Red Lipstick Coalition

His body is as chiseled as Adonis. His lips are as sculpted as David. And his ego is the size of the Guggenheim. You know the type: wolfish smile and the gravity of a black hole-the kind of man who sucks all the air from the room the second he enters it. My cocky boss thinks this internship was wasted on me, and he doesn't hesitate to let me know. But he's wrong, and I'm going to prove it to him. If I can stay away from his devil lips, that is, lips that cut me down and kiss me in the same breath, leaving me certain he's on a mission to ruin my life… …and maybe my heart.

He plays the bass with expert fingers. He plays women with intoxicating charm. And he'll play me with the ease of a virtuoso. Who better to teach me to play than the master himself? I'm his model student, front row, pencil sharp. Pick-up lines? I've got them. Free drinks? By the dozen. Kissing? Let me grab my chapstick. But the most valuable lesson I've learned is that there's so much I don't know-like why his touch sets off a chain reaction straight to my nethers…or how I'm certain each kiss is the best I'll ever have…until the moment his lips take mine again. There's so much I don't know…like the fact that I'm only a bet. But we are what we are, and he's a player through and through.

Here I stand, clutching a bouquet of pale pink roses behind the doors of a Las Vegas chapel, and at the end of the aisle is the absolute last man I imagined would be waiting for me. Thomas Bane. Bestselling author. Notorious bad boy. Savagely handsome, dark as sin, chiseled as stone. And, somehow, my soon-to-be husband. Marry him, and I'll land my dream job. Save him, and I'll walk away with everything I've ever wanted. All I have to do is remember it's all for show. None of it is real, no matter how real it feels. But first, I have to survive the kiss. And with lips like his, I don't stand a chance.

I've always been able to separate feelings from chemosignals. A shot of dopamine, a dash of serotonin, and a sprinkle of oxytocin-and bam-you're in love. And when egg meets sperm, you're pregnant. I couldn't even be surprised as I stared down at the little blue plus sign-because I knew exactly when and how and with whom it happened. The upside? I don't have to go looking for a suitable mate. Genetically, he's the cream of the crop. His musculature is a study in symmetry and strength; his height, imposing and dominant. He is a man who thrives on control and command, a man who survives on intelligence and resourcefulness-a perfect male specimen. And the whole package is wrapped up in a flawlessly tailored suit. I'm having this baby, and he insists we're well-suited to have it together. And what's worse? He wants more, in the way of love and marriage. But love isn't real. It's just a product of chemistry. If he changes my mind about that, we're both in trouble.