“A weekday hangover, Wyn? Really?”

The censure in his mom’s voice made Wyn cringe. Marcy Thomas was a straight shooter who generally didn’t give a fuck if something she said put someone’s shorts in a knot.

She poured a mega mug of coffee and eyed him over the kitchen island. He was at the table, hunched over a stack of dry toast. His sunglasses and hat took up most of the space.

“It’s fine, Mom,” he grumbled. Despite brushing his teeth twice, his mouth still tasted like a patch of desert where coyotes pissed. Annoyed that his hand shook when he tried to hide behind a coffee mug, he slammed it back on the table and immediately regretted it when his hangover headache thumped. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, no.” She didn’t snicker but came damn close. “Fine isn’t on the calendar for today.” Her tone and the expression on her face told him she wasn’t about to give him any slack. “If you puke in my kitchen, I will drop your butt.”

A chuckle he didn’t expect rattled in his chest. He grabbed his head, committed the sin of putting his elbows on the table, and groaned as he hung there. “Nah, I’m all puked out.”

A chair scraping the wood floor sounded overly harsh in his present condition. He felt the air move, heard his mom’s soft sigh, and knew when she took the seat next to him. Her hand brushed shoulder to shoulder on his back.

“Drinking won’t help, son.”

He nodded against his hands, took a deep breath, and sat back in the chair so he could look at her.

“Ma, I wasn’t looking for help.” That was as honest as he could be.

Doubting she’d let it go, he wasn’t all that surprised when she rode roughshod over his attempt to deflect, ignored the angry stampede thundering inside his skull, and went right for it.

“But you know what will help? Hmm? Go and talk to her, Wyn. Hear what she has to say. You might be surprised.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” The unfortunate reflex to snarl only made his agony greater.

“Watch it, mister,” she hissed. The tilted head, one arched brow, and mother glare made him flinch.

“I’m just saying,” she continued in a gentler tone as her hand stroked his back, “that what you hear in your head, what you’ve imagined she’d say … well, have you ever considered the possibility that you're wrong?”

Ah, fuck. His mom had always been on Team Sami. Even after he got a goddamn passport and flew to Rome with a head full of dreams only to return an angry, bitter man. It was Marcy Thomas who begged him to tell Sami. Tell her he was there and what he saw.

But he couldn’t. And he didn’t. It was much easier to dig a hole inside where he placed all his feelings. He was a rancher, not some pretty boy modeling underwear. There was work to be done. Hard work. Lots of it. All the damn time.

That work fueled by his anger led to the Triple T’s transformation. While Sami was off being a celebrity, he channeled his dad’s support and set in motion an audacious plan to bring the family ranch into this century.

He was damn proud of what they’d accomplished. It was mighty impressive and getting better and better with time.

The hole with his buried feelings was always there. It was covered over now, but sometimes he still tripped over the mound of dirt because no matter what he did or how much success he found, something was always missing.

He turned his head and locked eyes with the wisest woman to walk the Earth.

“I don’t want to be wrong, Ma. You know what it means if I am, right?”

“That you’ve been a fool? That all these years of hurt were for nothing?”

Staggered by her direct hit, he winced and looked away.

“Wyn, I love you, and I want you to be happy, so I’m going to administer some tough mama love. Here it is. I figured the minute Sami came home that this might happen. I realize that you don’t want to hear this, but oh stinkin’ well. All those years ago, I told you it wasn’t smart to surprise her. Showing up in Italy while she was shooting her first movie was a bonehead move. She didn’t know you were there, and when you left? What did you do? You cut her off. Don’t run away from your part in what happened. In Sami’s mind, you let her go.”

His head snapped up. Her comment and the hangover agony instantly cleared his mind.

“You paint her in unforgiving strokes,” she continued. “Was she swept away at twenty by promises of fame and fortune? Yes. But ask yourself this. Did you fight for her, Wyn? Did you ever tell her what was in your heart?”

“Ma, come on,” he growled.

“She was a young girl in an unusual situation. Luckily for her, the fame and fortune thing paid off, but what if you’d fought for her? Has it never occurred to you that maybe she’d have come home a lot sooner if she thought something or someone was waiting for her here?”

She tilted her mug. “Oops, looky there. Coffee’s gone cold. Can’t have that.”

Rising, she pushed her chair away and squeezed his shoulder.

“It’ll be okay, Wyn, but I swear on all that’s holy, if you don’t man the hell up and go talk to that girl, I’m gonna be forced to interfere.”

Pointing at his breakfast choice, she sniggered and said, “Now eat up, son. And then go locate some balls.”

“I don’t need no stinking stylist,” she drawled while performing for the mirror on her closet door.

Liking what she saw, Sami muttered, “Hell, yeah,” and turned around to peer over her shoulder into the mirror. Her backside view was important.

