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Speaking of fire, did someone raise the hot tub temperature? Because my heart is racing like I just played a rousing round of tennis, and it has never raced while looking at my best friend.

Without breaking eye contact, he licks his bottom lip lightly before pulling it into his mouth, just barely biting it … like he’s thinking deeply about something. Maybe he’s about to say something. If I did the same thing, it would look really awkward. When Brooks does it, it’s very appealing.

My body feels frozen, entranced by this strange new look he’s giving me. He brings his hand up to the side of my face. His fingers find a strand of hair that fell from my bun, then he tucks it behind my ear.

He pulls his hand back slowly, his thumb grazing my cheek as his hand retreats. Internally, I know my body is leaning towards him, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

That wine was a really bad idea.

To my surprise, Brooks leans in closer as well. He releases his bottom lip and one side of his mouth pulls up into a smirk before he leans in all the way and gives me a friendly peck on the forehead.

“That’s how I get all the girls,” he says cockily when he pulls back again and slides all the way over to the other side of the hot tub.

I’m slack-jawed. He did that move without me even realizing what was happening. It’s at this moment that I realize I would have let him kiss me.

What is wrong with me?! I cannot kiss Brooks. He is my closest friend, and we work side by side every day.

This cannot happen. No kissing. Ever.

Unlimited hand holding was our agreement … and now I see why.

After Brooks almost seduced me, per my stupid request, he changed the subject to his latest designs for knee replacements. Knees are good. Perfectly safe and not at all sexy.

Eventually, the exhaustion from traveling all day hits us and we head back inside to take turns in the shower. Brooks goes first while I call the kitchen staff and request some of the leftovers from dinner to be sent up for a bedtime snack. I need some carbohydrates to soak up the effects of the wine. And I know Brooks was dying to eat some more of that filet mignon.

Not even five minutes after hanging up, there’s a knock on the door and I answer it, seeing Harold in the hallway with a silver tray. I thank him and take the tray inside. Setting it on the bed, I sit down and quickly devour an entire slice of tiramisu and a few bites of steak.

When Brooks opens the bathroom door, steam billows out of the room behind him from his shower, and he’s shirtless with just a pair of boxers on.

I gulp, glad I now have some food in my stomach so my brain isn’t fuzzy. This is Brooks. My best friend since college. My coworker. My business partner.

He’s not my type. Never has been. Dark hair is my thing. And guys who are too busy writing poems to work out.

So he has abs and one of those V things? Other girls might be into all that, but not me. Nope. Definitely not into chiseled blonde guys who have the strength and energy to roughhouse with their adorable nieces and nephews.

I take one last glance at his boxers before noticing there’s a caution sign printed on the black fabric with words on it. I read the words out loud with barely contained laughter. “Caution, handle with care?” Grabbing a pillow, I throw it at his face.

He catches it easily and tosses it back on the bed. “Shut up!” He chuckles, but his cheeks are just the teensiest bit pink, either from his hot shower, or from embarrassment. “I thought I’d have my own room, remember?”

I cover my mouth with a pillow to muffle my laughter. “Those are so much worse than my nightgown.”

He sees the food and his eyes widen with excitement. He rushes toward the bed and sits next to me, picking up a bit of steak with his fingers and popping it into his mouth and then licking his fingers clean. I’m all too aware of the half-naked man on my bed. His thick, leg muscles on full display, the rise and fall of his bare chest … his tongue licking his fingers.

I shake my head, trying to get my bearings again. “Is that seriously what you’re sleeping in?”

He grimaces. “Sorry, I didn’t pack any sweats or anything. Just jeans and dressy clothes for the wedding. And boxers to sleep in.”

I release a heavy sigh. “This is weirder than I thought it would be.” Realizing I said the words out loud, I clamp my mouth shut, hiding behind the pillow again.

Brooks gently grabs the pillow away from me. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t pack actual pajamas. This is weird for me too. Maybe Preston has something I could borrow?”

I think on it for a moment before responding, “Probably. But we wouldn’t be very convincing if we asked to borrow flannel pajamas, would we?”

He looks at me with resignation in his gaze. “Yeah, that’s a good point.” He worries his bottom lip. “You mentioned going to some antique shops … Does the town nearby have a store where I could buy something to sleep in?”

My eyebrows draw together as I contemplate his question. “It’s a quaint little town, but I think they have some gift shops. Since it’s winter, they might have pajamas in stock.”

“Perfect,” he says before sliding under the covers, pulling them up to his chest so he’s mostly covered. “We’ll go tomorrow, then?”