Blissed (Misfit Brides #1)

by Jamie Farrell

  She closed her eyes and decided there was nothing wrong with enjoying a cheap thrill. She was still a woman, this wouldn’t go anywhere, and it would probably be another five or ten years before another man touched her. “What number are you?”

  “Numbers don’t matter when you’re the best.”

  She missed the cue to laugh again. His hands stilled, and she blinked her eyes open.

  He wasn’t smiling.

  He wasn’t frowning either.

  He was simply standing there, watching her watch him, his hands resting on her knees. Her pulse danced in her veins and her heart knocked in her chest. She made a quick swipe of her lips with her tongue, and his breathing went ragged.

  Maybe he was enjoying rubbing her legs as much as she was enjoying having them rubbed.

  Or maybe she was delusional. Delusional was probably the best scenario. Because she already thought about him too much, and nothing good could come of his thinking about her too.

  And she couldn’t fathom why he’d want to.

  “How long does this stuff need to stay on?” Her voice wobbled, thick and low.

  CJ took his time looking down to her legs. Under his gaze, the skin on her chest prickled, then the skin on her belly, around her belly button, beneath her panties.

  He took one hand off her knee, grabbed the sprayer. “Feeling better?” he asked, and she was both relieved and terrified to note the husky tones in his voice.

  She nodded.

  “You’ll want some itch cream for a few days.” He took her hand, held it over the sink, and rinsed her arm, but this time, he wasn’t watching her arm.

  He was watching her.

  Her face, her eyes. Her lips.

  This was crazy. He didn’t like her. She didn’t like—no, that wasn’t true.

  She did like him.

  She liked him too much. So she needed him to not like her.

  He switched arms, carefully rinsing off more of the hardened white goo.

  “You’re very pretty when you laugh,” he said.

  “I wasn’t laughing.”

  “You should be.”

  He cradled her arm as if it were more delicate than a newborn, his touch as gentle as she would be with Noah. She had to swallow again, but nothing could cut the way her mouth had gone dry. She should’ve been cold. Instead, the kiss of the cool air against her wet skin made her feel more alive, more aware. “There’s nothing funny right now,” she whispered.

  “Oh, it’s funny. Pretty sure I just heard God laughing.”

  She needed to tell him to stop. Finish rinsing herself. Call Lindsey. Get to work.

  Instead, her wet fingers drifted up to touch his cheek. “Thank you.” She swallowed against the huskiness in her own voice. “For your help. Here.”

  He angled closer to her, his eyes never leaving hers. “Everyone needs help sometimes.”

  “I don’t think I deserve it.”

  He answered her whisper by twisting his wet fingers in her hair, his body becoming a solid shield between her and life’s complications. “When’s the last time anybody helped you with anything?”

  “I help me.”

  But she wasn’t built for it. She wasn’t tough and driven like Lindsey, she wasn’t the natural nurturer Mom had been. Deep down, she was still a spoiled princess who couldn’t cope with the difficulties of living in the land of wedding dresses and cake monuments and “Canon in D” without her prince charming. She did the best she could, but never felt that her best touched adequate.

  And she suspected CJ saw every last one of her insecurities. It shouldn’t have mattered, but she didn’t want him to think she was weak. Didn’t want him to see the rest of her faults.

  Didn’t want to confuse the fairy tale with reality.

  But she couldn’t move away when his lips lowered to hers. Because he was good with his lips. His hands. His tongue. And probably several other body parts she shouldn’t think about.

  So she gave up thinking, just for a little bit, and let herself kiss him back.

  Just for a little bit.

  But kissing him without touching him was impossible, so she rested her hands on his chest, felt it rise and fall with the steady drum of his heart beneath the solid wall of muscle, and restarted the clock on just for a little bit. Because this was much better.

  Better still was when he wrapped her closer, kissed her harder, nudged open that long-neglected part of her that still craved a man’s touch. His touch was a uniquely thrilling combination, luxurious as silk and rough as starched lace. It left her aching for more, and she let instinct take over, squashing that part of her whispering a reminder that Noah’s mom and the covert planner of the Golden Husband Games should not be kissing this man.

