asks, when we get to the house. “Magda, my housekeeper, left some sandwiches and things.”

“I’m starving,” Celia admits. I kick myself a little for not realizing she’d be hungry after her flight.

“Say no more,” Luke says, opening the fridge and busying himself with the food.

“Come on,” I tell Celia. “I’ll show you where you can freshen up.”

“Thanks,” she says gratefully. She grabs her carry-on bag and I lead her up the stairs to the bathroom. There are two powder rooms on the main floor, but the upstairs has a full guest bathroom, and I figure she might prefer that one, since it’s bigger and has a shower, if she’d like.

Plus I have something else in mind.

I walk her down the hall to the bathroom and she thanks me and steps inside. Before she can close the door behind her, I’ve crossed into the room with her. She gasps in surprise as I close the door. I don’t take my eyes off hers as I reach behind me and twist the lock.

She giggles nervously. “What are you doing?”

“What I’ve wanted to do since the minute you stepped off that plane.”

Celia taps her lips, pretending to think. “Now what could that be?”

“Get over here, you minx.” I pull her into my arms, unable to resist her for another second. She’s so fucking hot when she’s pretending to be coy.

And trust me, I know she’s pretending. I can see the lust written across her face as plain as day.

My hands slip around her narrow waist and I press the length of her body against mine. I can already feel my cock starting to stir. She’s so soft and she fits so nicely against me. It’s almost like we were meant for this.

I tug her head back, exposing her pale throat, and then I’m running my lips all over her, desperate to take in that smell, that warmth. She melts against me and a soft moan escapes her lips. That only makes me harder and I use my other hand to cup her ass, pulling her against me so she’ll know exactly the effect she has on me.

I spin her around so that she’s facing the large mirror over the vanity. I can see both of us reflected in the glass, and I can see the hesitation in her eyes, wondering what I’m doing.

“We’re going to finish what we started in your apartment the other day,” I tell her, my voice hoarse. “After all, I promised you I would — once you got to Chicago.”

“And here I am,” she says, breathless.

I grin. “Yes. Here you are.”

I reach around and undo the button at the top of her jeans and then the zipper too. I push them and the soft blue underwear she’s wearing down over her thighs, past her knees. She kicks them off easily, so that she’s naked from the waist down.

I take in her reflection in the mirror, as she does the same. Her face is flushed, the skin going pink all the way down into the low vee of her shirt. Her green eyes are hooded, lust-filled. Her chest heaves and her nipples poke sharply through the thin fabric of her shirt. Her thighs are tensed. In the slight gap at their crest, I can see her pink lips, already plump and swollen and glistening.

Her body is begging me to touch her, but I want to hear her beg me too.

I cup my hand under her chin, tilting her face to the mirror so she can’t look away from our reflection.

“Tell me what you want, Celia.”

“You.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper.

“Tell me what you want,” I say again. My other hand is on her waist, my fingers splayed out against her skin but not touching her anywhere she really wants to be touched.

She shifts her weight, angling her hips a little.

“I want you to touch me.”

I grin. “I am touching you.”

She whimpers a little, partly in frustration and partly, I’m sure, in embarrassment. But I want her to know how sexy she is, how powerful it is to claim that.

“I want you to touch … my pussy.”

“Good girl.” I move my hand down across her taught stomach and then I cup my palm over her mound.

“Like this?”

She bites her lip, then shakes her head. Her dark hair is loose and tickles the underside of my chin. I get a waft of her shampoo, and the sweet clean coconut scent mixed with the muskiness coming from between her legs is enough to send another rush of blood to my cock.

“Tell me, Celia.”

“I want you to touch my clit. Tease it.” Her cheeks are even redder than they were before, if that’s possible.

I do as she says, finally flicking my finger between her lips and finding her swollen bud. She gasps as soon as my finger makes contact, and I press against it, circling it gently and then flicking it with a little more roughness.

Celia’s breathing is coming harder already and I know she wants this so bad she isn’t going to take long.

I keep rubbing her clit, holding up her head so she has no choice but to watch us in the mirror. Her green eyes have gone dark, a perfect shade of deep woods, and her pussy is the bright pink of a sweet cherry.

Her lips are slick too, and I know she must want more than just to have her clit touched. Her pussy must be aching.

“Tell me what else you want.” My lips are against the shell of her ear.

She angles her hips again. Granting me better access.

“I want you inside me.” There’s less hesitation this time, and I let my tongue stroke the edge of her ear as she shudders. “I want you to finger me.”

Her words are almost enough for me to blow a nut right there. But I want to give her what she wants, what she asked for. I slide my hand lower down her body until I find her entrance. As I expected, she’s gushing like a geyser, and my hand is almost instantly soaked. I slip the tip of my middle finger inside of her, just enough to tease her.

“How’s this?”

She groans, then grabs my wrist, plunging my hand upwards so that my finger is all the way inside her.

“Fuck me, Jace. Fuck me with your hand.”

She pushes her ass backwards and I breathe into the back of her neck. Fuck, she’s hot.

I give her what she wants. I slowly slide my finger out and then press two fingers against her entrance. Soon I’m fucking her roughly with my fingers, the heel of my hand rubbing against her lips and her clit, the friction enough to make her thighs quiver and shake.

Her mouth opens in a round oh and her head tilts back, leaning against my shoulder. Her pussy clenches around me, gripping my fingers and pulling me to her.

My dick is straining against the inside of my jeans, and I wish that it was my cock inside of her instead of just my fingers, but for now this will have to do. After all, that was our agreement anyway — she helps me and I help her.

When her body finally stops shaking, Celia slumps backwards against my chest. I kiss the side of her neck and then, as she watches me in the mirror, I bring my fingers to my lips and lick her sweet nectar off them.

“You’re lucky the rest of my family’s going to be here any minute,” I tell her. “Otherwise, just a lick wouldn’t be enough. I want to taste you for real … but it’ll have to wait until tonight.”

“Okay,” she says. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “But only if you let me taste you too.”

I grin, my cock surging again. I’m sure she feels it in her lower back.

“Deal.” I glance down at my watch. “But right now, we have a different kind of show to put on.”