Shifting, I straddle his lap. With a coy smile, I wrap my arms around his muscular shoulders. “Hello, Beau.” “Honey.” I can feel the conflict in his voice. That won’t do. “I know you don’t want to do this with me. I get that you don’t want to want me. Trust me, the feeling is mutual.” He grips my hips and looks down. “We’ll never work out.” “Not in a million years. But I’m not asking you to marry me. You heard the story yourself. I’m going to marry some rich asshole.” That admission is hard...