“No thanks necessary. We both needed that.” I adjust her necklace so it sits in the hollow of her throat.

“I should have jumped you this morning when I had the chance.” She smooths the lapels on my shirt, then drops her forehead against my chest. “This was probably really stupid, wasn’t it?”

I wrap my arms around her. “Why do you say that?”

“Why couldn’t you be shitty in bed? Or have an abnormally small penis?”

“Why would you want me to be either of those things?” I’m trying to get a read on where this is coming from and what her mood is, so I go for light. “Also, this means you think I’m phenomenal in bed, right?”

She laughs. “I love that not being shitty is automatically equated with being awesome in your man-brain.”

“You come every time.” That’s just me stating facts.

She gives me the same duh look Queenie does, usually when she’s referring to something that has to do with technology I don’t understand. I’m in that weird middle-ground generation who sort of gets technology, but also sort of doesn’t. I have a smart TV and half the time I have to look up how to use it. Or I give up and read the paper instead.

“You’re right, I do.” She pats my chest reassuringly. “You’re an excellent lover, Jake. It’s hard not to lose my head with you.”

“Well, we’re two peas in a pod then, aren’t we? Otherwise, we wouldn’t be locked in here right now.” I tip her chin up and drop a kiss on her perfectly tempting lips.

I mean for it to be chaste, but after a few seconds we tip our heads and allow it to deepen. I stop before I get too excited and leaving the bedroom will be a problem.

Hanna glances at the clock again. “We should head back to the reception before we’re missed.”

“Smart plan.” I’m halfway out the door when I remember I don’t have my suit jacket. I grab it and shrug into it.

“Oh! Your hair. Let me fix it.” Hanna stops me so she can run her fingers through it, and I settle a hand on her hip.

A shadow darkens the hallway. I drop my hand from Hanna’s waist and she stops fixing my hair, stepping back until she bumps against the wall.

We both glance at the suit-wearing figure taking up most of the hallway. I sigh with relief when I realize it’s not King. But that relief is short-lived.

Bishop Winslow’s gaze shifts between Hanna and me. His brow furrows and his lips turn down. “Well, isn’t this cozy.” He crosses his arms.

“It’s not what you think,” Hanna blurts, which only makes it worse, and makes it seem like it’s exactly what he thinks.

Hanna has been very clear that she doesn’t want Kingston, or anyone else, to know what’s been going on between us. She hasn’t wanted to add any layers to that already challenging dynamic. And she also didn’t want us to distract from the wedding festivities. I understand her reasons, even if I haven’t felt quite the same way.

He arches a brow, and his gaze moves from Hanna, whose face has gone a telling shade of red, to me. “So I didn’t catch the two of you leaving a bedroom, making sure you don’t look at all conspicuous after you’ve been missing from your kids’ wedding reception for the past hour?”

He holds up a hand before either of us can speak, which is probably good because Hanna seems likely to dig our hole deeper and I’m not sure how bad she is at lying. Although, she did keep the fact she’s King’s mother under wraps for nearly three decades. “Don’t say anything else. The less I know, the better, because I sure as fuck don’t want to lie to my best friend. But if you want to keep people from talking, I would not show up out there together.” And with that, he disappears down the hall, shaking his head as he goes.

“Do you think he’ll say something to Ryan?” Hanna’s eyes are wide.

“No. And it’s not like he actually saw anything. He’s jumping to conclusions right now.”

“No, he isn’t.”

“He doesn’t know that, though. You head back out; I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’ll see if I can catch him and talk to him.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t wait for me to placate her further, just turns and walks briskly down the hall.

I go the other way, hoping I can stop Bishop before he has a chance to talk to anyone else.

CHAPTER SIX

Yours Until the Weekend Is Over

Hanna

THE REST OF the night is a blur. I spend it in a state of mild anxiety and arousal. Thankfully, it seems as though no one apart from Bishop noticed our extended absence from the reception. It’s nearly two in the morning before all the guests have left.

Queenie and Ryan are headed to a hotel, and they’re leaving for their honeymoon in Hawaii first thing in the morning. My parents took my brother, Gerald, back to Ryan’s place two hours ago. He started doing shots at ten, and by eleven he was doing the worm on the dance floor. By midnight, he was passed out on a plate of sandwiches.

The cleanup crew isn’t expected until noon tomorrow, so at least we’ll be able to sleep in. I’ve basically spent the rest of the night avoiding Jake, worried that I’ll do or say something incriminating. I wait until the last guests leave before I let myself get within touching distance.

“You okay?” he asks, taking a sip from his glass. He was drinking scotch earlier but seems to have switched to water.

“I’m fine. Did you get a chance to talk to Bishop?”

“He won’t say anything to Ryan. I told him nothing was going on.”

“Do you think he believed you?”

Jake shrugs. “It’s not like he caught us doing anything.” He sets his glass onto the counter. “Besides, we’re adults. We don’t have to answer to Bishop, or anyone. What we do behind closed doors is no one’s business but ours.” He said the same thing before, when we first gave in to the chemistry we share.

And he’s right. But I really don’t want Ryan to find out, and this confirms what I already know—that as much fun as we’re having, we’re going to have to stop.

He takes a step closer. “Are you worried?”

I bite my nail, my gaze roaming over his face and down his dress shirt-covered torso. He lost his suit jacket a while ago and his tie hangs loose.

I run my hand down his tie and wrap the silky fabric around my hand. “I trust you when you say he won’t tell Ryan.”

“He won’t. And anything he has to say would be based on conjecture, not fact.” He wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me into him. I tip my head up and he tips his down, his lips brushing over mine. “I want to take you to bed again, make you forget about all your worries.”

“I want that, too.”

_______________

I CANNOT BELIEVE how sore I am. Everywhere. Jake and I spent the rest of the weekend having marathon sex all over his house.

Even when my ex-husband Gordon and I were happy and totally in love, I still can’t remember a time where we spent an entire weekend—minus a few hours spent with my parents and my brother—having nonstop sex.

I feel like I’ve done six back-to-back Pilates workouts. There’s a very good chance I’ve lost five pounds this weekend.