  Or sneaking her hands to the hot skin beneath his shirt, or letting him dip his just-this-side-of-chilly wet fingers beneath her panties.

  “I don’t know why I want you so bad,” he said.

  “Shut up and don’t stop.”

  He took orders damn well. Before long, he’d hefted her out of the sink and up against the nearest wall, kissing her desperately, both of them fumbling with his clothes. Then he said it. “Protection?”

  Gasped it, really, with the same needy desperation she felt all the way to her bones, but the word brought her back to reality.

  She froze, pulled her arm back to hold her bra up. “You don’t—?”

  He winced, slowly backed away, letting her slide to the floor while he scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t.”

  She was breathless, heart pounding. She was also suddenly painfully aware of how little clothing she had on and how big and open the kitchen was. “So, ah, I’m just gonna go wait. For Lindsey. In the bathroom.”

  At least, she hoped that’s what she said. She couldn’t hear herself speak over the Shit! Dammit! What the hell was I thinking? chorus in her brain.

  She needed a second job to support her cussing habit.

  He stared at his feet. “Sure.”

  She hadn’t been prepared for that to hurt. But the bigger surprise was that she wanted to launch herself at him and ask him to kiss her—just kiss her—a little bit more.

  Make her feel special for a few more minutes.

  Make her feel wanted.

  Make her feel like a woman again. Not a mom, not a daughter, not a surrogate shop owner.

  Just a woman.

  She blinked against the sting in her eyes. She couldn’t afford to feel like a woman. That never ended well for her, and she didn’t have room for one more regret.

  “Thanks again,” she choked out. She snagged her purse and fled the kitchen for the bathroom, back to her regularly scheduled, CJ-free life.

  Because that was reality, and reality was the only thing she could count on.

  WOMEN WERE TROUBLE. It was a truth CJ had been born into, but knowing the truth didn’t make living with it any easier.

  “You got a bone up your butt, boy?” Huck said. He’d arrived to play cook today fifteen minutes after Natalie left with Lindsey’s assistant, and he’d spent the last thirty minutes being more annoying than half of CJ’s sisters put together.

  Or perhaps CJ was simply in a foul mood. “Nope.”

  “You break those bottles, you’re buying ’em.”

  CJ took more care with the next beers he pulled out of the back cooler to stock the front, but he didn’t reply.

  “Two solutions to your problem,” Huck called. “Forget her or do her.”

  Forget her.

  CJ needed to forget her.

  “I vote you do her,” Huck said. “Preferably tonight. Got some money on you.”

  CJ spun on him. “She’s got a kid, Huck.”

  “So?”

  So was right. Two consenting adults could keep a kid out of it.

  But CJ couldn’t. Whether because Noah made a convenient excuse or because CJ liked the kid, he couldn’t say.

  He did know, though, that everything that affected Natalie affected Noah. Her
job, her friends, her reputation. It all filtered to Noah one way or another.

  “I’m leaving after Knot Fest,” CJ said. And he was seventy percent sure it wasn’t just his ego thinking that his leaving would affect Natalie.

  “Long time away,” Huck said. “Tell you what. You decide you like it here, I’ll take that trip for you. Wouldn’t mind getting away from the exes a while. Don’t get married again. Ain’t no such thing as being done with ’em when they still got their hands in your cookie jar after the divorce.”

  “Appreciate the offer. Don’t need the advice though.”

  “Don’t ever let anybody say I ain’t a giver. Hell, boy. Ain’t gonna hurt a thing for you to try her out. You know women. She’ll decide you ain’t all that in the end anyway.”

  “Watch your mouth,” CJ growled.

  Growled.

  For Natalie.

  Shit.

  Huck’s laughter took on a gleeful edge. “Don’t forget. I got tonight.”

  CJ went back to stocking for the lunch crowd. “Too bad you booked me for a double shift.”

