Her thought echoed through his head and a strange sense of warmth stole through him. A grin tugged at his lips.
She motioned toward the massive tents set up just beyond the barn. “You can have something to drink and a bite to eat while you’re waiting.”
His groin tightened at the suggestion and his gaze shifted to her creamy white throat. He could see the faint pulse beneath her skin and his fangs tingled.
“There’s a full menu,” she continued. “Swedish meatballs. Pigs-in-a-blanket. Mini chimichangas. Southwest egg rolls. I’m sure you can find something you like.”
“I already have,” he said, staring deep into her eyes.
He expected to see passion flare in the blue depths, her lips to part, her body to lean toward his. Particularly since she thought his buns were firm and tight and totally amazing. That’s the way it always was when he focused his complete attention on a woman. She couldn’t help but fall under his spell.
Her eyes widened and then she blinked. Once. Twice. As if she couldn’t quite believe she’d heard him correctly. “What did you just say?”
“I said I already found something I like.” As anxious as he’d been to talk to Cody, he knew he wasn’t getting anywhere near his baby brother for the time being. Which meant he might as well slow down and kill a few minutes.
On top of that, he really was hungry. And it wasn’t a Swedish meatball or any of the other things she’d just rattled off he was craving. He’d been in such a hurry to get to Texas that he hadn’t even stopped to feed. “I like you, sugar.”
You.
Now he would see the flare of desire, the physical proof that she wanted him…
She stiffened and Travis knew in a glaring instant that she wasn’t going to fall all over him the way other women did. She was stronger than most. Determined. Different.
And damned if he didn’t like it.
2
WAIT A SECOND.
Wait just a cotton-pickin’ second.
Holly Simms shook her head and tried to clear the cobwebs from her brain. No way had she heard this cowboy say that he wanted her.
A real, balls-to-the-bull cowboy.
Her brain snagged on that all-important fact as she noted the worn tips of his black boots, the soft, molded jeans holding tight to his thighs, the smell of leather and fresh air that clung to him. She knew cowboys. She’d almost married one. But then her very own Mr. Tall, Dark & Irresistible had stood her up in front of God, the Skull Creek Cattleman’s Association and the entire Ladies Bingo club. The wedding had been called off and she’d been stuck with a six tier red velvet wedding cake to eat all by her lonesome.
She’d gained ten pounds thanks to her low-down sneaky rat of an ex-fiancé and learned a valuable lesson. Namely, that she was more cut out to plan a wedding than actually participate in one.
She’d spent the past three years as Skull Creek’s resident wedding planner. She’d orchestrated over one hundred ceremonies, overseeing everything from seating charts and bags of birdseed to sit down dinners and cages of live butterflies. She’d booked disc jockeys and ordered cakes and she’d even called in Marty and Serena, the 2010 Texas brisket cooking champions, to make an appearance at the Morgan reception last June. Marty and Serena had cooked all the food on-site over a live grill—much to the bride and groom’s delight—and handed out bottles of homemade Serena Sauce as wedding favors. The event had been a huge success and she’d even got a mention in the What’s Up Y’all? section of the Skull Creek Gazette. A huge coup that had doubled her business. Well, that and the fact that Eliza Mac-Donald, the eighty-eight-year-old owner of her only competition, From Courtin’ to Cuddlin’, had needed a double hip replacement and been forced into retirement.
Holly had been busy ever since, giving the couples of Skull Creek the happily-ever-after she, herself, would never have.
Her great-aunt Tootie had tried to warn her.
The old woman had always said there were only two types of women in the world. The kind who were doomed to settle down, get married and have babies and the lucky few who were actually meant to avoid all three and have some real fun. Tootie’s definition of fun involved lots of wild parties, single cowboys and plenty of one-night stands.
The Simms women? They tended to fit into the second category. Aunt Tootie had avoided matrimony like the plague and spent her life sowing one wild oat after another. The few Simms women who tried to break with tradition and go the happily married route ended up divorced like Holly’s own mother (five times as a matter of fact) and her three aunts. Not one of Holly’s female relatives had ever had a long lasting relationship except Holly’s Aunt Celia, but that was with a pet poodle named Sassafrass.
Bottom line, Holly simply wasn’t the marrying kind. She had a pre-determined path. One that didn’t involve his and her monogrammed towels.
She knew that now. She’d accepted it. She’d even joined an online group of women committed to overcoming their addiction to falling in love. As a full-fledged Love Buster, Holly had given up her childhood dreams of wedded bliss and decided to focus on living out her most wild and wicked fantasies.
But that was a little hard to do all by her lonesome.
She was a wedding planner. Translation? She scared the bejesus out of every bachelor in town. They were convinced she only had marriage on her mind and so they all kept their distance. Since her moment of public humiliation at the altar, the only fun Holly had involved a case of batteries and a vibrator named Big Ben.
Which meant that no way had she heard this hunk of testosterone correctly.
She licked her lips and noticed the way his gaze followed the motion. Her stomach hollowed out and her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
“Would you, um, mind repeating what you just—” she started to ask, but Evan chose that moment to rattle over her headset.
