Accidentally Married on Purpose: A Love and Games Novel Read online

  At Tyler’s look of confusion, Sherry explained, “Cane and Angelle both take Jason’s ninjitsu classes.”

  “Great. So basically you’re saying your entire family is trained to kick my ass if I step out of line.”

  Sherry tapped his chest with a smirk she didn’t quite feel. “And don’t you forget it.”

  “Well, except for me,” Colby replied. “I leave the fighting to my man. I’d just slip something in your food.”

  Everyone laughed at that, and Jason pulled Tyler into a conversation about his class with Cane and Angelle. Emma stood as close as she could to her new “uncle,” staring at him with the same wide-eyed adoration she once did Colby. Not that she’d ever stopped idolizing her stepmother, but the extreme fangirling had lessened over the last year. Evidently now finding an outlet in the caring, funny, hot-as-hell man wearing Sherry’s ring.

  The need to leave became an itch under her skin.

  “Hey, Ty, I’m falling asleep where I stand.”

  The lighthearted smile he turned to her nearly buckled her knees. He was enjoying himself. Hanging out with her family, being cute with Emma. Cooking with Colby and joking with Jason. This day was seriously messing with her head. For heaven’s sakes, the man left her a semi-love note on her mirror and freaking cuddled her puppy! Was the universe out to get her?

  Tyler’s eyebrows drew together and he reached for her hand. “Gentlemen, it’s time I got my bride home.”

  Angelle and Colby visibly swooned as he tucked her under his arm and kissed her head, playing the part exactly as she’d asked him to. So then why were tears of frustration lumped in her throat? Clearly, she needed a nap.

  Linking their fingers together, she tugged him gently toward the door. Beyond the wood lay cool, clean air and quiet. Hopefully both would knock some sense into her. The knob was turned, salvation a few feet away, when Angelle said, “Oh, wait, one more thing.”

  Closing her eyes, Sherry exhaled and turned around.

  Angie handed her a grocery bag filled with their wet clothes and a covered plate to take to their bodyguard, Tony. Oh, right. “So, Cane has a bunch of guys from the gym coming over Saturday to extend the back deck.” She winced slightly, and dread pricked Sherry’s neck. She already knew where this was going. “Normally, I’d be all for the company, and I’m definitely grateful for the help…but they’re coming at five in the morning. With saws. And hammers. On my day off.”

  “Won’t the neighbors be mad?” Tyler asked, clearly missing the bigger picture.

  Sherry shook her head. “This house is in the middle of three acres.” His eyes widened and she explained, “It was dark when we arrived, but the closest neighbors won’t hear a thing. And the bayou runs out back.”

  “Bayou, huh?” He looked at Cane with an eager smile. “Good fishing?”

  “The best,” her brother confirmed. The dang dimple that made her friends gaga flashed in his cheek as he said, “If you want, we can take the boat out next week.”

  “Definitely,” Tyler replied, at the same time Jason said, “I want in.”

  “Anyway.” Sherry widened her eyes, really wishing the ability to read your spouse’s mind came with the exchange of vows. “As you were saying, Angie.”

  “Right, well, I know y’all are in the middle of honeymoon bliss, but do you mind if I stay in my room Friday night?” Rocking on her cowboy boots, she added with a hopeful grin, “I promise to keep ear buds in the whole time.”

  And that’s when Tyler finally got it.

  His dark head swiveled toward her, and Sherry would’ve laughed aloud, except no one else would’ve gotten the joke. She and Tyler would have to spend the entire night in her bedroom. At dinner, she came this close to attacking the man. Her hormones were running amok, tossing that stupid list of rules seriously sounded appealing, and in two days, they’d be sharing a bed. Lying side-by-side and breathing the same air.

  Tyler’s mouth curved in a slow grin, thoughts obviously aligned with hers, only not seeming that upset at all…

  “Do you mind?” Angelle asked. Thanks to Sherry’s reaction, her friend probably assumed she’d be interrupting wild monkey sex. Fabulous.

  Swallowing hard, she broke away from Tyler’s wicked gaze and said, “Not at all.”

  Lie number one thousand and ten.

