I'm so distracted I can barely chew.

The kiss with Evie left me starving. For her. I'd had to go into the bathroom and wash my face with cold water and think about the driest of business reports to make my raging hard-on subside. Maybe this is a result of not hooking up with anyone recently, or perhaps I'm just that attracted to Evie. I'm not sure.

Now that we're sitting around my family's dinner table, making small talk about the weather and auto racing and neighborhood gossip, I can't help but slide my hand under the tablecloth and caress her thigh. Her smooth, toned, bare thigh. My mind goes to that kiss, and whether she's wearing panties and . . .

No. I can't think about that at dinner. Christ. I'm a thirty-year-old man, not a teenager.

"So, what time is everyone getting here tomorrow?" I ask between bites, hoping to get my mind out of the gutter. I look around the table. Only immediate family is here tonight, which means Mom, Dad, Savannah, Dante, and Evie. Gabriella's eating in the kitchen with her nanny.

Mom launches into a detailed rundown of aunts and uncles. "Uncle Stan and Aunt Dolores will be here early tomorrow, and will join us for breakfast, along with their kids. And Beau and Rose are expected to show up this year, by the way."

Mom stares at me with a pointed expression. Everyone except Evie studies me.

"And why wouldn't they?" I ask, then shovel another potato into my mouth.

"Well, I'm sure you've noticed, but they've skipped the last several years." Mom says, pursing her lips.

Yeah, probably because I got silently drunk one year and glared at them both from my spot on the sofa. I'd been aware that I made them uncomfortable, but didn't care. It wasn't even that I wanted to get back with Rose; it was the sheer hubris of their smarmy faces that made me surly.

"Well, good for them."

Sometimes I wonder what would've happened had I not launched this entire charade, if I'd told everyone that I caught Rose and Beau screwing. As it stands, I took the fall and have remained the bad guy, the wild child, the one who cut poor Rose loose.

Dad clears his throat. "Please be on your best behavior this year, Alex. You made your choice, Beau and Rose made theirs."

"Of course," I say, genuinely. "Although we all know why Beau's showing his face this year."

"Why is that?" Dante pipes up. He's a bit clueless about our family dynamics, probably because his family has their own dysfunction, if the way his mom and dad screamed at each other during their wedding rehearsal dinner was any indication.

"Sweetie," Savannah says, in a warning voice.

"What? What am I missing?" Dante looks around the table.

"It's because Beau wants the same position Alex does in the company." Savannah elbows her husband.

"Oh, well that won't happen, will it?" Dante asks, ignoring Savvy.

"Who knows? My mother's liable to do anything. She keeps saying she's going to make an announcement on the CEO job at the next shareholder meeting, but she's said that before the last three meetings. We're pretty certain I'll take her position when she steps down. Who else moves up, that's anyone's guess." Dad throws up his hands. "Let's not talk business at the dinner table. Dante, tell us all about that new winery you invested in. We really loved that Pinot noir you sent us. You know, Alex, that might be a great honeymoon for the two of you. Italy. Vineyard."

"Absolutely romantic," Mom sighs.

I turn to Evie.

"Italian vineyard." She raises an eyebrow.

We nod at each other. "We'll definitely discuss it, Dad."

Under the tablecloth, Evie grabs my hand and squeezes, then shoots me a sexy little smile.

Why does she have to fit in so well with my family? They love her. Why does she have to look amazing in that little blue-and-white dress?

What is up with me? When my mom made that stupid verbal blunder on the porch, I saw the pain in Evie's eyes. I felt the sadness radiating off her, and wanted to erase her discomfort. It's why I hugged her—that gesture had nothing to do with sex. It made me feel fiercely protective. I want to shield her from any more awfulness.

Which made me wonder whether I'm falling for her.

But that's ridiculous, right? This is all for show. Even so, the intensity of my physical attraction to her is almost frightening.

Dante drones on about Italian wine varietals, and Dad is acting like he's the most interesting man in the world. As I'm chewing on a mouthful of Mom's excellent potato salad, I try to calculate what time I can safely sneak into Evie's bedroom tonight. One in the morning? Too late? Which room did Mom give her? Did I bring condoms with me? I haven't been with anyone in so long, I can't remember if I have any. Maybe she has some; she's always so prepared, so organized and well put together.

I shove another forkful of potatoes into my mouth. I need to sleep with Evie. That's it. It's pent-up sexual desire. Nothing more than that. Once we screw, I'll be able to approach this whole weekend much more rationally. Deal with her more like I'm a friend with benefits, and not a lovesick boy. Get her out of my system, then attack the situation at hand: convincing Gram to retire.

Evie traces the back of my hand with her index finger and my entire body prickles with awareness. It's all I can do not to sweep away the plates and the food, haul her ass onto the table, and do her right here.

◊

EVIE

"My dear, you look sleepy." Alex's mom pats my hand. We're all in the living room, and I'm squashed between her and Alex on a tiny antique sofa that was probably intended for elves. Alex's fingers are threaded in mine. He's chatting with his dad and Dante, and Savannah is sprawled on a divan.