The washed-out jean shorts she found in a bin of clothes miraculously still fit. Although if seduction wasn’t her plan, she wouldn’t be caught dead in anything so short. Her damn ass cheeks hung out the bottom!

Pulling on a favorite pair of old western boots, she did a bit of boot-scootin' boogie for inspiration. Her small motor coach didn’t allow for a full routine, but she gave it a go.

Making sure the perfect amount of cleavage was visible, she re-tied the shirt in a knot and checked out how much of her stomach was on display.

With her hands slapped on her waist, she double-inspected the country girl seductress look she was going for and laughed like hell.

She shut the closet door and yanked the clip out of her hair. Shaking out the long mane, she ruffled it with her fingers.

Sudden nerves fluttered in her belly. Employing sex as a weapon was something she’d done in movies but never in real life. Using the attraction she and Wyn had was risky, but she didn’t see any other way.

The heat coming off his anger was very real, and while she got part of it – after all, she had cavorted around the globe in the sexiest outfits money and fame could buy – she still didn’t understand how or when it had all gone so terribly wrong. Without actual knowledge of what was going on in his head, that only left her with this as her best tactical choice.

Pulling a lidded pitcher of ginger iced tea from the compact fridge, she stepped through the kitchen, grabbed her hat and sunglasses off the table, and headed into the sunlight.

The sight of her dad’s old Ford truck that he’d had painted bright blue – just for her – put a wide grin on her face. Next to horseback riding, her next favorite mode of getting around was in a truck. Big truck or small truck – it didn’t matter. A truck was a truck, and this blue beauty was her first love.

Swinging behind the wheel, she balanced the pitcher on the bench seat next to her and wedged her hat and a discarded hoodie around it for steadiness.

Along with the killer paint job, her dad also upgraded the old radio. She plugged in her phone and searched for a playlist. With an hour to kill, she might as well sing and drive.

Waving out the window as she slowly cruised through Millie’s parking lot, she tooted the horn to alert Dad and April that she was leaving and then turned onto the main road for the drive out to the old bunkhouse on the edge of the Thomas ranch where she and Wyn used to meet.

Marcy Thomas was meddling behind-the-scenes, to Sami’s advantage. She’d stopped in at Millie’s to pick up a stack of pies and informed April that Wyn was spending the day at the bunkhouse working on a project. April, in turn, texted this info along with a suggestion that Sami take the bull by the horns.

It always made her laugh when city girl April tried to act all country and whatnot.

Crappy reference aside, her dad’s girlfriend was right. It was up to her to break the logjam.

The absolute perfect Sugarland song started. She loved this one. “Stuck Like Glue.”

Cranking up the volume, she powered down the highway with the windows down and her hair whipping in the wind. She bounced on the seat and sang her heart out. Truck sing-alongs on a stretch of empty road were as satisfying as performing in front of tens of thousands.

She let her inner speed demon off the leash and gave the snazzy blue truck a serious workout. Before long, she’d turned off the main road and started down the sometimes bumpy access road that curved along the edge of the Thomas ranch. Her heart started pounding.

Switching off the music, Sami didn’t realize how viciously she was chewing on her lip until a sharp bite made her wince. She felt like a shy teenager. A shy teenager stalking a boy.

Knowing every inch of the way, she held her breath when the truck cleared a cluster of enormous pines and up ahead was the first glimpse of the ramshackle bunkhouse where she and Wyn played out the wicked part of their ill-timed affair.

As the truck got closer, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Expecting a rickety old structure that was barely more than a shack, she gasped when a cute little rustic cabin came into focus. The most obvious changes were big windows and a new chimney.

Her astonishment changed to nervousness when she spied Wyn’s truck parked by the door.

“Please don’t let me screw this up,” she muttered out loud.

Because there was every possibility he was aware of her presence, she relied on her movie experience to get her through. She had no intention of putting on an act – not with him, never with him – but she was nervous and needed to feel like she had some kind of control over what she was doing.

She slid out of the truck and strode around the front bumper with fake confidence in every step. The metal on metal creak as she yanked open the passenger door was overly loud in the silence. In a weird way, it was the perfect backing sound. Sort of like a battered, metal box popping open for the first time after being slammed shut and left in a trash heap. The comparison was chilling.

Very aware of her ass cheeks hanging out of the bottom of her shorts as she leaned into the truck, she muttered to herself. “Fake it till you make it, Sami. He’s worth whatever groveling is necessary. And even if he pushes back” – she sighed – “his heart is still mine. I hope.”

Jamming the hat on her head, she carefully extricated the pitcher of ginger tea from its protective pile, slapped a smile on her face, and mentally crossed all her fingers and toes.

“Time to face the music.”