  Chapter Eleven

  “You know what they say about a watched clock,” Tyler said, leaning his back against the couch. Sherry transferred her anxious gaze to his and raised an eyebrow. “It never moves.”

  “Isn’t that a watched pot never boils?”

  “Close enough.” He grinned and moved the guitar off his lap, holding out his hand. “Come over here and sit with me.” After only a slight hesitation, she slipped her fingers in his, and he tugged her onto the floor beside him. The tension in her body kept her spine locked tight, and he reached over and kneaded the muscles of her shoulder, coaxing her to relax. “It’ll be fine. I promise not to bite”—he glanced at her from the corner of his eye—“unless you ask me to.”

  She rolled her eyes in a that’s never gonna happen way, but her shoulder began to loosen under his ministrations. Truth was, Tyler was anxious about sharing her bed tonight, too. Just not for the same reason.

  Their plan was working. Every gossip site in the industry was speculating over Tyler and Sherry’s whirlwind romance, leaking pictures of that incredible kiss in her driveway. Arianne was like a cat that ate the cream, constantly sending him links with various messages, all renditions of, I told you so. The world was already in love with his sass-mouthed caterer, calling Sherry a “down-home sweetheart,” and after the photos of their kiss, the latest polls speculated how long it would take until she’d be in the “family way.”

  Fat chance of that happening, rules or not. But the nonstop talk only fed his memories of Vegas. And three nights of sliding past each other in the hall, and three days of sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the sofa, ratcheted their sexual tension to the point of insanity. He was on two-a-day cold showers as it was; an entire night of breathing her sweet-scented skin, hearing her soft sighs near his ear might very well kill him.

  Lying in the dark stripped away pretense. Cut through the bullshit to what was real. But after only a week together, real was becoming a fluid concept. When Sherry took sex off the table, he’d hated it. He’d respected her decision but didn’t think it was necessary. Now, he did. Keeping the line straight was crucial while they found balance.

  It was another one of her rules, though, that he questioned—no romance in the house.

  Was making out romantic?

  Sherry moaned as Tyler pressed his thumb into a knot near the curve of her neck. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was messing with him.

  “Hey, Ty?” she asked a little later, her muscles practically putty in his hands. “I need you to promise me something.”

  Considering the last time she said that, he’d agreed to enforced celibacy, he was hesitant. But unsure how it could possibly get any worse, he replied, “Anything, sweet thing.”

  Sherry shifted her head to look at him. Fear and vulnerability pooled in her eyes. “If I throw myself at you tonight, or even suggest we push the boundaries of our relationship…” His fingers stopped moving. “I need you to turn me down.”

  Aw, hell, was she serious? Did she think he was a candidate for sainthood?

  But what could he say? No? As much as he wanted another taste—a kiss, a few more touches—what Tyler wanted more was for Sherry to want him, too. No regrets, no second-guesses. They had three more weeks together in this cozy house. He couldn’t afford to screw up now. “Rest assured, I’ll be a good boy.” He lifted two fingers in the air. “Scout’s honor.”

  The last knot in her shoulders unkinked, and Sherry laughed. “You know, the heroes in my romance novels always say that. Scout’s honor. But they all later admit to never being a Boy Scout.”

  “Not so with me,” he told her, purposefully steering the conversatio
n toward a less heated topic. “Ages six through twelve. If you ever need a fire built, a knot tied, or a compass read, I’m your man.”

  Rolling onto her hip, she gave him an impressed smile. “Never would’ve guessed it. I, on the other hand, while a Girl Scout, belonged to more of a Troop Beverly Hills deal. We camped in hotel rooms and learned about Mary Kay.” She laughed and wiggled her painted nails. “I may not know how to sew worth a damn, but I can give you one heck of a manicure.”

  “Equally important life skills,” he replied with a grin, glad to see her anxiety gone. At least for now. Hoping to keep it that way until Angelle arrived, he pulled his guitar onto his lap and removed a pick from between the strings at the neck. “Know what’s another important skill? Learning to strum a guitar—”

  “Kinda playing fast and loose with important there, aren’t ya?”

