The minister said something about the importance of family, and Holly craned her neck and met her brother’s gaze.
Griffin flashed her a heart-stopping smile.
The smile got to Kate like nothing else. And she knew right then and there. She was in deep trouble.
The I-do’s came, and then the kiss-the-bride part, which Adam appeared to take very seriously given the length of the time it took him to kiss Holly. No one could say that Adam wasn’t extremely thorough.
Then the new bride and groom walked back down the aisle, followed by matched sets of bridesmaids and groomsmen. Griffin crooked his elbow and Kate slipped her arm through. He was the hardened soldier again, cool-headed, gorgeous with the strong angle of his jaw, the perfect contours of his cheekbones, the badass testosterone leaking from his every pore, and he represented something she’d never been able to give herself—fun.
The truth was, he flat out stole her breath. He always had, from the first time she’d seen him.
He met her gaze then, and she had to steel her resolve against the unwelcome wave of emotion that welled up inside her. His hand was on hers, and he smelled so fricking amazing, she ached. She ached from head to toe for him.
How stupid was that? She wanted him. Not for comfort or security. Those things were an illusion. She wanted him just for her. She didn’t have a chance with him, and yet that didn’t seem to matter to her heart. Just once, she thought with yearning.
Okay, maybe twice.
Three times tops.
Ten
The reception started off boisterous and happy, and escalated from there. Kate moved through the room, chatting, helping make sure everything ran smoothly, all while making her plan. How hard could it be to convince a red-blooded male in his sexual prime that one night together was a great idea?
She was smart, she reminded herself. She could do this. Maybe she didn’t have a lot of experience, but she had great recall, so she mentally accessed every Cosmo article on flirting she’d ever read. And the next time she caught sight of Griffin in his tux, she made subtle—or what she hoped was subtle—eye contact, and making sure her arms were uncrossed, she smiled.
“What are you doing?” Ryan asked, coming up to her side, handing her a flute of champagne.
“What do you mean?”
“You look like you’re having a seizure.”
She sighed. “I’m trying to flirt.”
“That was flirting?”
“Studies say that a woman can increase the likelihood of a man approaching her if she uncrosses her arms, makes subtle eye contact, and smiles,” she said.
“Studies? What studies?”
“Cosmo.”
Ryan laughed and looked across the room to see whom she was flirting with. “Mr. Houghton? Your sixty-five-year-old neighbor?”
“No!” She drank down her champagne. “Forget it. What happened to your bridesmaid? You get shut down?”
“Yeah.” He stepped closer. “That dress is the exact color of your eyes, did you know that?”
Yes, she knew. It was a happy coincidence, as was the fact that the cut flattered her body. It could have gone either way. She had a closet full of bridesmaid dresses that had gone the wrong way, in fact. And then she realized she wasn’t the only one flirting. Ryan was, too, with her. “Hey, you threatened to kill me if I made you be my date tonight,” she reminded him. “So you can just take all those bottled-up sexy pheromones and go wave them at some other hot bridesmaid. You lost your chance with this.” She waved at herself. “This is for someone else.”
Ryan leaned in close enough to murmur in her ear, giving her a little nuzzle first. Which, damn him, he knew was her hot spot. “We could have breakup sex,” he whispered hotly.
She slid him a look. “Breakup sex?”
“Yeah.” He flashed his winning smile. “The kind of sex you have when you’re broken up. To get over each other.”
“We were over each other before we were under each other.”
He sighed. “This isn’t going to happen, is it?”
“Let me spell it out for you,” she said. And then she made the same finger across the throat gesture he’d given her the other day.
He sighed again. “You’re a little mean when you hold a grudge.”
Kate turned and was handed a second flute of champagne by Mr. Nevins, her postal carrier. Mr. Nevins was six foot six and about 140 pounds when soaking wet. A pipe cleaner with eyes. And though he’d been delivering her mail for as long as she could remember, she still didn’t know his first name.
“Heard you’re looking for a hot date,” he said.
Kate slid her gaze to just behind Mr. Nevins. Miranda was watching her. Eyes aglow, she waved at Kate. Kate tossed back her second champagne. “I’m sorry, but I’m not on the market.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “You’d give me a crimp in my neck anyway.”
She was then propositioned by Mr. Houghton, who gave her yet another drink and said it looked like maybe she’d been flirting with him earlier.
Kate turned him down gently, but she did accept the drink.
And just like that, the evening got pleasantly blurry. The DJ called the wedding party to the dance floor, and somehow she found herself bumping up against Mr. Tall, Dark, and Annoyingly Gorgeous himself.
“Hey,” Griffin said, pulling her into him when she crashed into someone behind her and nearly went down. “You drunk again?”
“Okay,” she said, very carefully pointing a finger in his face. “First of all, I wasn’t drunk last night. Or the night before.” She paused. “But I might be on my way now—entirely by accident, mind you. People keep asking me out, and turning them down requires alcohol.”
“Remove your finger from my face.”
Instead she waggled it. “Or . . . ?”
He nipped at the tip, and she yelped. Before she could pull it back, he sucked that same tip into his mouth. And just like that, her legs wobbled again. “Damn,” she said.
“Tell me about these guys who are asking you out and plying you with alcohol.”
She shrugged. “I have options is all.”
His eyes narrowed. “Who?”
“Mr. Houghton.”
Griffin relaxed. “Houghton’s got high blood pressure and some heart problems. You’d probably kill him. Who else?”
“I’m dancing. I can’t do two things at once.”
“It’s not like we’re trying to samba,” he said.
“Did you know that samba means rubbing your belly buttons together?”
“Then by all means,” he said. “Let’s samba.”
