They both looked down at her hand. Her nails were short, and with her line of work, she almost never painted them so it was strange to see them perfectly manicured in pale pink. “Occupational hazard.”

“I thought you worked in a winery.”

She glanced up, surprised that he knew even that much about her. He seemed a bit embarrassed himself. “Seth mentioned it,” he said.

“I do. Leonato Estate Winery funds my real work, designing and making stained glass. Not a high-paying profession.” She dropped the ice cube back into her drink with a plop. It was true. She loved what she did. Had found her calling when she’d traveled to Europe after college. She and Amy had gone together, and as much as she’d enjoyed seeing the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower and the Colosseum, it was the churches and cathedrals with their stained glass that had transfixed her. Venice and its glass makers had inspired her to change her career plans from a vague notion of getting a business degree to studying the ancient art of stained-glass work with an eye to making it look modern.

She was doing okay for an artisan. She sold her work through a couple of galleries and high-end craft markets and a few architects called her from time to time. Maybe she wasn’t getting rich, but she was managing. In a couple of years, if her sales continued to increase, she’d be able to quit the winery and work on her glass full-time.

“Amy’s mom sent me to find you. Dinner’s about to start.”

“Oh. Right.”

They entered the ballroom together into a sea of tables. The surfaces of the tables were crowded with the printed wedding programs, place cards and specially made chocolates wrapped in foil the same color as Lauren’s dress.

Naturally, she and Jackson were seated at the head table with Amy and Seth and both sets of parents.

Her place card put her between the two douches.

She knew exactly what food would be served and which wines, just as she’d known the foiled candies would match her dress. Because Amy had discussed every detail with her.

Even if she’d been bored by the details, she had to admit that Amy had been right. All her planning was paying off. From the wafer-thin slices of smoked salmon and capers, to the main meal (a choice of beef Wellington, chicken in a champagne sauce or a vegetarian plate) everything was perfect. From her perch at the head table, Lauren could see that everyone was having a wonderful time.

The frat boys acknowledged the solemnity of the occasion by banging on their wineglasses with their cutlery until Amy and Seth kissed.

“If I ever get married, I’m eloping,” she muttered.

She didn’t realize she’d been heard until Jackson said, “Me, too.”

The frat boys made Amy and Seth kiss a few more times throughout the meal until, finally, it was time for the speeches. To her surprise, Jackson’s toast to the bride was both intelligent and funny. Seth’s toast to the maid of honor was more about himself and how lucky he was that Amy’s best friend liked him, to which Lauren gave a good-natured two-thumbs-up, hoping that thumb-raising didn’t constitute actual lying.

Just when it seemed that the formal part of the evening was ending, the frat boys started banging away on their glasses again. Really, those servers needed to take their spoons away and send them to their rooms.

Amy and Seth rose, and Willy, whom she’d nicknamed Head Frat Boy, yelled, “Everybody at the head table. Let’s see some kissing.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“Oh, no,” she said.

At the same moment, Jackson muttered, “I don’t think so,” but as the sound of cutlery on glassware increased, the two sets of parents struggled to their feet. She and Jackson both remained seated until Amy and Seth laughed down at them, Amy saying, “Come on, you guys,” and Lauren realized they’d only appear more foolish refusing to play along.

“I am so eloping,” she said as she rose reluctantly to her feet.

“Me, too,” Jackson agreed. “Let’s get this over with,” he added, in the tone he’d probably have used on his way to a firing squad.

And then he kissed her.

Glasses clinked and wolves whistled and wedding guests clapped and cheered.

And she felt his mouth on hers. Warm. Not icky at all, in fact, but kind of nice. It was pretty much the briefest possible press of closed lips to closed lips, but still, there was a tiny buzz of something that snapped back and forth between them.

She sat back down as quickly as she could, banging her butt on the chair.

A couple of dances, she said to herself, circulate, make more small talk, and then I can go to bed. She’d been up way too late working, and then Amy had called her way too early this morning to remind her to bring a bathing suit. “Because we are going to hit the spa.”