“I hate to tell you this, but we’ve got a tiny little problemo with the PA system in the reception tent.”
Evan Valentine was her twenty-six-year-old protégé and a die-hard romantic. He’d come to her last year after a hand full of various temp jobs and a six month online course on how to be a party planner. He was young, creative and hopelessly in love with his high school sweetheart, a once-upon-a-time quarterback named Bob.
“I like—” the hunk of testosterone said, but he was drowned out when Evan jumped in. “I told you not to hire that DJ. Seriously, what sort of lunatic plays the Chicken Dance at a PETA event?”
“Could you excuse me for just a sec,” she held up a quick finger to Hot and Hunky before turning to blurt into her headset, “What are you talking about?”
“The disc jockey that yours truly told you not to hire is incompetent. His PA system doesn’t work. It’s completely dead and the natives are getting restless.”
“And that’s a tiny problem?”
“When you compare it to the fact that there are people starving in Third world countries, the ozone layer is slowly depleting and Bob’s parents refuse to include me in the family Christmas card. Not that I’m crying over it, mind you. I know that if I just hang in there, they’ll eventually see how hopelessly in love we are and welcome me into the family with open arms. Why, I bet they even ask me to pick the background for next year’s card…”
Evan went on about red versus green while Holly tried to calm the sudden pounding of her heart. She stiffened, determined to ignore the fingers of heat dancing up and down her spine. She could feel Mr. Testosterone behind her, his gaze on her back.
Watching.
Waiting.
Wanting.
She ditched the last thought, gave her hormones a quick shake and tried to concentrate. “Where’s the DJ now?”
“The last time I saw him he was running for the bathroom. He said he ate the enchilada special for lunch at the diner and now he’s regretting it.”
Her heart jumped into her throat and she swallowed it back down. Easy. Calm. She’d been down this path before. Unexpected situations were
par for the course when it came to wedding planning. The key was to keep her head and think. “Get him an Alka Seltzer and meet me in the reception tent.”
“You think that’s going to help?”
“It can’t hurt.” She clicked the off button and turned back to face the megalicious cowboy standing behind her. She would talk to him, get everything straight and if he truly had said what she thought he’d said, then maybe…
The thought faded as she found herself staring at the empty spot where he’d been standing.
Her gaze swept the crowd, but he was nowhere to be seen. Proof beyond a doubt that her imagination had kicked into overdrive thanks to her deprived hormones.
I like you.
Yeah, sure.
She gave herself a great big mental shake, turned on her heel and went to find the MIA disc jockey.
“I’M SURPRISED YOU had the balls to show up,” Brent said as he shoved Travis up against the backside of the barn.
Travis blinked and stared at his younger brother. One minute he’d been admiring the very attractive rear end of Cody’s wedding planner, and the next, he’d been gripped by the collar and whisked away at preternatural speed by the vampire in front of him. Green eyes so much like his own stared back at him. “Hello to you, too.”
The green shifted and Brent’s gaze fired a bright, vivid red. “If you’re here to start trouble, you can forget it. I’m not letting you screw this up for Cody. No arguing tonight.” The red flickered and anger sizzled in the air surrounding them. “I mean it.”
“Easy.” Travis held up his hands. “I’m not here to start anything. I just came to talk.”
“You really expect me to believe that?”
He didn’t. The last time he’d been face to face with his brothers, he’d blamed them for the massacre that had taken their family.
But he’d been wrong.
Travis eyed his brother. “Where’s Rose?”
Silence stretched between them for a long moment before Brent relaxed his grip just a little. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“Believe what you want.” He shrugged. “I don’t know jack about her. That’s Cody’s bomb to drop and he’ll drop it when he’s good and ready. And I can promise you it’s not right now. We’re in the middle of pictures, for Christ’s sake.” Agitation washed over him as the photographer’s voice echoed in the distance. His grip loosened. “Listen, if you want to talk, we’ll talk. But later.”
He wanted to argue, but then Brent disappeared as quickly as he’d first appeared, leaving Travis no choice but to bide his time until the photographer finished.
He straightened his shirt and started back around the barn. His attention shifted to the huge white tent that towered in the far distance before he chanced a glance at the spot where he’d last seen Holly Simms talking on her headset. She was nowhere in sight and damned if that didn’t bother him. Not that he expected her to hang around, waiting for him. She undoubtedly thought he’d ditched her on purpose.
A damned fine idea.
That’s what his head told him. There were too many women to choose from for him to set his sights on one who obviously didn’t have the time to get up close and personal. She was the wedding planner after all, and busy as all get out. He needed a guest to kill some time with. Or a bridesmaid. Someone who wouldn’t be missed for a few minutes.
Someone who would actually respond when he looked deep into her eyes and willed her to get naked.
The thought conjured a vision of long blond hair trailing down his bare chest. Feathering over his abs. Brushing his thighs. Swirling around his cock.
His stomach hollowed out and his mouth went dry. He picked up his stride, his boots kicking up dust as he headed for the tent and the bar that had been set up along one length. Sliding onto a bar stool, he ordered a beer and took a long swig. The golden liquid went down smooth, but it didn’t quench the thirst that yawned in the pit of his stomach.
