Abby stopped breathing as all the blood in her body rushed south, to her groin.

What the hell did Jordan do to her? She made her forget who she was. But also, Jordan made her dare to imagine what she could be.

“All these thoughts are perfectly normal. Getting married is a big deal. Making all these promises to one person. But Marcus loves you.”

“I know,” Abby said. “But what if I’m not meant to be with Marcus? What if I’m meant to be with someone completely different? Maybe even a woman?”

Jordan’s hand rubbed up and down her arm, sending an arrow of lust straight to Abby’s clit.

Abby closed her eyes for a second. Then she blew out a long breath, before pulling away from Jordan, to untangle them physically.

It was necessary, even though it had only been Jordan’s fingers and her arm that had been touching.

That had been enough.

“You’re going to be fine. Try to relax and enjoy your hen weekend. And my advice? Steer clear of tequila.”

Jordan’s accompanying smile cut right to Abby’s core. Jordan left her exposed.

She shook her head, before folding her arms over her chest. “You’re good at this, you know.” There was one thing she still wanted to know. It was important, even though the reason was still foggy in her mind. “Have you had many brides confess they’ve slept with a woman?”

Jordan shook her head. “You’re the first. I’m sure there have been others, because the law of averages states there must have been.” She paused, fixing Abby with her gorgeous eyes once again. “But you’re the first one to tell me.”

A warmth rose up through Abby. She was the first.

Her gaze fell to Jordan’s round, pink lips. And for the first time Abby allowed herself to imagine leaning forward and kissing them.

She’d forgotten what the last woman she’d kissed tasted like. It didn’t matter anymore.

But she’d love to know how Jordan tasted. How she felt. Abby closed her eyes, thoughts and visions swirling against her eyelids.

Stop.

What was she thinking? Jordan was her professional bridesmaid. She was getting married next week.

She opened her eyes. Jordan was right. She only got one hen weekend, and if she wanted to enjoy it fully, she had to throw herself into it.

And it didn’t include kissing Jordan.

“Abby?” She hadn’t heard footsteps. She turned, and the light snapped on above the terrace making her squint.

It was her mum, in a silky T-shirt and shorts.

“What are you still doing up? We all went to bed a while ago.”

Abby ignored the quake of her heart. She’d done nothing wrong, and yet it felt like her mum had just found her with her hands down Jordan’s pants.

That thought caused a small earthquake at her centre.