“What does Hunter say about it?”

The glowing smile that takes over Cricket’s face is something so pure, I wish I could snap a picture without her noticing. She loves him. Really loves him.

“He doesn’t give a damn. We actually were going to elope until his dad made a big speech about his son getting married in Gable, surrounded by all his friends and family.” Cricket’s glow fades. “So . . . I told him we should do it if it mattered to them.”

“Are you sure that’s what you really want?” I hate the thought of my free-spirited cousin feeling like a guest at her own wedding.

“Hunter would tell them all to fuck off if I told him I didn’t want to do it. But I know that his dad doesn’t have a lot of years left, and I actually like the old man, so I’m not going to make waves.”

She drags her finger through the layer of dust on the magazines stacked on the coffee table. “Although, with it being at The Gables, Mrs. Havalin will probably have kittens and want to invite everyone in the known universe to show off that they’re close to the Riscoffs. But . . . at least it takes the pressure off me, right? Who will even bother to look at the bride when the heir to a billion-dollar company is standing in the front row.”

I brush Cricket’s brown hair away from her face so I can see her eyes. “Hey. Stop that. It’s your big day. Fuck Lincoln Riscoff.”

Cricket’s lips quirk. “Sorry, Whit. You already did. I don’t like sloppy seconds.”

Ten

Whitney

The past

My body was buzzing when I reached the cabin.

I shouldn’t be here. I knew that as plainly as I knew I shouldn’t gargle Drano or play with gasoline and matches in a barn filled with hay, but I couldn’t stop myself.

Although I reached out to knock, my knuckles never connected with the door. Lincoln whipped it open, his chest rising and falling, before I could make contact.

“I didn’t think you were going to come. I thought I’d have to hunt you down again.”

Lord, he’s way too attractive for his own good.

His hazel eyes raked up and down my body as I stared at the pulse thumping at the base of his throat, trying to talk myself out of licking his skin to remind myself what he tasted like.

Oh my God. Whitney, what the hell is wrong with you?

Lincoln Riscoff. He was what was wrong with me. I hadn’t been able to get him off my mind since the other night. It was like I was broken, and only another night with him could fix it.

“I wasn’t going to come. I talked myself out of it at least a hundred times.”

His nostrils flared.

That should not be sexy.

“What made you change your mind?”

“Do you want the truth?” My voice sounded husky and not at all like me.