Her chestnut hair is in a twist, black glasses frame her face, and that dress hugs her fantastic body. What was I thinking? I should have bought her sweatpants, and I mean real sweatpants, the elastic ankles kind, not those yoga pants that radiate sex. Or a sweatshirt, all bulky and frumpy.

Then again, I’ve seen her in a sweatshirt, and I still found her alluring, so it’s on me to keep my lust in check.

She reaches me, rises on her tiptoes, and dusts a soft kiss to my cheek. “Hi, Jay.”

That’s not helping. I go up in flames. The temperature in me shoots up like I’m a space capsule reentering the atmosphere, radio signal lost, heat shield threatening to melt. This woman has my number. She is so fucking sexy, but I can’t let it distract me . . . because it’s expensive to teach Abby about the brachial plexus and solar plexus and whatever—screw all those bundles of neurons. All my nerves are unraveling for her.

“Hi, Julie.”

She shoots me a naughty grin. “Or should I call you Wilbur?”

“You know my conditions on that.” And maybe because she called me Wilbur, maybe because she looks good enough to undress, eat, and worship all night long, and maybe because resisting her is exhausting, I give myself a little leeway.

She’s my date, after all. Might as well enjoy the perks. I slide my arm around her waist.

Her reaction? Priceless. She trembles as I touch her. “Nice glasses. So glad you could make it, Julie.”

“Good to be here, Jay.” She sounds breathless, and for a split second, it feels like we’re the only people here, especially with our role-play.

With my arm still around her waist, I return the favor from the other night when she slipped her hands into my jean pockets. I let my palm slide down to her ass. I give the slightest of squeezes, enough to elicit a hitch in her breath.

“Behave,” she warns, shooting a stern stare over her lenses. But she wriggles against my hand, seeking out the curve of my palm.

I groan. “I’d tell you to behave too . . . but I don’t want you to.”

“We’re supposed to be good.” Wriggle, wriggle. “We’re in the friend zone.” She presses a little harder, a little more firmly into my hand, and the heat shield burns through, melting away.

I slide my fingers lower, teasing at the line—that absolutely delicious line—where her ass meets her leg. Ah, yes. I do enjoy where the tailbone is connected to the leg bone.

“If this is the friend zone, I’d like to live here.” I squeeze her ass, and a gust of a sigh rushes from her lips.

Too bad we’re surrounded by people.

Those people include my client, who’s rushing across the grass, looking dapper in his tuxedo. He pumps Truly’s hand. “You must be Julie.”

“And you must be Chip. I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure.”

“And you as well. Thank you for being here.” He turns to me. “And you. Without you, I wouldn’t be able to give Ashley the wedding she’s always dreamed of. Though, in all fairness, I should thank my ex-girlfriend. If she hadn’t dumped me for some other guy, I wouldn’t be here. I should send her a thank-you note.”

His genuine smile loosens some of the bricks in my facade. Because in his story, I hear echoes of mine, reminders of Claire. If she had held up her end of the bargain, where would I even be right now? With her? Without her? Back in London, trying to cobble together a living as . . . what? A meat-pie baking apprentice? A business reporter? I shudder at the thought of either. And honestly, I don’t know that I’d be doing the Modern Gentleman work in the UK. The cachet of not being from here seems to elevate my station when it comes to landing work in New York—speaking gigs and radio bits.

And I like my other job at the moment too. This one.

For the first time in a long time, I’m really enjoying this after-hours gig, and I suspect that’s not only because of the companion next to me. But because Chip’s a decent guy.

I clap his shoulder. “It’s her loss, isn’t it, mate?”

“Abso-flipping-lutely,” he says, the picture of happiness. “Speaking of, I just got word from Ashley that everyone’s here. We’re good to go.” He glances at the sun, slipping toward the horizon. His photographer is taking photos before the ceremony, so the light is ideal. “We can get the bridesmaid and maid of honor.”

“Right. Bring out the ladies.” When he darts off, I bring my face closer to Truly’s and whisper, “Remember, I’m too hot to be single. So feel free to put your hands all over me.”

“I feel like you can fend off any advances without me mauling you.”

“No, I can’t. I really can’t. You’re going to have to manhandle me. Just pat me down like you’re a TSA agent.” I widen my stance, raising my arms in the air. “Go ahead. I’m ready.”

“You’re ready? Is that so?”

“Completely. One hundred percent.”

She lifts her hands, draws a breath, then darts out her fingers and tickles me.

I muffle a shout, barely, squirming away from her on the lawn. “You’re vicious. Totally vicious.” But it comes out in a peal of laughter.

She grabs me, looping an arm around my shoulder. “Want me to put you in a back mount?” But the flirting stops when seconds later, a wrinkly, panting pug rushes across the lawn.

“Pugalove!” a young voice calls out, and I follow the sound, finding the bridesmaid shouting to her dog. “Pugalove! You come right back to me, you rapscallion.”

The rapscallion in question seems well-trained, since she spins around and rushes back to the bridesmaid, who bends and scratches the dog’s chin. “You are such a good girl. So good. But you’re supposed to have your maid-of-honor dress on, you nutty pug.”

I jerk my gaze toward her.

Maid of honor?

The young woman scoops up the dog. “Let’s get you dolled up, my lovebug.” The bridesmaid stands and brushes a hand down her dress, switching from dog baby-talk to something a little more seductive. “Oh, hi, Jay.”

“Hi, Amelia.”

She nibbles on the corner of her lip. “Pugalove was going to . . . well, I think she wanted to come over and meet you.” Her words come out all breathy.

Truly drapes an arm possessively around me. “Who doesn’t want to meet Jay? Get in line, Pugalove.”

The bridesmaid laughs. “I know. I’ll take tickets for that line.”

“You’re telling me,” Truly adds, squeezing my shoulder and snuggling a little closer. Well, there. Maybe I can get Amelia to hang around a little longer.

“Ah, you ladies are too kind,” I say.

Amelia slides me a dreamy look. “I promise, it’s not kindness that makes Pugalove and me want to wait in line.”

Truly chuckles. “Soul sisters. Am I right?” Then she brushes a quick kiss to my cheek, marking her territory.

Amelia sighs dreamily. “You’re so lucky.”

“I know,” Truly says.

“I want to be like you someday.” On that note, Amelia smiles sadly, spins around, and disappears back into the inn.

“Seems she brings out the jealous side of you.”