by Katy Evans
“Stop. Would you?” She giggles again and shakes her head, which sends those flaming red curls straight down her back.
I tuck my hands behind my head. “Talk to me, gorgeous.” I’ll behave but it won’t be easy. Her nipples are beading in plain sight.
She eyes my straining erection. I try one more time but it’s a moot effort. She freezes me out by sliding forward.
“Step it up.” I snap my fingers to let her know I’m in a hurry here.
“We have things to do, Cullen.”
“I know what tops my list,” I say.
She drags that succulent tongue across her lips, leans forward, and whispers, “Not a chance.”
“Wicked tease.” I cup her ass to squeeze it and drag her back in perfect alignment with my cock.
“Okay! Now listen to this!” She tumbles to the side and says excitedly, “Remember the Bensons? They’re buying a summer place out on Lake Michigan and guess where they just dumped a shit-ton of money?” She jiggles her shoulders. “MY gallery! Can you believe it?”
“Wynn, that’s great!” I don’t tell her that we don’t need the money. She wants to keep her gallery and open others. It’s important for her to maintain independence and I’m supportive. “Wait a minute, you said Bensons?”
“Yes!” She rubs her thumb across her middle and forefinger. “Already paid in cash, baby!”
I pretend to think about it then say, “Maybe Pepper got it wrong. Last I heard, DB Benson had returned to Stonehenge to reclaim his birthright.”
“Very funny. They’re not as old as they look. In fact, Mr. Benson said they spent so much time in the sun that it eventually caught up with them. He’s only sixty-two.”
I don’t detect a smile so I scoff and say, “Wynn, that man is every bit of eighty.”
She shrugs. “Mrs. Benson looks sixty-two.”
“He’s a sugar daddy!”
And it’s Wynn’s innocence that makes my heart clutch. My pulse pause.
“What?”
“Mr. Benson has a crush on my fiancé.”
“That too.” Her grin turns wicked and she bends down to kiss my lips. “And you’re jealous.”
“Damn right. When an old guy throws money at my woman, I pay attention.”
We’re ready to roll as soon as she slides a little closer to the southern region but right as her brow shoots up in a playful gesture, my phone jingles.
And it’s the woman who has better timing than the U.S. Congress when she wants something done.
“Damn it.”
“Can’t she wait five minutes?” Wynn says playfully, wiggling her hips but then easing off me.
“Don’t go very far,” I say, taking Mom’s call. “Good morning, Mother.”
“Cullen?” She sighs dramatically. “I hate to call so early and ask. I know you’re out of town with that . . . girl . . . but . . .”
“Woman, and she’s my fiancé. We’ve discussed this.”
“Right. You’ve said that. Anyway, can I go by the casino and see Mike?”
“Sure,” I say, pissed. Mom hasn’t even met Wynn and she’s already decided she doesn’t like her.
“Don’t be crass, son. I need to see him right away.”
“Sure you do,” I say, wishing Mom would call, instead, to ask about our day. “How much do you need?”
Wynn’s working when I hang up. The coffee seems to intrigue her more than I do until I sit across from her. “What are you doing over there?”
“Watching the woman I love while she works.” I pick up the second mug on the table and sip. “Want to come over here and work on my lap?”
“Ha! If I come over there, we’ll never get anything done.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Morning sex is probably off the table for now so I prop my ankles up on the footrest and wish for more pleasurable mornings.
Wynn doesn’t say so but Mom was on speaker. Fuck me.
“Cullen. We need to talk about the wedding.”
I sigh. If she’s in the mood to plan, passion and pleasure might as well be the forgotten condiments pushed to the back of the shelf.
She grins up at me as if she knows I’ll be all the more attentive once I finally get between her legs today. Our eyes meet and hold.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I lie, leaning back until her gaze dips down. Satisfied when it does, I say, “Talk to me.”
She shakes her head so quickly you could miss it and says, “I think we should get married here. But if we do Vegas, then it can’t be a cheesy drive-through wedding, mister.”
