(Part of the anthology Catch of the day)

Lissy lay with her head against Will’s sweat-slick chest, running her fingers absentmindedly through his chest hair, her body limp and glowing from their most recent round of crazed sex. She loved these nights when she had him to herself.

An unpleasant flutter in her stomach drew her mind back to what she’d spent all evening trying to forget—her mother’s call. Her mother was still trying to get her to postpone the wedding until Will signed a prenup, dangling cash in her face as if she could be bought. Hadn’t she proved long ago that she didn’t give a damn about her parents’ money?

But it wasn’t the usual discussion about divorce and assets that had bothered her; it was her mother’s comment about sex and love. Her mother had quoted some study showing that couples who’d lived together before getting married had a higher divorce rate than those who waited to have sex until after marriage.

Lissy had argued that the study, like most, was skewed from the beginning, as people who waited until after marriage to have sex tended to be people who also opposed divorce. Statistics never told the whole story. Any good journalist knew that.

You wouldn’t be the first woman to confuse a man’s sexual attention with love, Melisande. Just wait till he gets his fill of you and the hormones wear off. Men like him marry for two things: sex and money.

Not her Will. No way.

“Do you realize that a hundred or even fifty years ago, we’d both be virgins?” She didn’t know she’d spoken until she heard her own voice.

His fingers stroked the hollow above her hip. “Good thing it’s not a hundred or even fifty years ago. My balls would have burst by now.”

“But don’t you think things were more romantic then? Sex would have been a great mystery for us.”

“I doubt it would have been that much of a mystery. We’d probably both have grown up in the country and seen our share of farm-animal lovin’.”

“The point I’m trying to make is that neither of us would have any personal experience with sex until our wedding night.”

“That’s assuming that I hadn’t already charmed my way into your bloomers or found some ‘loose woman’ willing to let me defile her.” His voice dropped to a dark, velvet purr. “I can be very persuasive.”

Lissy sat up, trying not to laugh, and glared at him. “You’re ruining my fantasy.”

He grinned, stretched, and folded his muscular arms behind his head. “Oh. Sorry. Go on. I’m listening.”

“After the reception, we’d go the bridal chamber, where everything would be roses and candles. There’d be a fire in the hearth—”

“—if it were winter.”

She ignored him. “You’d undress me first and then yourself. I’d probably never have seen a naked man before, so I’d be shy and afraid—”

“Oh, Will, it’s soooo big! Please, don’t hurt me!”

“—but you would soothe me and assure me that everything was going to be fine. Then you’d undress yourself, carry me to the bed and make passionate love to me.”

He reached out, ran his fingers down her hair. “Are you sure that’s how it would go? I think you’ve read too many novels. If it were a hundred years ago and we were both virgins, I think it would go more like this.”

“Do tell.”

“We’d have been raised to see nudity as shameful, so the room would be dark, and you would have changed from your wedding gown to a proper white nightgown and gotten into bed before I entered the room. I’d come in, wearing my nightshirt, and crawl into bed with you. You’d be worried that it was going to hurt, and I’d be worried that my dick might not work. I’d lift your gown up to your hips, spread your legs, and it would be over in a minute. You’d hate it, and you’d get pregnant—with the first of my twelve children.”

She fought back a giggle. “Thank you for that enchanting vision of romance.”

“You’re welcome.” His knuckles grazed a nipple, sent heat skittering into her belly.

She batted his hand away. “You’re just afraid you can’t do it.”

He frowned. “Do what?”

“Wait.”

He raised a dark eyebrow, raked her with his gaze. “It’s a bit too late for that, isn’t it?”

And then it came to her. “Not if we start over.”

“Start over?”

“You know—wait until our wedding night to have sex again.”

The look on his handsome face almost made her laugh out loud, but there was something about this that felt important to her.

Then he sat up and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, the humor gone from his eyes. “This is about something your mother said, isn’t it?”

She hated that he was able to see through her so clearly. “I just think it would add to the romance if we held back a little bit, made ourselves wait. It’s only two weeks. Unless you don’t think you can hack it.”

Will was tempted to end this conversation by pulling her beneath him and showing her just what she’d be giving up, but something told him saying the wrong thing just now would be a bad idea. Besides, he wasn’t one to turn down a challenge.

“If you want to wait until after the wedding to have sex again, that’s fine.”

The surprise on her face mirrored the astonishment he felt.

What the hell did you just say, Fraser? Are you an idiot?

Her eyes narrowed. “You really think you can do it?”

Her long hair hung about her heart-shaped face, tangled from a night of repeated lovemaking. Her nipples peeked out from between the strands, just begging to be licked and sucked. Her lips were swollen from kissing, and her cheeks were still rosy from her last orgasm, when she’d ridden him to within an inch of his life. Her green eyes shone with a mix of intelligence and feminine allure. And he was agreeing not to fuck her?

“Of course I can do it. I’m not some eighteen-year-old college student.”

She sat up on her heels. “Then how about we make a bet?”

He leaned back on his elbows, suddenly feeling competitive. “You name it.”

“Okay. We agree not to have sex again until our wedding night, and whoever gives in and asks for it first loses.”

That sounded easy enough—two weeks, no sex. “Fine. It’s a deal.”

“But there has to be some penalty.” She hopped out of bed, walked the length of the room, forcing him to stare first at the bare curves of her scrumptious ass, and then at the auburn curls of her muff. “If you lose, you and your groomsmen have to wear the mauve cummerbunds I wanted.”

He gave a snort, lifted his gaze to her face. “In that case, there is no way I’m going to lose. I’m not wearing pink.”

“Mauve.”

“Whatever.”

She crawled back into bed, smiling. “We’ll see.”

“And what about you, Miss Lissy? What price will you pay if you come begging for it?” And then he had it. “I know. You’ll have to promise to love, honor and obey me.”

Her mouth fell open in outrage. “No way! Absolutely not!”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Okay, then. How about this? If you lose, you have to wear the slutty gown.”

“The Oleg Cassini?”

He had no idea what the designer’s name was, but he’d loved the way she’d looked in that dress—ultra-feminine and sexy as hell—and had been disappointed when she’d decided to go with something else. “The one that’s skin-tight and has the crystals on the straps.”

She gaped at him. “The Badgley Mischka! I’m fashion editor of the paper, Will. I can’t walk down the aisle half naked!”

“Then I guess the bet is off.” A part of him—the part located about six inches below his navel—heaved a sigh of relief. He reached over and turned off the bedside lamp.

Then out of the darkness, she spoke. “You’re on.”