“Do they . . .” I slugged back a healthy dose of bourbon to wash down the bile trying to climb up my throat. “Do the reporters and stuff still follow you around?”
“No,” he answered quickly, now sensing the change in me. “Poppy, you have nothing to worry about. They haven’t paid much attention to me in quite some time. There may be a few here and there once word of our engagement and marriage gets out, but that’ll be it. Nothing like it was before.”
That helped tremendously at easing that particular concern. But there was still one thing eating at me. “My God. How rich are you?”
This time, he slugged back a drink before looking at me earnestly. “Does it really matter?”
I let out a humorous laugh. “Jase, you offered to pay for the repairs at the inn without knowing what it was going to cost. Then you said you’ll cover me for however long it takes to get it back up and running. It’s like whatever the amount was, it didn’t mean anything to you. I just find it a little . . .”
“A little what?” he demanded.
“Intimidating,” I admitted, looking him right in the eye. “It’s intimidating to me, Jase. Most months I’m struggling just to keep my head above water, and you came in, throwing cash at the situation without even batting an eye.”
He moved quickly, crossing the few inches between us on the bench so we were pressed together. “You know me, Poppy,” he said, his tone insistent, almost pleading. “You know the kind of man I am. There’s no reason to be intimidated by me. I’m Farah’s big brother. That’s it.”
“Farah’s big brother.” When he put it like that, everything seemed to come into perspective.
“Exactly,” he said softly. “I’m just Jase. And if it’ll help make you feel better, I’m willing to let you pay for dinner.”
My head fell back on a laugh so long and loud, by the time I finished, the muscles in my stomach had begun to cramp up.
When it finally tapered off enough for me to breathe, I looked back at him to see him smiling tenderly. “I don’t think so. I was hoping to keep it from you until after the ink dried on the marriage certificate, but I’m actually a gold digger.”
The corner of his mouth trembled with humor. “Is that right?”
“Oh yeah. Hardcore gold digger right here. By the time this fake marriage is done, I’ll have bled you dry.”
Something flashed in his eyes, something so intense it took my breath away as he leaned in and said quietly, “I’m willing to take my chances, Flower. Because something tells me I’d be more than happy to let you do it.”
* * *
We were still tucked in the booth at Bad Alibi, both of us full from a delicious meal. The check had already been paid—the tip nice and fat at Shane’s insistence—but we were having such a good time, neither of us had moved to leave.
He’d asked me about my family, and I happily filled him in on my mom, however, when I tried skating over the topic of my father he caught on.
“What about your dad?” he asked, curiosity making the gold flecks in his eyes brighten.
“He’s . . . not in the picture,” I admitted. “He took off when I was little. Guess he decided my mom and I weren’t worth his time.”
“Shit, Poppy.” He leaned in closer, tracing my jawline with his thumb. “I’m so sorry.”
I lifted a shoulder in a tiny shrug. “It’s all right. It was a long time ago. Honestly, I barely remember him.”
I could practically see the questions floating around inside his head. “So, you don’t hear from him at all?”
“Nope. Last I heard, he was living somewhere in Colorado with his new family. My mom and I weren’t worth sticking around for, but apparently, these people are. It’s been so long, I don’t even remember what he looks like.” My smile was small and self-deprecating as I added, “So, as you can probably guess, I kind of have trust issues of my own as well. We make quite a pair, huh?”
“Hey,” he said, pulling my attention from the table top. “It’s his loss, sweetheart. That prick doesn’t deserve you.”
I bumped my arm against his. “Thanks. But let’s talk about something else.”
He quickly moved on to stories of his childhood, mainly sticking to the ones in which he tortured poor Farah since I already knew how terrible his parents were. After that, in an attempt to get to know each other better in as short an amount of time as possible, we decided on a rapid-fire Q and A.
“Favorite food,” Jase asked.
“Carbohydrates.”
“That’s not a food!” he said with a bark of laughter.
“Fine, I’ll amend it to anything floured and fried. Or just fried. Is that better?”
“I’ll accept it.”
“Favorite color,” I asked, sipping the water I’d switched to halfway through my meal.
“Red,” he said, then quickly amended. “No, blue. But not just any blue. It has to be ocean blue.”
I snorted and shook my head. “That’s pretty specific. Why ocean blue.”
He was quiet as he stared into my eyes. “No reason,” he finally murmured a few seconds later.
“Okay. So you prefer summer to winter. You’ve never watched Game of Thrones or Schitt’s Creek—both of which are making me question whether or not I should marry you. You don’t have a favorite food, but you can’t stand pasta. And your favorite color is the very specific ocean blue, for no reason whatsoever. Did I get all that right?”
“A plus, Ms. Weston. However, I feel the need to defend myself by reminding you that the only reason I’ve never watched those shows is because I don’t own a TV.”
I stopped sipping and bit down on my straw as I grinned. “Not helping your case, Mr. Hyland. Only psychopaths and serial killers can live without owning a television.”
“I can assure you, I’m neither of those. I just work a lot.”
I gave him a mock-skeptical frown. “Mm hmm, so he says. Then I wake up one morning, chained up in the basement with you rubbing Country Crock into my skin.”
