“And I need to make sure the flowers are confirmed,” I add, rushing on. “I need—”

“To chill with your friends,” Jamie says. “Come on, Nick. Music or not, pictures or not, come Saturday night you’re going to be married. You’ll never, ever, ever get to go out as a hot single girl again. So we’re doing this. I’m your maid of honor and I’m insisting.” She glances at Damien. “Sorry, dude. It’s in the best friends rule book.”

“I’m certain it is.” He turns to me, his expression implacable. “I need to speak with you alone.”

I shoot Jamie the kind of look that could bring down an army, then follow Damien to the far corner of the showroom. We’re standing beside a case filled with gorgeous, decorative wedding cakes. I glance at them, then wish that I hadn’t, because all they do is remind me of how quickly Saturday night is barreling down on us. And while Damien’s entry only moments ago might have felt like the cavalry, now those prickles of stress and nerves are starting up again. Because Jamie is right—this is my last chance to cut loose with my girlfriends.

But I don’t want to irritate Damien, and though it has never actually come up between us, I feel confident he is not going to graciously accept the idea of another guy getting up close and personal. And we both know that even if we insist on ground rules, Jamie will make sure that they are soundly ignored.

“It’s not my idea,” I say.

“But you want to go.” His voice is low, sensual—and it’s making me nervous, because I can’t figure out his angle.

“I didn’t even know about it,” I say.

He twines a strand of my hair through his fingers, then releases it as he brushes his thumb over the curve of my jaw, then over my lower lip.

My mouth parts, and I feel my body go soft and needy. There is no one in the world who has ever had the effect on me that Damien does, and right then I want nothing more than to fold myself into his embrace and lose myself in his kisses.

That, however, isn’t where the moment is going.

“Go,” he says. “Have fun with your friends.”

I blink. “Really?”

He chuckles. “Would I deny you the full wedding experience?”

“I—well, no, but Raven . . .” I trail off, because really, what is there to say about buff men dancing in thongs?

“Mmm, yes, about that.” He moves closer, his heat so palpable I feel the sizzle. “You go. You have fun. And you come back and tell me all about it.”

I lick my lips. “All about it?”

He leans forward so that his lips brush my ear. “Every last thing, baby. Have as good a time as you want. And when you get home,” he adds, his hand sliding down to cup my ass, “I’ll decide whether I need to simply spank this beautiful ass, or whether you need a more thorough punishment so that you remember just how much—how thoroughly, completely, and irrevocably—you belong to me.” He pulls back so that he is looking straight into my eyes, and the desire I see there almost makes me come on the spot.

“Do we understand each other?”

I nod.

“What’s that?”

“Yes,” I say, and then meet his eyes defiantly. “Yes, sir.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. He takes my hand and pulls me close, then brushes a gentle kiss over my lips. “Just so you know, Ms. Fairchild,” he whispers, “I’m secretly hoping you spend this afternoon with your friends being very, very naughty.”

Chapter Six

Jamie lets out a laugh as a guy in nothing but a thong and a cowboy hat gets up close and personal in her face. I’m sitting right beside her and am listing toward the left—away from him—but Jamie is eating it up, gleefully tucking ones and fives into the elastic band of his thong. Elastic that, from the stretched out look of it, is going to snap at any moment.

Which probably wouldn’t bother Jamie at all.

But even though the guy’s not bad-looking, the only naked man I’m interested in anymore is Damien. And this guy is no Damien.

Jamie pulls out a fifty, and I roll my eyes, thinking that I’m about to witness a new level of hip-gyrating entertainment. That’s when Jamie hooks her thumb toward me, nods, and very deliberately sticks the fifty right over the guy’s package.

“Jamie!” I squeal, but I’m laughing now, because she’s laughing and so are Lisa and Evelyn and Sylvia. I try to squirm away, but Jamie holds me in place, grinning wickedly.

Beside me, Evelyn takes a shot of straight Scotch. “Honey, you know I love your boy—and I am quite fond of my own man’s attributes, too—but you need to relax and appreciate this from an artistic perspective.” As if in illustration, she leans back, takes another drink, attaches her eyes firmly on the cowboy, and sighs.

Evelyn Dodge is brassy, opinionated, and often inappropriate. She says what she thinks, takes no shit off anyone, and has conquered Hollywood and then some. A former-actress-turned-agent-turned-patron-of-the-arts, Evelyn has been friends with Damien since his early days on the tennis circuit. She’s known his secrets for longer than I have, and she loves him as much as I do. Damien lost his mom when he was just a kid, and I’ve always been grateful that Evelyn was in his life. Now I’m grateful that she’s in mine.

But this isn’t the time to be sappy, and I flash her the kind of smile that would make my mother proud. “Evelyn,” I say sweetly, “you are so full of shit.”

“It’s the years in Hollywood, Texas.” She cocks her head at Jamie. “At least this one already has the mouth for it.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Jamie says. Then she waves another bill and points at me. “Come on, John Wayne,” she says. “Don’t stop now.”

The dancer obviously knows which of us is shoving bills down his pants, because he does as she says, gyrating closer and closer, and I’m squirming out of reach and laughing so hard that I almost pee my pants.

And all the while I’m wearing a fake diamond tiara that says Virgin Bride in equally fake red gemstones.

“It’s no use,” Jamie finally announces, then waves the dancer away, but not before giving him one more fifty. “She only has eyes for Damien.”

“Can you blame her?” Sylvia says. I turn to her, eyebrows raised. Sylvia is Damien’s assistant, and we’ve spent so much time together as I’ve planned the wedding that we’ve become pretty good friends. “What?” she says, holding her hands up in a sign of innocence. “Just because I work for him doesn’t mean I’m blind to him.”