Wyn finished taste testing the chili, added a last sprinkle of salt for good measure, and gave the thick, meaty concoction a thorough stir. He could survive on nothing but containers of frozen homemade chili if he had to. His mom had insisted that he and his dumbass kid brother knew how to cook. To her chagrin, Burke’s idea of cooking involved a microwave and disposable everything – dishes, utensils, napkins. Was it arrogance mixed with first kid syndrome that made Wyn a master in the kitchen? Ha! Probably.

“That dumbfuck brother of mine can’t spell cumin, much less figure out how to grind it fresh.”

He sniggered at the mental picture. When it came to younger siblings, he hit the jackpot. Burke was his junior and would be twenty-seven on his next birthday in November. Wyn liked to pretend that he’d have preferred to be an only child, but the fierce love for the little bro who did nothing but make him nuts was strong and ran deep.

But loving the little twerp didn’t mean Burke wasn’t a grade A asshole where the ladies were concerned. From the time he figured out what his dick was for, the kid had been on a commando mission to fuck every available female in Wyoming and even on a couple of memorable occasions when they let him off the family leash and he left the state.

There was the business trip to Las Vegas. The one that ended with bail money and Wyn threatening to tear Burke’s nuts off after he also had to bail out the big dollar hooker his stupid brother was hanging with. The two dumbasses got shitfaced and ended up in a public area of the Bellagio hotel with his brother wearing nothing but boots and a hat.

And then, of course, Burke’s claim to fame – getting caught in Jackson Hole having a threesome with a reporter doing a story about the ranch and a waitress he sweet-talked who blabbed to TMZ. The guy was an equal opportunity Lothario.

It might be fucked up to wish this, but Wyn totally hoped some no-nonsense female came along who wouldn’t be at all impressed with his younger brother’s womanizing shtick and put him in his place.

Turning around as a laugh rumbled from his chest, he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. Just at that exact moment, a shadow crossed the front windows and fully startled him into a defensive posture.

Who the fuck dared to come out here? The bunkhouse was his sanctuary. The oasis he needed when getting away and being alone was a top priority. Prepared to knock whoever the fuck it was on their ass, he quickly crossed the single room and yanked the door open.

His bark was not a greeting. “Big mistake.”

He jumped back, and his mouth dropped open when a startled woman who was in the midst of knocking gasped and almost fell face first across the threshold.

Sami.

Aw, fuck.

“Wyn, my god! You scared the shit out of me.”

One – it was Sami on his threshold. Not Samantha Hayes.

Two – being this close to her made his heart thump.

Three – he was so very, very fucked that it wasn’t even funny.

A murmur coming from the area of his heart made the moment seem bigger than it was. It wasn’t fair that after all this time and everything that happened, he still wanted her. Still loved her.

“What do you want?” When the unfriendly tone of his angry growl hit his ears, he closed his eyes but refused to sigh or shake his head as he reeled in his response. If he had a lick of sense, slamming the door in her face would be his best move. Sadly, he had as much sense as he had fucks to give.

A shadow from the brim of her hat slanted across her face. The need to read her expression made him squint and peer closer. Her eyes had a mysterious vibe, and he could tell she wasn’t all that sure of herself.

Confusion raced through his system. She was a big girl now, not a teenager, and she was also an actress. He might not understand what the fuck motivated her for the past ten years, but he knew enough about the girl he fell in love with to grasp that she was allowing him to see that she was vulnerable. To him.

He swallowed, and his heart boomed in his chest.

And then, in a flash, she took a hard right turn that left him standing at the door with his mouth cranked open.

Sashaying past despite his feeble attempt to block her with his body, she pranced into the bunkhouse like she owned the damn place. As if she belonged there.

“I brought you some of Grandpa’s tea! Made it fresh – the way you like it!” She hefted a pitcher of liquid that sloshed with her movements. Her grin was pure mischief.

She turned in a slow circle, put the pitcher on the island, and whistled. “Wyn! Whoa! This place is awesome.”

“Damn straight,” he mumbled.

Her eyes snapped to his, and she laughed. “Okay, Mr. Grumpy. Learn how to take a compliment, why don’t you? Sheesh!”

He shook his head to clear the thoughts running riot in his brain. This time, when he asked the question, he put some zing into it so there’d be no mistaking that he expected a goddamn answer.

“What – do you want?”

She pulled off the hat and tossed it on the island next to the pitcher. That was the moment his mind registered what she had on. Five seconds later, his dick noticed too.

He wasn’t stupid.

Well, yeah, he was. But he knew an outfit with purpose when he saw one because it was something she’d taught him a long time ago. Her standard snarky drawl was “dress for the outcome, not the situation.” Word salad that her female brain employed to explain why she had no panties on under her graduation gown. Even for Sami, her rationale was all sorts of fucked up. And hilarious. The situation was graduating from high school. The outcome she wanted was him on top of her and buried deep because she was eighteen and out of school. The reminder of that night made his balls tighten.

