Kimberly Raye - The Braddock Boys - Travis

“He and Miranda are going to host a receiving line when they’re finished with pictures. I’m sure you can wish him well then. In the meantime, you should move on to the reception area.” Otherwise these seniors are going to kick your firm, tight, totally amazing buns all over this ranch and I’m going to let them.

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.

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 MacDonald, 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 …”