“Not a chance, Mrs. Carmichael.”
She lifts her eyebrows in surprise over the name and blushes. “I love it when you call me that.”
“You wear the name well.”
She smiles and glances dreamily outside.
“We’ll get married wherever you want,” I say, eager to make Wynn my wife. “I could get married in the middle of the Mojave Desert or here or even at the underground poker room where we met . . . as long as I have you and you’re mine by the end of the ceremony, the day will be perfect.”
Her eyelids get heavy and she glances at me as she reaches out to cup my jaw. “I love you. I just can’t wait. The wait feels eternal.”
“I love you too. And I know what you mean.” But she won’t have to wait any longer.
I pull her into my arms, finally ready to feast on her, just as Adam pads into the kitchen.
“What’s for breakfast?” he asks, voice groggy. I smile and peck my girl, and give her a smile that promises later, easing away to whip something from the fridge.
“Take your pick,” I tell my champion. “French toast. Omelet. Bel—”
“Waffles!” he says as Wynn rumples his hair.
“Did you sleep well, Adam? How are you finding your room, are you comfortable?”
He blushes, not used to the attention of a gorgeous redhead. “Yeah.”
“She’s mothering you, let her,” I tell Adam warningly.
Adam grins, still looking shy and unused to it. “Of course I let her. I like it. She’s my stepmom. Or at least will be by Mon—” Adam’s eyes widen when he realizes his near-blunder. He glances at me, and I raise a brow reminding him it’s our secret.
“In a few months,” he amends with a grin, and Wynn is too distracted whipping out the orange juice to notice the surprise I’ve got in store.
Adam and I share a smile. Because it’s on.
* * *
“Think she has a clue about all this?” Callan asks as we head to my new Vegas property a few hours later.
Beyond the wedding tent, multiple crews set up ferns, construct a gazebo, and organize tables and chairs. Everything is coming together as it should. When we say our vows, the sun will set and cast a red glimmer across the sand. We’ll move to the reception tent where Wynn’s favorite band will sing the songs that have somehow become our songs. It’ll be perfect.
“Big brother? I asked if . . .”
“She has no idea we’re getting married tomorrow.” I smile because I can’t wait until she knows. Maybe then she’ll understand. I couldn’t wait another day to make her my wife.
“Knowing Wynn, she probably thinks he’s playing poker tonight,” Saint says.
Our friends are supposedly in Vegas for our bachelor and bachelorette parties. When I left her with her friends, Wynn was reluctant to let me go. Maybe I should’ve reassured her and told her that all I’d be thinking about was making my way back to her bed, straight into her waiting arms.
Damn I’m whipped.
My heart is in her hands and I know it now more than ever before. There’s something about this moment, something about making Wynn’s dreams come true even when she doesn’t know it. I can’t explain and can’t try. I’m just hoping to deliver so she looks back at our wedding day and believes everything was right. Perfect. Impossibly beautiful.
Just like my bride will be tomorrow night.
“It bette
r be perfect, man,” Roth says. “Wynn always dreamt about her wedding day so you’d better not miss a beat.”
“Something tells me we won’t,” I say, watching Wynn’s mother, who is standing in the center of the commotion giving orders. While my mom was visiting Callan, I was picking up Wynn’s at the airport. Wynn will be pleased once she realizes we spent some time together.
We park in front of the future home of Carmichael Casino. While I’d like to think I can roll out the red carpet for the construction crews entering the scene next month, the fact is, I need Callan on the line in case we run into any unexpected delays. In Vegas, those delays can break a casino quicker than a groundbreaking ribbon-cutting ceremony with A-listers.
“So are you ready for this?” Callan asks, grinning at me to let me know he’s not thinking about his investment. He’s ready to watch me take the biggest gamble of my life.