“Too late. And BTdubs,” she said, poking him in the chest with her finger again. “Lots of people who aren’t senior citizens find me hot.”
“Everyone finds you hot,” he said.
This stopped her temper in its tracks, and she blinked up at him. “Yeah?”
“Hell yeah.” He made a sound that might have been a low laugh or some sort of pained groan and pulled her in tighter, resting his cheek on the top of her head.
This was when she realized that they were slow dancing, that he had one big hand at the small of her back, the other wrapped warmly in hers, pressed against his chest.
“Do you?” she whispered. “Find me hot?”
He opened his eyes and met hers. “So hot I’m already burned,” he said.
She grinned. “It’s the dress.”
He let out a low laugh. “I’m pretty sure it’s you.”
That was just about the nicest thing anyone had said to her lately, and she felt her throat go tight.
His smile faded. “What are you doing?”
It had been a long, emotional three days, she told herself, and swallowed hard. The knot in her throat remained. “Nothing,” she said.
“You’re not crying.”
“No.”
He looked vastly relieved at her denial, but then she sniffed. He swore, making her laugh and drop her forehead to his chest. “I’m not.” Much. “But I might wipe my nose on you.”
“Go for it,” he said. “The tux is Adam’s. Whatever you want. Anything.”
She went still at the possibilities before lifting her face to his. “Anything?”
He paused and then let out another low laugh. “You know, we could use you in the military. One look from those melting green eyes and conflicts would just fall away. Whole armies would line up to give you whatever you want. You’re dangerous as hell, you know that?”
She liked that. She liked that a lot. Stupid with lust—and champagne—she smiled, the threat of tears gone. “Did you know that sex is a great way to burn calories?”
He gave her a long look.
“It’s true. A real orgasm burns about one hundred and twelve calories.”
His brows went up. “A real orgasm? Is there any other kind?”
She bit her lip. “Well, there’s the fake kind.”
“Why would anyone want the fake kind?”
“Because the fake kind burns three hundred and fifteen calories,” she said.
At that, he tossed back his head and laughed.
She stared at him. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him laugh like that before, and it melted her all the more. The sight of his smile and genuine amusement . . . she couldn’t even put into words how that felt, especially since she’d been the one to make him laugh. He’d thawed. She’d thawed him. “Wow,” she murmured.
“What?”
“You don’t show what you’re feeling very often,” she said.
“Do you think that means I don’t feel?”
“I think it means that you’re pretty guarded and extremely careful.” Because she was afraid that sounded critical, she said, “I get that when you’re out there, working, it has to be that way to keep you safe. But you’re safe here, Griffin.”
His gaze touched her features, each one, ending with her eyes. “Am I?” he asked softly.
She opened her mouth, but her breath caught in her throat because suddenly he’d dipped his head close to hers. So close that their lips nearly touched, and she became extremely aware of how entwined they were and how much body heat they shared. “Griffin,” she whispered softly. Hopefully.
His gaze locked on her mouth, and she started to close the distance between them, feeling a slow, sexy dance coming on. But the music stopped.
And then Griffin pulled back. Squeezing her hand, he led her off the dance floor, dropping her off at the head table before walking away.
Watching him go, she let out a low, shaky breath. He was right. He wasn’t safe at all.
And neither was she.
Eleven
Yeah, Grif was definitely feeling plenty. Way too much, starting with a bad case of vertigo—compliments of his perforated eardrum. But today’s low-level headache wasn’t from the blast or the wedding. Nope, that honor went to the odd and opposing sensations of actually enjoying being back in Sunshine and his own inability to figure out how to come to good terms with his family. Specifically his dad.
Grif had been a rebellious, rambunctious, trouble-seeking little punk. He knew that. But he’d hoped to somehow upgrade his image while he was here. Had hoped to make things right. But he was unsure how to do that and even more unsure how to make peace with the man he’d so disappointed.
Leaving the sounds of the merry reception behind, he walked across the yard to the horse pens. Woodrow snickered softly in greeting and walked up to the railing, pushing his head to Grif’s chest. Not a loving nudge so much as a “where the hell are the treats?”
Before he could pull out the handful of baby carrots he’d shoved into his pockets from the buffet table, Woodrow was frisking him, snorting a little. With a low laugh, Grif helped the old guy out, stroking his face as he fed him the carrots. “Miss me?”
“Nah,” his dad said from behind him. “He’s just happy you brought food.”
Grif turned and met his gaze. “It’s a wedding, dad. You’re supposed to be happy, too.”
At the mention of the wedding, the old man softened enough to smile with pride. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Yes.” Holly had glowed with happiness, from the inside out. “You managed to raise her in spite of herself,” Grif said.
“Yeah,” Donald said. “We did.
“Well, I didn’t do it by myself,” his dad admitted at Grif’s surprise on the “we.” “You helped me keep her in line, you know you did. Hell, half the time I couldn’t manage to even say hello without pissing her off. So yeah. I’m happy. Very happy. And so is she. Are you?”
A loaded speech. A loaded question. The truth was, Griffin had expected to feel caged in by the wide-open spaces and the mountains, by the way everyone in his life had fallen in love and gotten married.
But he didn’t.
Instead he felt . . . maybe just the slightest bit envious. “I’m happy to be back,” he said carefully, and wouldn’t mind hearing the sentiment returned.
Donald turned to look out on the land and leaned on a post. “I thought the place would feel like Mars to you after all this time.”
“It’s not the land that drew me back.”
At that Donald turned his head. “You drink too much already?”
Grif blew out a breath. “Is it so hard to accept that I might not still be that angry kid that left here all those years ago?”
Donald just looked at him for a long beat. “You cleaned the barn.”