A man like Gunner Parrish has to know the effect he has on women. His broad shoulders and massive chest taper down to a trim waist. The white T-shirt hugs him like a second skin, perspiration from hard work shows in the center of his back when he turns around. His back muscles flex against the damp fabric.

My maid-of-honor, Josie, and I stand at the window of my bedroom on the second floor of the house. I started out showing her my wedding trousseau. Since noticing Gunner outside, we’ve reverted to our teen years and can’t tear ourselves from the view.

A faded red ball cap hides Gunner’s face. I hope he hasn’t noticed us, because we’re gawking. There’s no other word for it. I tear my gaze from the manly form working hard to finish the koi pond in the back lawn. “We should really get busy,” I say to her.

“Five more minutes…” she murmurs. “My brother said Gunner was back in town. I don’t think I would’ve recognized him. He was tall and lanky back then. That man filled out.”

Perfect. She’s as captivated by him as much as I am. “We’re going to get caught watching.”

Josie doesn’t even turn her head away from the window. “We need a break from this wedding talk. Gunner Parrish. Huh. I don’t think I’ve drooled over a man like this since my freshman year of college.”

“Who was it?”

“Brad Delamark. Football player. Tight end. Real tight end.” She mutters this with perfect timing as Gunner bends over to pick up something.

I furrow my brow, attempting to remember this Brad guy. “Is he the one you followed around campus for weeks?”

“Yes. Good memory. Hey. I think I need a koi pond. It’s a beautiful sight. How much do these things cost?”

Although I know she’s ogling Gunner purely for fun, the thought of her ogling him without me sends a nasty jolt through my veins.

“Mmm…” I give in and look down at the lawn. “I made out with Gunner one night in tenth grade. He moved soon after that.”

“I’d have to ask him for a trip down memory lane.” She grins. “I need details. Is ‘made out’ code for sex?”

“No. It’s not,” I answer with a hint of regret.

“At least tell me there was heavy petting involved.”

“What exactly qualifies as ‘heavy’?” I smirk at her. “No, you don’t have to be jealous. I barely remember it,” I lie. “Besides, he was a jerk then and sort of a jerk now.”

“I remember liking him in school.”

I lift one shoulder as if it’s no big deal. “Yeah, I did, too.”

“Where does the jerk part come in?”

“I don’t know. I thought he’d ask me out and he never did. That doesn’t really make him a jerk, huh?”

“No, not really. Unless you had sex and you’re withholding information. Then he’s certainly a jerk.” Her head thumps against the window. “His muscles have muscles. I do not remember him looking like that. I’ll have to ask Leo for an update on what Gunner’s been doing.” She grins at me. “OK. Backing away from the window and the beautiful man now. Slowly, so I won’t have withdrawals.”

I glance at her. “About the bachelorette party. I don’t care where we have it. You choose.”

“New Orleans is my first pick. Or Vegas.” She strolls across the room and sits on my purple velvet chaise.

“Why can’t we have it here?”

“You are kidding, right? Nashville is boring. Let’s go somewhere wild and crazy.”

I sigh. The pressure of the past few days makes me want to fly away somewhere. Maybe I can find a remote island where I can hide from the world. If I fly to Vegas, I may never come back.

I force myself to leave the window and walk to the chaise. “I think you’re more excited about this bachelorette party than I am.”

“Heck yeah! All I ever do is work at the bookstore.” Josie scoots over and pats the space beside her. “Sit. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I lie, and take a seat. As my best friend and first cousin, she knows too much about me to be satisfied with my previous answer and I know it.

She points at me. “Liar.”

“Everything.” I drop my head down and place both hands over my face.

“You’re scared. It happens. I always hear people talk about pre-wedding jitters. They’re normal.”

“I hate him. Is that normal?”

“What?” Her eyebrows draw together.

“I hate the way he talks to me—like I’m supposed to take notes so I do everything he says. He’s so anal about certain things. He takes better care of his cuticles than I do, for God’s sake. Ugh.”

“Oh, sweetie. It’s nerves, that’s all.”

“He thinks my career plans are a joke. He wants me to break my contract to be on Forever this season. He said I’ll be too busy after the wedding. That if I love him, I’ll understand that he needs me.”

My throat threatens to close shut. I attempt to swallow past the lump in the middle of my esophagus. I don’t want to cry, but it’s too late. My tear ducts have gone renegade. A small tear escapes to roll down my face. “I’m afraid it’s not nerves. What if it’s the beginning of a hate that grows until the day I’m standing in the back lawn with a shovel in my hand trying to figure out a way to bury him next to the koi pond?”