That was how his Sami was back then. Ballsy, straightforward, and a bit of a nympho.

Shit. It was hot and stuffy, wasn’t it? Sweat gathered around his collar.

When she answered his rude and demanding question, she did so from a posture that made his knees wobble.

Cowgirl boots firmly planted with her legs slightly parted, she crossed her arms and pouted. All he saw was bare legs that went on for miles, a couple of inches of stomach, and the way her tits taunted him behind the mostly unbuttoned shirt.

“I think what I want is sort of obvious.”

He couldn’t believe she went there right out of the gate. Counting to ten, he made a half-assed attempt to be the man his father raised, but his mouth wasn’t having it.

“So is that the deal?” He growled. “You trolling for cock, Sami? Is that what this performance is about? Do you need to be fucked, little girl?”

She stomped her foot like a six-year-old and glared at him. “Erwyn Thomas! Shut your filthy mouth.”

There was no denying that barking his full name and her angry stomp were funny as shit. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, but the burst of laughter wouldn’t cooperate, and he was forced to give it oxygen.

“Don’t you Erwyn me, Samantha!”

He was surprised when her brows bumped together, and a frown marred her pretty face. Realization was dawning on him. He hated being referred to as Erwyn. It was the one thing his parents did that drove him craziest. Her reaction when he called her Samantha felt oddly similar.

A small, quiet voice in his conscience said, “Maybe being Samantha Hayes wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”

Her surprising him was so normal that he barely reacted when she threw her hands up and huffed with obvious exasperation.

“Goddammit, Wyn. What?” she barked. “What isn’t clear to you about this? I came home. For good. All that other shit is done. I get that you need me to own everything that happened but cut me a break. You don’t come out all that well in the telling either, so I would appreciate it if you didn’t paint me with a slut brush. Shit happened. We both fucked up.”

Her pointed smirky leer when she deliberately eyeballed the bulge in his jeans took all the wind out of his sails.

“Here’s how I see it,” she continued without missing a beat. “You’re pissed off at me, and I’m not exactly happy with you either – but enough is enough. This is my home too, and I’m not going anywhere. If your ego needs me to spell it out, I will. This is where I want to be because this is where you are. I’m not pretending the past ten years didn’t happen, but let’s take a minute to be honest. I’ve never stopped loving you, and this grumpy old man act you have going on is the next best thing to an admission that you’re still in love with me.”

He growled and didn’t know why.

And then she flipped the script, and he was left floundering.

“Hey! Is that your mom’s stoneware? I love this design!”

Blinking with surprise, he watched her dash around the island to the rough-hewn built-in under the windows where he stacked the dishware. She picked up one of the dinner plates and stared at it.

“God, I remember when she made these. Your poor dad!” Her laughter filled the old bunkhouse. “Remember all the yelling when he had the guys help install that kiln?”

His answering laugh was automatic. Marcy Thomas and her wonder-kiln was a story that got a lot of mileage – still, even after all these years. Before his mom burned out that particular passion, she’d made shit for half the ranch families in a thousand-mile radius. He snagged this set specifically because it reminded him of Sami.

Pretending he wasn’t still emotionally involved was an exercise in futility.

She put the plate back on the stack and started moving around the open room. He watched her fingers drift across the top of a concrete counter and readjust the angle of an antique tin bread holder.

“You did all this yourself?”

He nodded and looked around – trying to see the old bunkhouse from her point of view. It didn’t look anything like the crappy shack where they perfected their tempestuous fucking style. The shitty old sofa bed was history. Taking its place was a clever futon setup that doubled as a lounger. Had he fantasized about making love to her on the thick, comfortable cushion? Yes.

Everything he did, every goddamn thing, had something to do with Sami. Pretending otherwise was just plain dumb.

Proud of how he’d transformed the space, he nodded. “My version of a Wyoming man cave. No frills and no fucking TV.”

Sami snickered. “What’s that?” She pointed at a game system hooked into an old twenty-inch Mitsubishi television he’d swiped from Burke’s room.

“Mandatory man cave equipment,” he answered with a straight face.

“Looks like a TV to me.”

When they converted the Triple T to a guest ranch, one of the first things they had to invest in, besides dozens of guest cabins, was the satellite communication options their guests expected. The whole place was connected – everywhere but here. The bunkhouse wasn’t for binge watching brainless shit. He came here to unplug.

Everything changed when she bent over to look at the books crammed onto a low shelf. Actually, the change began the second he opened the door, but her ass hanging out of the skimpy shorts sealed the deal.

In his head, he walked up to her and took hold of her hips so he could rub his hard-on against her ass. She’d quiver. Sami used to quiver a lot. He wondered if she still did.

He caught himself as his feet moved automatically toward her and veered off awkwardly. To cover, he made a production out of tending to the pot of chili.

