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  His brows went up. “A real orgasm? Is there any other kind?”

  She bit her lip. “Well, there’s the fake kind.”

  “Why would anyone want the fake kind?”

  “Because the fake kind burns three hundred and fifteen calories,” she said.

  At that, he tossed back his head and laughed.

  She stared at him. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him laugh like that before, and it melted her all the more. The sight of his smile and genuine amusement . . . she couldn’t even put into words how that felt, especially since she’d been the one to make him laugh. He’d thawed. She’d thawed him. “Wow,” she murmured.

  “What?”

  “You don’t show what you’re feeling very often,” she said.

  “Do you think that means I don’t feel?”

  “I think it means that you’re pretty guarded and extremely careful.” Because she was afraid that sounded critical, she said, “I get that when you’re out there, working, it has to be that way to keep you safe. But you’re safe here, Griffin.”

  His gaze touched her features, each one, ending with her eyes. “Am I?” he asked softly.

  She opened her mouth, but her breath caught in her throat because suddenly he’d dipped his head close to hers. So close that their lips nearly touched, and she became extremely aware of how entwined they were and how much body heat they shared. “Griffin,” she whispered softly. Hopefully.

  His gaze locked on her mouth, and she started to close the distance between them, feeling a slow, sexy dance coming on. But the music stopped.

  And then Griffin pulled back. Squeezing her hand, he led her off the dance floor, dropping her off at the head table before walking away.

  Watching him go, she let out a low, shaky breath. He was right. He wasn’t safe at all.

  And neither was she.

  Eleven

  Yeah, Grif was definitely feeling plenty. Way too much, starting with a bad case of vertigo—compliments of his perforated eardrum. But today’s low-level headache wasn’t from the blast or the wedding. Nope, that honor went to the odd and opposing sensations of actually enjoying being back in Sunshine and his own inability to figure out how to come to good terms with his family. Specifically his dad.

  Grif had been a rebellious, rambunctious, trouble-seeking little punk. He knew that. But he’d hoped to somehow upgrade his image while he was here. Had hoped to make things right. But he was unsure how to do that and even more unsure how to make peace with the man he’d so disappointed.

  Leaving the sounds of the merry reception behind, he walked across the yard to the horse pens. Woodrow snickered softly in greeting and walked up to the railing, pushing his head to Grif’s chest. Not a loving nudge so much as a “where the hell are the treats?”

  Before he could pull out the handful of baby carrots he’d shoved into his pockets from the buffet table, Woodrow was frisking him, snorting a little. With a low laugh, Grif helped the old guy out, stroking his face as he fed him the carrots. “Miss me?”

  “Nah,” his dad said from behind him. “He’s just happy you brought food.”

  Grif turned and met his gaze. “It’s a wedding, dad. You’re supposed to be happy, too.”

  At the mention of the wedding, the old man softened enough to smile with pride. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “Yes.” Holly had glowed with happiness, from the inside out. “You managed to raise her in spite of herself,” Grif said.

  “Yeah,” Donald said. “We did.

  “Well, I didn’t do it by myself,” his dad admitted at Grif’s surprise on the “we.” “You helped me keep her in line, you know you did. Hell, half the time I couldn’t manage to even say hello without pissing her off. So yeah. I’m happy. Very happy. And so is she. Are you?”

  A loaded speech. A loaded question. The truth was, Griffin had expected to feel caged in by the wide-open spaces and the mountains, by the way everyone in his life had fallen in love and gotten married.

  But he didn’t.

  Instead he felt . . . maybe just the slightest bit envious. “I’m happy to be back,” he said carefully, and wouldn’t mind hearing the sentiment returned.

  Donald turned to look out on the land and leaned on a post. “I thought the place would feel like Mars to you after all this time.”

  “It’s not the land that drew me back.”

  At that Donald turned his head. “You drink too much already?”

  Grif blew out a breath. “Is it so hard to accept that I might not still be that angry kid that left here all those years ago?”

  Donald just looked at him for a long beat. “You cleaned the barn.”

  “You suggested I should.”

  “Beside the fact that you’ve never done a damn thing I suggested, we have people who do that.”

  “I told you,” Grif said. “I wanted to help.”

  Donald stared at him then nodded. The biggest acknowledgement Grif was going to get.

  “Donald?” a female voice called out across the yard. “Honey, where are you? I want to dance!”

  They both turned at the sound of Deanna.

  “Out here,” Grif’s dad called, his usual gruff voice softening, pleasure crossing his face at the sight of the beautiful, long-haired brunette working her way toward them on her stiletto heels. Deanna wore a skin-tight, siren red dress. Huge diamonds dripping from her ears and neck. She stepped into Donald and gave him a big smacking kiss, leaving a red smudge on his mouth that made him grin like an idiot. “Hey, Grif,” she said as she wrapped herself around his dad. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine,” he said, watching as his dad hugged Deanna into him.

  “Good. Cuz I’m stealing your dad. We’re going to tear up the dance floor now.”

  To Grif’s surprise, Donald just smiled down at Deanna and allowed himself to be led back to the reception.

  Grif followed, the knot in his chest loosened slightly. He’d wanted to come back, and he had. He’d wanted to fit in, and he was trying.

  But there was one big distraction. Actually, she was more like a five-foot-four tornado. A five-foot-four sexy-as-hell tornado, who was turning him on with every blush and odd science fact that slipped out of her lush mouth.

  He watched that distraction over the next few hours. Mistake number one, because she charmed everyone in her orbit as she enjoyed herself no matter what she was doing, coaxing people onto the dance floor, bringing the older relatives food and drink, playing with the younger guests including her brother . . . Whatever she did, she did with her entire heart and soul.

  As someone who hadn’t done all that much with his own heart and soul, it drew him in like a moth to the flame.

  At midnight Adam and Holly left for their honeymoon among cheers, hugs, and kisses. The party raged on without them. Kate was on the dance floor with Ryan Stafford, the two of them in a conga line. When the music switched to the “Macarena,” they kept pace with each other effortlessly like this wasn’t their first rodeo.

  Which didn’t mean Kate was a good dancer. In truth she was awful. But what she lacked in talent, she more than made up for in sheer enthusiasm. She was smiling, eyes flushed, cheeks rosy, her head tossed back, leaning into Ryan as she laughed helplessly at something he said.

  She was more than a little tipsy, he realized. And her dancing partner was using the opportunity to be Mr. Handsy.

  Grif knew Ryan. He was a good guy but also a serious player. And he was seriously playing Kate at the moment. Not that she seemed to mind. There was clearly still something between them. Sexual tension? Maybe. Whatever it was, it made Grif stop and take a closer look. Yeah, they knew each other well. Were they still sleeping together? He tried to tell himself it absolutely didn’t matter if Ryan took her home tonight. Grif had had his shot, and he hadn’t taken it. He had no claim on her.

  But even as he said it to himself, his feet took him straight toward her. Halfway there he passed his dad talking to Kel. Grif caught the la