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By the time five o’clock rolled around, Kerry Dromoland had already had a long day, meeting with four current clients and a prospective client, as well. As a wedding planner, she was used to days like this—ones that started at five in the morning with no clear end in sight. But all day today, she’d been a little keyed up.

Rafe Sullivan and Brooke Jansen had asked her if one of Rafe’s siblings could meet with her today due to business commitments that, unfortunately, couldn’t be canceled. She’d assured them that it was perfectly fine. She often met with the sister of the bride or groom if they couldn’t be present, and had been expecting them to send his sister, Mia, to meet with her. In the end, though, they’d let her know that Rafe’s brother Adam would be meeting with her this afternoon.

Kerry hadn’t needed to pull out the Sullivan family photo they’d given her to remember what Adam looked like. She’d been able to visualize, all too well, just how good-looking he was—the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. His grin in the photo was super-sexy and so appealing she’d had to tear her gaze away before Rafe and Brooke caught her gaping like a fish at their brother.

All day long, whenever her heartbeat would kick up at the thought of him, she’d remind herself that she’d been around good-looking men like him zillions of times and had never had any trouble keeping her wits about her.

Only, now that he was standing in front of her, staring at her so intensely, she felt her knees actually go weak. Something that had never, ever happened before.

Something she’d been certain could never happen to her.

Then again, thankfully, Kerry had enough presence of mind to realize that she’d never seen a more beautiful or more sexual man live and in the flesh. One glance was all it took for her to know that he was everything most women fantasized about. Wild. Rugged. Sex personified.

But Kerry had never fantasized about men like Adam Sullivan. She’d never believed the romantic myth that reformed players made the best husbands. Not when both her mother and her sister had shown her just what a terrible, painful myth that was.

“Promise me you’ll wait for Mr. Perfect,” was what her mother, Aileen, had made Kerry vow again and again in the years after their father had left them alone, a mother and two small girls with no money and no prospects. Nothing but unpaid bills and desperation. Kerry had been too young to remember much about her father, but according to her mother, he’d been Seattle’s bad boy. One Aileen’s own mother had warned her to stay away from, but had been foolishly unable to resist.

What Kerry did remember was how hard her mother had worked to give her and her sister, Colleen, a great childhood in one of the best neighborhoods in Seattle. Her mother had taken back her maiden name of Dromoland and started Dromoland Weddings & Events twenty-five years ago with a laser-focused purpose: to build the best wedding-planning business in Seattle. But even back when she’d been scrambling for new clients, Kerry’s mother had refused to work with any couples who she didn’t believe were actually in love. She never wanted anyone to end up in a marriage like hers, where one had loved and the other had played. As a result, out of all the weddings her mother had planned during the twenty years she’d run the business, it was amazing just how few divorces there had been among her clients.

And yet, even though Kerry had never been the slightest bit tempted to break her vow to her mother, here she was fighting the urge to drool over the gorgeous player standing before her.

Especially when he smiled and said, “That’s me. Are you Kerry Dromoland?”

He said her surname perfectly—Drum-oh-land—as if he’d spent some time in Ireland, and also managed to infuse it with searing heat. It was, she had to admit, an impressive feat. Even to a woman like her, who refused to be impressed or to fall for his sexy game.

“Yes, I’m Kerry.” She forced herself to smile and move toward him with her hand outstretched. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

He quickly ate up the distance between them with his athletic stride. He clasped her hand in his at the same moment that he said, “Your eyes...” Had anyone ever looked at her so closely? “They’re not emerald. Not jade, either.” The longer he looked, holding on to her hand all the while, the drier her mouth became. “They’re so much prettier than either stone could ever be.”

More than one person had complimented her on her green eyes before, but never quite like that. She wouldn’t have called his words poetry. How could she when there was such an unabashed sexual undertone to them? But at the same time, she couldn’t dismiss the surprising eloquence of them. If only she could stop herself from blushing, her pale skin giving away the effect he was having on her.

Carefully drawing her hand back—she couldn’t allow herself to be rude to her client’s brother—she said, “Please join me in my office.”

As she led the way, with every step she took she could feel his dark eyes on her. She’d been taught by her mother at an early age how to look elegant in every situation. But despite the fact that she hadn’t intended her outfit to come across as sexy, she was suddenly extremely aware of the slightly translucent nature of her silk shirt, the way the waist dipped in to accentuate the flare of her hips, and the fact that the height of the heels she preferred wasn’t at all modest.

Her office was a large, bright room with a plush seating area, a glossy, round mahogany-topped table with three chairs, and her desk. It had never felt too small.