“You’ll call me and I’ll help you figure it out. The koi pond is a bad location. We’ll take the body out to the lake and sink him. If the body’s too heavy, Leo can come help. A twin brother should be good for something. He’s my accomplice for life.”

“Can we do it now and get it over with so I don’t have to live with him?” I begin to laugh, a hysterical sound even to my own ears. I gasp for air in-between giggles. “Because I swear, if he tells me one more time what he wants me to wear at this dinner tonight, I’m gonna kill him.”

“You’re kidding.” Her eyes widen and she grins. “What does he want you to wear?”

I get to my feet and stride quickly to the closet. Tossing a look over my shoulder as I enter the walk-in, I say, “A dress that will make me look sexy, but not whorish—his words. He gave me a dress to wear so I wouldn’t choose one of my own. Shoes that make my legs look long but won’t make me taller than he is. My hair should be in an updo, but nothing too fancy.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you what jewelry to wear.” She follows me into the closet.

“But he did. No costume jewelry. Let me quote. ‘I forbid you to wear any of that fake stuff you made.’”

“He can’t be talking about the beaded jewelry you make.” She picks up one Louboutin platform shoe from my rack and tries it on her bare foot.

I nod. “He is. He gave me a necklace and insists I wear it, since it matches the non-whorish dress.” I stand on tiptoe and retrieve a jewelry case. Opening the lid, I stare at the large sapphire pendant on a choker. The necklace box feels leaden as I hand it across to her.

She puts the shoe back in its spot and takes the box. “I had no idea he was so…domineering. But I haven’t really been around him.” She places a hand on my arm. “I said it was jitters. I was wrong. Forgive me for what I’m going to say.”

“Forgiven. I’m sure I’ve thought it already.

“If you’re not sure, call the wedding off or tell him you need more time. But don’t marry him because some invitations have been ordered or some other whack reason. I couldn’t marry a guy trying to make me into a perfect robot wife. I’d tell him where he could shove this necklace along with the diamond.” She signals with one finger to my left hand.

I stare at the engagement solitaire on my shaking hand. I was so sure the day I said yes to his proposal. We’d gone on a midnight riverboat cruise and everyone on the boat had witnessed Mason going down on one knee. I felt loved that day.

Things are changing and I see how my life might be with Mason. He’s planning our life the way he prepares a legal brief—detailed and unemotional.

I give myself a mental shake. He says he loves me. He says I’m the most important thing for his happiness.

People don’t call off weddings four weeks out. I have a dress and wedding presents. Caterers and a string quartet. Dad’s approval that I’m marrying a solid guy.

“Mason isn’t horrible. He has some good qualities. I swear he does. Every person has annoying personality traits and I’m letting his get to me.”

“Tell me about it. I haven’t dated a guy I can stand after the third date. That’s about when I notice all the things that drive me crazy.”

I attempt a smile. “Yeah, I know. Right? Mason makes these sucking sounds when he eats. Every guy is going to have something like that. How petty am I for pointing it out?”

She puts the necklace box down on a shoe rack and grabs me by the shoulders. “That’s why I’m not getting married. Mason sucks his food, huh? You are talking about a lot of meals in a lifetime. Do you really want to be the one to fly across the table someday and fork him?”

My heart pounds faster as I imagine the sucking between bites of breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My stomach churns.

She continues. “I hate to say it, but that’s not the worst thing you’ve listed about him. That alone is grounds for divorce in my book. But the controlling thing. I know you. You’ll be miserable. Oh my God. I’ve realized something.”

I lift a questioning eyebrow.

“I was trying to figure out why you are marrying this douchebag. I know.” She leaves the closet with me tagging along behind her to hear the rest.

“I’ve made him sound worse than he is. It’s pre-wedding jitters. You were right when you said it. Everyone gets them.”

“He’s sort of like your dad.”

We’re both silent for a full minute.

“Shut up,” I finally say. I laugh, the sound of it forced. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that about Uncle Ed.” She gives me a sad smile, her look filled with pity.

In a flash, I’m taken back to a single moment when I was five. Sitting on the top step of the staircase, I hid so I could listen to Mom and Dad arguing about whether she could open her art gallery.

Usually, Mom did what he said, quietly and without any argument. Not that day.

I glance at the clock. “Look at the time. Wow. I should get ready for the caterers to bring the food. They’ll be here any minute. And then I have to shower and change. Can I call you next week?” I walk toward my bedroom door, hoping that Josie will follow me.

“Sure.” She pauses and whirls around to hug me. “I’m so glad to see you again.”

