Accidentally Married on Purpose: A Love and Games Novel Page 14

  This woman was in his arms because he wanted her there. Because holding her chased his every thought since that day in her driveway. And because nothing felt as incredible as her nails scoring his back, her scent in his nose, and her curves molded in his hands.

  Distantly, he realized people were cheering. The crowd around them was clapping. Sherry’s giggle weaved itself into their kiss, and her smile against his mouth cooled his hunger. Transforming the moment into fun. Tyler slid a hand behind her head and set the other firmly at the small of her back, dipping her low.

  Catcalls and wolfish whistles erupted, and their kiss broke into deep belly-laughter. Sherry, shy for the first time since he’d met her, buried her head against his chest. Giggles wracking her slender frame, and grinning like a mad man, Tyler raised an arm in acknowledgement of the accolades.

  For her ears only, he whispered, “Rule one, baby,” then nipped her tender lobe. She rolled her hazel eyes as he raised her to her feet, but the shadow of pain they once held was completely gone.

  Tyler looked back and nodded with supreme satisfaction. So was her ex.

  …

  At this point in a romance novel, the heroine realizes she’s falling for the hero.

  Damn, Sherry hated being predictable. But honestly, she defied any woman to spend a night in Tyler Blue’s arms, listen to the story of his past, and awake in the morning to his freaking Post-it notes, and not lose a piece of her heart. He’d just rocked her world, grinned like the devil, and then spun on his cowboy-booted heel back to the bar, the denim of his jeans doing delicious things to his backside. Now, like a lovesick stalker, she watched as he bent low to converse with little four-year-old Tansy. Her dang ovaries quivered.

  Tyler being here, in her world, interacting with her people, brought everything to a whole other level.

  The country star actually fit in. If it weren’t for the constant whispers and the handful of autograph requests, you’d never know he was a celebrity. His Cajun accent was prominent, his laugh free, and his desire to help unmatched. For cripes sake, he’d even volunteered to do dishes!

  Clearly, she’d had him pegged wrong in the beginning. Tyler was the furthest thing from the entitled, notorious player she’d once thought him to be. Unfortunately, something else was equally clear—the need to alter her original goal. Shift her focus from eluding damage to minimizing it, because escaping unscathed was no longer an option.

  Eventual heartbreak was a foregone conclusion.

  Sherry sighed. So her perfect plan wasn’t so perfect. This wasn’t the first time she’d gambled with her heart and lost. And experience taught her owning the problem was the first step to recovery. Second step? Keeping her dang wits about her. Remembering that her husband’s soul-shattering kisses and wicked grins were for the sake of fulfilling their agreement. Not due to any reciprocated lovey-dovey feelings.

  Tyler Blue’s number-one objective remained his music. She should tattoo that on her butt.

  After checking the kitchen, the bathroom, and behind the bar for any burning issues, Sherry quickly ducked onto the back deck. Though closed for the evening, this was her favorite spot in the restaurant. A secluded place she could think. The hidden gem of the north shore, and her daddy’s pride and joy. So many nights she’d come out here through the years, the sun setting behind him on the bayou, and listened as he told stories and laughed with their customers. Cane and Colby were doing an amazing job keeping his legacy alive…but nights like this, filled with electric energy and easy friendship, she missed her father something fierce.

  A quarter-moon peeked through tall pines on the opposite bank, and fish jumped in the black water. The current lapped below the deck, the scent of honeysuckle and night jasmine filled her nose, and cool night air slid over her skin. Sherry breathed deep, hoping it would clear her head. It still felt fuzzy from Tyler’s kiss. Truthfully, it’d been like that since she’d slept in his arms. If it hadn’t been for her list of rules and a lock on her door, she’d have succumbed long ago.

  But she did have those things, and she was also insatiably curious. What did the world think of Sherry Blue? Knowing full well that it was possibly her dumbest decision ever, but resigned not to follow her true desire to jump the man’s bones, she’d pulled up Google and searched for the answer. The results were about as satisfying as expected.

  On the plus side, country fans didn’t hate her. Oh, there were snide comments about her dyed hair and size-eight curves, neither of those exactly shocking. Her dyed hair always got attention—hell, it’s why she did it. And Nashville Barbie she wasn’t. She was okay with that. For the most part, Sherry was confident in her curvy skin. But weight was her personal Achilles heel back from when she was young, and it never got easier to hear. Seeing the baby bump watches, thanks to her and Tyler’s sudden marriage, didn’t exactly help.

