that she hadn’t slept with the man she was about to marry.
She’d thought about pointing out that there was nothing wrong with saving yourself for marriage.
But Blythe knew perfectly well that Sammi had had sex before. So she was going to want specifics on why Sammi hadn’t had it with the man she was about to commit the rest of her life to.
But Sammi couldn’t explain that it just didn’t matter to her. She wasn’t marrying Sterling for sex. Nor, as so many whispered, was she marrying him for his money or his family connections. She and Sterling didn’t need sex to make a good marriage. They had family ties, respect and common interests. They had a friendship, and that was way more important than sex.
The sound of her name amid naughty giggles pulled her from her reverie.
“I’m sorry, what?” she asked the group of wicked-eyed women staring at her. A group, she noted, that now included Blythe. Was there something about getting undressed together that made women best buddies?
“I asked if you prefer panties or thongs,” Amy said with a naughty smile. “Then Mia asked if you had a preference when it came to fabric. You know, heavy silk or see-through lace.”
How about cotton briefs and in the dark, with the lights off. Her face heating, Sammi cast a quick look around. Where the hell had Mrs. Ross gone? Why was the woman always around when she didn’t want her and never here when she needed her?
But apparently sometime during Sammi’s mental side trip through her nonexistent love life, the wedding coordinator had brought in a tray of delicate desserts and champagne.
And all of them, except Blythe, who’d tugged on her scrubs again, were sitting around in their undies, sipping champagne and nibbling bonbons.
“We’re trying to figure out your lingerie style,” Clara explained, actually pulling a leather-bound notebook from her messenger bag. “And are you going to want to branch out a little? Is Sterling into the kink?”
Sammi’s mouth dropped.
But no words came out.
It wasn’t their expectant looks that shocked her, so much as how perfectly normal they all seemed to feel asking such intimate questions. Not even in college had her underwear choices come into conversation. But now that she was marrying, everybody thought it was their business?
“Speaking of kink... Guess who’s back in town?” Taking pity on Sammi’s horrified expression, Blythe addressed the question to everyone—and in a friendly tone, too. “This guy is amazing. Think orgasms by the dozen. The man every other man envies. Sergeant Satisfaction, Captain Climax, General G-Spot.”
That’s all it took to bring an image to Sammi’s mind of a wicked smile, warm hazel eyes and toffee-colored hair with just a hint of curl. Even as a teen, the man had exuded sex appeal, so much that people rarely looked past it to see what a sweet guy he was.
To Sammi, he’d been a hero. He’d protected her from bullies when she was seven, then when he’d learned that they were harassing her because she couldn’t read yet, he’d taught her in secret himself. He’d made Sammi feel as if she could do anything. His unquestioning belief in her had been a turning point in Sammi’s life. Years later, he’d even helped Sammi get her job here at the inn. Talk about a hero.
“Laramie’s back?” Sammi said a second before Amy did. Everyone giggled except Sammi, who was wondering why Amy would know Jerrick’s bad boy. She’d grown up in Abilene, not Jerrick.
Blythe continued talking before Sammi could ask, and before she could analyze the tight feeling in her stomach over how Amy—or any woman under the age of thirty-five if the rumors were to be believed—would know Laramie.
“Long and lean, sexy as sin and hotter than Hades.” Blythe made a show of fanning her hand in front of her face. “He’s fueled the fantasies of every woman in town from the age of fifteen to fifty.”
“He’s fueled fantasies in a lot of towns, from what I hear,” Mia chimed in. “Laramie is a legend in West Texas.”
“I heard rumors about him when I was at college in San Antonio,” Clara mused, looking modest in her simple silk teddy. “Didn’t he go off to become a secret agent or something?”
“I heard he was a drug lord, although some people say he’s really DEA and that’s a cover.”
“No, no,” Amy interrupted. “He’s a cowboy. He’s riding broncs in the PRCA, you know, the rodeos. He was in Las Vegas last year for National Finals.”
Actually, he’d left Texas to join the Navy twelve years ago. By now, he’d probably achieved his dream of being a SEAL. But Sammi kept that to herself.
“Guys like that are bad news,” Clara declared, dabbing her lips with a napkin before she rose to dress. “Nothing more than man-whores.”
“Laramie isn’t bad news,” Sammi defended, not able to let that comment go by. “He’s really a sweet guy.”
“Ooooh,” echoed every voice in the room.
“Not like that.” Sammi rolled her eyes. “I knew him when we were kids. He even got me the job here at the inn.”
Actually, he’d found Sammi trying to hitch a ride to the bus station with grand plans to run away. He’d convinced her that running wasn’t the answer over an ice cream sundae, then brought her to the inn where he’d convinced Mrs. Reed the housekeeper to hire her.
“That’s right,” Blythe remembered. “His mom worked here before she died.”
“I’ll second the sweet-guy vote. And it’s unfair to call him a man-whore,” Amy said. “I’ve never heard of Laramie costing women anything more than a little heartache.”
“A little heartache is a fair price for the kind of memories he’s credited for. I’ve heard he can go all night, rocking it like a jackhammer. And that smile.” Blythe popped a grape into the air, caught it between her teeth, then bit into it with a snap and a grin. “Panty melting.”
“Just what every woman wants. Melted panties.” Sammi frowned, wondering why everyone seemed to think sex was so damned important. Sex was messy and awkward, usually made up of mythical expectations and ridiculous requirements.
“You’ll see,” Mia said, giggling as she slipped into her Alexander Wang dress. “A few months of honeymoon sex, and I’ll bet you melt every pair you own.”
Since she didn’t figure sex—not even sex with a legend such as Laramie—could be worth a single pair, Sammi could only laugh.
“Not to worry. You’ll have enough panties to get you through a year of hot sex,” Clara assured her with a comforting pat on the shoulder. “The lingerie shower will ensure that.”
“A lingerie shower?” Sammi paused in the act of pulling on her jeans to frown. Her eyes shifted from one woman to the other. But they looked as surprised that she’d asked as she was to hear about it.
“You know, a shower for lingerie,” Amy said, her expression two shades away from condescending. “Next Friday afternoon.”
“I
