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Instead, he’s confident, practically cocky as he runs his finger under the waistband and gives it a pop. “These are way too small for me, cupcake.”

I shake my head while staring at his package that fills out every inch of the black fabric. It’s all on display, a long, unmistakable curve pressing against the fabric.

He’s huge, and he’s not even turned on.

“They’re perfect,” I remark.

Boy, would I like to see him wearing them when he’s fully aroused. Now that is enough to make me giggle because I have no doubt that python would be slipping out one of the sides or the top.

Monty’s packing a python.

Another giggle escapes me, causing me to slap my hand over my mouth. “If I had known about your…size, I would’ve got a larger pair.”

I finally manage to lift my eyes from his junk to take in his sculpted abs and pecs that I only got a glimpse of yesterday during our massage, then his broad shoulders. Who knew he had a swimmer’s build underneath the suits? Or that he would be so smooth? So perfect everywhere.

I cover my mouth when another giggle nearly bursts free.

“If you’re done laughing, we should probably put on some sunscreen.”

“I wasn’t…I’ll go find some and grab our sunglasses,” I say because I need a moment to process the eyeful I just got.

My plan is backfiring.

I wanted to make Monty see what he was missing. Now I know what I’ve missed out on and I hate it.

Not only is he a sweet, kind boss, but every inch of him is also gorgeous.

But he’s not meant to be mine.

Two years have gone by.

More than seven hundred days, most of which we’ve spent together, and he never once touched me or tried to kiss me again.

Just one more night to go and we’ll be back at the office, back to being nothing but professional toward each other.

When I return to the living room, the photographer is already knocking on the door, so we quickly lotion up. I grab my big white sunhat to hide the knot on my head then we’re off.

It turns out that the photographer is a man, and I feel vindicated when he stares at me and gets tongue-tied.

“Let’s, ah, get a few, um, shots of you standing in front of the ocean right there,” he suggests. “Both of you can...”

“Both of us would be best, since these are our engagement photos,” Monty mutters.

Oh, I love jealous Monty hyping up our fake engagement.

We get into position with the ocean waves crashing behind us, the perfect backdrop of the blue sky with a few puffy clouds.

We stare at each other a moment through our sunglasses before Monty lifts his arm for me to come closer to him. I slip my arm around his waist then face the photographer.

“Great. Now look at each other again,” the photographer, Adam, directs us. “Good. How about you pick her up?”

“Pick her up?” Monty repeats while looking at him incredulously.

“Yeah, like you’re going to throw her in the water or carry her over the threshold after the wedding.”

“Right,” he grits out.

“Are you sure you can lift me?” I ask in concern.