LITMIR.BIZ

       Contents

       Cover

       Blurb

       Title Page

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

       About the Author

       Discover the Chatsfield

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      Johanna Windsor looked at the six foot two hunk of prime male perfection walking across the huge Chatsfield dance floor with wicked stamped across his mouth and sex in his eyes and thought, dear God, do not let me sleep with him.

      She grabbed the hand nearest to her. ‘Do not let me sleep with him.’

      Carol rolled her eyes. ‘You always sleep with him at weddings. That’s what you and Ed do. It’s your…thing.’

      Johanna shook her head. She and Ed needed a new thing. ‘Not this time.’

      ‘Okay.’

      Johanna crossed her arms and glared at her old college friend and fellow bridesmaid. Carol was clearly not convinced.

      ‘Three times, that’s all. Three times in two years.’

      ‘Yes.’ Carol nodded. ‘Three times. Three weddings. Three for three.’ She held up three fingers. ‘It’s fate. You shouldn’t fight it.’

      Johanna snorted. Sod that. She’d had a crush on Edward Garrison since high school – fate had taken its own sweet time. And now it was time to stop. Ed bloody Garrison could keep his big, sexy, skilled hands off her fate.

      ‘He’s getting closer,’ Johanna whispered as she stepped instinctively nearer to Carol.

      Why she felt compelled to do so, Johanna had no idea. It wasn’t as if there was malice in his gaze – quite the contrary. The man was looking at her like he wanted to make her come six ways to Sunday.

      Considering Ed had been responsible for the last truly good orgasm she’d had, she should be running towards him and leaping into his arms.

      But Ed Garrison didn’t need any encouragement.

      Of course the fact that the man was at his most dashing in a suit that looked as if it had been hand-sewn by elves didn’t help. Not when she was, once again, in bridesmaid dress hell – burgundy taffeta with enough ruffles to put Carmen Miranda to shame.

      All she needed was a bowl of fruit for her head and she was good to go.

      Just her luck he got to be breathtakingly sexy and she looked like she was about to go on stage at the Copacabana.

      ‘Yes,’ Carol explained patiently. ‘Because it’s the bridal waltz. He is the best man and you are the maid of honour. You’ve managed to pretty much avoid him all day but you have to dance with him now.’

      Dance. Johanna shivered. Sex to music. That’s what Ed had told her dancing was at wedding number one – Pete and Kelly’s.

      And when they’d ended up in his hotel room, they’d danced all damn night.

      ‘Cheer up,’ Carol chided, as she smiled at her husband Charlie – wedding number two – and took his hand for their turn around the floor. ‘It’s Ed. The man has been a sex god since college. Why wouldn’t you go to bed with him?’

      Charlie nodded his agreement. ‘She’s right. Sex gods are hard to find.’ He winked at Johanna. ‘Just me and Ed left.’

      Then he whisked his wife onto the floor with a flourish which left Johanna all alone staring down the God of Sex.

      Their gazes locked.

      Her heart beat a little faster. Her breath hitched a little higher. Her nipples ruched a little harder.

      And she thanked the bride for every one of those awful ruffles.

      Ed stopped in front of her, his gaze sweeping the length of her body before shooting her one of those long, lazy smiles specifically designed to melt female underwear right away. Even those suck-everything-in monstrosities she’d been wearing at wedding three – Phil and Diana’s – because that dress had clearly been manufactured in a cling film factory.

      He held out his hand to her. ‘I cannot wait to get you out of this one, Jo-Jo.’

      Johanna felt her hackles rise – along with her nipples. She gave him her best haughty glare. Predictably it bounced right off his beautiful broad shoulders. And why not? The man hadn’t let three horrible bridesmaid dresses derail his intent so why should a glare be any more successful?

      ‘Don’t talk to me,’ she said as she took his hand and let him lead her onto the dance floor.

      Johanna was discharging her maid of honour duty for Ronald and Brie – she was dancing the bridal waltz with the best man. Nowhere in the bridesmaid handbook did it say she had to converse while doing it.

      And if he didn’t open his mouth he couldn’t offer any sinful invitations. Or kiss her.

      Well…not properly anyway.

      The slow, smoky, strains of a soul singer surrounded them and Johanna closed her ears to the seduction of the music. She kept her body stiff, made sure there was a socially respectable distance between them and looked resolutely at a point just over Ed’s shoulder, which just happened to be the balding patch at the back of the groom’s head.

      But still, despite her best efforts, the surroundings slowly faded to black as the song enveloped them in its sexy embrace.

      Gone were the impressive tear-drop chandeliers. The myriad fairy lights. The two hundred guests watching from the sidelines, waiting for the song to end so they could join the happy couple and the bridal party on the floor.

      Johanna was conscious of none of it. Just her and Ed.

      Dancing.

      The familiar smell of him. The warmth of his chest, the heat radiating from his thighs, the alluring spikiness of stubble in her peripheral vision.

      He stepped in a touch, invading that respectable distance, sliding his big, warm, hand onto the small of her back and pressed her closer. Johanna resisted. He tried again but she remained steadfast.

      His low chuckle sent a shiver

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