Not Another Wedding. Jennifer McKenzie

five o’clock.

      She studied him for another moment before nodding. “Try to enjoy yourself tonight. Don’t forget about brunch.” Like he could be so lucky. She’d probably hunt him down in an hour to reconfirm and maintain the pretense of the perfect family.

      “I’ll be there.”

      He watched her move off, crossing the lawn to join a small group at the edge of the dance floor that included his father. His dad’s face brightened the moment he became aware of her, and that awful scratching under Beck’s suit started up again. He’d bet good money wedding number three would happen before the year was out. Great.

      He supposed he should be thankful he had insisted on staying in the smaller guesthouse instead of taking his old bedroom in the large family home. The guesthouse was still big, close to twenty-five-hundred square feet, but was dwarfed by the main house. Beck didn’t care about the size. He cared that he’d have his own space, away from his parents loving it up inside.

      Deciding to skip the mingling, Beck slid over to the bar and let the party swirl around him. The sun still beat down on them, but the heat didn’t seem to keep anyone from enjoying themselves. The crowd continued to increase in size and volume. Their frivolity was giving Beck a headache.

      He wished it was dark already so he could slip away under cover of night, but he knew the chance of sneaking past his mother was slim. Still, he was seriously considering the ramifications of what his mother might do even if he did leave early—ground him, tell him he wouldn’t be getting any dinner, send him to his room—when something else grabbed his attention.

      Or someone else. A low, pleased thrum echoed in his blood.

      Poppy Sullivan. Winding her way through the crowd, hair glowing like a beacon and poured into a dress that begged a man to wonder what was underneath. Beck’s lips curved in the first legitimate version of a smile since he’d arrived this morning. Well, well, well.

      And she was coming straight for him.

      CHAPTER TWO

      POPPY SCANNED THE CROWD, taking note of the “happy couple” as she headed toward the bar. She wasn’t particularly thirsty but the bar offered the best vantage point to keep Jamie in view. She just needed to wait until the horde around him thinned, then she’d capture his attention and drag him away for a private moment.

      Having this conversation at a wedding event wouldn’t be her first choice, but Poppy didn’t see another alternative. Time was tight. Though, if Emmy and Jamie remained attached at the hip, the lip and every other body part, it wouldn’t matter if Poppy had a century at her disposal. Even now Emmy put her hand on the back of Jamie’s neck to pull him in for a kiss. The group around them clucked appreciatively. Poppy remained unmoved.

      She had no doubt Jamie thought this was true love. The man had the instincts of a puppy. Everyone and everything were wonderful and a new adventure to be experienced. And Poppy understood dating exclusively, even moving in together after only knowing each other a short time—been there, done that—but getting married was a completely different animal. If things ended badly, there would be settlements and splitting of assets, and Jamie was a wealthy man.

      Poppy didn’t assume Emmy was a gold digger, but Emmy wouldn’t be the first one to get a glimpse at Jamie’s handsome face and fat bank account and decide theirs was a love not to be denied. Seeing as he seemed incapable of taking care of himself, Poppy would do it for him. Friends kept an eye out for each other, and she and Jamie had been friends since kindergarten.

      She’d just ordered a glass of wine when she noticed the tall, dark man watching her from across the patio. His eyes glittered with hunger and naked appreciation, and her breath caught. She didn’t recognize him. Poppy was friendly with almost everyone in town, but judging from the cut of his suit, he wasn’t from the area. Most residents of Naramata didn’t have occasions to wear designer clothes worth thousands of dollars.

      She quashed the desire rising in her belly and turned away from the stranger. His black hair was a little too long anyway, the ends curling over his collar, and he had a beard. Though facial hair on men didn’t generally appeal to her, she thought it suited him. He looked like a Wall Street banker gone rogue—one who had been in a brawl or two, judging from the bend in his nose.

      Even though Poppy wasn’t here to flirt, she risked another peek but wished she hadn’t when she discovered his eyes still on her. His lips twisted in a half smile, and her face grew hot. She glanced in the opposite direction, willing her cheeks to cool and reminding herself to focus on Jamie and her reason for being here.

      Although who knew if she would ever get a chance to speak to him. The crowd around Jamie showed no signs of leaving and neither did Emmy. Poppy sighed. She wanted to do this as soon as possible, but if no one was going to cooperate...

      “Poppy Sullivan.”

      She turned. Of course, Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerous had sidled over to her side of the patio. She ignored the ripple of interest cresting through her and put on her best politely disinterested face. “Excuse me?”

      “It’s good to see you.” When she made no response, he lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t remember me?”

      She opened her mouth to tell him of course she didn’t because she’d never seen him before in her life, when his smirk clued her in. While a man might add six inches to his height, put on thirty pounds of muscle and grow a beard, his mannerisms didn’t change.

      Beck Lefebvre.

      And just like that, her spark of attraction turned to anger. “No,” she lied, enjoying the surprise on his face.

      Of course, she’d expected him to be here. He was Jamie’s cousin. It would have been weird if he didn’t show up. She just hadn’t thought he’d have the nerve to approach her. Worse, to act as if they were long-lost friends.

      But he merely smiled in the face of her rudeness and stepped closer. “I’m disappointed, Red.”

      Poppy bristled. Her hair was auburn with definite shades of brown, not red. She tossed it at him as she turned away. The crowd of well-wishers still surrounded Jamie.

      Beck laughed, and her nerves clashed. He was laughing at her now? She sniffed. Clearly, he hadn’t developed any charm in the preceding decade. “And here I thought I’d made an impression.” His words whispered against her ear.

      She jerked away from him. “Do you mind?”

      “Not at all.” He smiled. “Nice night for a party.”

      She shrugged, took a step back. He moved with her. Not touching, but close enough that the heat rolling off his body warmed her skin. Silently, they watched the scene playing before them.

      Poppy focused on the details of the party instead of the man behind her. Occupational hazard. She couldn’t attend any event without thinking about how she would have done things differently, and taking notes of what she might use in future.

      Emmy and Jamie had made smart choices, getting all the key points right. Plenty of light, good flow and loads of food and drink. The other bits were simply details adjusted to suit the client’s personal preference. Poppy wouldn’t have tossed tulle over everything or matched the table runners and flowers to Emmy’s shoes. Obviously, Emmy had chosen the colors with her outfit in mind and Poppy doubted any well-reasoned logic would have convinced her it wasn’t a wonderful idea.

      Brides were notorious for being temperamental, insisting on one thing and then sobbing when they changed their minds, as though one minuscule detail meant the difference between a long, happy marriage and one filled with strife. Poppy had stopped planning weddings a couple of years ago for those exact reasons, choosing to focus on business events and functions. Less indecision and no one had ever cried all over her because the napkins at their holiday party were ruby instead of crimson.

      “So?” Beck’s voice drew her attention, caused her to turn before she thought better of it. “Aren’t you going to ask how