Page 98 of Tempting Wyatt

I grin. “Love it.”

He waves me over, and I follow him to the door.

I don’t know what I’m expecting, but walking into the bunkhouse is sensory overload.

It’s dim with only a lamp on in the living area and a fluorescent light in the kitchen. As far as smell, if I had to compare it to something specific, it’s a unique combination of a high school cafeteria and a men’s locker room. The mingling scents of sweat, pizza, bacon grease, leather, and steam, tinged with masculine-scented body wash, as if someone recently took a hot shower, permeate the air.

Stepping all the way inside, I see three cowboys on a leather sectional, arguing over a football game still playing on a big screen television set. The two who brought in the pizza set it on the counter and begin pulling beers from the fridge.A black square folding table is off to the side, and an older look man sits there, shuffling cards and drinking.

There’s a decent-looking pool table where the dining room would be. Neon beer and whiskey-brand signs glow in the corners.

My gaze sweeps to the back of the surprisingly large space and lands on posters of half-and fully nude women in the back corner, where two sets of bunk beds are along the wall. Liquor bottles line the countertops like decor.

It’s like being driven a million miles an hour into a wall of testosterone. It seeps into my skin the second I’m all the way inside.

Antonio whistles, piercing the air and stopping a conversation from the couch that ends in, “. . . licked her pussy.”

My eyes widen, and I hold back a laugh.

Heads whip in my direction, and the men of all ages gape at me with similar expressions.

I couldn’t write this scene any better.

They clearly weren’t prepared for company. And damn sure not female company.

“This is Miss Ivy,” Antonio announces gruffly. “She’s a guest of the ranch. She’ll be joining us for pizza, and I expect you to behave yourselves if you still want to have a job here tomorrow.”

One of the dark-haired guys on the couch meets my gaze. Then glances at Antonio. “But it’s not even?—”

“You heard me,” Antonio breaks in. “I said, guest of the ranch, Cole.”

Understanding appears to settle over him, but I’m still confused.

My writer-brain is dying to know what he was going to say.

“What do you like on your pizza, Miss Ivy?” A cowboy in the kitchen calls out.

“Use plates,” Antonio barks at him.

“Please don’t get fancy on my account,” I say, gesturing for them to return to whatever they were doing. “Anything except anchovies is good with me. I’m not picky.”

Antonio shakes his head. “These animals wouldn’t know fancy if it slapped them upside the head.”

A few of them grin and shrug in agreement.

Antonio waves an arm out toward the couch. “That’s Cole, Judd, and Marcos,” he tells me.

Then he turns to the kitchen and introduces me to Tucker and Ace, who helped with the pizzas. I’m dying to ask if Ace is his real name, but I smile politely. It’s clear I’m holding up everyone’s dinner, and I feel bad for interrupting already.

Guy named Houston is the one shuffling cards. Cole informs me that Houston is not his real name, but he’s from Texas so that’s what they call him. No one seems to know his actual name, and he seems to prefer it that way.

“Where’s Colter?” Antonio asks just as a man steps out from the back room in nothing but a white towel around his waist.

He’s ripped, six pack abs that belong on a magazine full of cowboy porn. But his chest is scarred like he survived a bear attack.

Unlike the others, who look like razors are rarely part of their lives, this one is clean-shaven with longish hair falling into his bright blue eyes.

I could put him in movies. He’s the unruly, damaged sort of beautiful that would make him the perfect male lead. Or the murderer, whichever. If it wasn’t for the untamable energy he radiates, even from ten feet away, I’d ask if he’d ever considered acting.