Only it’s not a gamble because I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
BACHELORETTE PARTY
Wynn
I’m positively thrilled our friends are in town, and because we’re supposed to take advantage of the weekend and turn it into an early bachelor and bachelorette party, me and the girls gamble like it’s the end of an era, and it is.
I’m the last one of my closest friends to get married and while the wedding is still several weeks away, I feel nostalgic now. We’re at Cullen’s favorite casino. Mike is at our disposal, per Cullen’s request. We’re partying like there’s no tomorrow but when that no tomorrow arrives, we’ll be having the royal treatment at the spa—hair, nails, massages, a shopping day, the whole nine yards. Cullen insisted.
I don’t think Cullen wanted us back at the house until tomorrow afternoon and since I can’t reach Mom and Dad by phone, I take a wild guess and say, “Guess my parents are on their way to Vegas.”
Rachel looks at me bewildered. Gina says, “Why would they be coming out here?”
“I . . . well, you’re right. I don’t know why I thought that. Maybe because Mom wants to be part of my bachelorette party.”
My friends laugh uncomfortably and I fear it’s because I’m starting to act like Bridezilla and can’t seem to think of anything else beside the fact that I’m marrying Cullen in a few weeks.
“Maybe we should check in with the guys,” I say, eyeing the dark lounge where I had my first public orgasm, wondering if the guys are around the casino. I feel my face heat as we cross the casino.
“Let’s go in here for a drink,” Livvy says, dragging me to the door.
I follow them to the bar, then I turn around and stare at the empty dance floor and wish my Silver Eyes would magically appear. To make matters worse, Christina Perri is belting “A Thousand Years” and I think back to the night that we made out to “100 Years” so I sort of summarize Cullen and me, like how it feels when we’re together and I’m just mush thinking about it as I listen to the song.
At the sign of tears, I whisper, “I wonder if that’s true?”
“What’s that?” Gina asks.
I point up at the speaker and cock my head. “I don’t know. I feel like I’ve known him all my life and I wonder if the universe made it impossible for me to marry anyone else. You know?”
“We know!” They chime in together.
Livvy lightens the mood and points to the dance floor. “She almost got fucked right over there.” She grins like an elf with a secret package.
“Forgot to mention that?” Rachel asks slyly.
“Seriously?” I order my drink and motion to the others. “A round on me, please.”
I place my plastic on the counter and as soon as I do, someone picks it up and thrusts it back at me.
I jolt in surprise then look up at Cullen’s go-to host. “Mike, hi! I’m glad you’re here.”
He eyes my friends. “Aim to please.”
The music is loud and I can’t make out what Mike’s saying. It was something like, “Damn, you weren’t joking when you said you have gorgeous friends.” And he immediately follows it with, “Cullen said as long as you stick around here tonight, it’s on him.”
“Controlling men,” Rachel says, as if used to staying where she can be seen. Saint likes to know where she is at all times.
“So what do you say we hit the tables?” asks Livvy.
“I’d like to enjoy my drink,” Gina says, dipping her cherry in her frozen daiquiri and watching the lights flicker above the dance floor.
I object, but no one cares. Next thing I know, we’re three drinks in and the place is still deserted.
“One more round?” Gina asks.
“Why not?” Livvy says, checking her watch.
“Are we waiting on someone?” I ask.
Liv, Rachel, and Gina stare at one another suspiciously like they’re sitting on the biggest secret ever. As if those behind the scenes are watching, the lights go down and the glass doors are closed in front of the lounge.
“What’s going on?”
Livvy shrugs. “Shall we, ladies?”
I spot three shadowy figures over to the left, signaling I’m about to be abandoned. “Hey, what happened to the gal pal parade?”
“We’ll be back!” Rachel promises.
“And you’d better be glad to see us when we return!” Livvy says. “We still owe you an impressive bachelorette party.”
I glare at them in confusion and suddenly I sit all alone waiting. And waiting.
And . . . waiting.
And right when I start to feel a little self-conscious and a lot impatient, there HE is . . . waiting.
