Heather and Brad have been close family friends for ten years but both have secretly pined for each other, secretly fantasized about one sultry hot night together. So when fate delivers them a chance at that night — will they take it — and risk a lifetime of friendship being destroyed? Or will they convince themselves they can really wake up tomorrow and pretend it never happened?
Connected Books: Hotly Ever After
Read an Excerpt
He stared down at her, his expression shadowed by the darkness of the hall, impossible to read. And then without warning, he grabbed her hand. “Come with me.”
She all but stumbled as he tugged her down the narrow hall. “Where are we going?” she whispered urgently. “Brad!”
He didn’t reply and didn’t stop, weaving down yet another hall, the place like a small maze. Finally he entered a room, pulling her inside. She pulled away from him as he shut the door.
Heather’s gaze rushed around a room lit only by the spray of a streetlight peaking through the curtain of a large window. She blinked, her eyes trying to adjust to the shadows, barely allowing her to decipher the details of what appeared to be a small dance studio of hardwood floors, complete with a bar in front of full-length mirrors, several chairs in the far corners. A rack of clothing stood to the left of the door.
“Are you crazy?” she hissed, turning back to him as he flipped the lock on the door. “We’re going to get in trouble.”
He kissed her. Just like that. No pretense, no talk. She barely remembered him reaching for her. There was only the wet, wonderful heat of his mouth that answered her demands, the ones of her body that she’d not consciously issued, but so needed satisfied. Still, logic tried to prevail, logic born of the fears she’d been battling about losing Brad and Brenda, fears she’d battled during the entire ceremony. And Heather tried to resist—her hands pressed to his chest, where she intended to push away from him but did not. Her tongue tried to remain still, not to respond. But his was masterful, coaxing her into a reply, a moan, a burn that made her thighs ache and her body wet. And his hands–his hand moved over her body caressing a sensual path down her back and over her backside. Molding her to what was unmistakable, the thick bulge of his erection.
“Why are you doing this?” she gasped, with her last bit of sanity.
“I told you,” he said, his hand cupping her breast, shoving down the bodice of her dress and bra lining with it, until he pinched one of her nipples. “You want a wedding fantasy. I’m giving it to you.”