The catering company had done a great job getting his house in order to host a shindig of this magnitude. While the party had been floated as casual, Hendrix had never entertained before. Unless you counted a handful of buddies sprawled around his dining room table with beer and poker chips.
Roz arrived in the car he’d sent for her and he ignored the little voice inside taunting him for hovering at the front window to watch for her. But it was a sight to see. Roz spilled from the back of the car, sky-high stilettos first, then miles of legs and finally the woman herself in a figure-hugging black cocktail dress designed to drive a man insane.
She’d even swept up her wavy dark hair into a chignon that let a few strands drip down around her face. It was the sexiest hairstyle he’d ever seen on a woman, bar none.
He opened the door before she could knock and his tongue might have gone numb because he couldn’t even speak as she coolly surveyed him from under thick black eyelashes.
“Thanks for the car. Hard to drive in heels,” she commented, apparently not afflicted by the stupid that was going around.
He shouldn’t be, either. He cleared his throat. “You look delicious.”
Amazing might have been a better term. It would make it seem more like he’d seen a beautiful woman before and it was no big thing. But she was his beautiful woman. For as long as they both deemed it beneficial.
That seemed like a pretty cold agreement all at once for two people who’d burned so very hot not so long ago.
She smiled with a long slow lift of her pink-stained lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment, as weird as it is.”
“Really? It’s weird to tell my beautiful fiancée that she looks good enough to eat?” he questioned with a heated once-over that she didn’t miss.
“You can’t say stuff like that,” she murmured and glanced away from the sizzling electricity that had just arced between them right there on his doorstep.
“The hell I can’t. You said no kissing. At no point did I agree to keep my carnal thoughts to myself, nor will I ever agree to that. If I want to tell you that I’m salivating to slide that dress off your shoulders and watch it fall to the ground as it bares your naked body, I will. I might even tell you that I taste you in my sleep sometimes and I wake up with a boner that I can’t get rid of until I fantasize about you in the shower.” Her cheeks flushed. From embarrassment at his dirty talk or guilt because she liked it? He couldn’t tell. He leaned closer and whispered, “Believe it or not, I can tell you what I want to do to you without acting on it.”
A car door slammed behind her and she recoiled as if it had been a gunshot to her torso.
“Invite me in,” she muttered with a glance over her shoulder. “This is a party, isn’t it?”
Should have been a party for two with a strict dress code—birthday suits only. Why had he agreed to her insane stipulation that they abstain from any kind of physical contact until the wedding? It was a dumb rule that made no sense and if Jonas and his wife, Viv, weren’t waltzing up the front walk at that precise moment, Hendrix would be having a completely different conversation about it with his fiancée.
He stepped back and allowed Roz to enter, slipping an arm around her waist as she tried to flounce past him into the living room. “Oh, no you don’t, sweetheart. Flip around and greet the guests. We’re a couple.”
Her smile grew pained as he drew her close. “How could I forget?”
Jonas and Viv hit the welcome mat holding hands. Funny how things worked. Jonas and Viv had gotten married in Vegas during the same trip where Hendrix had hooked up with Roz.
“Hey, guys. This is Roz,” Hendrix announced unnecessarily, as he was pretty sure both Jonas and Viv knew who she was. If not from the photo flying around the internet, strictly by virtue of the fact that she was glued to his side.
Viv, bless her, smiled at Roz and shook her hand. “I’m Viv Kim. It’s nice to meet you, and not just because I love any opportunity to use my new name.”
With an intrigued expression, Roz glanced at the male half of the couple. “Are you newly married?”
Jonas stuck his hand out. “Brand-new. I’m Jonas Kim. My name is still the same.”
Hendrix nearly rolled his eyes but checked it in deference to one of his oldest friends. “Thanks for coming. Roz and I are glad you’re here to celebrate our engagement. Come in, please.”
He guided them all to the cavernous living area that had been designed with this type of gathering in mind. The ten-thousand-square-foot house in Oakwood had been a purchase born out of a desire to stake his claim. There was a pride in ownership that this house delivered. It was a monument of a previous age, restored lovingly by someone with an eye for detail, and he appreciated the history wafting from its bones.
The house was a legitimate home and it was his.
Curiously, Viv’s gaze cut between the two of them as she took a seat next to Jonas on the couch. “Have you set a wedding date?”
“Not yet,” Roz answered and at the same time, Hendrix said, “Five weeks.”
She shot him a withering look. “We’re waiting until we pick a venue, which might dictate the date.”
The doorbell rang and his mother arrived with Paul Carpenter right on her heels. Introductions all around went smoothly as nearly everyone knew each other. As the CEO of Kim Electronics, Jonas had met Mr. Carpenter several times at trade shows and various retail functions. Helene frequented Viv’s cupcake shop on Jones Street apparently and exclaimed over the baker’s wares at length. It was Paul and Helene’s first meeting, however.
Hendrix raised a brow at the extra beat included in their hand shake, but forgot about it as Roz’s friend Lora showed up with a date. Hendrix’s other best friend, Warren Garinger, was flying solo tonight, which was lately his default. He arrived a pointed thirty minutes late.
It wasn’t until later that evening that Hendrix had a chance to corner his friend on his tardiness.
“Just the man I was looking for,” he said easily as he found Warren in the study examining one of the many watercolors the decorator had insisted went with the spirit of the house.
Warren pocketed his phone, which should have melted from overuse a long time ago. He worked ninety hours a week running the energy drink company his family had founded, but Hendrix didn’t think that was what had put the frown on his friend’s face. “I had to take a call. Sorry.”
“The CEO never gets a day off,” Hendrix acknowledged with a nod. “It’s cool. I was just making sure you weren’t hiding out in protest.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Warren smoothed out his expression before it turned into a full-bore scowl. “You’ve obviously made your decision to get married despite the pact.”
Hendrix bit back a sigh. They’d been over this. Looked like they were going over it again. “The pact means something to me. And to Jonas. We’re still tight, no matter what.”
Jonas, Warren and Hendrix had met at Duke University, forming a friendship during a group project along with a fourth student, Marcus Powell. They’d had a lot of fun, raised a lot of hell together in the quintessential college experience—until Marcus had gotten his heart tangled up over a woman who didn’t deserve his devotion. She’d been a traitorous witch of a cheerleader who liked toying with a man’s affections more than