Seven Day Fiance: A Love and Games Novel (Entangled Bliss) Page 2

  Before her lies had snowballed. And she became short one fake fiancé.

  “Then sweetie, enlighten me,” Colby said, resting her chin on her hand. “What is your type? Because as long as we’ve been friends, I don’t think you’ve gone on a single date.”

  Angelle blew out a breath as she flagged a passing waitress with her empty glass. It was always fun when that depressing truth made its way into a conversation. “To be honest, I don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t been on a first date since I was seventeen.” Colby’s jaw gaped, and she shrugged. “I didn’t really date much before then, either. Brady, my ex, was a family friend, and we actually dated until right before I came here.”

  Right after he proposed in front of God and everyone.

  Angelle wasn’t proud of how it had gone down, or that she’d broken her best friend’s heart. But they hadn’t been right for each other. He had proved that by proposing so publicly, both embarrassing and forcing her to decline in front of all their loved ones. But they’d had no passion, no excitement. And other than having to tell him no in front of a packed auditorium, she had no regrets.

  Shifting her gaze to her wrist, she touched the word she’d branded over her old childhood scar the very next day when she’d decided to leave home. It was a reminder of what she was searching for, what she was hoping to find, and now that she’d gotten herself into such a crazy scrape, perhaps even a suggestion on how she could get herself out of it.

  Chance.

  …

  How in the hell do I get talked into this shit?

  Taking in his reflection in the men’s room mirror, Cane Robicheaux wondered if perhaps he’d lost his mind. Sherry had pulled some crazy stunts in the past, but this went beyond, even for her. He prided himself on always being there for his sisters, helping them with anything they asked. But after tonight, maybe it was about time he started telling them no.

  The bathroom door opened, letting in the high-pitched squeals from the main room. Awesome. Just what he wanted—inebriated, horny, most likely middle-aged-and-over women. Never mind that was normal barfly material. At least when he tended bar he wasn’t dressed like a male stripper. A familiar face appeared in the mirror behind him, mouth pinched in a pathetic attempt to contain a laugh as he said, “Ho-ho-ho.”

  Cane flipped Jason off, but it only made him laugh harder. “Your ass should be doing this shit with me,” he muttered, slapping the damn Santa hat on his head.

  His best friend for more than thirty years leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb and grinned. “Ah, but see, a perk of being engaged is getting out of the annoying crap your future sister-in-law asks of you.” Cane narrowed his eyes, and Jason punched him on the shoulder. “Having a smoking-hot fiancée doesn’t suck, either.”

  Cane grunted. Five months together and it was still awkward as hell hearing Jason call his little sister hot. And whenever Colby went there, Cane straight-up tuned her out. He had no problems with their relationship—marriage wasn’t for him, but if they were happy, he was happy. He just didn’t want to hear the gory details.

  The door opened again, and this time his youngest sister stuck her head into the room. “Five minutes, Santa-man.”

  Jason tugged a strand of her dyed-purple hair. “Sherry, you realize this is the men’s room, right?”

  “Please,” she scoffed. “Ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before. Besides, have you gotten a look at the hotties in this group? If I ‘accidently’ caught a peek at their bits, I certainly wouldn’t cry.”

  Cane grimaced, and Sherry flashed him a grin, flicking the white puffball dangling off the side of his face. He plucked the hat off his head and raked his fingers through his hair. “You owe me for this.”

  “Brother of mine, tell me, how is this different than any other weekend at the restaurant?” she asked. “You know good and well women line up the moment you step behind the bar, all on the off chance you’ll shoot those magical dimples at them, and we rake in the profits. The only difference tonight is you’re being ogled for charity.”

  Cane didn’t give a shit about being ogled; Sherry was right, women did it all the time, and if admitting that made him a dick, so be it. But prancing around like a jackass wasn’t his thing. Auction organizers had hounded him for years to be involved and he’d declined them every time. But when his baby sister did the asking… Of course, she’d waited until after he’d reluctantly agreed to mention he’d be a shirtless jackass, in bright red drawstring pants and a Santa hat.