“I’ve missed you,” I say into her mass of red hair. “This bachelorette thing will be fun.”

Josie pulls back and looks into my face at arm’s length. “We can do a party no matter what happens. Don’t be mad about what I said. I want you to do what’s best for you.”

The sound of the doorbell saves me from responding. “I wonder who that can be.” We smile at each other, some of our earlier camaraderie missing. I walk downstairs faster than necessary.

I open the front door, only to find Gunner. “Oh, it’s you.” You. Tall, tanned, and toned. The one I dreamed about last night instead of my fiancé.

“Hi.” Josie beams at him. “I was just leaving. I’m Josie. You were friends with my brother Leo when we were in school. And I used to follow you guys around everywhere.”

Gunner looks her over as if he’s not sure.

“Yeah. Sure, I remember. I’ve known Leo for a long time. Nice guy. But you look different.” A corner of his mouth lifts.

“No braces or glasses. Figured out the bad hair issue.” She winks. “I didn’t even get boobs until my senior year.”

Gunner stays silent as if he’s not sure how to respond.

Josie stops ogling him. “You guys have details to work out. Come on in,” she says and steps aside. “I’ll let myself out.”

He shifts his gaze to me with a relieved expression. “I wanted to find out what time the shindig starts. I’ll stop work at least an hour before people arrive.”

Last night, Gunner left as if he had a fire to put out. He hates me. He thinks I’m insensitive and cruel. I wish I’d known about his mother back in high school and last night.

But when I get as nervous as I was last night, my mouth gets me into trouble. Words fall out of their own accord.

Now I step back and watch Josie leave. She hops into her white Mercedes and waves at me. Then she gives me a thumbs-up sign. Unfortunately, her thumbs-up occurs at the same moment Gunner turns to look at Josie.

He turns back to me with a confused look on his face.

There’s no explanation for Josie’s signal to me. Not that I need to make one. “What can I do for you?” I tap my fingers against my bare legs. As if he can hear my fingertips hitting skin, his gaze travels down the length of my body.

“I asked you when the party starts.”

Whenever you want, my body says. “Um…it’s at…” My mind is like a squeaky-clean marker board—white and blank as the day it came off an assembly line.

He nods slowly. “You did tell me it’s tonight. But maybe I got that wrong. You don’t look dressed for a party.” His gaze travels once more over me, trailing down my legs in a slow burn.

“Oh for heaven’s sake. You too? I’ve had it up to here with men trying to dress me.”

Gunner gives me a bewildered look as I glare at him. Then the most unexpected thing happens. He gives me a sly grin. And it’s like a freight train knocks into my body.

“I’d be more likely to undress a woman than dress her,” he says. His soft voice travels across the space between us and my knees knock together.

If only.

My mouth morphs into a dry piece of sandstone and my heart vibrates with hummingbird wings against my breastbone. I’m going to begin talking. I have no doubt my mouth will open and there’s no way to stop it. It’s either babble or jump him. One or the other, because there’s no in-between.

I swallow past the sand in my mouth. He’s freaking me out with the flirting. “That would be something. You and me. Really?”

I know my comment came out wrong. All wrong. When I get nervous, I pretend I’m overly confident.

That sly grin disappears and the hard, flinty look in his eyes returns. “No. You’re right. I like my women a little less frigid.”

And I like my men a little less…hot. Apparently true, if I compare Mason to the man before me.

But I stop myself from blurting that lame reply. “I like my men a little less dirty.”

He chuckles, as if I’ve said something totally funny. “That doesn’t surprise me at all.” One corner of his mouth continues to quirk skyward.

I’m glad for his cutting comment. It clears my head of all the things I was two seconds away from saying. Crazy things. This is real life and not some music video where Gunner smiles at me, I smile at him, and we run away together.

“Are you going to tell me what time or do I have to guess?” he asks.

Westley, who’d been napping in the kitchen, comes wheeling around the corner at warp speed. His high, vapid barking fills the room. Gunner eyes him cautiously.

My cell phone rings. “Give me a second. The caterer might be lost.”

Gunner exhales. “What time?”

I race to find my phone in the other room. Finding it on an ottoman, I breathlessly answer. “Hello.”

“Miss Vanderbilt? This is Five Star Cuisine. We need to confirm the arrangements.”

“Great,” I say, and peek around the corner to see why Westley is so quiet. My dog sits five feet from Gunner, eyes trained on him for any sudden movements. Gunner leans back against the front door, arms across his chest and an unhappy look on his face. It’s an official showdown. Giant versus small beast.