  Huck let out a string of foulness that would’ve been worth a few dollars in Natalie’s cussing jar. And when CJ realized he was thinking about Natalie’s cussing jar—another tidbit about her he’d picked up from his customers in the last week or so—he added a few quarters’ worth himself.

  Knowing he was facing a revolving door of single women auditioning for the role of his Golden Husband Games partner tonight didn’t help. He didn’t mind the tips, but he wasn’t in the mood for women.

  Not when his curiosity about the wrong one had him tied up in knots that this festival couldn’t fix.

  Chapter Eleven

  SATURDAY WAS BUSY, thank God, but with Noah underfoot, still wearing CJ’s Air Force Falcons hat, the day felt like a bustle with two popped buttons. At least Natalie had recovered from her itchweed, if not from whatever insanity had prompted her to make out with CJ again.

  Insanity. Right.

  Recovered. Right.

  She’d seen him a few times this week. Once out jogging, which had set her not-anywhere-near-dormant-anymore parts all atingle. Once stepping into the tea shop across the street with his brother. And once at the Rose and Dove, where the QG had hosted a welcome reception for him in one of the private rooms that doubled as wedding chapels. Natalie had been leaving the country club after another janitorial committee meeting, and she’d glanced into the room just in time to catch the QG singing Kimmie’s praises to him.

  Also just in time to watch him notice her walking by.

  Three days later, she could still feel the intensity of his gaze.

  Not that she should’ve spent any time thinking about it. The panicked Husband Games e-mails and calls had tripled this week. She was working on Gabby’s dress late into the night after dealing with shop issues and Knot Fest issues, and today, Dad was nowhere to be found. Maybe he was having another secret meeting with the QG. Natalie had seen him with Marilyn a couple more times this week, and there had been something off about the way they had their heads tucked together.

  Not comforting.

  The QG was probably practicing mind control tricks to convince Dad to sell her the boutique. He’d interviewed some brokers this week, but until Mom’s shop was sold—Natalie’s heart withered some more—the QG still had a shot.

  But since today’s schedule was full, the parking lot was finally open, and nothing had gone obviously wrong, Natalie told herself Dad was above mind-control tricks. That he was probably keeping the QG out of Natalie’s hair so Nat could do her job.

  And her other, secret, self-appointed Husband Games job.

  And keep her mind off CJ.

  Mostly.

  Sort of.

  Who was she kidding? Every time the doorbell chimed, she looked up to see if he’d stopped in. Not that he had any reason to. But she looked anyway.

  As she had all week long.

  Noah trailed Natalie everywhere. When they both started getting cranky with each other, she realized they’d missed lunchtime. She stopped in the middle of the floor and turned around so fast he ran into her hip. “Hey. You want ice cream for lunch?”

  Noah pumped a fist in the air. “Yeah!”

  “Me, too.” She flagged Amanda, mouthed lunch, and went to the office for her purse.

  When they pushed out the back door two minutes later, Noah shrieked with glee. “Grandpa! Guess what! Mommy’s taking me to the Milked Duck for ice cream cones! You want to come?”

  Natalie blinked. Dad was leaning against the side of the building between Bliss Bridal and Heaven’s Bakery. He straightened quickly, eyes wide, face flushed.

  The QG stood beside him in the alley.

  “Hey, little buddy.” Dad knelt down to Noah’s level. “You being a big helper today?”

  “Yeah. Amanda sat on my crayon, and then this girl called another girl a quarter word, and then I let her play with my dinosaur so she would feel better, and we’re having ice cream for lunch.”

  “Sounds like a good lunch,” Dad said.

  Natalie paused. Dad had never been the nutrition expert in the family—none of them were—but normally he would’ve commented on ice cream for lunch.

  Something was off. Abnormally so.

  “Crazy busy in there today,” Natalie said. “We should get going.”

  Marilyn made a commanding noise.

  Dad’s ears went red. He whispered something to Noah, then grunted and creaked while he pushed himself back to standing. Only when he again stood several inches above her did he look her in the eye. “Natalie, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Natalie’s pulse skittered.