Lauren had no idea when they were going to squeeze in time at the spa, but she’d thrown her bathing suit in her suitcase anyway and, giving up on any more sleep, padded to her tiny kitchen to brew coffee.

The short night and long day were catching up with her now. One of the perks of her position of maid of honor was that Amy’s parents had insisted on paying for her room. She had a lovely room on the third floor overlooking the ocean. It was dominated by a big, decadent bed, where she could sleep as long as she wanted.

Hotel Messina was the kind of hotel that contained a sprung dance floor at one end of the ballroom and a stage large enough for a big band. In its heyday the hotel had boasted its own band and the rich and famous had waltzed and fox-trotted many a night away here. The French doors were all open to the breeze when the orchestra struck up, and the MC called out the wedding couple for their first dance.

“Hope I don’t fall off my heels,” Amy said as she walked behind Lauren and giggled.

“You’ll be fine,” she whispered back.

Maybe it was corny and sentimental, but she had a moment, watching her best friend dance with her brand-new husband. They held each other briefly and then began to move with the music they’d chosen. She’d tried to talk Amy out of it, but ever since she’d seen Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio on the prow of the Titanic she’d been determined that “My Heart Will Go On” would be her wedding song. Lauren had assumed she’d grow out of that idea, but no. And yet, as she watched her best friend in the arms of her new husband, waltzing to Celine Dion, she felt a real hope that they’d be this happy forever.

“And now, would the parents join Mr. and Mrs. Beauregard, please. And the maid of honor and the best man,” the rich voice said into the mic.

Oh, crap. This was the part she’d dreaded.

Jackson looked as thrilled as she was as he led the way to the dance floor. They didn’t touch until they were pretty much forced to.

He put a hand on her waist.

She put a hand on his shoulder.

He took her other hand. “Ready?”

“I’ll fantasize I’m having electric-shock therapy. The time will pass.”

He moved her in a circle. “I’ll pretend I’m having a last cigarette before the firing squad. I’ll enjoy it.”

“You smoke?” Gross.

“No. But I think if I knew my life was going to end in a couple of minutes anyway, I might take it up.” He twirled her around Seth’s parents. “I’d ask for a king-size cigarette. No filter.”

She watched Amy and Seth, holding each other so close he kept stepping on her dress. “Think they’ll make it?” she asked.

She felt him shrug as his shoulder rose up and down under her hand. “They’ve got a fifty-fifty chance, statistically.”

* * *

ACROSS THE ROOM, a table of men who’d all gone to boarding school with Seth and Jackson were making full use of the open bar. They’d moved on from the dinner wine and were now doing shooters.

“Would you do her?” Willy Ragan asked in a general way, his gaze semi-focused on the dance floor.

“Amy?” Rip Sherken asked.

“No. She’s married, asshole. The other one.”

“The bridesmaid?”

“Yeah.”

They all studied Lauren.

“She’s hot.” Rip burped politely behind his hand. “Bet she goes for Jackson. They always go for Jackson.”

“Not her. Haven’t you noticed? She hates him. Look at them. Acting like a couple of brooms dancing.”

Rip snorted. “The chicks are always all over Jackson. And he gets stuck with the one woman who thinks he’s dog meat. Excellent.”

And between that shooter and the next, Willy came up with a plan that was way funnier than their original idea to TP the bridal suite.

Willy outlined his plan rapidly while all his buddies concentrated on the details.

“How you gonna get her room key?” Rip wanted to know.

“It’s probably in her purse, which she left on her seat,” Willy said. “I saw her leave. Her room’s just down from mine, so I know which one it is.”

Tricking the maid of honor and the best man, who hated each other, into sharing the same hotel room was, they agreed, way better than their original plan. Though, if there was time for both, they still planned to toilet paper the suite.

“We better get her key now, while they’re all dancing,” Willy said.

