The Braddock Boys: Travis

by Kimberly Raye

  That’s when the charade would start. Nine o’clock sharp at Cherry Blossom Dance Hall, in front of a packed house. The honky tonk was holding the preliminaries for their weeklong indoor rodeo and practically every available cowboy in the county would be there. It was the perfect opportunity to debut the new and improved and totally non-committal Holly, or so she thought.

  His chest tightened and tension zipped up his spine. The urge to push her up against the edge of the car, sink his fangs deep and give her the best orgasm of her life nearly overwhelmed him. A few seconds and she would be screaming in ecstasy, totally ruined for any other man. She would give up her stupid quest for mindless sex and spend the next twenty years dreaming about him every night.

  If she’d been any other woman.

  But this was Holly. They’d already had earth-shattering sex, yet she wasn’t the least bit anxious for seconds. Instead, she was scared. And determined.

  While she’d agreed to their arrangement, she wasn’t the least bit happy about it. Not because she didn’t want to have sex with him again. She did. But she didn’t want to want to have sex with him, and damned if that didn’t bother the hell out of him.

  Which explained why he’d followed her home. He hadn’t been able to help himself. She puzzled the hell out of him and damned if that didn’t make him want her all the more.

  She pulled the box free and set it at her feet. As she bent down, her luscious breasts heaved against her silky blouse. The top button strained, threatening to pop open. A second later, she straightened and the material relaxed.

  Disappointment ricocheted through his body, bulls-eyeing him straight in the crotch. The scent of her—so warm and moist and rich—crossed the distance to him and shattered his already tumultuous control. His blood rushed and his cock throbbed.

  He focused, zeroing in on the button and just like that, it slid free of its own accord.

  Startled, she glanced down and made quick work fastening it back up. She was about to lean back into the car after the next box when the button popped open again, setting off a chain reaction that didn’t stop until the edges of her blouse parted.

  He pursed his lips and blew into the still night air. The material fluttered open as if brushed by a faint breeze. He glimpsed the dark shadow of her nipple beneath the lacey cup of her bra and his stomach hollowed out. Another whisper of air and the hem of her skirt lifted, sliding up to reveal one round ass cheek barely concealed by a pair of skimpy bikini panties. A surprised gasp bubbled in the air and a split-second later, a desperate hand smoothed the skirt back down. Trembling fingers caught the edges of her blouse and tugged them closed, killing his view altogether.

  Aw, hell.

  Just as the thought struck, her head jerked up and he had the crazy notion that she’d actually heard him.

  Crazy because he knew good and goddamned well that such a thing just wasn’t possible. Vampires forged connections with blood. She would have to drink from him and he would have to drink from her for them to be that closely linked.

  No, she hadn’t heard him and she never would. The last thing Travis intended was to drink from Holly Simms or have her drink from him.

  This wasn’t about blood. It was about sex. Sweet, succulent, satisfying sex.

  Starting tomorrow night.

  In the meantime…

  He gave himself a great big mental kick in the ass, turned and headed for the nearest motel. And straight into an ice cold shower.

  HOLLY PULLED HER blouse closed and peered into the surrounding darkness. Awareness skittered up her spine and goose bumps danced the length of her arms. The hair on the back of her neck prickled and she had the distinct feeling that someone was watching her.

  It was a feeling she knew all too well.

  Every day, as a matter of fact, since this past Christmas when her neighbors, the Dunbars, had bought a bird-watching set for their fourteen-yearold son.

  Mitchie Dunbar was a video game addict whose parents were desperate to get him off the couch and outside. Instead of the new Xbox 360 he’d been begging for, Santa had brought him a bird-watching set, complete with binoculars, a book on the various species and an online membership to Bird Watchers International where wannabe ornithologists the world over could post about their latest sightings.

  Thanks to his adolescent hormones and the desperate need to impress his equally horny friends, the only thing Mitchie had been posting was how many times Holly bent over while watering the grass.

  She summoned her most intimidating glare and turned toward his window to scare the bejeesus out of him. She would tell him off, report him to his mother, and then he’d be the one watering her lawn for the next two weeks.

  “I see you, Mitchie—” she started to yell, the words stalling as soon as her gaze fixed on the closed window.

  The glass was down, the drapes pulled tight, the house dark. She kept staring, looking for the slightest movement that would give him away.

  Nothing. Not even the glow of a computer monitor.

  His covert skills were definitely improving.

  That, or someone else had joined the party.

  She turned back around, her gaze sweeping the lawn before pinpointing a huge tree that sat at the far edge of her property. A strange tingling awareness worked its way through her body before settling in the pit of her stomach. It was the same feeling she’d had back at the bar when she’d made eye contact with Travis Braddock.

  Moonlight spilled down through the trees, illuminating the empty spot and proving beyond a doubt that her own imagination was running away with her thanks to the deal they’d made just a half hour before.

  Sex.

  She still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to it. She’d vowed off seconds when she’d taken her Love Busters pledge and gotten her free t-shirt. Not that she didn’t want to have sex with him again. She did. More than anything. That was the reason she’d sworn not to. Seconds led to thirds and thirds led to fourths and fourths to a bona fide relationship that would inevitably end in major heartache. She didn’t want to get hooked on Travis Braddock and end up binge eating another wedding cake.