The tent filled up quickly. The sound of laughter echoed around him. Glasses clinked as the bartenders shifted into action. The scent of vanilla candles wafted through the air, blending with the sugary-sweet smell of the stacked wedding cake that sat center stage on a nearby table.
Travis tried to focus on the women surrounding him. A tall brunette with a purple dress. A shapely redhead wearing a pink suit. A blonde in a hot, tight, red number with lips to match. There were plenty. All his for the taking.
All except for Holly Simms.
The thought struck and he signaled for another beer. She was just one woman, he reminded himself. A damned infuriating one at that since she didn’t seem susceptible to his vamp charisma. No falling into his arms or rubbing her soft curves up against him. Nothing. Just that crazy disbelief.
As if his thoughts had conjured her, she rushed around the bandstand toward the pale looking man who’d just taken his place behind a large mixing board. Static cracked open the steady chatter of guests and in a split-second, a slow, twangy Jason Aldean song spilled from the speakers.
Jason sang about big green tractors and taking a ride, and relief seeped into Holly’s expression. She actually smiled and his chest hitched. It was the damndest thing, considering his response was always centered below the belt when it came to women.
He took a swig of his drink and watched as she touched her headset and informed the person on the other end that the music was on and the dancing could commence. Disaster averted. Or so she thought until she got the news that the champagne was missing. Her smile faded in the blink of an eye and he had the sudden insane urge to cross the distance between them, haul her into his arms and do any and everything to bring the smile back to her beautiful face.
Her tight skirt pushed and pulled, hugging her shapely ass as she made a bee-line for the house. His groin tightened, throbbing to the point that a growl worked its way up his throat.
She was different, all right.
But not that different.
While he hadn’t wowed her with his vampness, he’d still read every thought that had flashed through her pretty blond head. He knew she was sexually frustrated and that she had a thing for cowboys, that she’d been hurt by one. She’d sworn off love and relationships, and had resigned herself to brief, meaningless, one-night stands.
Exactly what he needed at the moment.
Not an entire night, mind you. In the deprived state he was in, a good fifteen minutes would do him just fine. He was already this close to the edge. Pain twisted at his gut. His hands trembled. His throat tightened. His fangs tingled.
Travis downed the last of his drink, set the glass on the bar and went after Holly Simms.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE they misplaced the Cristal,” she murmured into her headset as she entered the house through the back kitchen door and glanced frantically around the large room. Platters of food covered every available granite countertop. Boxes sat stacked against the walls and in front of the custom cherry cabinets, but not one had the familiar name she was looking for. “How do you lose ten cases of ultra expensive champagne?”
“I love Cristal,” Evan declared. “Bob ordered it on our first date. After dinner, we went up to Lucky’s Point and watched the sun set. Say, maybe someone snuck off with the champagne because he wants to propose to his girlfriend. Why, they could be sitting on the tailgate of a pickup truck as we speak, bottles in hand, watching the stars dance across the sky.”
“Are you on medication?”
“It’s called love, dearest. In case you’ve forgotten.”
If only.
But she remembered all too clearly the pounding heart, the rush of excitement and the pie-in-the-sky notions—
“The bartender said all ten cases were supposed to be delivered to the bar,” Evan cut in, effectively killing her spiral down memory lane. Thankfully. “I called the delivery service and they said someone in the kit
chen signed for it.”
“Which means it has to be here somewhere.” Holly moved out into the massive hallway and headed for the walk-in pantry a few yards down.
The Braddock spread was one of the newest and biggest ranches in the area. The house itself was over nine thousand square feet with tons of closets and way too many places to stash several cases of the bride’s favorite beverage.
“Maybe it’s in the barn,” Evan offered.
“Who would move it all the way from the kitchen to the barn?”
“A loony tune who needed more room to craft her masterpieces.” Evan referred to Millicent Dupree, the one and only gourmet chef in Skull Creek, Texas. Millicent was temperamental, stubborn and very focused when it came to her work. “I asked her, but she told me she couldn’t listen because she was in her pigs-in-the-blanket zone. She also said if I bothered her again, she would come after me with a pair of cooking shears.”
“You check the barn,” Holly told him, “and I’ll look in the house.” She pushed open the door to the walk-in pantry area which rivaled the size of the small bedroom she’d grown up in. A ray of light pushed back the shadows and illuminated stacks of catering boxes, crates of fresh fruit and vegetables, and the empty white boxes that had carried all the petit fours and cheesecakes over from the bakery. Shadows hid the rest and she reached for the light switch.
She was just about to flip it on when she felt the presence directly behind her.
“I’ve been looking for you.” The deep, familiar voice slid into her ears and stirred every nerve in her body. And then a hard wall of muscle urged her forward, the door shut and she found herself standing in the darkness with Travis Braddock.
3
HE’D PROBABLY GOTTEN lost on the way to the men’s room.
No way was he in this closet with her on purpose. Because he wanted her and she wanted him and it was meant to be. Definitely a great, big, fat no.
The Braddock Boys: Travis Page 2