Page 18 of The Friend

“Shall do.” He pointed to the notepad on the table. “I take it the bride has to be a size twelve?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why waste time searching for a model?”

“What do you mean?”

Abby picked up her notepad and pen, shoved it into her bag, and gulped down the mango juice she’d become addicted to on the island, only half-listening to him.

“You’re about that size, aren’t you?”

She almost choked on the last sip of juice, clearing her throat several times while his speculative gaze roamed her body with ease.

“What if I am?”

She didn’t like the cunning gleam in his eyes. Worse, she didn’t like the way she’d cottoned on to what he was implying straight away.

He chuckled and squeezed her upper arm. “Come on, Abs, don’t play dumb. You’d be a perfect fit for the dress, why waste time trying to find someone else? After all, isn’t that the lame-ass argument you used on me?”

She shook her head, hating that he made sense. “I can’t coordinate the shoot and model at the same time. Wouldn’t work.”

Her pathetic protest fell on deaf ears as his grin widened. “You’re a professional. What’s to coordinate? Tom will take the shots, you stand there and look like a blushing bride. Easy. And think of all the time you’ll save not screwing around trying to find someone the right size to wear the dress?”

He laid his hands out as if his suggested plan was foolproof. “Looks like an easy solution all round. Unless you think you can’t pull it off—”

“Don’t try your twelfth grade reverse psychology on me. I’m not stupid. I can see it makes sense.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Let’s get moving. We’ve got a lot of work to do before our big event.”

Her eyes narrowed at his cocky expression, his smug grin.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“Hey, I’m not the one who was cruelly coerced into helping his best friend by some lame duck act.”

“Lame duck? You are a—”

“Uh-uh. Is that any way to talk to your model groom?”

His words didn’t shut her up as much as the finger he placed against her lips. The same finger she had an instant urge to nibble on.

“I haven’t got time for this,” she muttered, swinging her bag over her shoulder and grabbing her room keycard off the table.

“Before you go, there’s one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“How about a kiss to celebrate our engagement?” He pursed his lips and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and she couldn’t help but laugh, whacking him on the arm.

“You wish, Goofball.”

In reality, she wished for another scintillating kiss, exactly like the one they’d shared last night, before she gave herself a resounding mental slap to stay with the program, considering she had a promotion on the line.

“Come on, we haven’t got all day,” she said, annoyed by how many times she’d thought about that kiss, and how much she wanted an action replay in slow, sensual detail.

Draping an arm around her shoulders as they headed for the foyer, he said, “Now is that any way to treat your pretend husband?”

Chapter Eight

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