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disc jockeys who was also the friend and future bridesmaid of Angie Workman. Her name was Elinor Sweet.
    Jonathan said, “What color dress you wear is between you and Angie. I couldn’t care less.”
    “But you could intervene. I mean, orange? Me, in orange?”
    Elinor had honey-toned skin, which would probably look great in anything.
    Jonathan looked over at Graham and said, “Graham, please explain to Elinor why it would be a mistake for me to try to choose the color of the bridesmaids’ dresses.”
    Mary Anne watched Graham Corbett and Cameron join the group.
    Cameron said, “I’m sure Angie would want to know how you feel about wearing orange, Elinor. If it were my wedding, I would want to know.”
    Mary Anne met Cameron’s eyes briefly and knew her cousin was dying to add, And you wouldn’t be in it.
    Graham said, “I think etiquette dictates that the bride’s wishes carry the day.”
    “But who wants a wedding color that will look bad on bridesmaids?” Mary Anne asked. “Tell Angie how you feel, Elinor. Though I’m sure anything would look great on you.”
    “But the question is,” Jonathan said, “if I should step in. Obviously, I shouldn’t.”
    “Obviously,” Graham echoed.
    Mary Anne wanted to scream that obviously the bride should choose colors and clothes that would look good on her friends, and whoever heard of bridesmaids dressed in orange? She asked Graham, “What makes you the expert on weddings?”
    “He’s the WLGN relationship expert,” Jonathan said.
    Mary Anne rolled her eyes. “A man. ”
    “What’s wrong with men?” Graham asked.
    “It’s just a bit one-sided. That’s all.”
    Jonathan’s eyes lit up, as if what she’d said had struck home with him. “That gives me an idea…” He glanced at his nearly empty glass.
    Mary Anne was vigilant.
    As he took the last sip, she drained half of her own glass in one long gulp and lifted Jonathan’s glass airily from his hand. “Another for you, groom-to-be?”
    Distracted, he glanced at her. “Oh. Thank you, Mary Anne. When you come back—”
    But she was already walking away, leaving the crowd behind.
    This was the moment. She carried both glasses to the refreshment table, which was unattended. She found the cabernet and carefully poured another glass, holding the uncapped vial of potion against her palm, and letting it run into his glass with the wine.
    It couldn’t work, but what the hell?
    Frowning slightly, she spotted Angie again. Far from spending every moment on her fiancé’s arm, Angie was speaking intently to Max Harold, the Embassy Building’s custodian. Max used to work in the mines and could talk for hours. Mary Anne had to admit the old man was interesting, but clearly Angie was a good listener.
    There was, Mary Anne told herself, nothing wrong with what she planned to do. All was fair in love and war.
    She poured herself another glass of merlot and took a sip to steady her nerves.
    “Ah, thank you, Mary Anne.”
    A masculine hand took Jonathan’s glass from her hand.
    Mary Anne did not release it. “No, that’s for—” She could not let the glass go.
    Appalled, she felt the stem break, the base coming off in her hand.
    Graham Corbett looked in astonishment from the piece she held to the glass he held.
    She reached for his part of the glass just as he lifted it to his lips and drank deeply.
    Mary Anne could not breathe. Her mouth was open, she was half-panting, her hand still reaching, reaching…
    “Excellent,” Graham said and gazed at her thoughtfully.
    She wanted to swear.
    But she couldn’t even breathe. Everything was swimming. Her head was swimming. And the glass was empty.

CHAPTER THREE

    M ARY A NNE STUMBLED into Graham, and he caught her.
    She smelled earthy, sexy and natural. He studied the scattering of freckles across her nose, the paintbrush lashes, the full lips.
    “Are you all right?” he asked.
    Mary Anne sank onto a folding chair near the table. “Yes. Yes.”
    “What