Stripped Down (2 page)

She slipped her arm through his. “Such a gentleman.”

Cres, Wyn’s youngest brother, snorted. “Gentleman, my ass. He’s been pullin’ one over on you, Mel. My big brother is the biggest manwhore in three counties.”

Little did his baby brother know that Wyn had been damn near a monk the past eight months, but he didn’t bother to try and mask his playboy reputation. “Actually, I prefer the term man-slut,” Wyn replied. “Manwhore implies that I take money for something I do very well. For free.”

Melissa laughed. “You and I must be slutting around in different counties, Wynton Grant, because I don’t have your name in my little black book of bad boys.” She paused. “Yet.”

They stared at one another with identical “bring it” challenges in their eyes.

And that’s when he knew, without a doubt, his sexual dry spell was about to end.

“Oh for the love of God. You two have been eye-fucking each other all day. Just sneak into a horse stall and get it over with already,” Stirling, London’s sister, and the other bridesmaid, complained.

Cres’s annoyed gaze flicked between the best man and the maid of honor. “Take Stirling’s advice. And don’t even think about givin’ one another head beneath the head table. Tonight ain’t about your uncontrollable urges.” He paused. “Got it, Super Man-Slut and his new sidekick, Slut-Girl?”

Wyn struck a superhero pose and Melissa snickered.

After heaving a disgusted snort, Cres muttered to Stirling and they started the trek to the reception hall.

“I do believe I’m offended,” Melissa drawled. “My sidekick name should’ve been
Amazing
Slut-Girl at the very least.”

He laughed. “Come on, Melissa. Let’s see what kinda dirty, dastardly deeds we can get away with.”

“Deal. But call me Mel.”

“Mel? Nope. Sorry. No can do.”

“Why not?”

“Mel is the name of a line cook. Saying, ‘Suck harder, Mel,’ or ‘Bend over, Mel,’ brings totally different images to my mind than ‘I’m gonna fuck you through the wall, Melissa.’”

“I see where you’re coming from, cowboy.” She paused outside the sliding wooden doors that led to the lodge. “But that just means I’ll be calling you Wynton—even when you’re not making me come so hard that I scream your name.”

“Darlin’, you can call me anything you like as long as I get to bang the hell outta you tonight.”

“Oh, there will be banging. But I’m gonna make you work for it to see how bad you really want it.” Her eyes danced with a devilish glint that tightened his balls.

“That ain’t gonna scare me off.” Wyn let his gaze move over her, taking in every feature. From her cinnamon-colored ringlet curls to the broad angles of her forehead and cheekbones. From her bee-stung lips to the pointed tip of her chin. Then down her neck, noting the smattering of freckles across her chest and the plump breasts. Moving down her torso, imagining softness and curves beneath the long, emerald green dress. He took his time on his visual return, mentally shoving her dress up to her hips, pinning her against the wall, feasting on her skin from neck to nipples as he drove into her over and over. Finally his eyes met hers. “I love a challenge.”

Inside the lodge, it was obvious London’s parents had gone all out for their oldest daughter’s wedding. The ceremony itself had taken place in a meadow on the Gradsky’s land. One of the few places—according to London—that wasn’t a horse pasture. Even the weather, always iffy in October, had cooperated, filtering autumn sunshine across the meadow grasses, creating a dozen shades of gold against the backdrop of a clear, vivid blue sky. After the simple ceremony, the newlyweds had hopped into a horse-drawn carriage. The wedding guests were loaded onto flatbed trucks—a fancier, classier version of a hayride—and returned to the lodge for the receiving line and reception.

“Isn’t this magical?” Melissa said with a sigh. “It fits London and Sutton so perfectly.”

“That it does,” he murmured. Strands of lights were hanging from the rough-hewn log rafters and twisted around the support poles. Centered on each table was a lantern bookended by mason jars filled with flowers in earth tones ranging from gold to russet. Shimmery white tablecloths were tied at the edges with coarse twine—a mix of elegant and rustic.

He glanced at the far corner of the enormous room and saw a band setting up behind a large dance floor. A makeshift bar had been erected in the opposite corner, coolers stacked on top of hay bales and bottles spread across a wooden plank. Long buffet tables stretched along the wall. Beneath those serving dishes was beef raised on the Grant family ranch. Wyn had checked out the slow-cooked prime rib prior to leaving for the ceremony. Between family, friends, and Sutton’s rodeo buddies, as well as the Gradsky’s big guest list, he suspected there wouldn’t be many leftovers.