She was suddenly at his side – practically on top of him. Her hand on his back near his waist made him sigh. It seemed like a lifetime ago when her hands had last touched him.

“You know,” she murmured close enough to his shoulder that he felt her breath, “I wouldn’t turn down a bowl of your chili.”

Feeding her was a knee-jerk reaction. Though he’d tried to teach her how to cook and despite the fact her dad ran a diner, Sami had the kitchen skills of a pampered but well-meaning princess. She loved to fuck around in the kitchen but managed to make a mess of things because, in her mind, a recipe was just a suggestion.

“Grab two bowls and if you look in the fridge, there’s a bunch of toppings.”

“Got any Fritos?”

“Of course.” He snickered.

She looked at him with triumph tattooed on her face. Smashed Fritos as a chili topping was a Sami Colton original. Acknowledging the tradition she fashioned was like admitting to carrying a torch.

Nah, fuck that. What he felt for her wasn’t one of those fake flames on the end of a bamboo pole. His fire was more of a flame-thrower, and those damn Fritos were the fuel.

He filled two of his mom’s stoneware bowls, grabbed some spoons, and put it all on the table.

“Sun’s over the yardarm,” he drawled. “I’ve got a wicked Rioja that pairs great.”

She barked with laughter. His skin prickled at the husky sound. “Honestly, darlin’, I don’t know what to comment on first! Sun’s over the yardarm? Wine pairings?”

Chuckling, he turned his head to catch her eyes. “Fuck off. I read!” He insisted with mock effrontery. “And you have Marcy to thank for everything I know about wine.”

He took the bottle from the large wine rack and rolled his eyes. “She made me take a cruise with her when my dad broke his foot and couldn’t go. I tried to convince her Burke would be a better companion, but she wouldn’t budge. Ten days of ocean liner luxury around a foodie theme. Celebrity chefs taught cooking classes, and every day there was another wine workshop. Mom’s something of an expert now.” He sniggered.

They sat at the table, and she reached for his wrist. Squeezing gently, she smiled. “I think it’s sweet how close you two are.”

At that moment, his heart ached for her. Losing her mother when she was so young had fucked with her head. It was hard to stay mad when shit like that touched his feelings.

“She loves you,” was all he said before ducking his head to focus on stirring his bowl of chili.

Blue eyes that changed shade with her mood watched him. He was afraid to look at her, and that fear made him question what the fuck he was doing.

An uncomfortable few moments passed. He heard plastic rustling and chanced half a glance. She was wrestling with the unopened bag of Fritos. Sami’s relationship with opening anything was a marvel to behold. Tear the corner? Nah! Her style was more along the lines of ripping the whole fucking thing to shreds and end up dumping half the contents in the process.

“Gimme that,” he snarled. Snatching the bag from her hands before she assaulted it further, he gave her a dead stare while neatly pulling the sides apart. “See? No spillage.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when her hand slapped the wood table and grabbed the edge like she was holding on for life. Her reaction sent his eyes searching for hers.

Her lips were pressed together in a line so tight that a white ring appeared around her mouth. Wondering what the hell set off her fury, he was startled when her chest started shuddering.

She wasn’t mad. She was struggling not to laugh.

He searched his mind. He even rewound the last minute or so, looking for what was so goddamn funny.

Oh.

Wait.

Yeah.

He heard it now.

Hoping something to drink might relieve the surge of heat that made his face and neck feel like they were on fire, he reached for the glass of wine and took an unfortunate gulp that went straight to his head.

“As I recall,” she taunted with a sexy giggle, “condom spillage was a bunkhouse concern.”

With his brain doing the Rioja hustle and his dick having a laugh, he met her gaze and gave back a bit of what she was putting out. Letting his sex drive run free wasn’t his smartest idea, but he didn’t give a fuck. Sami Colton didn’t inspire much of anything that was smart. With her, it was always about something else. Something deeper. Primitive, basic, and at times, animalistic.

He took her taunt with a leer, and without thinking, his eyes moved to the floor. In the corner of the kitchen where the concrete counter and reclaimed wood cabinets joined was a section of wood floor that once upon a wicked time had puddled with her leaking fluid.

Just like that, the unbidden memory of bending her over and pounding into her sweet pussy from behind while she leaned on an old table and howled her pleasure filled his senses and his mind.

She also looked at the floor and then at him. Their eyes held. The shared memory softened her expression.

And then she looked like she might cry.

Being a total coward where Sami and tears were concerned, he gruffly suggested she finish with the Fritos so he could close the bag.

The confusing sexual dynamic messed with more parts of him than he knew he had. He dropped his spoon into the chili bowl when his fingers didn’t work. His breathing changed. The corner of one eye twitched. Every muscle from the waist down tightened and burned. His tongue felt thick and heavy and no longer seemed to fit in his mouth.

