Page 227 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

HIS PROLOGUE

Shaw

Some women are just forbidden. Like . . . oh, just off the top of my head . . . say, my sister’s lifelong best friend. Forbidden, as in if I touch her, it’s sayonara favorite-body-part.

Do I kid?

No, and I don’t want to test my sister’s resolve, so I stay far, far away from lovely Vanessa. Sweet Vanessa. Vanessa who wants the real deal. Keep your dirty hands off my best friend Vanessa.

Hey, that’s what my sister said.

Look, I’m not scared of my sister.

But I do respect her. I was raised right. I was taught respect, honor, and duty. And above all . . . family comes first. When Perri told me years ago she’d have my balls in a sling if I put my ladies’-man paws anywhere near her bestie, I listened, because I happen to like the boys a helluva lot.

Honestly, though, I followed her guidelines not just for the sake of my intact nuts. I did it because she asked . If it’s important to Perri that my dirty hands stay far, far away from Vanessa, I can abide by that.

I can resist sexy, alluring, flirty Vanessa.

Witty, clever, oh, look, there’s mistletoe above us Vanessa.

Oh, did I say that?

Well, Vanessa did, and I’ll never forget that Christmas party when we were home from college.

But I swear, it was only a kiss. A sweet, tantalizing, drive-my-body-insane-with-wanting-more kiss. I’ve mostly stayed away, and that’s not been easy, so give a man some points for stellar restraint.

Especially since I’ve had it bad for Vanessa for years.

As in decades.

But sometimes, over the decades, you slip a little bit when you want something.

You bend to the left, to the right, and you steal another kiss.

Fine, fine. There was one more time—a year ago, when we were at Vanessa’s bowling alley for a New Year’s Eve party, lifting glasses and toasting to the new year.

It wasn’t like we got it on right there on the bowling ball return.

(It was beside the dartboard.)

And it was a chaste New Year’s kiss.

Too chaste for me.

When I was home alone in bed, though, nothing was innocent that night. In my mind, it was one hot, sexy, filthy kiss that made us both rip off clothes.

Except, even then, those words— balls in a sling —echoed.

I listened. I’ll keep listening. After all, it’s only lust I feel, right?

I can set that aside, no problem.

Until the weekend before my sister’s wedding . . .