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.”
“You suggested I should.”
“Beside the fact that you’ve never done a damn thing I suggested, we have people who do that.”
“I told you,” Grif said. “I wanted to help.”
Donald stared at him then nodded. The biggest acknowledgement Grif was going to get.
“Donald?” a female voice called out across the yard. “Honey, where are you? I want to dance!”
They both turned at the sound of Deanna.
“Out here,” Grif’s dad called, his usual gruff voice softening, pleasure crossing his face at the sight of the beautiful, long-haired brunette working her way toward them on her stiletto heels. Deanna wore a skin-tight, siren red dress. Huge diamonds dripping from her ears and neck. She stepped into Donald and gave him a big smacking kiss, leaving a red smudge on his mouth that made him grin like an idiot. “Hey, Grif,” she said as she wrapped herself around his dad. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” he said, watching as his dad hugged Deanna into him.
“Good. Cuz I’m stealing your dad. We’re going to tear up the dance floor now.”
To Grif’s surprise, Donald just smiled down at Deanna and allowed himself to be led back to the reception.
Grif followed, the knot in his chest loosened slightly. He’d wanted to come back, and he had. He’d wanted to fit in, and he was trying.
But there was one big distraction. Actually, she was more like a five-foot-four tornado. A five-foot-four sexy-as-hell tornado, who was turning him on with every blush and odd science fact that slipped out of her lush mouth.
He watched that distraction over the next few hours. Mistake number one, because she charmed everyone in her orbit as she enjoyed herself no matter what she was doing, coaxing people onto the dance floor, bringing the older relatives food and drink, playing with the younger guests including her brother . . . Whatever she did, she did with her entire heart and soul.
As someone who hadn’t done all that much with his own heart and soul, it drew him in like a moth to the flame.
At midnight Adam and Holly left for their honeymoon among cheers, hugs, and kisses. The party raged on without them. Kate was on the dance floor with Ryan Stafford, the two of them in a conga line. When the music switched to the “Macarena,” they kept pace with each other effortlessly like this wasn’t their first rodeo.
Which didn’t mean Kate was a good dancer. In truth she was awful. But what she lacked in talent, she more than made up for in sheer enthusiasm. She was smiling, eyes flushed, cheeks rosy, her head tossed back, leaning into Ryan as she laughed helplessly at something he said.
She was more than a little tipsy, he realized. And her dancing partner was using the opportunity to be Mr. Handsy.
Grif knew Ryan. He was a good guy but also a serious player. And he was seriously playing Kate at the moment. Not that she seemed to mind. There was clearly still something between them. Sexual tension? Maybe. Whatever it was, it made Grif stop and take a closer look. Yeah, they knew each other well. Were they still sleeping together? He tried to tell himself it absolutely didn’t matter if Ryan took her home tonight. Grif had had his shot, and he hadn’t taken it. He had no claim on her.
But even as he said it to himself, his feet took him straight toward her. Halfway there he passed his dad talking to Kel. Grif caught the la
st of Kel’s words, “ . . . must be pretty proud of your son,” and Donald’s surprising response.
“Yes. I am.”
Grif nearly tripped over his feet. He’d never heard that from the old man before. He thought about stopping and asking his dad to repeat it but kept moving instead, heading straight across the dance floor.
The “Macarena” was in full swing by now. Dell and Brady were leading the whole thing with their wives, which took Grif aback a moment. Brady was just about as badass as they came, but there he was, tux jacket off, sleeves rolled up, moving with some pretty good rhythm. Grif made a promise to himself right then and there. He didn’t care if he got stupid with love. He was never going to do the “Macarena.”
Ever.
The DJ turned the lights down and encouraged people to let their “inner freak” fly. The dancers went nuts.
Griffin lost sight of Kate for a moment, so he waded onto the dance floor.
Where the hell did she go?
There. He saw a flash of shiny green in a corner, tangling with . . .
Sonofabitch.
It was the father of that little asshole from her class. Trevan Anders.
“Sorry,” Kate was saying breathlessly, pushing on Trevan’s chest. “I thought you were someone else.”
Grif knew exactly who she’d gone looking for in the dark.
Him.
He could only imagine what she’d done to get Trevan’s attention.
“It’s dark,” she said quietly, “And you’re both the same height. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to grab you like that—”
Trevan heard her. Griffin knew damn well that the guy heard her, and yet he kept her pinned in the corner. Griffin shoulder-checked him. He’d have liked to shoulder-check him into next week, but this was his best friend and sister’s wedding so he kept it light. Accidental.
It was enough to have Trevan shifting back from Kate, and when he saw Griffin standing right there, he backed off.
“Sorry,” Kate called after him as he melted away into the crowd. “Oh my God,” she muttered, and covered her face. “I grabbed a kid’s dad’s butt. I’m so going to be fired.”
“No, you’re not.” This from Ryan as he pushed in past Grif, in no way intimidated by Grif the way Trevan had been. “It’s a wedding. It’s like Vegas—what happens here, stays here.”