  Not this time.

  She’d changed over the past two years. She was stronger now. Wiser. She’d learned her lesson the hard way and it wasn’t one she intended to repeat. She had different expectations when it came to the opposite sex—namely, she wasn’t looking for love with any one man. She was looking for lust. Hot, raw, uncomplicated lust.

  She ignored the yeah, right that niggled at her and turned back to the trunk.

  “Little perv,” she muttered as she re-fastened her blouse and tried to ignore the sudden realization that there wasn’t even the slightest breeze in the air. That, and she didn’t feel the same aggravation she normally felt when she caught Mitchie playing Peeping Tom.

  Because it wasn’t Mitchie, a voice whispered. It was him. His tall, powerful body standing in the shadows. His attention fixated on her. His eyes devouring her from head to toe.

  The notion didn’t disturb her half as much as it made her anxious.

  Excited.

  “It’s about damned time, sugar.”

  Tootie’s voice replayed in her head and she remembered the gleam in her aunt’s eyes when Holly had waltzed out of the bar and announced that she and Travis were going to get together the following night.

  It was about damned time.

  Holly had wasted enough of her life falling in love with the wrong men. It was time to have a little fun with the right man.

  Right as in perfect for her specific situation, that is. Not right as in Mr. Right. Travis was wild and uncomplicated and sexy and temporary.

  Mr. Right Now.

  Or he would be, once tomorrow evening rolled around and their little arrangement officially began.

  She swallowed against her suddenly dry throat. Her tummy quivered and her knees trembled and anticipation rippled through her. Her nipples pressed against the lace of her bra and heat spiraled through her.
Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she slammed the trunk and picked up her boxes.

  And then she started for the house, and what she knew was going to be the longest night of her life.

  8

  HOLLY HAD LEARNED a long time ago that there were only two certainties in the life of a wedding planner. The first? Despite the pessimistic divorce rate, people still believed in marriage. Regardless of the season, there was never a shortage of couples ready to dish out an incredible amount of cash for a groom’s cake shaped like a monster truck or an ice sculpture that looked like Elvis. The second? Out of all those marriage-minded individuals, there was at least one bridezilla at any given moment.

  And at this moment, the monster in question was a petite redhead sitting on the pink settee directly across from Holly.

  “I’ve been thinking about the whole floral motif.” Darla Lancaster flicked an invisible piece of lint from the lapel of her cherry-colored blouse. “I think we need to forget the tea roses and go with something else. Maybe lilies or peonies.”

  “I love lilies,” Evan offered from the far corner where he sat at his desk, a book of material swatches open in front of him. “They’re so romantic.”

  Holly ignored his vote and focused on the woman sitting across from her. “But the roses are being flown in from Italy as we speak.” She’d tracked the order just that morning. “They’re in Chicago about to wing their way here for a Monday delivery.”

  “The roses are fine,” chimed in the woman sitting next to Darla. Shelley was the sister-of-the-bride and the first female in the history of nearby Travis County to serve as deputy sheriff. She wore a beige uniform and had her dark brown hair pulled back and pinned at the nape of her neck. “Flowers are flowers.” She shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

  Darla shook her head. “I just don’t think tea roses represent the real me. I want everything at this wedding to scream Darla.”

  “But the cost of changing at such short notice would be astronomical,” Holly informed her bride.

  “You can’t put a price on love.” She glared at Shelly before shifting her attention back to Holly. “Tea roses don’t scream. They whisper. Lilies, on the other hand, definitely make a louder statement.” Blue eyes stared pointedly at Holly. “Don’t you think?”

  What?

  Holly tamped down on her frustration and tried to keep a calm demeanor in front of her biggest client.

  Not only was Darla the most high maintenance of all Holly’s brides, she was also the most high profile. In exactly one week, she was marrying Sam McGregor, the son of a Texas congressman and one of the most powerful lawyers in the state. Sam was wealthy. Educated. Successful. On top of that, he looked like a Ken doll with his blond hair, great tan and Crest-worthy smile. Once upon a time, his dad had been the mayor of Skull Creek. He’d grown up just two streets over on the most affluent block in town.

  Darla herself had grown up in the Happy Trails trailer park just on the other side of the railroad tracks that circled the town. She’d never been to the governor’s mansion or hobnobbed with Dallas’ richest oil men. She was Cinderella and Sam was her Prince Charming, and it only made sense that she would be a little freaked.

  At least that’s what Holly told herself every time she got a visit or phone call changing yet another detail of the over-the-top event.

  First the food. Then the champagne. The band. Even the dress. They’d gone back and forth between princess and mermaid styles before Darla had finally decided to buy one of each. One for the ceremony and the other for the reception. Now if she could only decide which one to wear to which event.

  Holly forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. “I really do think the tea roses are perfect for a formal daytime event, which is what we’ve planned.”

  “About that…” Darla frowned. “I was thinking that we might actually bump up the time a little. Make it later, after sunset, so that I can have candles. Lots of candles.”