He got up and found Lauren’s clutch purse on her chair as he’d expected. The clasp took his thick fingers a second to work out, but he soon had it open. There was nothing in there but a couple of tissues, some lipstick and her room key.

He pocketed the room key and then, while he was standing, realized he needed to pee. He veered off to take care of business while he mentally perfected the details of the plan. They weren’t too complicated. Mostly, the plan involved getting Jackson drunk.

* * *

LAUREN ENDED UP having a lot more fun at the reception than she thought she would. A couple of single guys hit on her, as did one older, very drunk, and very married friend of Amy’s father. She laughed with Amy and her girlfriends and, when Amy threw the bouquet, made certain to stand way out of the line of fire.

Then Amy and Seth headed off up the bridal suite and her duties were over.

Still, she hung around for another half an hour or so before slipping away. That luxurious room with the huge bed and the balcony looking out to the sea beckoned her.

Her supposed escort, the best man, had abandoned his tuxedo jacket a while ago and sat hunched around a table with the rest of the frat boys where the booze was flowing. A couple of women had drifted over, and she suspected there’d be some pairing up when the night finally ended. Cynthia was sitting next to Jackson, she noted, hanging on every word he said. Pathetic.

She found her clutch, which had somehow fallen to the floor, and slipped out of the emptying ballroom. Before she got to the elevator, she dug in her purse for her key card, but it wasn’t there.

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she went to the front desk, where they gave her another.

With a sleepy thanks, she headed up to bed.

When she entered her luxurious hotel room, she threw open the balcony doors and watched the ocean for a few minutes. The moon gilded the waves and the sand stretched endlessly in either direction. A couple, guests of the hotel, probably, walked on the beach. They seemed happily in love. Good for them, she thought, as she went back inside and brushed her teeth. She donned the pretty nightgown she’d brought with her and stretched out in the huge, decadent bed.

She imagined Amy and Seth were right this moment enjoying married sex up in the bridal suite, and that was her last thought before she fell into exhausted sleep.

* * *

JACKSON PULLED OFF his tie and settled around the table with his buddies. He’d done his part, made a speech, danced with the ice queen herself, and now he could simply hang out. He passed on the shooters, but he accepted a scotch. He felt he’d earned it.

That went down so smoothly he drank another.

He went way back with these guys. They were part of the gang that Seth had introduced him to at boarding school. They’d stayed tight ever since. Seth was the first of them to get married. He knew there was a kind of melancholy to them hanging out getting hammered while Seth was off having sex with his new wife.

This was the way of the future. One by one, they’d all get married or move across the country for new jobs or whatever. Their carefree youth was slowly coming to an end.

It was how life was meant to work. But, while they were all still here, minus one, they partied.

Of course they didn’t exclude women from the party, and between the dancing and the drinking and the laughing, it was late when Jackson figured he’d better call it a night. Cynthia tried to slip him her room key but, even though she was an attractive woman and he was a single man, he couldn’t work up the enthusiasm. He claimed he’d drunk too much and took her number. Which he knew he’d never call.

The band had packed up, and the tired-looking bartender gave them the fish eye. He knew they were going to be a sad and sorry bunch come morning.

He got to his feet.

“Okay, I gotta go to bed.”

To his surprise, all the guys rose at the same time.

“Jackson—” Willy threw drunken arms around him “—you’re too drunk to drive. I’ll walk you home.”

He opened his mouth to tell Willy none of them would be driving and realized there was no point even trying to reason with Willy.

“Have to be quiet,” Rip warned them, staggering along. “People sleeping.”

“Right.”

They piled into the elevator. He pushed the number three. Nobody pushed another button. Seemed they were all on the same floor.

The whole mob of them stumbled down the corridor. He rooted around in his pocket. Pulled out a valet parking ticket. Nope. Other pocket.

There it was. His room key card.

Willy grabbed the card out of his hand. “Allow me,” he said, as if he were the bellhop.

“You angling for a tip?”

They all snickered as if he was Chris Rock. Willy stopped at a door and made an exaggerated gesture. “Your room, sir.”