Kate looked at him hopefully. “You think?”
The music kicked up again, and Ryan pushed her out of the dark corner and to the center of the dance floor, where he leaned in and said something, making her laugh.
Grif watched for a moment, his eyes on Ryan’s hands as they slid to Kate’s waist. When he lifted his gaze to Ryan’s, he found the school principal staring at him as he said something to Kate.
Kate looked up then, too, and her mossy green gaze collided with Grif’s. She smiled at him. A big, goofy smile.
Yep. Definitely drunk. Dammit. He waded back through the dancers and stopped in front of her. Mistake number two. “Need to talk to you.”
“Okay.” But she kept dancing. Or bouncing. Or whatever the hell she thought she was doing. A server walked by, and she snagged a flute of champagne. She toasted him with it. “You’re not dancing.”
“Over there,” he said, gesturing to an empty table.
“Can’t dance over there.”
“We’re going to talk.”
She considered that while still moving. She looked at Ryan.
Ryan shook his head. “Bad move,” he said.
What the hell. Grif knew he was a damn bad idea, too, but to have Ryan say it just pissed him off. “How many drinks has she had?”
Ryan went brows up to Kate.
She held up four fingers.
Christ. He gave Ryan a long, hard look. “Don’t let her drink anymore.”
“Let her?” Ryan laughed. “You must be under the impression that Kate allows anyone to make her decisions for her.”
Kate grinned and shook her head. “Nope. I make my own decisions. Even the really bad ones.” She drilled her pointer finger into Grif’s chest. “Which you almost were . . .” She turned to face Ryan and slung her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad you got shot down by your cute bridesmaid,” she told him. “Now you can talk to me and share drinks with me and . . .” She waggled her brow. “Have all that breakup sex you wanted to have.”
Ryan had the good grace to look slightly ashamed of himself, but before he could speak, Grif pulled her back against him. Spine to his chest, she tipped her head back and stared up at him. “Sorry,” she said. “You had your shot. You turned me down, remember?”
“I remember,” he said. In truth she was absolutely the worst idea he’d ever had, and yet apparently, that wasn’t going to stop him. He pulled her snug to his side.
Ryan straightened as if to say something, and Grif gave him a don’t-fuck-with-me look. To Ryan’s credit this didn’t cow him in the least. He bent at the knees a little to look into Kate’s eyes. “Don’t forget, your dad took the car and your siblings home. I’m here if you need anything, babe.”
Kate smiled at him, a sweet, loving, warm smile. “You’re the best almost fiancé I ever had.”
“I’m your only almost fiancé,” Ryan said, and kissed her on the nose. Then he straightened, gave Grif a don’t-fuck-with-me look right back, and walked off the dance floor.
Kate glared at Grif. “You chased away my only shot for tonight. What’s with you anyway? You don’t want me, so what’s the problem with me finding someone else?”
“Christ, Kate, I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
“Well, who asked you?” She dropped some of her mad. “I need this, Griffin. I need fun. I need good, naked fun, just for one night.”
Yes, genius, Grif asked himself, what was the problem with her finding someone else to do that with? “Sometimes good is overrated,” he said.
“I know that,” she said. “I actually meant I want to be bad.”
He must have looked doubtful because she smacked him. “I can be bad,” she said, insulted. “Very, very bad. And you would have liked it, too.”
He had absolutely no doubt. “So who the hell were you looking for in the dark?”
She ignored this to study her shoes. Since they were starting to attract attention, he took her hand and pulled her off the dance floor. The tables were just as crowded, and his head was threatening to revolt again, so he led her around the side of the house and then into it, pulling her into the first room they came to.
A bathroom.
Mistake number three. He was really racking them up tonight. But the problem this time was the room was tiny, and he was all pressed up against Kate. Kate with her hair all carefully piled on top of her head except for the few silky strands that had escaped and were lying along the column of her neck. Kate with the expressive eyes and full mouth. Kate with the sweet curves that weren’t one hundred percent contained in the silky dress with the intriguing spaghetti straps crisscrossed over one shoulder and her back . . .
But she was half-baked, he reminded himself. No way was he going to be tempted by a half-baked bridesmaid.
Proving it, she slid down the wall until her butt was on the floor, and then she began the tricky process of getting out of her strappy heels. “God,” she said on a blissful sigh when she’d freed one foot. “Good God, that feels so good.” She lost the other heel, and then she reached up under the hem of her dress and began to wriggle and shimmy. Each move brought the hem of her dress higher. Up over her knee. Mid thigh.
Upper thigh . . .
He caught a flash of something lacy and sheer, and then he realized what she was up to. She was sliding down her nylons.
“Whoever invented nylons was a cruel, cruel person,” she said. “And a man to boot.” She got back on her feet and looked up at him as she stepped close and then stood right on the tops of his shoes, wrapping her arms around his neck. Now their bodies were lined up, her breasts straining at the front of her dress as she cupp
ed his