Hitched

by Pippa Grant

  Hitched

  Pippa Grant

  Lili Valente

  Copyright © 2019 Pippa Grant and Lili Valente

  * * *

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  * * *

  Cover design by Lori Jackson Designs.

  Edited by Jessica Snyder

  Cover Photo by Wander Aguiar

  Contents

  About The Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek from Lili Valente

  Sneak Peek from Pippa Grant!

  About the Authors

  Also by the Authors

  About The Book

  Hitched

  * * *

  She’s the last woman on earth I’d marry….again.

  Yet here I am.

  Saying my vows. Again.

  To save an alpaca.

  At least, that’s my story.

  But the truth might be a little more complicated.

  I didn’t want to let her go the first time. But now I have a second chance to win over my wife.

  We’re older. Wiser. And hornier.

  This time, I won’t fail.

  * * *

  Hitched is a red hot, enemies-to-lovers laugh-a-palooza featuring a girl in need of a marriage of convenience and a man in need of a cold shower to keep from falling for his fake wife. They say opposites attract, but with Blake and Hope, they also combust...

  Books by Lili Valente and Pippa Grant

  Hosed

  Hammered

  Hitched

  Humbugged

  * * *

  Keep in touch with Pippa Grant!

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  Keep in touch with Lili Valente!

  Free book when you join Lili’s newsletter

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  * * *

  Books by Pippa Grant

  Mister McHottie

  Stud in the Stacks

  The Pilot and the Puck-Up

  Royally Pucked

  Beauty and the Beefcake

  Rockaway Bride

  Hot Heir

  The Hero and the Hacktivist

  Charming as Puck

  Flirting with the Frenemy

  America’s Geekheart

  Master Baker

  And more…

  * * *

  Books by Lili Valente

  Hockey Romance

  Hot as Puck

  Sexy Motherpucker

  Puck Aholic

  Puck me Baby

  Pucked up Love

  Puck Buddies

  * * *

  The Red Hot Hunter Brothers

  The Baby Maker

  The Troublemaker

  The Heartbreaker

  The Panty Melter

  * * *

  Sexy Flirty Dirty Rom Coms

  Magnificent D

  Spectacular Rascal

  Incredible You

  Meant for You

  The Bangover

  * * *

  Swoon-Worthy Cowboys

  Leather and Lace

  Saddles and Sin

  Diamonds and Dust

  Glitter and Grit

  Chaps and Chance

  Ropes and Revenge

  One

  Blake O’Dell

  (aka a man unaware he’s about to repeat his biggest mistake)

  * * *

  There comes a time in every man’s life when he needs to mind his own business.

  For me, that moment is right now.

  Yep.

  This is me.

  Minding my own business.

  Turning around in the morning sunshine, walking away from the Happy Cat courthouse where the magnolias are blooming and the spring pollen is turning parked cars a sickly yellow-green and Hope St. Claire is sitting on the wide steps of the red brick building in a wedding gown, her light brown hair brushing the tops of her shoulders and a wilted bouquet of dandelions clutched in one hand.

  I have places to be. Errands to run. Jobs to do.

  So she’s apparently getting married, and I had no idea she was even dating anyone seriously. So I didn’t recognize her at first, because that puffy meringue dress is so far from what she normally wears. So what?

  It’s none of my damn business.

  And I sure as hell don’t want to watch her marry someone else.

  And yet, she called me. Said she had a job for me, and to meet her at the courthouse…

  I’ve been doing odd jobs around town while I wait for my grape vines to mature. And seeing as she short-circuits electronics just by looking at them, I’ve done a lot of work for Hope St. Claire.

  Unfortunately.

  But whatever she needs in a wedding gown on the courthouse steps isn’t a job I’m up for. Especially when my time is better spent pestering Gary at the Department of Revenue office about the liquor permit application he’s sitting on for my tasting room, so I can quit doing odd jobs around town and get my winery off the ground.

  With her head drooped the way it is, Hope hasn’t spotted me yet, so I ease back into my pickup truck and start the engine nice and quiet.

  As quietly as I can, anyway. I’m about to pull away from the curb when Hope drags a hand through her hair, granting me a glimpse of her miserable-looking face.

  Guilt grips my nuts and holds them for ransom, because for all the irritation Hope brings to my life, she’s still a person.

  And a neighbor.

  Neighbors are important in Happy Cat. Love or loathe each other, everyone here seems to understand that the only way we’re getting through the hard times is together.

