“You been having any problems with it?”

“No. None.”

“That should make it easy.”

She reached for the door. He beat her to it.

“Thanks again. I’ll expect your mother’s call tomorrow.”

Brisk and dry as a handshake, he thought. He set the container down on a table holding a vase of fat orange roses. Sometimes, he thought, you moved fast; sometimes you moved slow.

He moved fast, giving her a quick yank that had her body colliding with his.The way she said excuse me, like a veteran school-teacher to an unruly student made him grin before he took her mouth with his.

It was even better than the pie.

Soft, tasty, ripe, with just a hint of shock to cut the sweet. He felt her fingers dig into his shoulders, and the light tremble might have been outrage, might have been pleasure.

He’d tasted her before. Once when she’d grabbed him and planted one on him to take a slap at Del, and again when he’d followed his own instincts on a visit to their place in the Hamptons.

And every taste made him want more.

A lot more.

He didn’t bother to be gentle. He imagined she’d had plenty of the smooth type, the polite type, and he wasn’t inclined to be either. So he pleased himself, letting his hands run up that truly exceptional body of hers, then down again, enjoying her slow melt against him.

When he heard the low purr in her throat, when he tasted it on his tongue, he let her go. He stepped back, picked up the container of leftovers.

He smiled at her. It was the first time he’d seen her stunned and speechless.

“See you later, Legs.”

He strolled out, strapped the container onto his bike.When he swung on, revved the engine, he glanced back to see her standing in the open doorway.

She made a hell of a picture, he thought, framed there in her power suit, just a little bit mussed, with the big, gorgeous house around her.

He tapped his helmet in salute, then roared away with that picture as clear in his head as the taste of her on his tongue.

Parker stepped back, shut the door, then turned and jumped when she saw Laurel in the hallway.

“Can I just say wow?”

Parker shook her head, wished she had something to do with her hands. “He just . . . grabbed me.”

“I’ll say. And let’s have one more wow.”

“He’s grabby and pushy and—”

“Really, really hot. And I say that as a woman madly in love with your brother. I might also add,” she continued as she walked to Parker, “that as I didn’t politely avert my eyes and go away, I happened to observe you weren’t exactly fighting him off.”

“He caught me by surprise. Besides, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.”

“Sorry, but he looked pretty satisfied. And Parker?” She gave her friend’s arm a pat. “You look flustered, glowy, and dazzled.”

“I am not glowy.”

Laurel simply turned Parker by the shoulders to the big foyer mirror. “You were saying?”

Maybe color did glow in her cheeks, and maybe her eyes were a little dazzled, but . . . “That’s irritation.”

“I won’t say ‘liar, liar,’ but, Parks, under that skirt, your pants are on fire.”

“All right, fine.

Fine. He’s a good kisser, if you like the rough, arrogant style.”

“You seemed good with it.”

“That was only because he ambushed me. And this is a stupid conversation about nothing. I’m going up.”

“Me, too, which is why I got an eyeful of the nothing.”

They started up together, but before they separated Parker stopped on the landing. “I was wearing the Back-Off Cloak.”

“What?”

“I’m not stupid. He made a little move in the kitchen.Actually, he makes little moves every time I run into him, which is disconcerting, but I can handle it. So when I walked him to the door, I thought he might get ideas.”

Laurel’s eyes widened. “You swirled on the Back-Off Cloak? The famed shield that repels men of all ages, creeds, and political affiliations?”

“Yes.”

“Yet he was not repelled. He’s immune.” She gave Parker a slap on the arm. “He may be the only creature of his kind.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Sure it is. Also sexy.”

“I’m not interested in funny and sexy with Malcolm Kavanaugh.”

“Parker, if you weren’t interested, on some level, you’d have flicked him off like lint on a lapel. He . . .” Laurel searched for the right word. “He intrigues you.”

“No, he . . . Maybe.”

“As your friend, let me say it’s nice to see you intrigued by a man, especially since I like the man, and have noted he is also intrigued by you.”

Parker jerked a shoulder. “He just wants to get me in bed.”

“Well, of course he wants to get you in bed. But I’m not at all convinced it’s ‘just.’”