  Winking at her, he held out the pick. “If I recall correctly, you already agreed to a lesson.” He plucked a few strings to illustrate his point, then nudged her with the headstock of the instrument. “What else are we gonna do to pass the time?”

  Her eyes locked with his and she nodded. “Good point.” Sighing dramatically, she said, “Fine, fine. Just remember when your ears start bleeding that this was your idea.” She lifted to her knees and stared uncertainly at the guitar. “How should we do this?”

  There were plenty of ways…but just now, only one sounded remotely appealing. “Sit in front of me.”

  She eyed him suspiciously as he kicked out his legs, then smirked as she crawled into position. “Sure, the way all good instructors set up.”

  “Exactly.” He grinned, savoring the feel of her in his arms. Her back to his chest. Her hair brushing against his chin. Her floral perfume hit his nose, and he inhaled deep.

  “Tyler…”

  Her voice was a warning tease. Leaning forward, he whispered against her ear, “Rule number five, sugar. Enjoy the moment.”

  Her breath caught and his smile widened. Sitting back, he swung the instrument over her lap, flush against her chest. “Now, let me show you how to hold it.”

  Mumbling something about hormonal whiplash, Sherry set her hands where he instructed, thumb of her left hand down low on the neck, fingertips curled over onto the strings, and her right hand gripping the pick.

  “Good,” he told her, covering her hand with his. “And you never have to push the string all the way to the wood. Just enough to press against the fret. These vertical lines are the frets, and you want to put your fingertips just behind it. Not on top of it, and not way back here, but right up against it, like this.”

  She pulled a face as she stretched her fingers along the neck, but did it perfectly. Tyler figured that deserved some sort of praise, and in lieu of gold stars, he slid his nose along her ear and kissed it. “Excellent.”

  She shot him a look. “Is that how you reward all your students?”

  “Of course,” he replied. “Are you questioning my methods?”

  She shook her head with a laugh. “I wouldn’t dare. Proceed, Teach.”

  After a quick anatomy lesson—guitar not human—and an explanation of pitch and tension—strings not sexual—he guided her right hand over the sound hole. “When you strum, do it parallel to the instrument, not pressing in, and keep the pick perpendicular to the strings with only a slight lean on the up and down strokes.”

  Hand wrapped around hers, he demonstrated the movement on the first string, then the second, followed by the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. Sherry sat taller with each strum, her teeth trapping her bottom lip as excitement ignited in her eyes.

  “You’re a natural.”

  This time when she turned her head at the compliment, he pressed a kiss to her nose. Warm breath hit his throat as her lips parted, and he said with complete seriousness, “It’s important to keep rewards consistent.”

  She laughed, and their lesson continued in much the same way. Innocent flirtations, creative rewards, and Sherry gaining confidence in strumming the strings and working the different frets.

  “What string is this?” she asked during her fourth trip through the series.

  “That’s the D string,” Tyler told her. “The low E is at the top, the second string is A, then it’s D, G, B, and the last one is high E.” A mnemonic device he once heard came to mind and, plucking the strings, he said, “Eddie Ate Dynamite…Good Bye Eddie.”

  Sherry scrunched her nose. “That’s seriously morbid.”

  Tyler laughed and shifted his weight on his hip, coincidently closing the thin space between them even more. “Maybe so, but you won’t forget it, will you?”

  Her answering grin was quick and full of challenge. “I think we should test that theory. Quiz me.”

  Narrowing his eyes, he made it look as though he was trying to stump her. In actuality, he wanted nothing more than for her to succeed. To keep the smile on her face and the anxiety far, far away. “Okay, play the…B string.”

  He watched her silently mouth the phrase, her pick moving down the line until it landed on the second string from the bottom. She plucked it and looked back for approval. “Is that right?”

  He nodded. “You got it.”

  “Ha!” Her ass wiggled against him in a victory dance, and Tyler bit back a groan.

  It wasn’t the friction or even the way her body molded to his. It was the pure joy in her eyes and the huge smile stretching her face…and it was knowing he put it there. This woman—this crazy, sassy, conflicting woman—got to him, pure and simple. Only there was nothing pure or simple about their situation.