He choked on the drink he’d just taken and began hacking so hard I had to pound on his back.
“Jesus Christ,” he wheezed. “Rubbing Country Crock into your skin? Where the hell did you come up with that?”
“Unlike you, I watch TV,” I said snootily. “And true crime shows are my crack.”
He shook his head with a deep, rich chuckle. “You’ve got a twisted side underneath all that sweet, don’t you?”
I forced myself not to swoon at hearing him call me sweet. We’d had a lot of fun, laughing almost constantly throughout dinner. I hadn’t thought it was possible to like this man any more than I already did, but I needed to keep a level head. We were friends, nothing more, and the stupidest thing I could possibly do would be to fall for my fake fiancée.
I gave him a blasé shrug and mumbled. “What can I say? I have many layers. I’m an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, coated in flour and deep fried.”
His golden eyes danced with humor beneath the florescent light dangling over the table. “I’ll take your word for that.” When I let out a yawn, the long day finally getting to me, he shifted out of the booth and held out his hand. “All right, my little enigma. I think it’s time I get you home, yeah?”
He helped me up, but instead of releasing my hand, he used his hold to pull me in closer. My breath stuttered and my heart began to race as his head lowered and his lips pressed gently against mine. It was a chaste kiss, even by a nun’s standards, but the unexpectedness of it and the feel of his full, soft lips was enough to throw my mind into a tailspin.
It lasted all of a second, but I was still reeling from it when he pulled back and whispered, “Practice,” effectively sending me crashing back into reality.
I offered up a wobbly smile, trying not to let my disappointment show. “Right. Practice.”
As he led me out of Bad Alibi, I gave myself a silent warning. I was going to have to be more careful from here on out.
Because a woman could get l
ost in that kind of practice.
Chapter Nine
Poppy
My internal alarm clock was a raging bitch. Until the inn was back up and running, there really wasn’t any reason to wake up as early as I normally did—i.e. the butt crack of dawn—but after years of rising with the sun, my body wouldn’t allow me to sleep in.
My brain was in a complete fog of sleep as I pulled my robe on, slid my feet into my comfy slippers, and padded down to the kitchen in desperate need of a pick-me-up.
Waking up this early might have been the norm for me, but I was still as far from a morning person as you could get. It wasn’t until I finished my first cup of tea that Zombie Poppy shifted back to human.
I moved on autopilot, filling the kettle and grabbing a tea bag from the cabinet. I was halfway through my first cup when I heard the raspy grumble of, “Fuck me, Flower. Why the hell are you up so damn early?”
I let out a startled shriek. On instinct I snatched a thick wooden spoon from the crock next to my stove and whipped around, launching it at the intruder’s head with all my might.
The huge figure standing in the doorway ducked just before the object had a chance to beam him in the head, barking, “Jesus Christ, Poppy!”
My sleep-addled brain finally clicked on, and I realized who it was I’d just attacked with my ninja skills. “Holy crap! Jase, I’m so sorry. I forgot you were here.”
He picked the spoon up off the floor and started in my direction, his brows lifted high. It was then that I noticed he was wearing nothing but a pair of drawstring sleep pants. I knew the man had a good body, but never in a million years had I imagined all those expensive button-downs were covering something so glorious. The man was like a block of solid muscle from his chest—with just the finest smattering of hair—past ridged abdominals, all the way down to a trim waist. Hell, even his belly button was sexy.
Seeing Jase Hyland without a shirt was definitely not helping me keep my head on straight.
“You forgot I was here?” he asked incredulously, dropping the wooden spoon onto the island with a clatter.
I forced myself to stop ogling and looked up to meet those sleepy gold eyes as I shrugged. “I’m not a morning person. Takes a while for my brain to engage.”
His face wreathed with humor. “Well, you sure as hell have lightning fast reflexes, I’ll give you that.”
My face heated as I muttered, “Yeah, sorry about that.”
“Not a problem, sweetheart,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. He braced his hands on the marble and studied me closely from across the island, and like always, having his full attention on me made my body respond instantly. Arousal heated deep in my belly. My nipples began to pebble beneath my nightgown, and I quickly yanked my thin, silky robe closed and turned away, busying myself by wiping the counter where I’d spilled a little of my tea.
“If you’re not a morning person, why in God’s name are you awake before seven on a Sunday morning?”
“Internal alarm clock. Running this place is basically a round-the-clock job, so I’m used to it by now.” I twisted my head and gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry if I woke you up.”
“I’ll forgive you if you point me toward the coffee maker.”
I winced at the mention of coffee. “I don’t have a coffee maker.”
Jase’s eyes went comically wide. “I’m sorry. I think I must have stroked out there for a second, because I could’ve sworn I heard you say you don’t have a coffee maker.”
I fought to suppress my giggle as I confirmed, “Not a stroke. I really did say that.”
His top lip curled up, revealing a row of white teeth. “You mean you drink instant?” he asked, the last word spoken with complete disgust. “Damn, Pop, that stuff tastes like shit.”
I lost the battle and the laugh I’d been fighting back came loose. “No, I don’t drink instant. I don’t drink coffee at all. I don’t even have a coffee maker since I only drink tea.”