“Whatcha thinking about so hard?” Melissa asked.

“Food. I’m starved.”

“Me too. I hope the photographer doesn’t keep the newlyweds forever. At least being in the bridal party, we get to eat first.”

Cres and Stirling were standing in front of the head table with guests crowding around them.

“Looks like our receiving line duties ain’t quite over yet.”

Wyn steered Melissa to the other side of Cres so any well-wishers would have to talk to them first—even after the bride and groom slipped in.

It turned out that these few stragglers had skipped the receiving line and were looking for a private word with the newlyweds. Wyn kept his smile in place as he repeatedly told the guests that the bride and groom were finishing up with pictures. He had no patience with people who didn’t listen to the announcements or thought they were above the rules.

“I hear you growling between guests,” Melissa whispered.

“I don’t like the unspoken sense of entitlement. Every one of these people should’ve just waited in the damn receiving line like everyone else.”

“Agreed. I’m glad Sutton and London aren’t being bombarded with this. They deserve a little time alone, away from the maddening crowd.”

 Melissa’s smile tightened when the last couple approached them.

Breck Christianson whistled. “Mel, you’re lookin’ fine. Damn girl. I thought maybe you’d turned into one of those binge and purge kinda chicks at the beginning of the rodeo season. Skinny as a wild dog. Then here you are. Back to all those plump curves.”

Wyn didn’t bother to bank his annoyance with this blowhard. He’d never liked Sutton’s rodeo buddy and he liked him even less after that bout of verbal diarrhea. “I don’t know if you’re already drunk or what, but sayin’ that bullshit to her ain’t gonna fly with me.”

Breck’s eyes narrowed. “Who the hell are you to tell me what I can and can’t say to an old friend?”

“I’m a man who won’t put up with your disrespect because from what I hear, you do this all the time. So it ain’t happening at my brother’s wedding.”

“Jesus, Mel, are you dating this guy?” Breck asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Wyn said coolly. “What does matter is telling Melissa you’re sorry for bein’ a loudmouth.”

“Or what?” Breck challenged. “You gonna pound on me, tractor jockey? I throw down steers bigger than you every damn day.”

“Breck,” Cres said sharply. “You’re bein’ a jackass. Knock it off and move on.”

Breck leveled Cres with a dark look, but Cres didn’t back down. Then Breck dropped his arm over his date’s shoulder. The miniature-sized bleached blonde barely reached the center of Breck’s chest.

Her sneering gaze rolled over Melissa and Wyn from head to toe. “They’re not worth your time, Brecky.”

Melissa held in her reply until the obnoxious couple drifted away. “How the mighty have fallen. It looks like
Brecky
had to buy a bargain basement escort to the wedding. The idiot has lost a lot of friends in the past year.” She stood on tiptoe. “Thank you for calling him out on his lack of tact.” She brushed her mouth over his ear, sending a shiver down the left side of his body. “But you didn’t have to do that to impress me, because Wynton, I am a sure thing tonight.”

Wyn nudged her chin with his shoulder, forcing her to look at him. “I did it because he was outta line. Had nothin’ to do with how crazy I am to taste the freckles on the back of your neck as I’m driving into you from behind.”

Desire turned her light-brown eyes almost black. “Gonna be hot as a brushfire between us, Super Man-Slut.”

“For right now we’ll have to settle for a slow burn, Amazing Slut-Girl. Shall we take our seats?”

* * * *

The bride and groom finally made an appearance half an hour later.

Evidently Sutton was starving because he pushed back speeches, reception games, and dancing until after everyone had eaten.

Then Wyn was so busy shoving food in his mouth and seeing to his best man duties that he didn’t have a chance to talk to Melissa privately until over an hour later.

He grabbed a beer and sat beside her. “Hey. Did you get enough to eat?”

“Too much. The food was great.” She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. “When you disappeared for so long I thought maybe there was an emergency that only Super Man-Slut could handle.”

“And not invite my trusty new sidekick, the Amazing Slut-Girl? Not likely.” He sipped his beer. “Why? Did you miss me?”

“Yes. We had a very...promising conversation going and then the Injustice League split us up.”

