Page 43 of One Hot Rumor

"No, Reese, but thanks for the offer."

He chuckles and shouts to Nick, "Sorry, mate, no dice. You Hunters shouldn't marry women who have higher IQs than you."

"Like Arden isn't cleverer than you by tenfold," another voice shouts, one I recognize as Chance Dixon.

"I know she is," Reese replies, "which is why I don't try to trick her."

After another scuffling noise, Nick comes on the line again. "Sorry. That was a stupid joke."

"Do I get to hear Alex Thorne whisper dirty sweet nothings in my ear too? That must be what Maddie was talking about when she said you, Rick, and Alex did something to her."

"Yes, that's what we did. Only that was an in-person experiment, not over the phone."

"Why did you want to fool me?"

"Not sure. It seemed like the thing to do. Sorry."

"Stop apologizing. It was hilarious."

He hesitates while other voices chatter in the background. "How did you know who was who? You met these blokes today."

"I've always had a good ear for voices."

"That's impressive. If we ever get married, I'll be the luckiest man on earth."

Married. He said that word. In reference to us. And I'm not freaked out by it.

The sound of heels clicking on the floor draws my attention to the other end of the hall.

Rika Dixon trots up to me. "Time to go. It's get-the-bride-ready time."

"Sorry, Nick, I have to go," I say into the phone.

"I do too. See you at the church."

The other ladies are filing out of the banquet hall, so Rika and I follow them. In a little while, I'll get to see Nick in a fancy suit. Even thinking about that sends a hot, liquid shiver racing through me.

Oh yes, I will need to have sex with Nick the second the wedding is over.

Chapter Seventeen

Nick

My brother is getting married in fifteen minutes. I'd assumed Richard would never take the time to meet a woman, much less fall in love and get married. He was always obsessed with work, with keeping our father's publishing company going strong and ensuring Edward Hunter's legacy didn't crumble to dust. Sure, that's a noble aspiration. But Rick always took his job too seriously.

Now, he plans to take a holiday in the Caribbean. Again. Voluntarily. He and Maddie will honeymoon on the private island owned by Sir Dexter Armstrong-Hill, the reclusive author who has become my brother's mate.

Rick has changed. But have I?

Since I've become embroiled in a scandal, I think the answer is no. I haven't become a better man.

We're in a small room in the church, which I've been told is the minister's office, and I'm trying to help my brother with something called a "cravat," which he insists on wearing instead of a bow tie. My fingers keep slipping. That's what happens when you struggle to tie slippery cloth that doesn't want to be tied.

"You'll have to go without the cravat," I tell Richard. "It won't work. If you wanted to dress Victorian, you should have dug up a Victorian gent from his grave so he could explain how to tie this bloody thing."

"Go get Alex. He knows how to do it."

Oddly, I can believe Alex Thorne knows all about Victorian clothing. He's an archaeologist, after all. Maybe he's dug up fossilized cravats.