  He shook his head in disgust at his reflection. He looked like a damn pansy.

  “Oh, cheer up, you grump,” Sherry teased. “Buzz on the street is you’re gonna raise Project Nicholas a crap-ton of money.” Pushing up on her toes, she kissed his cheek, wiped her thumb over the red lipstick mark, and grinned. “Besides, it’ll be fun. I promise.”

  Fun was a Friday night behind the bar. It was strumming his guitar after a long-ass day, grabbing a beer with Jason, or even watching a stupid teen movie with his godchild because it made Emma smile. It was balancing the restaurant’s budget because he was screwed up in the head and enjoyed that kind of thing. He doubted any part of tonight would be fun.

  As if playing devil’s advocate, his mind brought forth the image of a jittery woman with haunting green eyes and a killer body. Now if she were in the audience, it would be a different story.

  Sherry sent him another dazzling smile. “I’m off to gather the rest of the cattle—I mean guys. See your cute bootie out there.” She blew him a kiss as she backed out the door, letting in another wave of horny female buzzing.

  Jason chuckled under his breath, and Cane turned with a scowl. “Why are you here again?”

  “To help Sherry with the sound equipment,” he replied, unfazed. Grabbing Cane’s hat from the sink, he held it out with a smirk. “Besides, you didn’t think I’d miss seeing this, did you?” The gleam in his eyes promised he’d never let Cane live this down.

  Yanking on the damn hat, Cane strode from the men’s room. The line of half-naked bachelors extended down the hall, and with a shake of his head, he took his place at the back. Together they looked like a deranged elf’s wet dream. Or a Christmas card for Playgirl. Jason slid him another smirk on his way to the sound equipment, confirming they looked as stupid as he felt, and a minute later, Michael Buble’s “Holly Jolly Christmas” faded.

  It was show time.

  “What’s up, Magnolia Springs?”

  The response to Sherry’s animated question was a wave of whoops, and Cane rolled his eyes.

  “Do I have a treat in store for y’all!” his sister continued. “Sixteen of the hottest guys in the area are here tonight: musicians, business owners, and local heroes, all eager to become your l-ove slaves.”

  The audience exploded again and Cane muttered, “I’m eager to get the hell out of this outfit.” The guy in front of him turned and gave a nod of agreement.

  “First up is the highly anticipated Best Abs contest!” Sherry shouted, and Cane could picture her gleeful smile. “One at a time, the men will strut their stuff on the stage, and it’s your job to clap, squeal, and stomp your feet for the bachelor with the most toe-tingling, tummy-twirling, sinfully sexy washboard abs. And ladies, I got a sneak peek at the goods backstage and let’s just say I know the temperature’s cool outside, but it’s about to get hot up in here!”

  Another round of girlish cheers went up as the very un-holiday beginning of Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy” rolled through the speakers. In unison, the line of guys’ heads in front of him drooped. If he weren’t so pissed, Cane would’ve laughed. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one dreading this.

  It just went to show how formidable his little sister’s powers of persuasion were.

  “Our first bachelor, Michael LeBlanc, is the newest member of the Magnolia Springs Police Department…”

  As Sherry called out names and read each guy’s stats, she’d pause for the women to show their approval. The whole th
ing was ridiculous. The dude in front of him took the stage, and Cane lifted his eyes to the clock mounted on the wall. Seven fifteen. In forty-five minutes, the auction should be over. Less than an hour of torture, doing his time with whomever won him, and then he could change back into normal clothes and get the hell out.

  “Last but obviously not least, we have my brother, Cane Robicheaux. He manages Robicheaux’s, the best Cajun restaurant not only on the north shore, but in the entire New Orleans area, in my ever-so-humble opinion.”