He laughed. “I don’t know what the hell Cres’s problem was.” Wyn and Melissa had taken the two chairs on the other side of the groom’s seat at the head table. But Cres and Stirling insisted the setup was groomsmen next to the groom and bridesmaids sat on the bride’s side. So it
had
seemed like they were purposely being separated. “Anyway, great toast.”

“Yours was good too.”

“Glad it’s over. I ain’t much on public speaking.” He set his forearms on the table. “And while you were talkin’, I noticed you have a hint of a drawl. Where are you from? Texas?”

“As if. I’m from the great state of Kentucky.”

“That didn’t sound real sincere.”

“I used to be all
Rah! Rah! Go Wildcats
! But I grew up, moved away, and haven’t been back to the Bluegrass State for more than the occasional weekend since I graduated from college.”

“A Kentucky college girl. So what’s your degree in?”

“American literature with an emphasis on twentieth century authors.”

“Huh.” Had she noticed his eyes glaze over? “So uh, what do you do with that degree?”

“Exactly.”

Wyn blinked.

“I would’ve liked to teach—I still would—but earning a degree was secondary to why I attended UK.”

“And why’s that?”

“I went to school there to be part of their equestrian team. Train with the best, win a team collegiate championship, compete individually, and qualify for world finals with the end goal of competing in the Olympics.” She sipped her drink. “Bored yet?”

“Are you kiddin’? Lord, woman, you’re a Kentucky blueblood from a horse training dynasty or something, aren’t you?”

“I was, now I’m not. Now I...” She shook her head as if to clear it. “This year, I’ve been teaching at Grade A Farms. Chuck and Berlin Gradsky have...shall we say, affluent clientele who prefer their children train in the English style rather than western.”

“Well, Kentucky, I’ll bet your horse cost more than my house.”

“But you own your house. I never owned my horse. My parents’ corporation did. And when I was competing I leased my horse from Gradskys.”

“You’re not competing anymore?” He didn’t remember what her rodeo specialty was. Since she’d gotten the horse from Gradskys, he’d put money on her being a barrel racer.

“How did I end up blathering on? It’s your turn.” Melissa stared at him expectantly.

Wyn shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortable with her for the first time since they’d met.

“Don’t.” She squeezed his knee beneath the table. “This is why I don’t tell people about where I came from. I’d rather they see me as a rodeo road dog who gives it the almighty try year after year but never
quite
makes it to that top tier.”

“That’s intentional, isn’t it? Not competing on the highest level?”

“I had enough of that. Now I drift from town to town and occasionally toss out a Sylvia Plath quote or a passage from William Faulkner to keep people guessing about me.” She squeezed his knee again. “You were about to spill all of your secrets to me, Mr. Grant.”

“That’s one thing I don’t have are secrets. I grew up a rancher’s kid and never wanted to do anything else. When it became obvious that Sutton was better than average with his rodeo skills, I knew he wouldn’t want to ranch full time, so I stepped up and learned everything I could. Figured it’d be up to me’n Cres to keep the ranch goin’. My folks did insist on shipping me off to vocational school for three years.”

“What’s your degree in?”

“Associate degrees in engine repair and veterinary science.” He sipped his beer and smirked at her. “Granted, it’s no Elizabethan poetry degree, but it’s helpful around the ranch knowin’ how to doctor up machines and animals.”

“Elizabethan poetry? Nice shot, grease monkey.”

He laughed. Damn he loved her sense of humor. “You had that comin’, Kentucky.”

Her eyes turned serious. “Why is this so easy with you?”

“Because we’re both easy?” he offered. “It’s easier knowin’ how things are gonna end between us tonight.”

“You two look awful cozy over here,” a cooing female voice broke the moment.

Wyn looked up at Violet McGinnis. Then he leaned back and draped his arm across the back of Melissa’s chair. “Hey, Violet.” After spending one night in Violet’s bed, she decided they were destined for each other. Not because the sex was off the charts explosive. Not because she was crazy about him and wanted to spend the rest of her days with him. Her sudden interest happened after she’d turned thirty and decided to settle down. He’d never been interested in that with her, or any other woman, and hadn’t hidden that fact from anyone. But she hadn’t taken the hint. Evidently it was time to broaden that hint.

“We are very cozy,” Melissa said, pouring on a thick drawl. “In fact, we may not move from this spot all night, it’s Super”—she caught herself and amended—“that me and my best man are hanging.”