“I’m not going to have sex with him.We have a business relationship.”

“Because he’s your mechanic?”

“He’s Vows’ mechanic now, and he’s Del’s friend.”

“Parks, your excuses are so lame they’re limping, which makes me think you’re worried you want to have sex with him.”

“It’s not about sex. Everything’s not always about sex.”

“You brought it up.”

Caught, Parker admitted.“Now I’m bringing it down. I’ve got too much on my mind to think about this anyway.We’re jammed tomorrow.We’re jammed for the next five days straight.”

“We are. Do you want me to come up, hang out awhile?”

The fact that she did, really did, only confirmed to Parker she was making too much out of nothing.“No, thanks, I’m good.And I’ve got a little work I want to get in before bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She walked up alone, and switched on the TV for company. After slipping out of her shoes, she checked them for any dings, scrapes, or scratches. Satisfied, she set them in their proper place on the shoe wall of her closet. She dropped her suit in the dry cleaning bag, replaced her jewelry in the slots designed for them in the thin drawers.

She slipped on a nightshirt, a robe, tucked her phone in the robe pocket. She considered a long, hot bath, but exed it out since long, hot baths encouraged thinking and dreaming. She didn’t care to do either.

Instead, she fixed her mind on the next day’s schedule while she cleansed, toned, moisturized her face.

Glowy, she thought, giving her reflection a cool stare. What a silly word. It wasn’t even a word in the first place, and totally inaccurate.

Laurel had romance fever. Nearly all brides caught it, and due to its side effects they saw everything and everyone through a pretty haze of love.

Nice for them, she admitted as she took the band from her hair. Good business for Vows.

And speaking of business, she’d take an hour now to input all the new data from the evening consult and the initial choices made by the clients.

An estimated 225 on the guest list, she thought as she wandered back into the bedroom with the intention of going to work on her laptop in her sitting room. A bridal party of six, including a flower girl who’d be five by the June wedding.

The bride’s favorite flower was peony, her color choices—for now anyway—pink and green. Soft tones.

Soft, Parker thought again, and changed direction to open her terrace doors and step out. She’d just get a little air first, just take in a little of the night air.

The bride wanted soft and delicate. She’d asked Parker to meet her at the salon to view the gown she’d chosen, which proved she was a bride who understood that the wedding dress created the center of whatever tone or theme or mood the wedding took.

All those lovely, floaty layers, Parker recalled, the subtle gleam of seed pearls and tender touches of lace.

Pastels and peonies, shimmering tulle, and whispered promises.

She could see it. She would see to it. She excelled at seeing to things.

There was no reason, no good reason to feel so restless, so unsettled, so addled.

No reason to stand here looking out at night-drenched gardens remembering the unexpected thrill of a motorcycle ride that had lasted only minutes.

And had been fast and dangerous and foolishly exciting.

Like, very like, the hard, rough kiss of a brash man in her own foyer.

She wasn’t interested in those things.Absolutely not. Intrigued, maybe, but intrigued was a different matter. She found sharks intriguing when they swam their eerily silent way in the tank at an aquarium, but that didn’t mean she had any interest in taking a dip with them.

Which wasn’t a fair comparison, she admitted with a sigh. Not fair at all.

Malcolm might be cocky, he might be brash, but he wasn’t a shark. He’d been so natural with Mrs. G, and even a bit sweet in that area. She had unerring radar for phonies when it came to their behavior with those she loved, and there hadn’t been a phony note in Malcolm’s.

Then there was his friendship with Del. Del might tolerate professional relationships with phonies and sharks, but never a personal one.

So the problem, if there was a problem, was obviously with her. She’d just have to correct it. Correcting, solving, and eliminating problems was her stock-in-trade.

She’d just figure out the solution to this one, implement it, then move on. She needed to ascertain and identify said problem first, but she had a pretty good idea of its root.

At some level of the intrigue—not interest, but intrigue—at some level of that level, she was attracted.

In an elemental, strictly chemical way.

She was human, she was healthy, and Laurel was right. Malcolm was hot. In his primal, rough-edged manner.

Motorcycles and leather, torn denim and cocky grins. Hard hands, a hungry mouth.