  At his sister’s corny joke, the crowd laughed and Cane exhaled. Here went nothing. He stepped out from behind the curtain and the previous wall of laughter morphed into one of sharp whistles and innuendos. A woman in red near the front licked her lips.

  Cane averted his eyes to Sherry, conveying again how much she owed him for this, then began walking across the long stage, eyes focused on the wall ahead.

  “As most of you know, you can also find Cane behind the bar on the weekends serving up your favorite drinks, and if you’re lucky, you may just catch him on our small stage serenading the masses with his soulful voice and guitar. Cane’s thirty-three years old, six-foot-two, and the three words he’d use to best describe himself are tenacious, ambitious, and focused.”

  Cane swung his head around, and Sherry shrugged.

  She hadn’t asked him any questions.

  “The three things he can’t live without,” she continued, “are his family, his guitar, and Colby’s beignets. His biggest pet peeve is dishonesty. And his idea of the perfect first date involves a bottle of wine, a quiet dinner, good music, and a great good-night kiss.”

  Up until that last part, he’d actually been impressed. As Cane turned to walk back across the stage, he mumbled for her ears only, “Better get used to the morning shift, little sister.”

  The agreement had been that she’d take all the opening shifts for the next two weeks in exchange for Cane doing the auction. After that little stunt, she’d extended her sentence to a month.

  Sherry grinned. “As my big beast of a brother takes his mark, let’s hear who thinks Cane Robicheaux has the Best Abs of the night!”

  The applause was deafening. Before he knew what was happening, his sister had placed a bright red sash over his head, declaring him King of Abs. And he’d thought he looked like a pansy before.

  Cane grasped Sherry’s elbow, ready to inform her she was on permanent opening duty, when he lowered his gaze to the crowd and spotted her front and center. The one woman he wouldn’t mind shouting innuendos at him. And the only one, other than his sisters, who currently wasn’t.

  Angelle’s head lifted from her drink as if she could feel his stare. The spark of attraction she always tried to hide flared within her deep-set, vibrant green eyes—eyes Cane couldn’t forget. He’d first seen them five months ago, shortly after the sexy redhead tripped over her own two feet and then apologized. He’d been hooked ever since.

  Angelle was a mystery, as exotic and foreign as her French-sounding name. Guileless wide eyes, an aura of innocence, a voice like whiskey, and the word Chance inked on her wrist, she was the first woman ever to get under Cane’s skin…and the first and only to appear ready to hurl whenever she saw him. Strangely enough, it only made him want her more.

  Women didn’t tell Cane no. If anything, they acted like the vapid red dress in the front.

  But Angelle was too close. Near the danger zone. She was friends with his sisters, worked with Jason, and gave riding lessons to Emma. She ate at the kitchen table he shared with Colby more often than he did, which should make her off limits. Yet against every instinct and belief he had, Cane wanted her.

  For months, he’d fought it. Tried ignoring the attraction, tried losing himself in other women. But in each face he looked into, he saw her eyes. Eyes so open and honest they gave all her thoughts away. Heard her sexy, roughened tone instead of the soft, feminine voices that used to turn him on. Nothing he’d done had gotten her out of his system, and he was starting to think the only thing that would was the woman herself. He needed to satisfy his curiosity for her and get his carefree, no attachment, no commitment life back on track where it belonged. Thanks to his father’s infidelity, Cane wasn’t made for forever—but he was good for one hell of a night.

  And now was as good a time as any to prove that.

  Usually, women chased him, but for Angelle Prejean, Cane was happy to play the hunter. He actually looked forward to it. Settling his determined gaze on hers, his lips tipped up into a smile as a slow flush rose in her cheeks.

  Chapter Two

  Holy molasses. The heat in Cane’s stare could melt Angelle’s panties. And the way it made her twitch in her seat, she almost wondered if it had. Never had a look of such intensity been directed at her before—not by the man in question, and certainly not by her ex. Brady had been many things, but passionate hadn’t been one of them. She’d lost track of the nights she had spent lying in bed, fantasizing about what it would feel like to experience real desire. To be on the receiving end of such a burning look, knowing she’d been the one to inspire it.

