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Sex, Not Love

By:Vi Keeland

Sex, Not Love - Vi Keeland

Chapter 1


“Do you think there’s any correlation between intelligence and being good in bed?” I inhaled from the tiny remnant of rolled-up paper and held it in my lungs as I passed the joint to my best friend. At least this round I didn’t choke and cough for five minutes. Neither of us had smoked pot in ten years, not since high school. It seemed fitting to mark the official end of our childhood by lighting up what Anna had confiscated from her sixteen-year-old brother yesterday.

“I’m about to marry a man who creates robots that can learn how to think. Of course I’m going to say smart guys are better in bed. I mean, Derek can solve a Rubik’s Cube in less than thirty seconds. A vagina is a lot less complicated.”

“His friend Adam’s sweet. But he spent the last hour talking to me about some algorithm he’s building for an artificial intelligence robot named Lindsey. My only contribution to the conversation was alternating between wow and that’s fascinating. Can you tell Derek he needs to find stupider friends?”

Anna inhaled and spoke while trying not to exhale, causing her voice to rise two octaves. “He went to MIT and works at a tech firm—not much of a pool of stupid people to pick from.” She bumped her shoulder with mine. “That’s why I need you to move out here. I can’t handle being surrounded by smart people all the time.”

“Very nice.” I sighed. “At least Adam is sort of cute.”

“So, I take it you’ll be breaking your dry spell tonight?”

“Maybe tomorrow night after the wedding.” I smirked. “If he’s lucky. I’m still on New York time. Tonight I’ll be ready to go to bed alone by the time they serve dessert.”

The bride-to-be and I were hiding from the rest of the rehearsal dinner guests behind an ivy-covered lattice arch in the courtyard of the restaurant. A deep, throaty voice scared the heck out of me, and I almost knocked the damn thing over.

“He’d be the lucky one, huh? Do you look as good from the front as you do the back, or are you just full of yourself?”

“Who the hell…?” I turned to find a man walking toward us in the dark. “Why don’t you mind your own damn business?”

The guy took a few more strides and stepped into the overhead spotlight Anna and I had attempted to avoid. My eyes nearly bulged from my head. He was gorgeous. Tall, damn tall—I was five foot four and had on five-inch heels and still had to crane my neck to look up at him. He had dark, sexy hair that looked like it could use a haircut but totally worked for him. Tanned skin, carved square jaw, a five o’clock shadow that probably grew back in two hours from all the testosterone this guy exuded. His eyes were a light blue that popped out from his dark complexion, and tiny crow’s feet flawed the skin around his eyes in a way that made me think he smiled often. And that smile. It wasn’t really a full smile—more of a crooked, cat-that-swallowed-the-canary smirk.

The entire package of man was a lot to take in at once. But while I stood there speechless, Anna threw her arms around his neck.

I hoped she knew him and wasn’t just more wasted than I thought.

“Hunter! You made it.”


“Of course I did. I wouldn’t miss my best buddy tying the knot with his girl. Sorry I’m so late. I was up in Sacramento on business and had to rent a car and drive back when they canceled my flight this afternoon.”

The gorgeous eavesdropper turned his attention to me. Starting at my feet, he did a slow, incredibly rude, yet seductive sweep over my body. My nipples hardened while I watched his afternoon-blue-sky eyes darken to hazy sunset as they traveled all over me.

When he was done, our gazes met. “Yep, you do.”


Reading the confused look on my face, Hunter clued me in. “You look as good from the front as you do from the back. You’re right. Whoever you’re planning on sleeping with is damn lucky.”

My mouth hung open. I couldn’t believe the nerve of this guy…yet my skin was beginning to tingle.

“Adam,” Anna offered. “He’s her partner in the wedding. She’s going to sleep with Adam tomorrow night.”

Hunter extended his hand to me with a nod. “Hunter Delucia. Got a name, beautiful? Or should I just call you the Adam-fucker?”

For some inexplicable reason, I knew in the pit of my stomach that putting my hand in his was a bad idea. My body and his should never touch, not even once. Yet I did it anyway.

“Nat Rossi,” I said, giving him my hand.

“Nat? Is that short for something?”

“Natalia. But no one calls me that.”