“How the hell do you run an inn and not have a coffee maker?”
“Well it’s not like the rooms don’t have coffee machines. I just don’t have one here,” I defended. “And you should really give tea a shot,” I added quickly when he staggered back. “It’s actually really good.” Moving to the cabinet designated for nothing but tea, I pulled the door open to reveal my extensive collection. “I’ve got green tea, chamomile, Oolong . . . ooh, and this one boosts energy. I’m sure you’ll like it.”
When I looked back at him, he was staring at me like I’d just kicked a whole litter of puppies. “Real men don’t drink tea.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. “I think half the population of Great Britain might disagree with you on that one.”
“I’m sorry. What I meant to say was real American men don’t drink tea.”
Spinning around to face him, I propped my hands on my hips and scowled. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Am not,” he shot back. “And what the hell do you have on your feet?”
I looked down at my feet, wiggling my toes inside the plush fabric before returning my attention to him and crossing my arms over my chest. “Don’t even think about making fun of my ducky slippers. Shane’s son got me these for Christmas, and I’ll have you know, they’re very comfy.”
He studied me closely, smiling as he gave his head a shake. “Flower, only you would pair duck slippers with a sexy-as-fuck silk nighty and robe.”
Ignoring the way my body heated at hearing him call my nightgown sexy as fuck, I did my best to remain indignant as I snapped, “So? What’s wrong with that?”
“Not a damn thing,” he returned on a rumble. “You’re adorable as hell.”
My ire instantly faded. “Oh, uh, well . . . thanks?”
“You’re welcome,” he said seriously, then turned and started out of the kitchen, calling back, “Now go get dressed. We have errands to run today, and on the top of that list is getting a goddamn coffee machine.”
* * *
Jase
It had to be said, I’d never been a fan of shopping for anything, so when we stopped off at the home goods store, I’d expected to be in and out quickly with a new coffee maker in hand.
That had been half an hour ago. With anyone else, I would have been annoyed as hell at having something so simple take so damn long, But Poppy had a way of making even the most menial of tasks enjoyable just by being herself.
For someone who didn’t drink coffee, she sure as hell had an opinion when it came to finding the perfect machine.
“This one has a built-in bean grinder and can steam milk.”
“Just looking for a simple coffee maker, sweetheart. I don’t need all that fancy shit.”
“Ooh! What about this one?” she continued like she hadn’t heard a word I’d said. “It makes a single cup at a time, so you won’t waste anything, and it’s so pretty! It’ll totally match the color scheme in the kitchen.”
I looked over to see her staring lovingly at an ugly teal machine and instantly made a decision. She might not drink the stuff, and I might not be a fan of the color, but she liked it, so I quickly grabbed the box and started for the register.
“Jase, wait,” she called out. “You didn’t even look at all the others. There’s still a whole other section!”
Over my dead body, I thought as I dropped the box at the register and reached around to pull my wallet from the back pocket of my jeans.
The kid at the checkout stand looked from the box to me. “You know, this is one of the lowest models we carry.”
“Does it brew coffee?”
He nodded in answer.
“Then it’ll do just fine. Ring it up.”
He hesitated for another beat. “Yeah, but . . . teal? You sure about that, dude?”
“Actually, it’s Tiffany blue,” Poppy said once she reached my side, her breath coming out in huffs from having to jog to catch up with me. She shot the checkout kid a beaming smile and asked, “Isn’t it so
pretty?”
He stared at her with a goofy, dumbstruck look on his pimply face for so long I had to clear my throat to snap him out of it. Giving his head a quick shake, he turned back to me and mumbled, “Now I get it.”
Of course he did, she’d just hit him with that light that no dick-wielding member of society could possibly resist. “I’m sure you do, kid. Now can you ring it up before my woman here gets a wild hair, and I’m stuck spending the rest of my day looking at china patterns and pretending I give a shit?”
She threw daggers at me from her eyes. “I don’t need to look at china patterns, jerk. I spent forever finding the perfect stoneware.”
I looked up at the ceiling and teased, “Well thank Christ for small miracles.”
When my eyes returned to her I could see the way she fought to keep from smiling before she grumbled, “Keep it up and I might decide today’s the day to redecorate the whole downstairs.”
I threw my arm over her shoulders and pulled her against my side as the checker rang up my purchase, pressing my lips against the crown of her head while filling my lungs with the sweet scent of flowers and honey. “You feel the urge, you just let me know.”
I considered it a win that her body didn’t tense up when I touched her, and instead of growing shy and red, she looked up at me with a smirk that set my blood on fire. “I think I’m good for now. But if the mood ever strikes, I’ll let you know.”
With the necessary purchase tucked under my free arm, I kept the other firmly around her as we headed out of the store, telling myself I was holding on to her strictly as an act and not because I couldn’t get enough of the feel of her against me.
* * *
Poppy
When we walked into the jewelry store in Nashville nearly an hour later, I’d been confused, that was, until Jase spoke to the man behind the counter. “We need to look at your engagement rings. Something in a vintage setting with the center stone no less than two carats, but push for three.”
Crazy Beautiful: a Redemption novel Page 7