  But honestly, that she could handle.

  What surprised her…what hurt in that dumb way that makes zero sense…were the fan sites dedicated to who should be married to her husband. Other artists, actresses, and models they felt made a better match. Women such as Kristen Wilson.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the blond goddess’s name. It’d popped up in Sherry’s first search, the night before Tyler arrived in Magnolia Springs and her world turned on its axis, and Tyler mentioned she was appearing on Blue’s next album. In fact, she arrived here next week. When Sherry had heard that, her idiot self even volunteered to take the woman to dinner. But after reading those sites, her stomach felt hollow.

  Kristen was everything Sherry wasn’t. Tall, gorgeous, and successful. She understood his life, was country’s sweetheart, and—according to Wikipedia—was a southern girl from Oklahoma. Who could compete with that? Certainly not Sherry. Her relationship with Tyler began with an expiration date.

  When they made their agreement, Tyler vowed he wouldn’t cheat. Quite frankly, even if he did, what could she say? He wasn’t hers for real. But what gave Sherry pause, what put that empty hole in her gut, was wondering if the fans had gotten it right.

  Muted bells dinged from behind, and Sherry turned to face the window. Brushing aside the hair lashing her face, she leaned against the railing and watched another group stream through the main door. This time, minus a cheating bastard ex.

  Robicheaux’s was rapidly approaching max capacity. People kept coming, pouring in all night, men and women she’d never seen before. And Sherry knew everyone in Magnolia Springs. She didn’t know where they came from, but she was grateful. Judging by the latest numbers, they’d overshot their fund-raising goal. By a lot. She couldn’t wait to tell Ms. Younis.

  “All right, y’all, it’s time for the next act.”

  Nicki Hargis’s voice boomed through the mounted speaker, and Sherry pushed away from the rail. The pint-size dynamo was rocking the M.C. gig, keeping the crowd in stitches. And more importantly, entertained. Most of the planned lineup had performed, and if Sherry’s memory served correct, Cane was up next. He was always a house favorite, and she loved watching him play. She walked back inside and slid onto a barstool just in time to see her big brother take the stage.

  Only…Cane didn’t get up there alone.

  His new brother-in-law was right behind him, grinning as he swung the strap of his girl around his back. It was getting to the point where seeing Tyler without his guitar felt wrong. Sherry had even found him sleeping with the thing, back pressed against the headboard, evidently having fallen asleep mid-strum.

  Good to know even superstars succumbed to exhaustion.

  When Tyler grabbed the mic, the crowd went berserk. Tonight had been billed as a local-artists-only event. Laughing at the enthusiastic response, he glanced at Cane and shook his head. Her brother played a quick riff, mouthing what looked to be a teasing taunt, and Blue said something in reply. Turning back to the crowd, his green-eyed gaze slid across the floor. Then his deep voice boomed, “Howdy, y’all.”

  The roar of feminine screams was hysteric
al.

  That sinful mouth twitched. “Not sure if y’all know this, but recently, I got hitched.” The applause swelled again, though perhaps with slightly less high-pitched squeals. Tyler’s gaze sought hers and as the audience followed, he winked. “My new bride put this event together tonight, and I think she did a hell of a job. What do you think?”

  The crowd hooted their approval. Patrons on either side of her thumped Sherry’s back, and Colby wrapped a forearm around her neck from behind the bar. Pleased yet embarrassed at the attention, Sherry waved meekly, then covered her mouth to suppress a cheesy smile. Tyler beamed with pride from the stage, and that look, more than his words, made her heart full.

  Good Lord, he was adorable.

  “Now, I thought it’d be nice to play one of my wife’s favorite songs, since it’s her big night, and it just so happens, one of my own made the cut.”

  Sherry burst out laughing at his mock-shocked face. His fingers strummed the beginning chords of “Next Time”—indeed, her favorite from the ones she’d downloaded—and she blew him an air-kiss.

  The crowd, hanging on their entire exchange, went nuts again.