  He’d succumbed. The Queen General had done her best, and Dad hadn’t been strong enough. He was right. Natalie should’ve stood up to her too. Natalie should’ve fought back differently—the right way, whatever the hell that was—so that Dad never would’ve been in this position.

  The QG had brainwashed Dad, and now she was about to destroy the shop that three generations of her mother’s family had built.

  Natalie’s stomach clenched.

  She didn’t want him to sell the shop. She wasn’t ready. She had to stall him.

  “Yes?” Natalie said.

  “I’m entering the Golden Husband games.”

  “Please don’t—what?”

  He hadn’t sold the shop to Marilyn. She still had time. Later, she’d think about why she was letting herself get delusional about her future. But now—she shook her head. “You want to play?” She looked between him and Marilyn. “That’s what you two were out here talking about?”

  He nodded once.

  “But you’ll need a stand-in wife,” Natalie said. Someone to take Mom’s place.

  No.

  They were not having this conversation.

  They couldn’t be. He couldn’t replace Mom.

  Dad and Marilyn shared a look. “We’ve been talking about possibilities,” Dad said.

  Natalie couldn’t catch her breath.

  He could never replace Mom.

  He couldn’t. And yet there he was, plotting with Marilyn Elias—Marilyn Elias, the woman who’d declared outright that she’d go to whatever lengths necessary to get her claws into Bliss Bridal’s business space—about how best to do it.

  Natalie latched on to Noah’s shoulder, squeezing too hard to cover the shake in her bones. “Great. We have to go.”

  “Natalie—”

  “It’s seriously busy in there. I have to get back ten minutes ago.”

  “You want to come, Grandpa?” Noah said.

  Dad looked like he’d rather swallow a bolt of starched muslin. “I can’t today, sport. Maybe tomorrow, okay?”

  “Ice cream today and tomorrow? Awesome!”

  Awesome. Right.

  Nope. Not even close.

  NATALIE’S SATURDAY night plans hadn’t included finding Noah a last-minute sitter so she could have an impromptu girls’ night at S
uckers, but today called for it. Gabby’s dress and all the Knot Fest stuff and this week’s payroll at the boutique could wait.

  She wanted a drink.

  After Dad’s bombshell—and her subsequent realization that his #1 Grandpa mug and the Keurig had disappeared, which meant he was running his tryouts for Mom’s stand-in out at his cabin—Natalie not only wanted a drink, but she was just masochistic enough to want to see CJ. Possibly it was more rebellion against the Queen General, but more likely, she was too weak to resist the ideas that her accidental visit to Suckers on Monday had prompted.

  And tonight, watching him behind the bar, she wanted more of what she’d sampled in the Suckers kitchen. She was either incredibly stupid or incredibly lonely.

  Possibly both.

  CJ tossed bottles and glasses, filling orders with Jeremy and Huck for the waitresses handling the normal Saturday night out-of-town-wedding crowd. But unlike Jeremy and Huck, CJ was also flirting with six women vying for the opportunity to be his partner in the Games, and then flirting with Lindsey and Kimmie and Natalie with an easy grace. He looked like he owned the whole damn bar.

  He owned the atmosphere, that much was certain. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Especially when his back was turned.

  His jeans hugged the curve of his ass, and she couldn’t help a sigh of admiration. His was the nicest butt in Bliss. She remembered—vividly—that it felt even better than it looked.

  She gulped her whiskey sour. The bar was hot tonight.

  CJ circled back to check on them. “You ladies doing okay?”

  “Define okay.” Natalie’s whiskey seemed to be talking. Because the whiskey was the only thing that could’ve put that husky, suggestive tone in her voice.

  Yep, that was all the whiskey.

  He propped his elbows on the bar, which put his face level with hers, and fixed his undivided attention on her.

  There went her lady bits fanning themselves. With a few added whimpers.

  They remembered what his hands and body and lips felt like too.

  “Content.” His voice was low and raw, his gaze penetrating and unwavering. “Happy. Completely, one hundred percent satisfied.”