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nice.”
    She grunted. “Sure. If you’re good at playing twenty questions.”
    “And you’re not?”
    “I didn’t know what to say.”
    “I told you we should have picked a date.” But he said it teasingly so she would know he was kidding. Mostly. Maybe if he said it enough she would finally give in.
    She turned to face him, linking her arms around his neck and draping her legs over his lap with a sly grin. Now the devilment he had come to expect from her was back. He had a funny feeling he wasn’t going to like what was coming.
    Hannah studied his tanned, wind-burned face, trying to gauge his receptiveness to what she was going to say. His steel-gray eyes were wary. She knew her reluctance to set a date frustrated him, but he was moving too fast. Besides, he’d actually given her the perfect opportunity to drag her feet in the meantime. And it might even resolve some of her reservations about the ’til death do us part thing.
    She kissed his chin. “I read some of that magazine you gave me. I was going to palm it off on Elda, but I broke down and opened it. Some of the articles were interesting.”
    His brows lifted. “No kidding. That was my idea of a joke, Hannah. You’re about the last woman I can see poring over a girly bridal magazine.”
    She pouted theatrically. “You don’t think I’m girly?” She thrust out her boobs just for the fun of seeing his eyes glaze over.
    He dragged his gaze from her chest and cleared his throat. “Of course you’re girly. You’re soft and you smell good and you have all the fun girl parts . . .”
    “But?” She got such a kick out of teasing him. Especially when he was being a bit too serious.
    He shifted restlessly on the carpet, and then gripped her ankles firmly. “You know what I mean, brat. You don’t obsess about makeup and clothes and all that stuff.”
    “So you think I should fix myself up more.”
    He raised his face to the ceiling and audibly counted to ten. Then he slid his hands into her hair and dragged her close for a hot kiss. “I will not be provoked,” he said firmly. “Now tell me what you read.”
    She unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands over his chest. His abs were rock hard and he didn’t even go to a gym. She loved that about him. She traced the fine line of hair that descended toward his belt buckle and grinned inwardly when he caught his breath.
    Then she leaned into him, cuddling close, feeling the rise and fall of his rib cage as he breathed. “I came across an article that might help me feel better about actually setting a date. Something that’s really new and cutting-edge. Something all prospective brides and grooms should consider before even attempting marriage.”
    He was frozen now, clearly ready for whatever bombshell she was about to drop. And she fully expected him to pooh-pooh her idea. So she wasn’t really playing fair. Did she want him to say yes? Did she want to be persuaded?
    He sighed. “And this was in the magazine I gave you?”
    “Yep.”
    He dropped his head, beating his forehead gently against hers. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this? Go ahead. Tell me about this oh-so-very-important whatever it is.”
    She leaned backward, smiling widely. “Premarital sexual counseling.”

Three
    Morgan wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t this. Despite himself, he felt his face redden, and the incredulous note of defensiveness in his voice was beyond his control. "You think we have problems in the bedroom?” His poor dick wilted despite the fact that it had been raring to go just moments before.
    Hannah tapped his chin with a chiding finger. “Don’t be goofy. Of course not. But that’s the point.” Her eyes were wide, her expression earnest. “Lots of men and women get caught up in their hormones and confuse lust with love. Then after the ceremony with Aunt Ethel and the string quartet and the gold rings, he starts belching and drinking gin in his underwear and she turns out to be a