  “I love candles,” Evan offered again. “They make everything look so dreamy.”

  Holly cut him a warning glance before smiling at Darla. “I thought you wanted sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows of the church?”

  “She doesn’t know what she wants,” Shelly chimed in.

  “I most certainly do.” Darla shot a glare at her sister before shifting her attention back to Holly. “Sunlight and stained glass were fine when I was going for a more sedate, classy look.” Darla waved a hand and her three carat diamond engagement ring flashed in the early morning sunlight. “But Sam and I really want this to reflect our personalities. I think I’m a little more dramatic than afternoon chic. I’d rather go for something that suits my sophisticated side. Maybe a black tie event with lots of ball gowns. Sort of like Phantom of the Opera.” She smiled. “I totally loved that movie.”

  “I loved it, too—” Evan started, only to clamp his mouth shut when Holly shot him another sideways glance. He shrugged. “I mean, it’s okay if you buy into the whole dark, dangerous, wounded hero thing, which I don’t. Although I absolutely loved the costumes. And that mask… Girl, that’s definitely the stuff of fantasies.”

  “That’s what I was thinking, too,” Darla exclaimed before launching into a quick discussion about possibly handing out masks as party favors at the reception.

  “Shoot me,” Shelley whispered to Holly.

  “I was thinking the exact same thing.”

  “So it’s settled then,” Darla smiled. “Phantom of the Opera it is.”

  “But the wedding is in seven days. The classy, afternoon, sunlight-streaming-through-the-windows wedding, complete with a cage full of rare butterflies to release immediately following the nuptials.”

  Darla waved a hand. “Plenty of time for you to do away with all that nonsense and give me what I really want.”

  “But the invitations have already gone out specifying the time and the details.”

  “I’m sure we can send new invitations via overnight mail. Or a text message.” Brilliance seemed to strike and she beamed. “Or an email. I’ll forward you my contact list as soon as I get home.”

  “But most of your guests have already made travel arrangements based on the information in the original invitation?” She knew she sounded like a broken record with the buts, but months of planning were spiraling down the drain and she couldn’t help herself.

  Darla stiffened and her gaze narrowed. “It’s my wedding and I want Phantom of the Opera. If that doesn’t work for you, then I’m sure I can find another planner who shares my vision and understands what it’s like to marry someone like Sam. You haven’t actually been married yourself, have you?”

  “No,” Evan offered. “She came really close—and I mean really close—but didn’t quite hit the bullseye.”

  Not that Darla didn’t already know that. Skull Creek was a map dot where everybody knew everybody and gossip traveled faster than the speed of light.

  Darla shook her head. “No wonder you can’t understand.”

  Holly’s chest tightened. Not that she wanted to be a bride. She’d given up on that fantasy a long time ago. It was the thought of losing an entire shipment of tea roses. She loved tea roses. And it seemed such a shame for them to go to waste.

  “I love Phantom of the Opera,” Holly finally declared. “I’ll call the florist first thing and make the changes.”

  “Okay, now you’ve both gone off the deep end,” Shelley added. “I knew it was just a matter of time.”

  Darla ignored her sister. “Make sure to tell the florist I don’t want small lilies. I want large ones, and have them done up in some really elaborate arrangements. Something that says bold. Aggressive. Something that screams Darla.”

  Or royal bitch.

  Holly tamped down the unkind thought and reminded herself that the young woman was just under a lot of stress. She was out of her element and so it made sense that she would be a little on edge. And bitchy. Holly would have done the same had she been in Darla�
��s shoes.

  She summoned her most reassuring smile. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  True to her word, she spent the next two hours on the phone tracking down shipments and negotiating prices before she finally managed to pull off Darla’s latest request. After that, she tackled the multitude of changes that had to be made.

  “You’re fired,” she told Evan when she finally hung up after an exhausting phone call to the caterer. She’d barely made a dent in all the work that needed to be done, which meant she would have to come in on Sunday.

  “For what? Helping you plan the wedding of the century?”

  “Killing my one day off. Do you know how much work this is going to be? Or how much it’s going to cost?” She stared at the endless list of figures that the various vendors were going to charge for the last minute changes.

  “First off, I’m happy to help with the extra work. Bob plays tackle football with his straight buddies on Sunday and I’m not invited because I busted out crying the last time he got tackled. As for the extra cost, what do you care? It’s not your money. If the girl wants lilies, give her lilies.”

  “She doesn’t know what she wants. That’s the problem. Tomorrow it could be daisies.”

  “I love daisies,” Evan offered, only to clamp his mouth shut when Holly shot him a withering glare.

  “You love everything.”

  He shrugged. “Love makes the world go ’round.”

  Amen.

  She squelched the thought and spent the rest of the day making changes and going through the list of email contacts Darla had sent her. She had to notify as many guests as possible, as fast as possible.

  Forgive me, Martha Stewart.

  She sent up the silent plea as she typed in the last address and hit send.

  “Closing time,” Evan’s voice drew her attention and Holly glanced at the clock for the first time since Darla had dropped the bomb on her.

  Five o’clock? Seriously?

  “I’m meeting Bob for drinks.” Evan packed up his desk. “Want to come with?”