“I am not!” She went to jump down from the table but he pinned her there with a hand on either side of her thighs.

“You’re totally jealous.” He laughed and Libby’s face flamed as red as her hair.

“You’re not God’s gift to women, you know,” she grumbled. “But honestly, your ego is fascinating. I’ve never seen anything so big before.”

“You know, that’s not the first time someone has said that to me.” He grinned and she swatted at him, narrowly missing his cheek.

“I stuck up for you, and this is the thanks I get?”

“Yep.” His hands ran along her thighs, pushing up the fabric of her dress. “You wouldn’t like it if I made it easy for you.”

“Bullshit. I would very much enjoy life if you made it easier for me.”

“You have many great skills, Tiger. But lying isn’t one of them.”

She locked her hands down over his, preventing him from going higher. “Many great skills, you say. Care to elaborate?”

“You’ve got a talented mouth.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You know, since you speak so eloquently,” he said. “And beautiful hands.”

“Don’t feed me all that crap you’ve used on other girls.” She brushed his hands away. “I’m different, and I won’t fall for it.”

Didn’t he know it? Libby was so far from his realm of experience that he may as well be starting from scratch. But that’s what she did to him. She’d broken down all his long-held beliefs—that he was happy taking the easy road through life, that he didn’t want to be with anyone for more than a night—and systematically made him question the existence he’d created for himself.

“I know you’re different.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “That’s why you’re still here.”

She bit down on her lip and looked away. “You better not get attached to me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’m not going to change my mind on the relationship thing,” she said, but her voice wavered ever so slightly. “I’m not interested in being tied to someone until we both hate each other. It’s better to enjoy the good bits while they last and move on before it hurts too much. That’s why I pointed out the thing about Cassie…you know, so you can talk to her after we break up.”

“Right.” He nodded, unsure what to do with the barrier she was desperately trying to put between them.

At one point he’d have been thrilled for a woman to keep things casual, but being with Libby had started to change him. He wanted more out of life than to cruise through without being committed to anyone or anything. He deserved more…she’d made him see that.

He didn’t have to be the man his family thought he was. He would change, not to prove they were wrong but to prove he’d been wrong.

“I like you a lot, Paul.” She touched his face, the gentle pressure of her fingertips zinging through him like bolts of electricity. “But I can’t feel anything more than that. I won’t let myself.”

“You don’t need to reassure me.” He brought his hands back to her legs and parted them so he could stand closer to her.

The pressure of her thighs against his hips sent delicious heat through him. He ached for her, body and soul. But he’d only allow himself to fulfill one of those needs. He wouldn’t ever tell her how he felt knowing she would walk away.

He wasn’t going to have his heart broken again.

Chapter Twelve

The closer Gracie and Des’s wedding drew, the heavier the pit in Libby’s stomach. What was supposed to be a simple solution to a business problem had turned into a complicated personal conundrum. So much for leaving sex and emotion out of it. She’d failed spectacularly at the first one and was slipping down a steep ravine into the second.

The suitcase on her bed gaped at her like a big hungry mouth. She’d started packing half an hour ago, yet not a single item of clothing had made it into her luggage. The wedding was tomorrow; she had to pull herself together.

Pick a dress, match the shoes, find a pair of earrings. It’s not that hard.

Libby glared at the two dresses that hung on the doors of her antique armoire. Decision paralysis was so not her thing, yet she couldn’t seem to make a choice. Picking the dress meant packing her things, which meant getting in her car and driving all the way to the Yarra Valley…and seeing Paul.

Her stomach churned. Since her big confession she’d been in a spin, and her mind refused to concentrate. Her ambition had deserted her, and she had the mental acuity of a stuffed llama. Even her motor skills were off. She’d shattered a wineglass on the kitchen faucet and dropped a fresh vase of flowers all over the carpet in her office.

Not exactly the picture of a put-together businesswoman.

“Come on,” she muttered to herself as she studied the dresses. “Just do it.”

The first one was sexy, backless, and black; it wasn’t her usual style but she knew Paul would love it. The second was a bold pink and yellow 50s-style full-skirted number, definitely in her comfort zone.

She took a deep breath and snatched the black dress from her armoire, folding it in tissue and packing it before she could change her mind. She matched a pair of nude heels and a set of vintage enamel jewelry quickly, doing her hardest not to think about Paul.

Talk about a lesson in futility. Trying not to think about Paul was like trying not to blink…or breathe.

No matter how many times she mentioned the looming deadline of their relationship—and noticed how Paul seized up—she couldn’t force reality to sink in. Would it be so bad to let things linger on and see if what they had extended beyond the wedding?

The slam of a car door outside caught her attention, and a moment later the doorbell rang. As soon as Libby stepped into the hallway she could see the shiny red paint on her father’s convertible through the front window. Perfect. A heaping of fatherly guilt was exactly what she needed right now—not.

She opened the door but blocked the entrance. “Dad.”

“Is that thug boyfriend of yours here to kick me out this time?” her father drawled.

Libby pursed her lips and stood rooted to the ground. “No.”

“Do I need to ask for an invitation inside my own property?”

Ah, that old chestnut. The quicker Libby Gal Cocktails took off the sooner she could take that important step toward independence, getting out from under her father’s thumb. She held the door open and waited for him to enter without saying the words, since it was clear he wasn’t going to leave quietly.

“What do you want? I’m going away for the weekend, and I need to leave soon.” She stood in the entrance and pressed her fingers to her temples.

“You used to speak to me as though I were the most important person in the world,” her father said, looking—for possibly the first time ever—regretful. “What changed?”

“Maybe it’s because I realized I wasn’t the most important person in your world.” She swallowed, blinking as tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. “And that I never would be.”

“That hurts, Libby.” He shook his head. “Don’t you see I want what’s best for you?”

“How do you know what’s best for me? I wonder at times if you know anything about me.”

The muscle in his neck corded. “How can you say that?”

“What’s my favorite food?” Her voice cracked and she cursed herself internally. “Or my favorite color?”

“Pink?” He shrugged. “What does it matter?”

“My favorite color is green, Dad. It always has been.” She let out a sigh. “It matters because sometimes I think you wish I’d never been born.”

The words sucked the life out of the room. Admitting her longest-held, most shameful fear aloud made the world feel colorless.