  Tyler and Cane launched into the full song with the help of the house band, and the excitement about tore the roof off the place. Singing along, Sherry grabbed her cell phone from her pocket, a sneaking suspicion tapping her foot. She opened Twitter, where, sure enough, she found a tweet he’d sent about an hour ago.

  Tonight: Impromptu concert at my beautiful wife’s restaurant, Robicheaux’s. VERY worthy cause. Do Not Miss!

  Attached was one of her fliers. It listed the address and gave the St. Tammany Humane Society even more exposure. Warmth spread throughout her limbs. Sherry bit her lip, trying to contain the emotion, knowing even as she did that it was no good. She was glowing like a flipping lightning bug.

  Minimize the damage, her heart screamed out, giving one last battle cry…even as her eyes lifted to steal another glance at her man on the stage, and her shoulders shimmied to the music.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “AHHHHH!”

  A shrill, feminine scream shot through Sherry’s sexy-time dream, waking her with a jolt. Widening her eyes, she focused on the blurry clock, dazed and in disbelief. Five-fifteen a.m. That time actually existed. She could’ve sworn it was an old wives tale, right up there with crickets in your house equaling good luck. Not happening. Unless its name was Jiminy, critters better stay the heck back. Insects were insects, and if they couldn’t sing and dance, they got squished.

  Closing her eyes, she listened again through the thick, inviting fog of sleep, and past the thump of her heart, positive she’d imagined the strange shriek.

  But then she heard it.

  Elvis’s yap…Tyler’s deep, gravelly baritone…and Angelle’s perky country accent. Only, it didn’t sound so perky just now. More like freaked and confused.

  Crap on a flaming stick.

  Fully awake now, Sherry tossed back the comforter. Explanations exploded in her mind. Rational excuses for why Tyler was catching z’s in her friend’s bed and not her own. She took off for the door—only the sheets twisted around her body hampered her momentum.

  Her torso went forward, one foot stayed behind, and suddenly, the ground rose to meet her. And she was eating floor.

  Pain burst through her left hip, and her right knee smacked a metal bracket on her bed. Her teeth clashed together—thankfully, without slicing off her tongue—and her little toe throbbed with a pulse.

  “Are you kidding me?” she asked the room at large, groaning as she curled in the fetal position. She knew no good could come before nine a.m. “Can’t a chica catch a break?”

  The increasing clack of puppy claws in the hall said evidently not, as company was clearly on its way. A few seconds later, Tyler’s voice preceded a gentle rap on the door.

  “Hey, babe…”

  Sherry lolled her head back as the door opened, and an upside down Tyler appeared. Hair mussed from sleep, chest bare, and a pair of unbuttoned jeans slung low around his hips, he looked way too hot for sunrise. He took one look at her on the ground and lifted an eyebrow. “Uh, are you all right?”

  Lifting a hand in the universal sign for OK, she replied, “Peachy. Just got my cardio in.” Then, glancing beyond him, she offered Angelle a feeble smile. “Morning, sunshine.”

  Her former roommate stared back, her sweet face marred with a frown. “Sorry for the hassle. Came to get some gear I left behind for a defense seminar Jason is holding this morning at the gym, and accidentally fell on Goldilocks here in my bed.”

  Sherry winced. If memory served correct, Angelle’s gear was stored in the closet. Right beside every item of clothing Tyler had brought to Magnolia Springs. The evidence was building.

  Sure, she was the queen of misdirection. She could say she and Tyler got into a lover’s spat, or invent some other non-embarrassing explanation. I needed the closet space for my shoes? The ship hadn’t sailed on this marriage gig just yet. But it was hella early, her body was twisted, and she simply didn’t have the energy for another lie.

  Was there any possible way out of this—other than the truth?

  Tyler squatted beside her and brushed her hair behind her shoulder. Quietly, for her ears only, he asked, “What do you want to do?”

  “Not sure we have much of a choice, music man.”

  Angelle was a smart girl. Tyler’s gear aside, based on their sleeping arrangements and over-the-top reactions, it was clear something was going on.

  “Don’t worry. If it comes down to it, my girl’s like Fort Knox.”

  Well, that wasn’t exactly accurate. The woman couldn’t lie worth a damn. Her big green eyes gave away her every thought. But she never intentionally broke confidences. If no one directly asked her about Sherry’s marriage—and no one would, since up until now she’d sold this thing—everything should be fine.