On the dance floor.
This guy who doesn’t dance.
This man who dances only for me.
His hand is out. He looks like a REAL PLAYBOY with his white shirt rolled to his elbows and pleated black slacks taut against that evident male package. And girls, I’m telling ya . . . I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.
“Cullen.”
“Are you going to look at me or dance with me?” he teases but he isn’t smiling and this look, this “I’m your man and I’ll do whatever I can to prove it” look that he owns? WHOA! It makes my knees go weak, my tummy tighten, my bones ache.
I take my time going to him, but it’s like he knows that I know we both want to savor this moment and take it real slow. We need to make it last for as long as possible because once we touch, it’s all over.
He’ll dance with me like he’s never danced before. He’ll set me on fire, make me lose control, not that I want it.
Because I don’t. I so don’t.
I’m in front of him now and my breath catches at the sight of those silver eyes and the tiny lines in his forehead, his corded muscles showcased by his open shirt. I want to run my tongue up and down his neck, drink him in and indulge so many dirty little fantasies.
As soon as he pulls me to him, his hand cups mine, his hard arm supports my back and I inhale, breathe him in. We’re swaying to the music and it’s so good to touch him, so damn good.
Too. Damn. Good.
I’m picturing him doing all sorts of things to me, letting me do things to him that I’ve never done to another.
“What are you thinking?”
“You know,” I whisper.
“I do.” His lips steal away with mine. And it’s a soul-stealing, toe-curling, darkness-claiming kind of kiss that moves the earth and seas and winds and heavens . . . And it’s all I can do not to drag him to the corner booth and have my way with him. I. Want. My. Way.
And I want him to have his way.
“What do you say we blow this joint?” He twirls me around, swings me out and back in again. “Go upstairs and play all night?”
“We agreed to have bachelor and bachelorette parties,” I remind him. “Besides, I thought you had something to do tonight. Something that couldn’t wait. You’ve been telling me all week about it.”
He bends his head down and nibbles my ear. “Someone, not something.”
“Ah . . .
the truth is finally revealed. How long has this been going on? Is it anyone I know?”
“I think you know her pretty well.” He spins me, brings me back again, and dips me.
“The man can dance.”
“When he’s properly inspired.”
“Must’ve been inspired,” I say, thinking if I can get him to look at me like this all the time, I’ll blow him every day for the rest of my life.
“Say it,” he whispers, breaking into a faster dance, spinning and twirling me until I’m dizzy. So dizzy that I don’t notice when he’s holding me close again, his palm flat against the small of my back. “What were you thinking just then?”
I stand on my tiptoes and whisper it in his ear.
“Promise?”
I bite down on my finger and give him a saucy look.
“Let me taste you,” he says huskily.
I lean closer and kiss him. His hand slides down my side and the way he holds me lets me know exactly what’s on his mind. The intense gaze lets me guess what he’s thinking.
“Not tonight.” I rub against him anyway and crane my neck to look around, watching for my best friends, hoping they won’t return just yet.
“I didn’t ask for permission,” he whispers, his mouth devouring mine. And in a matter of seconds, those fingers spin magic.
And he’s right. He didn’t ask for permission. And he sure as hell won’t seek forgiveness.
After dancing with my guy and then having another drink while I try to wheedle out what he and the boys will be doing later, I’m standing all dazed and confused watching as Cullen, Callan, Saint, and Tahoe walk away from us like they’re high-strung badasses (because they are).
We watch them go and have a boys’ night and watch as every woman there seems to notice them.
“Watch those men work their swagger,” Gina says, not at all worried. Tahoe is so in love with her that we all believe the man plans his day around when he’ll be able to drag her off so he can have her to himself.
“Watch and weep, girls,” Livvy says, narrowing her eyes on Callan.
“Yep, if all heads turned before, now they’ll snap out of their sockets.” I laugh and sure enough, every single woman this side of Texas suddenly seems interested in our men.