Page 37 of How to Ruin a Wedding

He smirks, then pushes off the doorframe and nods toward the kitchen. “Wine? Water? Do you need some time to settle in?”

The way he says wine—low, intimate, like a secret, delicately wrapped gift—makes my mouth go dry.

“Water.” Better to keep my head on straight, especially with how my body heats the more time Anders and I spend in this room together.

He returns with two glasses, one dark, one transparent. He hands me the water, his knuckles brushing mine when I take it, and the heat burns through me, like a rubber band was pulled tight and snapped across the skin he touched.

“Okay,” I say, trying to pretend I’m a normal, sane, not-at-all-horny woman. “I have some general ideas for interfering with the wedding, but I need to gather my thoughts, get more info, get on Valerie’s good side.”

He doesn’t sit right away. He watches me for a moment, sipping his wine, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then he walks over and takes the spot beside me.

“Let’s hear those wedding types again,” he says. “Lust, Trust, and Rust?”

“Right,” I confirm. “Valerie’s feels like a cross between lust and delusion. She met John during a rebound spiral and thinks the universe gave her a gift-wrapped husband.”

“And she’s big on signs,” Anders adds. “Which is why you brought up the psychic. You don’t actually know a psychic, do you?”

“No, of course not,” I say, “but it’s a good play to plan.”

He sighs. “I feel a little guilty about this,” he admits, “but I’m willing to feel anything if it means helping Val make the right choice about her future. I want her to be happy. And I don’t think John can do that. Not forever.”

“Well,” I say, “then I’ll do my job.”

“You’re more than just the job,” he says, so quietly I almost miss it.

But I hear it. And, unfortunately, so does my heart.

I shift in my seat. “You’re paying me to be here, Anders.”

“I know.”

There’s a silence between us, charged and buzzing like static on skin. The kind that makes your body restless no matter how much you move. A constant thrum of nerves and heat.

He’s too close.

The room is too quiet.

And it’s been too damn long since I’ve been this attracted to someone—just his brushing my skin for half a second shoots arrows of heat and awareness between my thighs.

I jump to my feet.Don’t be an idiot. This is a job—he is yourboss. Pull it together.“I’m so tired. I have to get ready for bed before I pass out mid-conversation.”

Anders doesn’t press. He nods, then moves toward the door. He pauses there, one hand on the knob, the other in his pocket.

“If you need anything, get it. Or let me know, and I’ll get it for you.”

“Okay,” I say.

Our eyes lock for a heartbeat too long.

“Okay,” he repeats, breaking the spell.

Then he shuts the door, and I drop backward onto the bed, slapping a hand over my mouth, my pulse hammering in my throat.

Already, I’m getting lost in Anders’s gaze, his warm words, his easy way—enough that it’s becoming a distraction from my actual purpose here.

And it’s only the first night.

10.