  She strummed through the series again, now completely solo, and settled against his chest. His hands hovered midair, hesitating and then sliding down either side of her trim waist. Roughened fingertips from years of playing skimmed across the smooth skin of her abdomen, exposed in her shrunken concert tee, and memories of kissing his way down her body taunted his mind. Sherry wiggled again, and his fingers inched closer to the waistband of her jeans…

  “Dude, you’re an awesome teacher,” she declared, clearly not on the same page as his raging libido.

  Clenching his jaw, Tyler leaned back against the sofa cushion. He took a deep breath of un-floral-scented air, trying to clear his head. “It’s easy to teach what you love.”

  “I like that,” she said, the smile evident in her voice as she continued her path down the scales. “I admit, watching you play every night is my new favorite thing. I don’t know…it’s like, this softness enters your eyes when you do it. The stress of the day melts away and you instantly find your happy place.” Glancing at him she said, “It’s sweet.”

  Sweet. Now there was a desire-inducing word.

  Stifling a laugh at his severe lack of game with this woman, he replied, “My happy place, huh? Well, yeah, I guess that’s what music is for me.” Her soft smile encouraged him to explain, so he did.

  No game and a sudden habit of spilling his guts—watch out, ladies.

  “Growing up, we didn’t have money for vacations or travel. I worked whatever odd jobs I could find. Dad busted his ass. They did the best they could, and I had a great childhood, but we were always strapped to one place. Playing took me somewhere else. And now it gives me the chance to see the world.”

  Sherry’s fingers fell silent. She turned to face him fully, setting the guitar down beside them, and confused, Tyler stared back, wondering what he’d said to add that strange look in her eyes. Slowly, she lifted her hand to cradle his cheek. “There’s more to you than anyone knows, isn’t there?”

  Swallowing hard, Tyler watched her lids lower. Sat stock-still, afraid to move, as her body leaned forward. Her gaze flickered to his lips and then straight to his eyes.

  Go for it?

  Hold back?

  The moment held as his mind warred with her list of rules.

  Until the sound of a key sliding in the locked front door sprung them apart.

  “Crap.” Sherry leapt to her feet, and Tyler dragged his ha
nds down over his face. So damn close. She stood there, her fingers on her unkissed lips, looking back and forth between him still on the floor and the door as it opened, ushering in a cold, stiff breeze.

  That, at least, helped.

  Tugging his guitar onto his lap, he smiled graciously as the redhead bustled in and slammed the door.

  “Whew, it’s cold cold tonight,” she proclaimed, rubbing her arms to ward off a chill. The Cajun doubling of the word for emphasis reminded him of home, and he sighed. She and Sherry fell into an immediate conversation about Louisiana’s unpredictable weather, Tyler all but forgotten…which, in view of his current state, was probably for the best.

  It was ironic. This whole thing between them started with easy. Sherry’s easy smiles. The way she made simply hanging out a breeze. It drew him to her in the green room, kept him coming back over the weekend, and it led him to believe this marriage idea could actually work.

  But as his wife’s conflicted gaze collided with his across the room, he had to admit that whatever this thing was building between them, it sure as hell wasn’t easy.

  …

  Sweet Thing,

  Did I mention you look HOT today?

  Well, you do.

  Kick some hostess ass. See you tonight.

  Tyler

  P.S. Charlie says you’re our good luck charm ;)

  Sherry spit the foaming toothpaste into the basin and rinsed her brush. Her eyes kept straying to the row of notes stuck on the mirror. For some reason, she hadn’t removed that first one, and when she awoke the next morning to its twin, she’d decided to leave them both. Now there were three. None of his short messages overstepped any boundaries; they were simple but flirtatious. And adorable as hell.

  After moisturizing, smoothing her eyebrows, and pinching her cheeks for a bit of color, there was nothing left to do but exit the bathroom. With each step down the hallway, her heartbeat increased. By the time she reached her bedroom, her pulse pounded in her ears. So much of their final night in Vegas remained shrouded in fuzziness…but the more time they spent together, the more their innocent touches became less innocent, the crisper a few key details became. In particular, the steamy ones just prior to her ungraceful exodus to puke.