  And hard times come around for all of us. Not a single person is immune.

  I shift in my seat to try to take the pressure off my balls. The bobblehead hula man that my brothers glued to my dash as a joke wiggles his hips and strums his ukulele, silently encouraging me to lighten up and do the right thing.

  I told her I was on my way, after all.

  “I know, I know,” I grumble. “But I didn’t know she’d be dressed like—like—that.”

  I really don’t care for the sight of Hope in a wedding dress.

  It’s bringing back reflux-flavored memories.

  You know the
kind, the ones that sit in your gut and throw poison darts at your lungs and heart, making you feel like you’re going to lose your lunch.

  That’s pretty much how I feel every time I look at Hope. She does things to me. Bad things. Confusing things. Poison-dart-in-the-heart kinds of things…

  “Chin up, kid, you’re going to be fine,” I whisper. To her, but maybe to myself too. “You always are. But I’ve got to sit this one out.”

  There’s no way she could have heard me. I’m half a block away, inside my truck with the windows closed. But still, her head lifts, our eyes meet, electricity crackles through the air, and the need to make tracks grows so intense that my hand reaches for the gearshift without my conscious permission.

  But I don’t drag the handle down.

  I’m not a runner or a responsibility dodger. I’m a good person who works hard and keeps my word.

  It’s usually so easy. But not with Hope. Nothing’s easy with her, and it hasn’t been for a damned long time.

  Gut twisting, I kill my engine, and climb out, pretending I just got there.

  “Knock out power to the entire block?” I call as I approach across the cracked sidewalk. “Or just the building?”

  She starts to lift her hand—undoubtedly to flip me the bird—but then drops it into her lap over the lacy wedding dress with a sigh.

  “Give me two minutes and an open mind,” she says wearily. “I have a strange proposition for you.”

  “Stranger than usual?”

  “Way stranger. But you’re going to seriously consider it, because that’s the plan.”

  I grunt. “Sounds like a terrible plan.”

  She waves her saggy bouquet at me. “Seriously. Don’t start with me today. My grandmother died and—”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it. I didn’t know her gram, but I know several of Hope’s animals came from her, so I assume she was a good woman. But I’m still not sure what that has to do with me. Or this dress. “You do know that most people go with black for mourning, right?”

  Her cheek twitches, and if she glares at me any harder, she’ll probably sprain her eyeball.

  Can’t say I blame her. That was a dick thing to say.

  But she brings out the worst in me.

  “You know my sanctuary was designated as the official guardian of Gram’s pets and livestock when she went into nursing care last year, right?” she asks.

  “I’ve heard about it a time or two.” More like seven times a day, with how often she needs handyman assistance and how many of those animals need special care.

  “Now that she’s gone, I’ve learned that her will dictates that the entirety of her estate—her farm, her house, everything, including her animals—goes to whichever of her grandchildren gets married first. That means my cousin Kyle could get custody of my animals if I don’t get married fast.”

  This is where I should have a snappy comeback, because I know for a fact that Hope got married first.

  But we don’t talk about that.

  Ever.

  I try to concentrate on the part where she wants to take care of her grandmother’s animals, but all I can see are neon lights, Elvis, and cameras flashing inside the Little Chicken All You Can Eat Snack Chapel.

  Then annulment papers less than 24 hours later.

  Yeah. There’s a solid reason Hope and I don’t get along, and it has nothing to do with how I feel about her, and everything to do with her not feeling the same way about me.

  So chatting about her getting married? This is worse than having my nuts stuck in a vise. I’d rather be in a cage with a hundred feral monkeys who want to use my cock as a rope swing than talk about Hope getting married.

  She taps her dandelion bouquet against her dress. “I went to a website—no, don’t say it, because yes, I can occasionally use electronics without them exploding, if I hold my breath and try really hard—and I found a guy who was willing to marry me for a few grand—”

  I make a noise—this story is getting worse with every passing second—but she shushes me by shaking the bouquet again, sending a wilted yellow flower flying my way.

  “But,” she continues, “he brought his father with him to be the witness, and it turns out his dad has a pacemaker. So when we met and shook hands…”

  Oh, shit.

  My brother Jace’s wife, Olivia, who is deep into crystals and auras and spiritual woo-woo, keeps telling us that Hope is something called a wiper, which supposedly means she has extra-magnetic blood that gives off computer- and electronics-killing vibes.

