Monica followed Evan’s gaze. Whoa. Her restlessness disappeared, blown away like dust in a windstorm, and in its place stood the best diversion possible—a smoking-hot bad boy.

Monica may have been inappropriately dressed, but he took the jackpot. Long brown hair brushed his jawline. His leather jacket appeared battered, worn at the cuffs and rubbed bare at the elbows. His faded jeans fit him just right, showcasing his long legs. On his feet—black motorcycle boots. Whoever he was, he’d be right at home in a biker bar, but he looked completely out of place among the well-behaved guests.

“Who is he?” Evan asked.

What does it matter? This night had just taken a turn for the better. Her body responded to him. Attraction tugged at her, pulling her toward him. Straightening her shoulders, Monica started across the room, intent on finding out more.

Before she could take another step, the officiant walked to the front of the room, and the string quartet began the opening strains of “Pachelbel’s Canon.” Damn. That was her cue. Time to find a seat.

Evan grabbed her wrist and drew her back to him. “Come on,” he whispered. “The wedding’s going to start.”

For the next thirty minutes, while her dad and Karen exchanged vows, Monica’s eyes kept straying toward her mystery man. He sat across the aisle, two rows back. She tried to take Evan’s advice and do subtle, angling her chin and glancing at him from the corner of her eye. Finally she gave up on subtle. Twisting her head, she openly studied him.

She tried to guess his age—late twenties maybe? Excessively badass, that much was obvious. Who strutted into a wedding like that, completely at ease with himself, unapologetic? Monica could respect that kind of fuck you attitude.

Every time he moved, that leather jacket creaked, just a little bit. Her eyes slid back to him once more. He had a strong profile—straight nose, square jaw. As if he felt her staring, he turned his head and looked her right in the eye.

And then he gave her an uneven grin.

Completely charmed, she smiled back. Monica wanted to talk to him, find out his story. Who are you kidding, Campbell? You want to fuck him. Absolutely. But exchanging a few words first wouldn’t hurt.

She tapped her fingers against her bare thigh. This ceremony couldn’t end fast enough. It just dragged on and on—rings, candle lighting, pouring sand into a glass jar for some reason. All the cheesy, clichéd symbols. Was it really that easy for him to forget her mom? Commit to another woman?

Whatever. Maybe that guy would give her a ride on his bike. Then she could give him a ride back at her apartment. That seemed fair.

The next time she glanced at him, he’d slipped his jacket off. Nice arms—tanned, muscular. He threw her a broad wink, and it earned him another smile. God, he was hot. Flirty. Cocky. Just her type.

When Evan lightly slapped her arm, Monica returned her attention to the front of the room. Her dad and Karen kissed. Then, hand in hand, they gazed at each other and walked up the aisle, stopping to greet people along the way. When they reached the row where Monica sat, her dad leaned down and pecked her cheek.

“Congratulations, Daddy.” It almost physically hurt to say the words.

Yet, he did look happy. Content. One chapter closed and another one opened. That was life.

The sadness that pierced Monica’s chest burned a little hotter. She tried to ignore it.

Once her dad and Karen left the room, Allie took front and center. “Just a few announcements.” Monica suppressed a groan. Like a flight attendant, Allie gave directions, complete with hand gestures, about the buffet dinner in the dining room.

Monica looked back once more. This time, the stranger was waiting for her. He lowered his head a notch, and his eyes traced over her face. No smile. Just heat.

Monica stood, her gaze unwavering. They simply stared at each other, ignoring everyone else. People began filing out of the conservatory. Chatter filled the air, and the quartet played a chipper tune. Hardly any of it registered.

Evan leaned down and spoke in her ear. “Are you coming?”

“You go on,” Monica said, keeping her eye on the prize. “I’ll catch up later.”

“Okay, but whatever you do, don’t get caught.” He sidled past her and left the room.

Soon, everyone cleared out, even the musicians, until only the two of them remained. Monica and this stranger. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he moved forward. Every step brought him closer. Finally, he stopped in front of her, the tip of his boot resting against the toe of her stiletto. He stared down at her with the greenest eyes. They danced over her, lighting on every part of her, eating her up. Monica breathed it in, loving the attention.

“And who are you, then?” he asked. He had a British accent. A bad boy Brit. Too perfect.

“I’m the daughter of the groom. Monica Campbell.” She held out her hand.

“Cal Hughes. I believe your sister married my cousin, Trevor.” He took her hand and didn’t let go. His skin felt hot against hers. “Felicitations on the wedding and all that.” His deep voice made her nipples tighten. His gaze kept darting from her face to the tops of her breasts.

“Thanks. You have very interesting taste in wedding attire.”

He glanced down at his clothes. “Sorry about that. I rode into town this afternoon. Didn’t think to pack a suit.”

“Rode? As in motorcycle?”

“Yeah.”

Ha, she knew it.

When Cal let go of her, she missed the contact. Wetting her lips, she watched as he dropped his jacket in a chair. A hint of ink peeked from under the sleeve of his black T-shirt. Tattoos made her weak. Pretty much everything about this guy checked all of her boxes. He even smelled good. Woodsy and fresh.

“Is Cal short for something?”

He took one step closer, so her breasts brushed his chest. Now she had to lean her head all the way back to look up at him.

“It stands for Calum.”

“A British name, huh?” She swung her head so that a curl bounced off her shoulder. “Do you live in Britain?”

“Some of the time. And what do you do, Monica?” The way he said her name made her skin heat up. She wanted to hear him say it again. Monica could use a good distraction tonight, and Cal Hughes was the man to give it to her. Hopefully, he’d give it to her twice.

“I’m a student.” Using one finger, she lifted the edge of his right sleeve.

“Like ink, do you?”

Still feeling the effects of the champagne, she gazed up at him, a smile hovering over her lips. “I love ink.” A Celtic knot. She fingered the bottom edge of the design.

“You’re a student at university?”

She dropped her hand and nodded, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth. He watched it hungrily. “I haven’t decided on a major yet. Have any advice?”

“No, school was never my strong suit. So what do you do when you’re not studying?”

“I like to dance. Club dancing, for fun. Not pole dancing, for profit. Just so you know.”

Cal threw out a surprised laugh. “You’re a bit of a wild card, aren’t you?”

“Sometimes.” His wide shoulders blocked out the fountain. The flickering candles cast a shadow across the left side of his face, making him appear even more mysterious. He represented all of her fantasies rolled into one tasty package.

“I suppose we should join the others,” he said.

Monica didn’t want this moment to end. “I’m not interested in joining the others.”

He lifted his hand and looped a strand of her hair around his finger. “What are you interested in?”

“Do you want a list?”

“Yes, I do. We’ll fit in as many as we can.”

“We could start with Trevor’s garden. Have you seen it?”

“No, but it sounds as though I should.” He unwound her hair and ran his finger down the side of her throat. His whisper-light touch made her tingle. “If you’d show it to me, I’d be really grateful.” He grinned again, and that smile was her undoing.