I drop my key on the counter and head straight for the outdoor shower.
Cold water. That's what I need. Cold water and a reset of whatever the hell just happened to my nervous system.
But when I close my eyes under the spray, all I see is Jane Cooper.
The way she moved in that dress. The way her mouth parted when I pulled her against me behind that decorative screen. The way her pulse jumped in her throat when I wrapped my hand around her waist.
The way she looked half-naked in that window.
Damn it.
I turn the water colder.
Cold water sluices over me, but it does nothing to erase the image burned behind my eyelids. Full breasts. Curving hips.
She's a problem. Not because she's doing anything wrong—technically stalking the groom at his own wedding isn't illegal, just pathologically stupid—but because she's making me want things I have no business wanting.
My hand wraps around my aching length before I consciously decide to. A groan escapes as I stroke myself to the memory of her body—the dip of her waist, the sway of her hips, the heavy weight of her breasts.
Letting her crash through my defensive zone like she has no idea what the rules are.
Probably because she doesn't.
I come hard, her name a groan I barely swallow, and brace myself against the tile as release shudders through me.
I remain under the shower head for a few more moments to let the tension leave my body. My mind is still on Jane.
I had watched her all afternoon. Watched her try six different approaches to get close to Blake. Watched her fail every single time because she reveals her intentions like a rookie who's never heard of deception.
She's not subtle. She's not polished. She's not even particularly good at this.
But she's persistent.
And that persistence is going to get her hurt.
I turn off the water and grab a towel, already planning my next move. Because if she tries one more time to corner Blake alone, I'm going to have to intervene. Not for Blake's sake—he can handle himself, or at least he deserves whatever consequences come from his choices—but for hers.
Blake doesn't play fair with women who interest him. And Jane, for all her amateur-hour stalking skills, definitely interests him.
I saw the way he looked at her at the pool. The way his hand landed on her knee. The way he leaned in like a sharkscenting blood.
My jaw clenches.
No. Not my problem. Not my business.
Jane Cooper is a grown woman who can make her own terrible decisions.
I pull on clean clothes—linen shirt, khakis, the uniform of wealthy men pretending to be casual—and check my phone.
Blake's texted the groomsmen about drinks by the main pool at seven. Optional attendance, which means it's mandatory if you don't want to field questions later about why you weren't there.
Skip it. Should stay here, away from temptation and terrible ideas.
But I won't.
Because I'm going to be there when Jane makes her next move.
And this time, I'm going to stop her.
