Not Another Wedding. Jennifer McKenzie

floor.”

      “Girls, I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss. Sex is—”

      Poppy was so relieved when she heard a car pulling up outside, she practically ran for the door. Okay, no practically about it. She went into an all-out sprint.

      “Where are you—” Rose started to ask as Poppy exited the kitchen.

      “He’s here.” The chair squeaked again as Cami pushed herself up. “Go, Mom, go.”

      They reached the entryway before Beck had even gotten out of his car. They watched silently as he emerged, all dove gray suit and dark hair. Cami sighed first, followed by Rose. Poppy stared at both of them. “You’re a pair of happily married women.”

      “That doesn’t mean we’re dead.”

      “We should invite him in for coffee. It would only be polite.”

      “No.” Poppy clutched her purse to still the sudden shaking of her hands. He looked good. Too good. She reminded herself it didn’t matter. He was an ex. One she had long since gotten over, and any relationship they had now was a means to an end. As soon as she had her conversation with Jamie and was satisfied he wasn’t making a mistake, this back-and-forth with Beck would end. “His family is probably waiting for us.”

      When he knocked, she shooed the other two back before they bowled him over with their enthusiasm, then steeled herself to the inevitable small talk and opened the door.

      He grinned down at her. “Good morning, Red.”

      “Stop calling me that.” She scowled at him from the doorway and did her best to ignore her mother and sister snickering behind her. When the hyenas showed no sign of letting up, she shot a glare in their direction. “That nickname includes you two, as well, seeing as we all have the same hair.”

      They stopped laughing and regarded him with considerably cooler gazes. Poppy scored herself a mental point. See how wonderful they thought he was now.

      But of course, he apologized and flattered them, accepted the cup of coffee her mother forced on him, and by the time they left, her mother and sister were practically begging to be his slaves.

      “Smooth,” Poppy told him as they pulled away from the house.

      He lifted a questioning eyebrow at her.

      “Winning over my family. I don’t know why you bothered. This is only for today.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m only going with you so I can talk to Jamie.”

      “So it’s like that, Red?”

      Obviously he was trying to get a rise out of her. She should smile politely or ignore him entirely, but she couldn’t help her reaction. “For the millionth time, my hair is auburn.”

      “Doesn’t have the same ring.” He snaked a glance her way. One that had a shiver trailing its way up her spine. “‘You look gorgeous enough to eat, Auburn.’ Doesn’t work.”

      She ignored the banter—she was so above the banter—and curled her fingers around her purse. She didn’t care if he thought she was gorgeous. “Then why don’t you try using my name?” Her smile could have cut glass, which she knew because she caught a glimpse of herself in the side mirror.

      “Not as much fun.”

      She tossed her hair. “You would say that.”

      “But I’m willing to cut a deal.” His fingers played over the steering wheel. Poppy found herself watching them as they stroked the soft leather.

      “What?” She yanked her eyes away. “You’ll stop calling me that if I sleep with you?” The minute the words escaped her mouth, she wanted to stuff them back in. She blamed her mother and sister entirely. If they hadn’t been harassing her all morning, she would be on her A-game and not thinking about sex with Beck.

      “I’m definitely open to the offer.”

      “It’s not an offer.” Where was a corner to curl up into a ball and hide in when you needed it?

      “It sounded like one.”

      She decided to change the subject. “How are you going to get me some time with Jamie?”

      “I preferred the other line of discussion.”

      “I didn’t.” She forced herself to watch him and not notice the curve of his eyelashes. “Or would you prefer to handle your mother and Grace on your own?”

      She saw the small shudder. “Definitely not.”

      “Right. So we have an agreement. You help me and I’ll help you.”

      His eyes slid toward her. “We have something, Red.”

      Poppy thought about that as he turned down the road that ran the length of the lake. It was a gorgeous summer morning and people were already splashing around in the water. Brightly colored kayaks and swimmers dotted the flat surface. It had been a long time since she’d gone for a dip.

      He was right. There was something left between them. She just wasn’t sure what.

      After about ten minutes, they turned up a winding road. The houses here overlooked the lake and had their own beachfront. They were spaced farther apart, too. Poppy hadn’t spent much time up here. The homes were vacation properties for those who could afford them and, except for Beck, she hadn’t known anyone who lived in them.

      She recalled some of the rougher kids from high school used to come up here and drink on their lawns, leaving behind empty beer cans and chip bags as proof of their daring. She’d even come up once with them, shortly after the Beck fiasco when she’d been feeling used and sensitive and hoping to forget everything, but she hadn’t liked it. Not the taste of the beer, the slithery sensation of her date’s tongue or littering on a stranger’s property.

      “Here we are.” Beck steered into a curving driveway, past trees and shrubbery, which opened onto a masterpiece.

      Poppy had seen a lot of gorgeous homes in her years as an event planner. The glorious historic houses in Vancouver’s Point Grey neighborhood, the elegant penthouse suites in downtown high-rises and the luxurious mansions in the British Properties. But this took her breath away.

      All wood and glass, the house seemed to emerge from the trees in bits. Decks and windows and railings, with seats placed perfectly throughout for curling up and enjoying a book in.

      “It’s gorgeous.” She itched to see the inside, already certain the interior would live up to the outside. The parties she could plan here. She pictured people spilling across the wide front lawn. Everyone in white, like a Gatsby party, with a jazz quartet playing on one of the lower decks, and champagne towers overflowing.

      He pulled the car to a stop and loped over to her side to open her door.

      “Thank you.” She allowed him to help her out, stared at him when he didn’t move or let go of her hand. “You’re in my space.”

      “Yes.” He leaned harder, pressing her into the side of the car. Their eyes locked. His filled with a gleam she couldn’t identify. Teasing? Tingling? Terrifying? “My mother is probably watching. We need to make this look good.”

      “Make what look good? This is just brunch.” But she didn’t move. A bird warbled in the trees. Beck’s head tilted, moved closer to hers. Desire and panic swirled through her. She placed a hand on his chest, surprised to feel the rapid beat of his heart.

      He placed his hand over top hers. A pose she was sure appeared intimate from a distance. She should pull her fingers free, step to the side and suck in some fresh air to clear the mental haze from her head, but she stayed where she was, caught in the magnetism of Beck’s eyes.

      “If you think I’m kissing you—” she whispered.

      He smirked. “I wouldn’t ask.”

      Of