No Weddings (No Weddings #1)(37)

And just like that, we let all the sexual tension fade away into a teamwork project of sifting out good popcorn from the burnt. We managed to salvage over half of it. She liberally salted the contents of the large glass bowl.

By the time Michael J. Fox began instructing Hannah on the finer points of business with boardroom-to-bedroom antics, she had grown quiet. The popcorn had been demolished long ago, and she’d nestled deeper into my side, her cheek resting on my chest, one of her socked feet thrown over my shin.

Were it not for her occasional questions, I’d have thought she’d fallen asleep. As the onscreen company-retreat deceptions escalated, Hannah shivered. Without disturbing her, I reached over to the arm of the loveseat and lifted the blanket.

After shifting it to my other arm, I swept it over her body. She pulled the edge over as far as it would go, covering part of me too.

“This music is great.” She yawned.

“Classic eighties soundtrack. I would’ve brought Pretty Woman, except for there was no lesson to be learned there. You’re no hooker.”

She snorted, her body shaking against my side. “Gee, thanks.”

Her intoxicating scent drifted up again, barely noticeable. I dropped my nose into the hair above her ear, inhaling. “What is that fragrance you wear?”

“I don’t wear perfume. My shampoo? Maybe my body wash. It’s coconut mango, I think.”

“Well, I like it.” I could bury myself in that scent. Intended to, actually. Which reminded me of our unfinished business—or pleasure, to be more accurate. “So, about that date.”

She turned her face into my chest further, but didn’t look up. It was like she didn’t want to break the spell we had going, and I didn’t want her to.

“What about it?”

Snuggled together on her bed, under her blanket, in her house, we’d crossed the line. We hadn’t had sex, hadn’t even kissed, but the line had definitely been crossed. DVDs that were “business lessons” were really more than that, and Hannah and I both knew it.

Kristen and the girls would flay me alive if they knew what was happening, but they weren’t here. It went against every tenet I’d created in my business dealings, because mixing emotions into the business world created the risk of volatility; the situation alone clouded judgment.

I didn’t give a shit about any of that, though. Businesses were built, and they fell. And from the rubble of one failed business, another would rise. My business code of conduct had been amended as of tonight with a bolded, underlined exception for Hannah. Because women like Hannah didn’t come along every day.

“How’s next Friday night?”

She pushed away, propping herself on an elbow, looking at me with a furrowed brow. “Why not this Friday night?”

“Because this Saturday night is the benefit dinner at the country club, and I don’t want you distracted.”

She grinned. “What makes you think I’d be the one distracted?”





Tonight was the first event Invitation Only held at a stodgy country club—our stodgy country club. Actually, the old-money set was trying to form a revitalized image, and embracing a brand-new event company started by the children of two of its most respected and generous members was their valiant attempt.

We didn’t want to let them down.

For weeks, we’d been arguing over how far we could push tradition. I wanted to buck convention entirely, and free-spirited Kiki had been right there by my side. Kristen and Kendall, however, vehemently opposed our radical, trial-by-fire approach and insisted on going strictly conventional with just a touch of edgy.

How the hell do you do that? My playbook was only written in go-big-or-go-home language.

In the end, Mom overruled us wild ones, siding with Kristen and Kendall. Mom was on the charity committee, and her reputation was on the line.

So instead of a string quartet, we hired a three-piece jazz ensemble to shake things up. And rather than holding the event inside the bland ballroom, we braved the cold March nights with plenty of those artsy, column heat lamps.

And a healthy dose of denial.

Because the philanthropic set never wore a coat over an evening gown. Well, unless it was an inherited fur. But that was considered tacky, unless you were coming or going from a Rolls or a Bentley.

Thousands of white lights snaked up the trunks and branches of the evergreen trees in the garden. Colorful lanterns swayed in the wind. In the pond next to the walkway, dozens of lily pads held tea light candles, making the black water sparkle.

Hannah stood by my side in a shadowed alcove, admiring all the decorations. “You look really handsome tonight.”

“I’m in a tux.” I tugged at the choking collar. Only for my mom.

She laughed. “You say that as if it’s in argument to my compliment.”

“It is,” I grumbled. I glanced down at her. “Now, you look amazing. Watching you move in that dress is the only thing keeping me sane.” Though I spoke the words, I forced my gaze outward to the horizon line of party guests. I was a mere mortal man, and Hannah had turned into a goddess.

“Oh, you mean this old thing?” she teased, stalking forward into my line of sight, showing me the backless silver silk as it fell in a “V” just below her waist. There was nothing on underneath, which I noticed every time she turned her back to me.