“When you saw Rachel for the first time, what did you feel?” Tahoe asks, low.

“Felt new. I felt like I saw a woman for the first time.”

Oh my god. I’m fluttering to my toes.

“Yeah. That’s not how I feel,” Tahoe says.

“You’re just irked that she hasn’t thrown her underwear at your head,” Callan lazily deduces.

“Fucking pissed.”

“Pissed that she’d rather have anyone else than you and your billions.” Callan keeps on expertly rubbing it.

“Absolutely ludicrous, but there you have it.”

“She’d rather be your friend than be in your bed.”

“Motherfuck me, yes,” Tahoe growls.

I get that little squeeze right in the center of my tummy when Saint’s voice floats up to me next. “She’s a good girl, T. The kind you play house with, not games.”

“Fucking relax, Saint. I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do.”

There’s a soft laugh. “Touché.”

I turn back to the living room and realize the girls are wide-eyed, especially Gina. Could she hear them, too, through the open doors? An amused smile touches my lips, and I grab my phone from the bed and text Malcolm:

We heard you

Just thought you should know

Gina looks like she just swallowed a little bit of wire

Shortly he replies:

Sorry

He’s had a bottle of Pinot

U going to sleep any time soon?

Me: Too excited to

Saint: You miss me?

Me: A little

Saint: Text me when you miss me a little more

Me: Oh don’t wait up! Enjoy the booze and the boys. I know how HARDcore you are

Saint: How well you know me

I smile at the phone. And ache in all sorts of places. I write, I do miss you. Perfect wedding night seems more impossible by the second, but I’m determined

Saint: It’ll be perfect

Me: So don’t tempt me, SIN!

Saint: I want my girlfriend in my arms, our last night together

Oh, fuck him and the Saint Effect. My butterflies are flapping, so awake right now I can hardly stand steady enough to text: I want my boyfriend too. Tell him to come over before he goes to sleep. He’s been the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. He should get one last kiss.

He replies simply, I can taste you already.

The guys keep talking with lowered voices. Heading back to the living room to drop myself on a couch, I pop my phone into the stereo and play soft music so the girls don’t overhear anymore.

Gina’s super thoughtful, though.

She’s spread out, all her voluptuous curves hugged by the extra-long T-shirt she wears. She’s like Marilyn Monroe in brunette, and now very quiet. Wynn’s hair is spread out behind her on the other side of the couch. My friends are both pretty, young, and sprightly. But no match for Saint’s friends.

Callan and Tahoe are attractive and unscrupulous enough to take any woman without a thought.

“Four dresses, that’s . . . unheard-of,” I hear Wynn say as her eyes drift back to the four designer dresses hanging in their plastic coverings. “What’s your language, Rache?” Wynn asks.

My attention snaps back to the group, and it takes me only a second to catch on to what she means. “Words for sure.” Dibs! “Touch, too.”

“I am so touch. In fact if we go an hour together and Emmett hasn’t held my hand, I’m convinced he’s stopped loving me.”

Gina shakes her head and curls her legs beneath her. “I don’t trust words. Touch makes me uncomfortable. But I’ll take the gifts.”

I wag my head no. “That’s not your love language, Gina. You service others. You put food in the fridge. You look out for them.”

“If a guy does that for you, and speaks to you in your looooove language,” Wynn warns, “you’ll be toast. Buttery hot toast.”

“No problem, since most guys are selfish. They want to be serviced, not the other way around.”

“They’re like us, Gina,” Wynn counters. “Except with a lot of sexy testosterone. Which, thanks to the abstinence, will have skyrocketed by the time Rachel reaches the honeymoon. I can feel Saint; he’s just a tad pissy with Tahoe. He’s sexually frustrated. He wants you, Rachel.”

I think I feel it too and I’m speeding a thousand miles an hour on the highway to heaven.

“What you can feel is our girl’s pre-wedding hormones gone crazy.”

I hug my pillow and grin so hard, pressing the pillow against my body and all the aching places, my nipples, between my legs, even my stomach, which is whirling. “I shall not apologize for lusting after my fiancé. Everybody else does it, and I get to do it for the rest of my life, which is pretty damn fine to me.”

The heat of our bodies. The pull is so strong between us, even in silence we seem to communicate.

I can’t wait to melt into the protectiveness of his arms.

How I feel wistful and relaxed when close to him. This comfort of being close—his presence so male, strong. Every fiber of my being aches. I let my mind drift off to our wedding night. The almond oil, sweet smelling and glistening, that I plan to wear on my skin. The La Perla bra and panties, perfect lace, perfectly see-through, that I plan to wear on my sexy parts . . .

I realize then that Gina is really withdrawn and unusually quiet. “What’s happened with Tahoe, Gina?” I ask softly.

“Nothing. We’re friends. We . . . I guess we talk. A lot.”

“What about?”

“Things.”

“Paul?”