“No, my room’s down there.” At least he thought it was.

Willy shook his head. “Good thing we walked you home.”

He stood back and waited. Willy was more wasted than he’d thought. When the key didn’t work, he’d... Well, his room was around here somewhere. Down the hall. He’d find it.

But, to his surprise, when the key slid home, the green light glowed.

Willy opened the door, put the key in his hand and patted him on the back. “Night, Jack.”

“Yeah, night.”

Right before the door snicked shut, he heard a gale of laughter. He shook his head, wondering what they’d found to laugh about and hoping they all made it back to their rooms okay.

He stripped rapidly and stumbled into the bathroom. Peed, brushed his teeth. Damn, he’d bought the spearmint toothpaste by mistake again.

He drank a huge glass of water, knowing his morning self would thank him. Then he flipped off the bathroom light and walked back into the bedroom where he fell, naked, into the king-size bed.

As he closed his eyes, he smelled something light and floral and sexy. Someone had worn that fragrance tonight. He couldn’t think who, but his body stirred in memory.

He edged closer and found himself touching warm, female skin.

What?

Apart from Cynthia, one more woman had tried to slip him her room card, but he was sure he hadn’t taken it.

Had he?

Oh, she smelled good.

He eased closer; the curving line of her shoulder captivated him. The curtains were open, as were the French doors, and moonlight cast the palest glow on her skin. He couldn’t resist: he put his lips to the curve where her shoulder met her throat. A pulse beat there, slow and steady.

And then she made a sound like a purr and turned to him.

He wished he could remember her name. Damn.

He might be drunk—okay, he was drunk—but he wasn’t going to have sex with someone he didn’t even know.

He raised his head to look at her more carefully and at the same time she opened her eyes.

His heart stopped.

Her eyes opened wide.

Holy shit.

He knew this woman’s name perfectly. And most of the time wished he didn’t. What was Lauren doing in his bed?

She blinked slowly, not moving or turning on the light or calling security. In fact, she didn’t say anything. He recalled that moment when their gazes had caught, when she was walking down the aisle, and he’d felt that punch of—of something he had no name for. Recognition was the closest he could come.

For a long moment, they simply looked at each other. He wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come, wanted to move, no idea which way. Backward? Forward?

She lifted a hand. If she was going to slap him, he was ready. He’d explain, except he had no idea what had happened. Then he recalled the snorts of laughter after his old school buddies had walked him home, and he thought he knew exactly how he got here.

She didn’t slap him, though.

She laid a hand on his cheek, slid it to the back of his head and, to his shock, pulled him toward her.

They’d kissed already tonight. That forced kiss, close-lipped and dutiful, in front of a crowd. He still recalled the feel of her soft lips under his, the light scent that was now teasing his senses.

And then she put her mouth on his.

JACKSON EXPERIENCED THE slam of lust, sharp and fierce, as she kissed him. Not some dry-mouthed kiss your great aunt Mildred would give you, like the one they’d shared earlier, but a deep, wet, hungry soul kiss.

He pulled her against him, feeling her soft, warm skin, the silky slide of a nightgown that was definitely in the way.

When she moved her mouth like this, he wasn’t reminded of firing squads or poison ivy. He thought of hot skin sliding on hot skin, of what her nipples would taste like on his tongue, the sounds she would make when he brought her to climax.

He ran his hands lightly up over the silky gown to stroke her breasts through the fabric and felt her nipples respond, hardening beneath his palms.

Her body began to grow restless, but something about this place, the romantic location, the soft hush of the ocean coming from the open French doors, the moonlight, the wedding, made him want this to be special for her.

Their first time to be special.

Those clever artist’s hands of hers began to move over his body, learning him, exciting him. When her hand closed around his cock, his hips jerked helplessly against her hand. He wanted so much more; he wanted her wet heat surrounding him and he was too excited for much handling.

As though she’d read his mind, she moved on, stroking his chest. Then she pressed herself against him as though their entire bodies were kissing.

