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“So am I, but it’s so damn hard. All I can think about is kissing you again.”

“That would be a bad idea.”

“Maybe so, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting it.”

The light turns green, and I drive on, resisting the urge to reach over and place my hand on her leg. Not just for the lust—which is never-ending, my desire swelling every moment—but also for the sense of support.

“Why did you kiss me that night?” she asks after a pause.

Because I couldn’t stop myself. All night, I’d been obsessing about you and imagining crazy things. Wishing my brother had found somebody else.

“You were so beautiful, and you looked at me this way. It was like you’d been waiting for me to kiss you all night. Or maybe that’s just old-man wishful thinking.”

“Okay, let’s get this straight. You’renotold.”

“I’m forty-three, Layla. You’re twenty. Unless my math is worse than I thought, that makes me old.”

“No, you’reolderthan me, but you’re not old. Anyway, look at you. You’re fitter than most men my age. Plus, you don’t have all that douchebag energy that so many guys my age do.”

“Okay, point taken.” I grin. “I won’t call myself old again. Hell, Layla, it’s almost like you don’t want me thinking of myself that way because it would make a certain romance awkward.”

“It alreadyis,” she says, “but it wasn’t wishful thinking when you kissed me at the wedding. All night, I was watching you. I won’t lie. I wanted it, and if you’d kept kissing me, I don’t think I would’ve stopped it, but that doesn’t make it right.”

“It doesn’t,” I agree, “but that doesn’t mean I want you any less.”

“We’re. Being. Good.” She folds her arms. “Okay?”

“Are you trying to convince yourself or me?”

“Both of us,” she says. “So, you need to start pulling your weight.”

CHAPTERSEVEN

Layla

I’m not sure how much longer I can do this, pretending it’s possible to fight the chemistry between us. I’ve heard people talk about that before. A spark people share. A connection that goes beyond words.

I never thought I’d feel it… until Mom’s wedding.

As Miles drives me to work, I have that same feeling. It’s like an instinct, a whisper deep within, that he is my man, my soulmate, my everything.

“Mom’s happy,” I say as work approaches.

I almost want to hit traffic to give us more precious minutes together. At least this is a Mom-and-Noah-approved way for Miles and me to spend time together, but that’s crap. They would disapprove if they knew what we’d done.

“She is, and so is Noah. I’m happy for him. You know his history?”

“About his fiancée cheating?”

Miles nods. His forearms are tense from squeezing the steering wheel, almost as if he’s holding it tight to stop him from touching me. It’s the same reason I’ve got my hands clasped in my lap, a way to keep myself well-behaved.

“An ugly thing to do to a person,” he snarls. “Cheating is unacceptable. When a man commits to a woman, he shouldcommit. That’shiswoman from the day they become official. Nobody else should even enter his mind.”

“Don’t you meanhermind?” I ask.

He looks at me, his eyes swimming with intensity. Was he talking about us?

“Yeah, of course.”

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