To adopt a child, best friends conveniently tie the knot. But will they inconveniently fall in love? Since they were young, tech mogul Max Marquez and socialite Lizzie McQueen have always agreed on one thing: they’re just friends! But fate has thrown them a curveball in the form of a lovable orphan who needs a good home. To adopt the little boy, they must marry. And to marry, they must face the unthinkable: sharing a bedroom! Will they discover that their friendship is a facade for a deeper attraction, long denied, causing their arrangement to spin right off its axis? Paper Wedding, Best-Friend Bride is part of the Billionaire Brothers Club series. “We’re going to be awesome parents.” “The best,” he agreed. “And don’t worry about the wedding expenses. I’m going to pay for everything.” “You don’t have to do that.” “I want to.” He touched her cheek, then lifted his hand away. “But what am I going to do during the part of the ceremony where I’m supposed to kiss my bride?” She wet her lips, a bit too quickly. “You’ll have to kiss her, I guess.” “She’s going to have to kiss me back, too.” Her pulse fluttered at her neck, as soft as a butterfly, as sexy as a summer breeze. “Yes, she will.” As they both fell silent, she glanced away, trapped in feelings she couldn’t seem to control. She didn’t want to imagine what the wedding kiss was going to be like. Still, she wondered how it would unfold. Would he whisper something soft and soothing before he leaned into her? Would their mouths be slightly open, their eyes completely closed? Would she sigh and melt against him, like a princess being awakened by the wrong prince? Just thinking about it felt forbidden. * * * Paper Wedding, Best-Friend Bride is part of the Billionaire Brothers Club series— Three foster brothers grow up, get rich…and find the perfect woman. Paper Wedding, Best-Friend Bride Sheri WhiteFeather SHERI WHITEFEATHER is an award-winning, bestselling author. She writes a variety of romance novels for Mills & Boon and is known for incorporating Native American elements into her stories. She has two grown children, who are tribally enrolled members of the Muscogee Creek Nation. She lives in California and enjoys shopping in vintage stores and visiting art galleries and museums. Sheri loves to hear from her readers at www.sheriwhitefeather.com. Contents Lizzie McQueen emerged from a graceful dip in Max Marquez’s black-bottom pool, water glistening on her bikini-clad body. Reminiscent of a slow-motion scene depicted in a movie, she stepped onto the pavement and reached for a towel, and he watched every long-legged move she made. While she dried herself off, he swigged his root beer and pretended that he wasn’t checking out her perfectly formed cleavage or gold pierced navel or— “Come on, Max, quit giving me the look.” Caught in the act, he dribbled the stupid drink down his chin. She shook her head and tossed him her towel. He cursed beneath his breath and wiped his face. The look was code for when either of them ogled the other in an inappropriate manner. They’d agreed quite a while ago that sex, or anything that could possibly lead to it, was off the table. They cared too much about each other to ruin their friendship with a few deliciously hot romps in the sack. Even now, at thirty years old, they held a platonic promise between them. She smoothed back her fiery red hair, placed a big, floppy hat on her head and stretched out on the chaise next to him. Max lived in a 1930s Beachwood Canyon mansion, and Lizzie resided in an ultra-modern condo. She spent more time at his place than he did at hers because he preferred it that way. His Los Angeles lair was bigger, badder and much more private. He returned the towel, only now it had his soda stain on it. She rolled her eyes, and they shared a companionable grin. He handed her a bottle of sunscreen. “You better reapply this.” She sighed. “Me and my sensitive skin.” He liked her ivory complexion. But he’d seen her get some nasty sunburns, too. He didn’t envy her that. She slathered on the lotion, and he considered how they’d met during their senior year in high school. They were being paired up on a chemistry project, and, even then, she’d struck him as a debutant-type girl. Later he’d learned that she was originally from Savannah, Georgia, with ties to old money. In that regard, his assessment of her had been correct, 