She regretted falling prey to innuendo, but the term spillage coming out of his mouth just begged for it. When he looked down and the memory overtook her senses of how he could make her come until liquid arousal dripped down her legs and wet the floor, a new worry made her squirm.

For her, the bunkhouse was sacred ground. It was where her sexual enlightenment played out. They fooled around here. A full year of making out and becoming intimately familiar christened the old shack and set the stage for her first time. It happened exactly as she knew it would. Wyn’s staunch refusal to go all the way until things were right drove her teenage self batshit, but he’d been right in the end. He’d somehow managed to hold off her constant demands once she’d officially turned eighteen. Her legal status wasn’t enough. In his heart, Wyn was an honorable man, and for his own sense of right and wrong, his true self demanded that high school also be in the rearview.

They made it to his self-imposed starting gate by mere hours. After a raucous graduation party at Millie’s, they’d driven here – to the bunkhouse – and had a private celebration.

For a brief second, the memory brought a smile. He’d planned. They had a cooler full of cherry soda, cherry pie, cherry ice cream, and even a bottle of cherry wine. That he made an occasion out of the ceremonial popping of her cherry made her love him all the more.

But when he looked at the floor, another memory crowded too close.

That summer after she graduated, when they fucked their way through every day, just one thing cast a shadow over her happiness. Wyn was a few years older than her and a college student no less. It was apparent that she was the only virgin in their naughty equation. Imagining him with skanky coeds had driven her nuts.

Why was this coming up now?

Because her imagination also worked up far too many scenarios involving this place as Wyn’s personal fuck studio. How many women had he brought here?

Worry ate at her composure. She cleared her throat and went back to the chili. Reaching into the bag, she took a handful of corn chips and crushed them between her palms. They sprinkled onto the steaming chili. Wiping her hands on her jean shorts, she focused on the task at hand and avoided his gaze.

After a minute, he dropped his spoon and shoved back in his chair.

She looked at him as her tongue cleaned the spoon in her mouth of the yummy chili.

“This is weird, right?”

She raised her brows, gave a tiny shrug, and nodded. Her sensible side was screaming at her to clear the air. Talk about what happened. And do it quickly before one of them, and she suspected it would be her, was naked and vulnerable.

Why did she know it would be her? Because she knew Wyn maybe better than he knew himself. There was no way he’d make love to her until the past was dealt with.

Could he fuck her and walk away? Of course, but that wasn’t Wyn. There was something bigger than both of them at stake, and before they got to that point, he was going to demand she surrender.

“It was always going to be weird,” she quietly murmured.

He was still angry and hurt although she wasn’t sure why. That why was at the core of the mystery that was her and Wyn.

“Do you wanna talk?” she asked.

She jumped when he answered with a sharp bark. “No. Finish your chili.”

He drained his wine glass and poured another. Her pussy tingled. She squirmed in her chair.

It took a few minutes, but the anger in the air eventually defused and melted away. They ate, sipped, and carefully chatted about stupid shit. He told her about the Halloween events the Trip T had in store for the autumn guests. She explained in breathless detail how she settled on her motor home after a two-month search.

It was all very civilized and achingly pleasant – but the swirling sexual subtext wouldn’t be denied. Relentless and building in intensity, she watched and waited like an animal that knew they were being sized up as prey.

They cleared the dishes and drank some more. She wandered around the bunkhouse and lost her shit in the bathroom when she saw the tub and unusual shower setup.

Because he was a guy, the part of the tour where he went on and on about hardware, PVC pipes, and bathroom fixtures was a bit much, but she just drank some more and giggled in all the appropriate places.

It was all well and good, and then the dam broke.

He tore off his shirt and tossed it aside. She wasted less than a second before crowding him against the island. With her hands on the counter at each side of his hips, she leaned in close but stopped short of kissing him.

“I’m mad at you,” she growled. “For the record, I do not cock troll. Ever.”

His answering smile started at the corners of his mouth and slowly spread, but he didn’t move, and their lips, although less than two inches apart, never touched.

“You devil.” She snickered.

He shrugged. “You know the rules. Good girls wait.”

Laughing, she pushed back and snarled, “What? There are rules? Since when?”

She was completely unprepared when he grabbed her around the waist, twirled them around, and lifted her ass onto the counter. With rough hands, he yanked her thighs apart and fit his hips between them. Her surprise went supersonic when he tore at the knot on her shirt and then quickly spread it open.

He checked out her bra with undisguised satisfaction. Wyn liked her lingerie – at least, he had back then.

Pressing the refilled wine glass into her hand, he crowded close and smirked.

“Rule review. There’s only one that counts. I decide, Sami. Got it?”

Oh my. This dominant streak was a surprise too. The tingling turned to a dull throb.

“O-okay,” she mumbled as a shudder ripped through her.