As they rubbed and teased, she rolled right on top of him. She’d taken her hair out of its updo and it spilled over her shoulder in sexy loose curls.

He reached for her, but she kept rolling until she was off the bed.

What the hell?

Stunned, he watched her dash into the bathroom, heard rustling and then she returned carrying—oh, yes—condoms. He liked a woman who traveled prepared.

She tossed a trio of square packs on the bedside table beside him and then, still standing, the moonlight glinting on her skin, she put her hands to the hem of her short, silk gown and slowly raised it.

He watched, not daring to blink in case he missed something, his eyes taking in every superb inch as she revealed herself.

Long, elegant legs, rounded hips with that glorious triangle beckoning, then the long, lean abdomen of a runner, and the small, perfect breasts.

She pulled the gown over her head and let it float to the ground.

Naked, she walked to the bed to join him.

* * *

LAUREN HAD NO IDEA what she was doing, but ever since she’d woken to find Jackson mysteriously in her bed, she’d followed her instincts.

For all she knew, she was dreaming, and this was nothing but a wet dream.

But what a wet dream.

When she kept his mouth busy doing other things besides insulting her, he was good company. Especially naked. And as she looked at that mouth, she knew she was going to keep it very busy for the next few hours.

She slid back into bed, settled herself against him once more and put all thoughts of tomorrow out of her mind.

This was a sex fantasy, she reminded herself.

Nothing but a wet dream. And dreams were always gone in the morning.

As he moved against her, she loved the feel of his hair-roughened skin against her smoother flesh, loved the muscles—and who cared how he’d come by them, really.

When he slipped a hand between her thighs and found that perfect spot, she forgot to think at all.

Sensation. That was all she had. The quiet lap of waves outside mingled with their soft sighs as their excitement increased.

The moonlight cast the night in the colors of a dream.

The tiniest taste of scotch when she kissed him, and the taste and smell of hot, horny male when she moved her mouth down to his chest.

He played at her wetness, taking her relentlessly up. Slipping a finger inside her to stroke deep. She felt herself growing slicker, felt her hips dance in time with his knowing fingers.

The first climax took her so sweetly it was on her almost before she knew it, so she felt tossed as surely as one of those waves out there lapping the beach.

She kissed him: part gratitude, part demand.

She wanted more, so much more, and based on the rock-hard cock pushing against her thigh, she wasn’t alone.

He fumbled for a condom from the night table and, with a lot more haste than finesse, sheathed himself.

When he rolled over her, she opened for him, finding, to her surprise, that she was trembling. Almost a year had passed since she’d last been intimate with a man. She’d been so busy working a second job to support her stained-glass business that she hadn’t missed the time commitments of a relationship, or the sex.

Or had she?

He kissed her deeply as his body entered hers. There was a moment, when they were fully connected and his hips rested against hers, that she felt as though she couldn’t breathe, that she’d fallen off a cliff without noticing it was there.

Then he kissed her once more and the strange feeling fled. He began to move, slowly at first, and then faster. When they moved together she felt stunned that their bodies had a perfect ease that their daily selves had no idea of.

She felt a kind of magic happening. His face was shadowed where he gazed down at her and she wanted to see him.

She nudged him, and they rolled together until she was on top of him, her knees anchoring her to the bed. She felt him deep inside her. As she began to move, finding the perfect angle, she felt the beginning tremors of another climax. She gripped his hands, stared into that rugged, way too gorgeous face, blue eyes that could suck a foolish woman into their depths, and rode him until her head fell back as she cried out. Even on the echo of her own cries, she heard his.

When she floated back to earth, she slumped down on top of him and he put an arm around her and stroked her back.

Hours later, her well-loved body finally fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Lauren wasn’t sure what woke her. Her eyes felt heavy, her body completely relaxed. When she opened her eyes it took her a split second to recognize where she was and another split second for memory to flood her.

She turned and discovered what had woken her. Jackson was dressing. A glance at the bedside clock told her it was 6:00 a.m.

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