  Besides, she could use some advice about now, and that her bestie rocked.

  “Well, all right then.” Pushing to his feet, Tyler raked a hand through his messy hair. It flopped back in place, bangs falling across his forehead, and Sherry itched to touch the silky strands. Even in the midst of the sky falling, the man turned her on. She was hopeless.

  “I guess I’ll let you two talk. If you need me, I’ll be at the studio.” He bent down and kissed her softly, a chaste peck that seemed equal parts instinct and ruse, then snapped his fingers together. “Be good, ladies.”

  Angelle smirked in reply and silently watched his awkward exit. She waited, lips pursed, until his footsteps faded down the hall. Then, turning back to Sherry, she said, “Normally, I’d say this is none of my business. A couple’s marriage is their own affair. But, honey, you two look guiltier than a pair of streetwalkers in service on Sunday.”

  Even grumpy and sore, Sherry couldn’t help but smile. “That’s my usual look.”

  “Uh huh. And your handsome husband was sleeping in my bed because…?”

  “Because we had a fight last night?” Her voice lifted at the end, question-like, and Angelle raised an eyebrow.

  Bah. This conversation was going to require caffeine.

  “Fine.” Sherry lifted her hands in the air, symbolizing a white flag. “Nosy minx, I will reveal all. But please, a little patience? Mama needs her coffee.” Glancing at her smarting knee, she added, “And a Band-Aid. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll scrounge us up some breakfast. Then I promise, I’ll explain.”

  Angelle snorted. “How about I make breakfast, and you tame that wild nest on your head? If you cook, we’ll be eating charcoal biscuits and burned grits.”

  Sherry rolled her eyes and grinned. “Fair enough.”

  Lifting a hand to the mattress, she pulled herself up and withheld a groan at her friend’s intelligent stare. “I’ll see you in the kitchen in five.”

  Angelle nodded and left the room.

  The entire time Sherry got ready—brushing her teeth and fixing the chaotic mess she called h
air, tugging on clothes and, well, stalling—she considered what she’d say. What reason she could give for newlyweds who exhibited zero signs of illness or sleep apnea to sleep apart. Any way she sliced it, the choice was embarrassing. Either she and Tyler were fighting two weeks into their quickie marriage, which she’d done a horrific job of selling a few moments ago, or they were lying to everyone. Neither option cast her in the adored, fairy-tale light she’d wanted for herself.

  After sitting on the closed lid of the toilet for what felt like an eternity, Sherry stood up, knowing it was time she faced her too-smart friend. So much for her relaxing day off. She straightened her shoulders, determined to do her best whichever path it took—fact or fiction—and marched into the kitchen.

  On the counter sat two plates filled with fluffy eggs, buttered toast, and sliced strawberries. Her stomach groaned. Loudly. Two steaming mugs of chicory coffee scented the air with a heavenly aroma, and her synapses fired in response. Behind all that was Angelle, forearms bent against the granite top, a suspicious grin curving her mouth.

  “So, I’ve been thinking.”

  That’s not good. Whenever women uttered that phrase, all signs pointed to hell. Sherry would know; she used it often. Wrapping her palms around the mug closest to her, she let the heat infuse her skin, inhaled the earthy scent, and took a tentative sip.

  “Oh, yeah?” She lowered the cup just enough to blow along the surface before taking another hit. “And your conclusion?”

  “You’re hiding something,” Angelle replied. She let that declaration hang in the air as she leisurely cut her fork into the pile of eggs and savored a heaping bite. After chewing and swallowing, she dug in for a second one. As she lifted the fork to her mouth, her eyes flicked to Sherry. “My instincts say you’re as happily married as I was engaged two months ago.”

  Female intuition was a bitch. Sherry frowned, ready for a rebuttal, when Angie set a giant box of Nerds on the counter. Tyler’s Nerds. Which meant Angie had gone exploring.

  See, that was another flaw in their plan. It wasn’t just Tyler’s clothes in Angelle’s room. It was everything he owned. His prized guitar, his collection of lyric-filled notebooks, and his perpetual stash of Nerds. They’d moved every bit of it back after Angelle stayed over, never once thinking she’d return so soon.