“No, no, no,” he interjects, remnants of his Australian lilt coloring his objections. “Nothing like that. You know, we’ve hung out a few times when she’s in London. No biggie.”
“No biggie,” I repeat, noticing that Lachlan’s shoulders nearly pull to his ears. “Better not be. She’ll chew you up and spit you out alive.”
He snorts. “Don’t I know it… And speaking of man-eaters, Fletch,” a twinkle enters his eyes, a sign of mischief to come, “I, uh, heard a rumor about you. A rumor about you and a certain boss.”
“Former boss. She fired me.”
“Unh hunh. Sure, she did. Didn’t want to break any anti-fraternization policies, I’m sure.”
I stuff my fists into my jean’s pockets, lowering my head to avoid the look in Lachlan’s eye. The one I know is there.
The same look he’d given me in London on many occasions, when we’d walk out of some Oxford classroom and into a pub, where pretty girls awaited.
That look that said one of us was going to get lucky.
I avoid that look like the plague.
“I’ll explain it all later,” I motion, keeping my gaze on the hallway and not on the growing grin decorating his boyish face.
“Oh, come off it, Fletch. You’re the smartest guy I know. If it wasn’t for your big brain, I’d have never made it through school… I know you can give me much more than just an explanation. Remember: This is a woman you once referred to as a ‘Hell-beast.’”
“Thank you for the memories, Lach. That really helps.”
But he isn’t wrong.
In some ways, I had called Nancy every name in the book. And she had called me plenty of her own.
But that was before…
Before this weekend. Before she fired me.
Before we got close.
Before…
I admitted my attraction to her.
I can confess: It was always something that was in the back of my mind, a small flame flickering in the distance that made me aware that the gingery blonde boss who made my life a living hell was attractive.
No, more than that…
Because Nancy wasn’t just attractive.
She was beautiful.
But the flame that had been burning between us was one of animosity—borderline hatred.
She was my opposite in every way, a woman who always colored inside the lines. And me? I was the messy type.
Never staying inside the lines. Never sticking to the rules.
We were destined to be enemies.
And in some ways, we still are.
She challenges me in every way possible, thinking of new ways to get under my skin—to expose pieces of myself I’d rather keep buried.
Problem is: The only object I want to bury nowadays when it comes to my now fake fiancée…is my cock.
Even texting her this afternoon, knowing she was in the bridal shop, undressing, slipping out of the uptight armor she usually wears and likely into something silk or chiffon, I’d thought about how I would help.
How I would give anything to be the one assisting her out of those restrictive clothes. Clothes I had sunk my hands beneath.
Clothes I could bunch around her tiny waist before picking her off her feet and cupping her ass in my readied hands.
I’d press her body against the wall of the dressing room and show her how to get out of clothes the right way.
The way that allows me to take advantage of everything underneath the expensive fabric.
The way that would allow me to pull her panties to the side, stroking with my hands and fingers and tongue until she was wet and slick beneath my tongue.
The way that would allow me to sink my thickening length into her soft center.
So many ways I’d show her…
If the lie were real.
But it isn’t. And I remember that when Lachlan shoves my shoulders, his wet hand making contact hard.
“Man, look at you! You’re absolutely smitten.”
I frown. “Cut it out, Lach. Seriously.”
“I mean it,” he stresses. “Look at you. You’ve been lost in thought for the last ten seconds.” He shrugs, shaking off another slew of water. “But fine. If you want to keep your poker face, then I’ll let you. For now.” He motions. “You can get back to whatever you were doing when you almost knocked me into another dimension.”
I grit my teeth.
Fuck. Yeah. That’s right.
I was on my way to find Hannah. On my way to sitting her down and having the conversation I should have had with her days ago.
And knowing her, if I show up the way I am now—half-hard and horny, she’ll smell it on me the second I enter the doorway to her office, dismissing me before I can say “Good day.”
I glance out the window at the arched glass overlooking the English garden of our estate—at the sun setting on the horizon in hues of red and gold, signaling the start of the evening.
The evening of tonight’s rehearsal dinner, which in true Fletcher fashion, will surely be an event.
I wipe a hand down my face, sighing.
“Yeah, you’re right, Lach. But before I head where I was going, I think I need something back in my room.” I hold out a hand. “Catch up with you at dinner.”
He slaps my hand back. “You got it. Though, I can’t promise I’ll be wearing more than these swim trunks.” He grins.
“You keep something like those swim shorts on. And you’ll for sure need them because Hannah will try to drown you in the punchbowl.”
He laughs, and I hear it all the way down the hallway, even as I turn and head back to my bedroom to get myself together again.
Willing my erection to subside, I stalk fast.
Past the pool. Past the Bannekers’ doorway and back to my wing.
It seems like it takes an eternity to make it back to my doorway.
But when I do, I turn the knob quickly, bursting into the room, my mind on the bathroom and getting to cold water as quickly as possible.
But that goal is short-lived—a speck of dust that’s flicked quickly away once I see
