Page 30 of One Wealthy Wedding

“So you let me believe—you know what? Never mind.” Cat’s cheeks are pink.

“You were bothered by it,” I say delightedly. Masculine pride warms my chest. Cat was bothered by me with another woman.

“I was not,” she says. She’s biting her lip, though, and I want to bite it too. One little taste of my thumb isn’t enough. Desire rushes through me, heady and intoxicating.

“You were. Admit it. Or I’ll do it again.”

“Go right ahead. See if I care,” she says flippantly.

“Mm-hmm.” I take a bite of the mousse. It’s silky and bitter, just the way I like it. I have it imported from France every month.

“Chocolate. For breakfast?” Cat looks disapproving, which prompts me to take a huge bite.

“You should try it sometime. Live a little, Catherine.” A soft groan comes from my throat at the second bite. Better than the first, because Cat is watching me. “It’s delicious. Especially with a hangover.”

“How can you eat crap and still look like—” She stops talking and clamps her lip shut. “Forget I said anything.”

“Look like what?” I grin at her.

She gulps her coffee and shakes her head, cheeks puffed out. She points at her mouth.

“Nothing to say?” I’m going to start laughing. I’m barely keeping it together as it is. I’ve just unlocked the secret to messing with Cat Peterson.

She shakes again.

I slot the spoon between my lips and take a long, slow bite of chocolate. Her eyes are on my mouth.

“Want some?”

“Nope.” She looks back down at her paper, but she’s flushed.

“How about that tour?”

“Theo.” She closes her textbook with a snap. “I’m busy.” Her eyes flash with annoyance.

“We have things to do.” I tap my finger on the table. “Can’t sit at home with your head buried in a book all day.”

“Watch me,” she says, and I nearly laugh. If I said the sky was blue, Cat would claim it’s green.

“You haven’t changed at all, bookworm.” I slant her a smile. Come on, Cat. Give me something. “You still spend every summer reading?”

“When I can,” she says warily.

“And what’s this week’s book?” I used to ask her this all the time as teenagers. Reading interested me not at all, but Cat interested me very much. And sometimes the books had kissing in them.

“Oh no.” She reddens. “Lane gave me a romance novel. I don’t think you’d be interested.”

I set the mousse down. “Oh, I’m very interested. Tell me more. I’ve seen some of the stuff Lane reads. Wasn’t there one with an alien that had a spiked—”

“Yep,” Cat says before I can finish. Her voice is strangled. “How did you know?”

“Miles wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Well, he’s a very supportive boyfriend,” she says, her face reddening. She pushes back from the table. “Let’s do the tour.” Her words come out in a rush. “I see we have the kitchen here. Why don’t you show me the rest of the house?”

“Sure.” I stand. “Let’s start with the living rooms.”

I tilt my head for her to follow me into the hallway off the kitchen. “The mansion was built in the late nineteenth century by a cousin of the Vanderbilt family. Here, you’ll see the formal living room.” Cat peeks into the room as I gesture to the right. We pass stuffy groupings of couches that my interior designer chose. “I don’t use that room.”

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