Truly Madly Deeply Boxed Set

“Sure you do,” Pete insisted. “You’ve handled all this on your own, planned everything, picked everything.”

She raised a napkin to those luscious lips. “Not quite everything,” she muttered, then lowered the napkin back to her lap.

Mike shifted his wrist and tapped her on the shoulder. “I don’t mind.”

“We can’t,” she said. “It’s bad luck or something.”

He roared with laughter. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s not like he’s the groom,” Pete said, joining Mike for a laugh.

Suddenly Mike didn’t find the subject all that amusing. “If you want me, I’m available,” he said, suppressing the nudging guilt that threatened whenever he even thought about Carly.

Mike loved his brother. For Peter, Mike felt a kinship born of childhood struggles. For Carly, Mike felt... something stronger than he could put into words. But regardless of Peter’s faults or reasons for this engagement, Mike’s interest in his brother’s fiancé was low.

If he allowed Carly to come between them, he would lose the only family he had left. And so would Pete. For that reason alone, Mike was determined to keep a safe distance from Carly from here on in. With all the self-control that had gotten him the perfect picture numerous times, that shouldn’t be too difficult. But his conflicting desires just might tear him apart.

“Carly?” Peter laid a hand on her bare arm. Mike clenched his teeth in response.

“Okay,” she said, glancing at Mike. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Mike?” Peter glanced at him, one eyebrow lifted, waiting for an answer.

“Sure.” He’d help her. He’d help Pete. But at what cost? And to whom?

FOUR

Operating under the assumption that busy minds didn’t have time to think, Carly awoke early and spent the morning tackling belated spring cleaning and ignoring the persistent ring of the telephone. Unfortunately she couldn’t do the same thing with the doorbell.

She wiped her dusty hands on her jeans and brushed her bangs out of her eyes with the back of her hand. Whoever stood by the buzzer had more determination than she did. “Who is it?” she called out.

“Mike.”

Her stomach flipped, but she grabbed for the doorknob before she could change her mind. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

“And we would if you’d answer your telephone.” He grinned. “May I?” He gestured inside and, without waiting for an answer, slid past her into the apartment.

“Pushy,” she muttered.

“So I’ve been told,” he called over his shoulder.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” Despite her late-night resolution to steer clear of Peter’s brother, she couldn’t deny she was glad to see him. She shut the door, turned and followed him inside.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked.

He stood by the window overlooking the small park. Wearing ragged denim shorts and a black T- shirt, his impact was as potent as ever.

“I thought we should talk.” He crossed his muscular forearms over his chest.

Idly she wondered if he worked out and where. She’d love to watch him develop those biceps. She licked her suddenly dry lips. The Carly Wexler she knew never had such wayward thoughts about men.

He pushed himself off the wall and took two steps toward her. The sexy swagger and casual air that were so much a part of him never ceased to amaze her. Neither did the fact that he was related to Peter. And that was the thought that sobered her.

“Talk about what?” she asked warily.

“What happened last night.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Nothing happened.”