"Why don't I take you up to your room? I know we're a lot to deal with, plus you traveled today. You need your beauty rest. Tomorrow will be even more intense, with Alex's grandmother arriving, and all the aunts and uncles and cousins," Mrs. Jenkins says.

Alex lets go of my hand. Ugh, he's probably done with me for the night. Who could blame him since I've been an awkward, sweaty mess for hours. The entire room is done in cream and gold, and one of the Jenkins family ancestors—one of the few Union Civil War heroes in the city, according to Alex's dad—stares down at us from a stern painting on the wall.

"Is it really midnight?" I say to Mrs. Jenkins.

She chuckles and rises. I don't know why Alex and his grandmother say she's flighty. I think she's absolutely lovely.

"It's late. Please, come with me, Evie. I'll show you where your room is. We've already put your things in there."

I stand up. My head's a little dizzy from the champagne and all of Alex's kisses and hidden caresses throughout the evening. I'm way overstimulated. My body is like a stretched rubber band—strung tight, ready to snap. How Alex can do that with kissing and touching, I'm not sure.

After saying good night to the others in the room, I follow Mrs. Jenkins out. To my surprise, Alex tags along. What's he doing? Probably wants to say good night. He is a gentleman. Or debrief on how this first day went. Critique my performance. That would be like him.

We climb up the grand wooden staircase, walk down a hall, and enter a room at the end.

"This used to be Alex's bedroom as a boy, but we've had it redone," says his mom.

If I was sleepy before, I'm wide awake now. It's the most romantic room I've ever been in. The walls are painted a faint blue, the valances on the windows are a shade darker, and the bed . . . God, the bed. It's probably a hundred years old, but perfectly restored. It's a wooden four-poster, with a half canopy over the headboard and pillows. The duvet and pillows are white and fluffy. I can't wait to nestle between the sheets.

My eyes take in the fireplace on one wall, and the beautiful, soft paintings of flowers that are tastefully hung around the room.

"I liked it better before with my motorcycle-racing posters," Alex snorts.

I run my fingers over the footboard of the bed. The posts are intricately carved into pineapples.

"Evie, go peek in the bathroom, it should have everything you need." Mrs. Jenkins gestures.

I didn't think I could be more impressed, but I am. The bone-white stand-alone bathtub is a curved, sensual shape, like a slipper. It looks like it could fit two people easily, and I block out the image of Alex and me soaking in hot, bubbly water. Kissing. Naked.

My face flares, and I catch a glimpse in the oversized, gilt-framed mirror. I'm flushed, and my hair looks wild. Probably because Alex has been playing with it all night. My eyes are wide and manic. I heave in a breath and realize I'm mentally saturated from hours of nonstop conversation.

Sleep's what I need. Time alone to collect myself. That's all.

I step out to see Alex kissing his mother on the cheek. He murmurs a good-night.

She holds out her arms and I give her a quick hug. His family sure is handsy, but I don't mind. My own parents had been affectionate, too.

"Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins. You've been so nice to open your home like this to me."

"You're welcome, Evie. I think you're delightful. And I know that Alex's grandmother will probably be scandalized, but I decided to put you in here together. There's no need to be old-fashioned. She'll get over it."

Alex snickers, and I'm not sure if I'm supposed to laugh. So instead, I nod slowly, letting the weight of her words sink in. We're sleeping in here? Together?

Mrs. Jenkins pats her son on the cheek. "You're getting married, for God's sakes. We're all adults here, and we know what adults want to do at night."

Alex stands there, not protesting, not chiming in. All he does is stare at me in that lazy, sexy way. Mrs. Jenkins just gave us the green light to have sex in her house. My stomach constricts, either from nerves or desire. Or both. I glance at the bed.

"Sleep well, you two." Mrs. Jenkins gives us a little wave and pads out.

I'm still rooted to the carpet. Alex looks like a hunter who's caught the most elusive of prey.

But what about the vow I'd made to myself earlier? To live the fantasy? To say yes to new experiences? To enjoy myself for once and stop being so responsible?

A grin spreads on my face. I might be a virgin, but not for much longer. In fact, I can't think of a more romantic, perfect place to lose my virginity. I'm twenty-two, in a gorgeous bedroom, and the hottest man I've ever seen is a few feet away. Looking like he wants to devour me.

"Alex?"

He's leaning against the closed door and quirks an eyebrow.

"Come here," I murmur.

He saunters over and stands in front of me, his hands jammed in the front pockets of his jeans. He's so close that I can feel the heat of his body. I take one step closer, so my breasts brush his chest. That sharp inhale of his breath is so satisfying. It means I'm doing something right. That I might have a chance of making that careful control of his shatter.

"What?" he asks in a rough, desperate tone.

I stare into his eyes, which are the color of twilight before nightfall. I don't think my heart has ever beat this hard.

"Kiss me. Please?" I whisper.

And he does.