He ran a finger from the base of her throat down the center of her chest and tugged on her bra. The finger moved to her belly and stroked her skin until her belt and shorts stopped him.

“Drink,” he demanded with a tap on the wine glass she was shocked to realize was still in her hand.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

His leer turned her insides to mush.

“Drunk? No. Slightly buzzed and less likely to object? Yes.”

Well, hot damn! That sounded like fun. She guzzled the rest of the wine and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth as a loud, “Ahh,” filled the air.

He laughed. “Good girls wait. Very good girls wait eagerly.”

She pouted because she really didn’t like being taunted, but then again, this was the price he was setting, and whatever she had to pay for the sake of bringing them back together was fine by her.

“A gentleman would take my glass.”

His top lip curled in a sexy snarl, and he leaned in closer. Close enough that her boobs brushed his chest.

“What’s the first rule of being a cowboy gentleman?”

She swallowed with tremendous difficulty. Her voice broke when she replied. “Ladies come first.”

He took the glass out of her hand. Then he grabbed her ass and dragged her to the end of the long, wide counter.

“Lie back.”

“Uh, what?” Her confusion was real. What did he want her to do?

“Lie back and spread ’em, girl. Now.”

Sami looked at the polished concrete slab under her butt and then at his face. Feeling off-kilter and shamefully turned on, she wiggled back a bit and slowly reclined until she was resting on her elbows. She had to bite her lip to keep from whimpering when he grabbed her by the boots and put both feet on the counter.

Her cowboy gentleman was acting like a cowboy gynecologist. Only she had all her clothes on – what clothes she wore.

He reached for his wine and casually leaned against the stove. When she looked down her body, he was situated in the center V of her spread thighs. It was a provocative pose.

He saluted her with his glass. “That’s one hell of a view. The virginal white bra and panties are a nice touch. So are the boots.”

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I’m deciding,” he replied.

He didn’t want to talk – not yet. And he was showing a controlling side she’d barely glimpsed as an innocent nineteen-year-old. The moment demanded honesty.

“Just don’t make me regret this, Wyn.”

The surrender her words implied made his eyes flare. She’d never been more sure of her decision to come home and take a chance.

Draining his glass, he set it aside and eyed her up. “Don’t worry, baby. I know how to make your regret a pleasure.”

Oh. My. God.

He stepped between her legs and bent. She heard him inhale and nearly came.

Chuckling as he moved to her side, he leered at her and growled, “Smells about right.”

She heard the words, but all her mind was able to process was his gorgeous body. The years had changed the younger man into a devastating hottie. His broad, manly chest and naturally muscled torso made her wet her lips. No Hollywood facsimile could ever replace this. Here was a real man – no disrespect intended – but the truth was, Wyn worked hard. Physically hard and the effects were deliciously apparent.

“Lie flat, baby. Hands under your head.”

She did as he demanded. He stood over her and grinned.

Like a twelve-year-old boy touching his first pair of breasts, he cupped his hands over her bra and frowned.

“Well, this doesn’t work,” he chortled.

Her sharp gasp demonstrated Sami’s shock when he unsnapped a leather sheath on his belt and pulled out a pocketknife. He grabbed the center of her bra and lifted. Next thing she knew, her three hundred dollar La Perla pushup bra was history.

“That’s better.” He pushed the two halves of the ravaged bra and her shirt out of the way to expose her to his gaze.

She quivered from the growl in his voice. He wasted no time before devouring both boobs. When he swerved into aggressive territory, she groaned his name. He knew that she liked him to be a little rough at times, but this was new.

Reaching under her head, he fisted her hair and pulled. She was trapped. With his free hand, he gave one nipple a vicious pinch. She arched into his touch and cried out. His husky growling sigh made her senses go haywire.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Oh, Wyn,” she whimpered. “It’s just, I can’t,” she moaned. Her response to the manhandling scared her a little. It made her realize she was so desperate for him that she’d allow anything.

He got serious in a hurry. “Why are you here?” he demanded. “Why?”

They weren’t going to talk about what happened, but that wasn’t stopping him from exacting an emotional price.

“Why are you trembling? You know I’d never …” he snarled but didn’t finish the sentence.

“I’m afraid,” she admitted in what to her ears sounded like a very small voice. “Not of you,” she hurried to explain. “Of this. I know you won’t hurt me – physically. But there’s more at stake than well, you know.”

He exploded. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sami. You don’t get to la-de-dah away for ten goddamn years, then show up one day and expect me to act like what you did was no big deal.”

She shot up, swung her legs over the edge of the counter, and jumped to her feet. “What I did?” she screeched. “What I did? You mean take a shot when a chance of a lifetime knocks? Why was that wrong, Wyn? It’s not like I left here with a head full of silly dreams and ended up doing porn! And fuck you very much, pal.”