“The delivery will be at 6:00 pm,” the voice says.

“No. It’s supposed to be at five.” I glance at the ornamental clock hanging across the room. “Five is better.”

“It won’t be ready then. You’ll have to wait until six for the delivery.”

I inhale and attempt to stay calm. “My guests are arriving at six.”

“Then we’ll be there on time.”

“No,” I say, my voice rising. “It can’t be at the same time. I need everything here before then.”

“It’s not possible. Are you canceling it?”

“No!” I wave a hand in front of my watering eyes. “No, no, no. Not canceling. Bring it.”

“Good. We’ll be there on time at six.” The caterer ends the call. I hold the phone and listen to the dead silence. With my free hand, I place my palm against my forehead and squeeze my eyes shut.

“Kiley? Did you forget I’m waiting?” Gunner sneaks up on me and I twirl around.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “Um, the time. Yes. The guests will be here at six.” My voice strains, thin and reedy.

Westley follows Gunner into the room, then trots over to stand guard beside my feet.

“Do you feel all right?” Gunner’s gentle voice unlaces the tight hold I have on my composure.

“No. Not all right. I cannot do this.” I sit in the nearest chair. “I should go throw myself off the second floor balcony. Now.”

“What is it you can’t do?” He raises a brow, but he’s not mocking. He’s actually concerned. I must look as though I’m serious about planning a swan dive to end my misery.

“The caterer is getting here at the same time as my guests.”

Gunner shakes his head. “I’m not understanding the problem.”

“This is a big deal. It’s my fiancé’s clients. I can’t instruct the caterer about the food while people are here. And I didn’t hire people to serve it.”

“You’re losing me. You can let your people visit with each other. They’re grownups, right? So, what exactly is the problem?” Gunner fidgets with the brim of his ball cap, certainly out of his element talking about a dinner party.

“I should’ve called Mason’s mother for advice on a caterer like he asked me to. But, no. I was going to do it my way. I didn’t want to do what he asked. I was going to set out a buffet in the dining room. I wanted it to look like I did everything. Well, not everything, but most of it. And it would be rude to ignore the guests. See, my fiancé needs…” I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m screwed. I can’t do this. I can’t.”

He holds up a hand. “Calm down. What if you had help?”

“Mason thinks I’m this perfect woman who knows how to do this stuff. He assumed…he expected…” My eyes tear up. Great. Why can’t I be normal? Why do I have to keep talking?

“Want my help?”

“You’ll help with the dinner?” I attempt to imagine Gunner setting up a dinner service. No matter how hard I try, it doesn’t work.

His mouth quirks at the corner. “Not exactly. I have a friend who owns a bar. He can probably come up with some help for you. You might have to pay them overtime wages. Maybe double their pay.”

“Done.”

“Would two or three people be enough?”

I nod frantically. “Yes. Make sure to tell them to wear black slacks and white shirts. I don’t want them showing up in bar clothes. This isn’t a barbecue I’m having and—”

He lifts his hand a second time to cut me short on my talking. “And you’ll owe me a huge favor.”

“Like what?” I gulp. I’d like to do a lot of things for him, but most would be indecent—especially since I’m supposed to marry another man in four weeks.

He shrugs, drawing my attention to the broadness of his shoulders. “I’ll think of something,” he says in a slow drawl.

His words are innocent, but the look in his eyes makes my pulse sprint. I suck in air and smile as if I’m not turned on by the thoughts I have. “You name the deed, and it’s yours.”

* * *

Once Gunner made the call to his friend and sent people to help, everything else fell into place. I owe him. I had time to take Westley to the dog-sitting service and plenty of time to get ready.

Mason didn’t plan to do anything for the dinner, as was evident by his arrival a half hour before guests are to arrive. I check my lipstick in the stainless steel server on the buffet table.

“Mason?” I walk through the kitchen and into the entry. He’s disappeared, so I wander around the main floor to find him.

There’s a sound from Dad’s study, so I reverse directions and head that way. He should be helping me instead of sneaking off to make business calls.

I stare at the wooden door of a room that is normally open. Frowning, I place my hand on the knob and slowly turn it.

Mason sits in Dad’s chair while he faces the window. He rocks slowly in the chair, his foot tapping on the wood flooring. “Kiley and I talked it over. She doesn’t want to do the show.” Pause. “We realize it will leave you in a bind, but surely you can find someone else.” Pause. “She asked me to call you because she knew you’d be disappointed.”

“Mason? What are you doing?” It’s a stupid question. I know exactly what he’s doing.

Lying. Manipulating. Dictating.