“Weddings make me horny.”
Best man Wynton “Wyn” Grant turned to look at Melissa Lockhart, the curvy redheaded maid of honor. Today was the first time they’d met, so the comment threw him off—as had the other sexual remarks she’d made over the past two hours. Wyn wasn’t sure if she was playing him…or if she wanted to play. He offered her a nonchalant, “Really?”
She smirked at him. “A strapping, handsome rancher such as yourself doesn’t have anything to say to that besides…Really?”
Enough. He angled his head and put his mouth on the shell of her ear. “Gonna get yourself in trouble, you keep teasing me.”
“You think I’m teasing?”
“Only one way to find out, ain’t there?” He traced the rim of her ear with the tip of his tongue. “Words don’t mean nothin’ if you can’t back it up with actions. And darlin’ I am a man of action.”
That caused a quick hitch in her breath.
He smiled and backed off.
After the last guests passed through the receiving line, Wyn’s younger brother Sutton, aka the groom, snagged his attention. “The photographer wants a few shots of us alone, so can you—”
“Make sure the wedding party gets to the head table?” Wyn supplied. “No problem.”
Wyn’s new sister-in-law, London, whispered something to Melissa.
Melissa leaned over, giving Wyn a peek of her magnificent tits. She attached the train to the back of London’s wedding dress so it didn’t drag on the ground. Then she straightened up and looked at Wyn.
He offered his arm. “The party waits.”
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.”
“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.”