The yelling started, and it got heated. Did it help that her boobs were on display? Probably not.

Ripping off her shirt, she yanked the expensive bra, gathered both pieces and threw them at his head. She put the shirt on and knotted it so tight she nearly cut off her oxygen.

The shouting match came to an abrupt end when he snapped, “I was a dumbass and thought you were my girl. Was gonna propose and everything.”

A pin dropping would be too loud in the emotionally charged silence that followed his comment.

“Er, what?”

He looked shaken, and she knew he hadn’t meant to tell her. She wasn’t surprised when he erected a macho shield. “Get out.”

“Oh, fuck no,” she barked. “That’s not how this is gonna go. You say you don’t want to talk, yet clearly, you have something to say. Wyn, for god’s sake. We have to stop doing this. I didn’t leave you, and I’m not sure why you think that, but yeah, I stayed away. I own that part. But you didn’t care. And you made that plain as day whenever we talked. You even left me to walk my first red carpet alone.”

“Nice try, but you weren’t alone. I have eyes, Sami, and there were plenty of pictures.”

“Stop! Stop! Whatever you think, Wyn, I never cheated on you.”

“Never?”

He had to be kidding. But he wasn’t.

“Not for a long, long time. Years. And when I finally did try to feel something for somebody else, it was one act short of a tragedy.”

The confession acted like a match held too close to kindling.

Next thing she knew, they were in a frantic clutch on a big comfy futon. They kissed like maniacs. He left bite marks on her boobs and chomped down so hard on her neck that she cried out.

She responded with wildness – a wildness that only Wyn had ever inspired. Her nails raked his back. She initiated an aggressive tongue duel and nearly knocked him out by accident when they both fumbled to get her boots off, and he got whacked in the head.

Her hands got smacked away when she went for his belt. Disappointed, she considered begging, but he was several steps ahead of her and was working toward a different goal.

“Shimmy out of those shorts, baby.”

He reared back and helped her wiggle out of the scrap of material. Her panties lasted less than ten seconds once the shorts were off.

His hands were everywhere. A wave of arousal pushed her along. When his fingers went between her legs and stroked her pussy lips, she melted down.

She watched him through half-closed eyes. Her chest quivered as she panted with need. He parted her outer lips and chuckled.

“Somebody needs to come.”

He played in the wetness leaking from her body, using it to massage her swollen clit. She shuddered and drew her knees back. He responded by sliding a finger into her aching pussy. She moaned. He added a second finger. That would have been enough to get her off, but Wyn had mastered her orgasms a long time ago and knew just what to do.

It was his tongue that sent her flying. He might prefer his chili in an old stoneware bowl, but when it came to licking pussy, her man was an artist. A gourmand with a magic touch.

The fingering sent her to the edge where he held her in a state of moaning desperation. When she felt his mouth move in to finish the task, her heart nearly burst from the feverish excitement he elicited.

Wyn did things to her pussy that made her cry out. He suckled her clit and tongue lashed the sensitive opening to her body where she so desperately needed his big, fat cock.

His name was on her lips as she came. Her body jerked uncontrollably. Ecstasy robbed her brain of conscious thought. It was awesome and demanding. Her whole being exploded.

She was floating when the harsh sound of metal thudding on the floor got her attention. His hands lifted her ass, and he growled, “Look at me, girl.”

She tried to focus, but the bliss was messing with her abilities. Her vision cleared fast when she felt the glorious plump head of Wyn Thomas’s manly cock demanding entrance to her pussy.

Reaching for him, she growled his name and dug her nails into his flesh. He pulled her ass up at the moment he plunged into her flooded channel. When he bottomed out balls deep, they both groaned. His mouth claimed hers. The kiss was rough and possessive, but she didn’t mind.

The fucking was equal parts majestic and primal. Wyn was an animal driven by basic desires. She was a goddess anointing his cock with her arousal.

Her pussy clenched. She loved feeling him deep inside. When he set a demanding rhythm, and his balls slapped her ass on each ferocious stroke, she quivered with reawakened need. He took her wrists, raised them above her head and shifted his weight between her legs. She knew this maneuver. He was going to bring it home.

It didn’t matter that his rough grasp on her wrists cut off the blood supply. All she cared about was his fantastic cock claiming her in the most deliciously elemental way.

“Knees higher, baby. Give me more room to fuck you good.”

She complied and added a small request. “Harder, Wyn.”

Her demand cut him loose, and all pretense of being a gentleman, cowboy or otherwise, took a hike. The pounding was fierce. Her pussy ached with need. When he demanded she come, Sami surrendered to his cock and was seized by a climax so strong she had no other choice but to scream out in ecstasy.

He followed her with a thundering orgasm that went on and on and took her breath away. His weight as he collapsed on top of her was the perfect comfort ending to a coupling that changed everything.