  I’ve never bought into hocus-pocus, but I’ve also never met anyone who could short-circuit a microwave from halfway across the room when it wasn’t running either.

  “Did you kill the guy?” I ask, my throat tight.

  “Can you just listen for two minutes without interrupting?”

  “Hope. Jesus. That’s not a no.”

  “The EMTs think he’s going to be fine,” she grumbles. “But now Frederick doesn’t want to get married, because he’s scared of me, even though I promised I’d never touch his father again upon penalty of being eaten alive by wild hogs. But I need to get married now, Blake, before Kyle gets smart enough to think of the same plan.”

  And I need to quit staring and pick my jaw up off the floor.

  But the one thing Hope St. Claire has never failed to do is leave me speechless.

  “So, basically, I’m out of options,” she finishes. “Which is why I called you. I’m throwing myself at your mercy, but I promise to make it worth your while. I know you’re fighting the county for a liquor license for your tasting room, and I do have a very good relationship with the Department of Revenue staff. After everything I had to go through to get the farm licensed as a shelter, Gary and I are tight. And I’m willing to use my connection for your benefit.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute—”

  “We don’t have to stay married forever,” she rushes on. “Just for long enough for me to get legal possession of the animals and ensure they’ll live long, healthy, happy lives. And then we can tell everyone we made a big mistake and move on. Easy peasy.”

  “Like you did last time?” I ask, hating the hint of pain in my voice. It’s been four years. It shouldn’t still sting, but it does.

  Her brown eyes snap to mine again, and her cheeks flush pink. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Right.

  Because last time didn’t happen. That’s what we agreed on.

  But it did happen, and it left scars behind, and I can’t fathom how Hope convinced herself asking me, of all fucking people, to marry her was a good idea.

  Dammit. Now I’m getting hot in the face.

  “I just want to make sure all the animals have a good forever home,” she says, pressing her hands together as a pleading furrow forms between her brows. “You know the only thing Kyle cares about is money. He’d stud out Chewpaca twenty-four seven to make gourmet alpaca babies, while the rest of the livestock and the dogs and the peacock and the ferret end up eating each other to survive and Chewpaca eventually gets so exhausted his penis falls off.”

  I snort, but I’m not in the headspace to laugh, even if the thought of poor Chewpaca banging his dong off is kind of funny.

  I’m still stuck on the we should get married part.

  The first time she proposed to me, she was holding hands with Jack Daniels and Captain Morgan as she cooed, You’re the best guy, Blake. The nicest and funniest and the best. I bet you’d kick ass at marriage. And you have the prettiest elbows. Is it weird that I love your elbows? ’Cause I really do…

  I wasn’t so sober myself—clearly, if you have the prettiest elbows was all it took to convince me to cruise down the aisle.

  Today, however, I’m so sober I’m in danger of dehydration. I’m also older and wiser and not about to open myself up to this particular kind of pain again. “I’m sorry, Hope, I get that you’re in a hard spot, but—”

  “This is not my first choice
, believe me,” she cuts in. “But if it’s between blackmailing you into marrying me, or watching Kyle take off with Chewpaca and other innocent animals he’ll abuse, I’m sorry, but the fur babies win. Lives are hanging in the balance, Blake, so I’m getting married. Now.”

  She’s serious.

  But there’s no fucking way I’m marrying her today. Or tomorrow. Or ever again. “You don’t have any blackmail material on me, Hope, and I’m out of here.”

  “Wait!” She springs to her feet, scattering flower petals from her fluffy white princess skirt. “Okay, forget the blackmail part. Think of it as a job! You do odd jobs, and you’re never going to get a job odder than this one.”

  “I can’t marry you.”

  She heaves a sigh. “If this is about that thing that we don’t talk about—ever—then let me assure you, it didn’t happen. But if it had happened, it would have proven that you can, in fact, marry me anytime you want.”

  “Marriage should be about love and commitment.” Which it was.

  For me, at least.

  For her…

  “I’d argue that marriage is a business contract, but I can also promise that this is about love,” she insists. “It’s about the universal love of animals and doing what’s right. You’ve met Chewpaca. Can you imagine his life being turned into one long string of bad hook-ups? He’s the world’s top alpaca stud. An ounce of his sperm is worth more than your entire vineyard. Do you know what Kyle would do with that kind of money tree? Chewpaca could be seriously hurt.”