  Now that she knew, Angie could declare with all certainty that passion scared the ever-loving crap out of her.

  Cane was a flirt. Not to mention a man-whore who was charming to boot. From the tattoos covering his skin to the cuts and bruises he often sported courtesy of the gym to the unruly and sexy-as-hell hair, the man was simply out of her league. And way, way, way over her head. Sure, he’d let her know he was interested, and she’d vowed to take more chances in her life—but not that much of one. There was taking chances and then there was duct taping her heart to a target and loading Cupid with the equivalent of a turbo missile. She wouldn’t have a prayer’s chance of recovering from a round with someone like him.

  But that didn’t stop you from putting your gigantic foot in your mouth, now did it?

  Cringing, Angelle broke eye contact with the embodiment of sex—and the answer to her sticky engagement predicament—and ran headlong into his sister’s smirk.

  “But Cane’s not your type, right?”

  Knowing full well Colby had caught her undressing the man with her eyes—well, what was left to undress; seriously, he was practically naked up there—Angie chose to remain quiet. Colby covered her mouth with a delicate hand, which did absolutely nothing to hide her snort of laughter, and said, “Oh my, this is going to be fun.”

  “Happy to amuse you as always,” Angelle muttered. She redirected her attention to Sherry, who was surprisingly announcing the first bachelor as sold for one hundred dollars. She hadn’t even realized the auction had begun. Such was the power of Cane Robicheaux. The first bachelor, a cute kid who barely looked twenty-one, walked down the steps and joined his middle-aged winner, who promptly wrapped him up in her generous arms and did a happy shimmy.

  Yep, I’m out of my element here.

  Breathing through the heated stare she could still feel on her skin and the deep desire she had to meet it, Angelle picked up her drink and chugged.

  The next half hour or so passed in much the same way, which was to say a blur of skin, sexy stares, exciting shivers, and her trying her best to ignore it all. With each new name Sherry called, the line of bachelors dwindled. And with each drop of alcohol consumed, the room’s collective purse strings loosened. The winning bids grew. Several of the guys from the firehouse raked in more than two hundred dollars each, and with three empty hurricane glasses to her name, Angelle could even admit she was having a good time. Lovely warmth buzzed in her veins, a fascinating sensation since she rarely drank more than a glass or two at one time. Sherry was cracking her up with her antics and over-the-top commentary, the bachelors were laidback (and let’s face it, yummy eye candy), and the winning women were hilariously enthusiastic. Angie was having such a good time, in fact, that she almost lost track of the lineup.

  But when the second-to-last bachelor placed his Santa Hat on old Mrs. Thibodeaux’s head and bowed to kiss her weathered ch
eek, every hair on Angie’s body stood on end.

  Cane was next.

  Of its own accord, her slightly blurred gaze snapped to the stage, not surprised to find his already locked on her. A tingle ran down her arms, one that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Reaching for her freshly refilled glass, she held his gaze as she took another long, tart sip, and listened to the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.

  “And last, but certainly not least, our very own King of Abs!”

  At Sherry’s gleeful giggle, Cane shook his head and closed his eyes. With their contact broken, Angelle stole a breath.

  The entire room surged with energy. Energy and hormones. Women bounced in their seats. Purses opened. Tongues lolled. Sherry scanned the eager crowd and grinned as she said, “Let’s say we start the bidding for our final bachelor at—”

  “Two hundred and fifty dollars!”

  A few tables over, the woman in red from earlier thrust a wad of cash in the air, and Sherry’s eyes bulged. Every other bachelor had begun with a respectable bid of fifty dollars—but it appeared the brunette had come to play. Play and win. Resentment roiled in Angelle’s gut.

  “All right, then,” Sherry said, elbowing her brother in the ribs. “I told this man he’d be a money maker. So, our opening bid is two hundred and fifty dollars. Anyone want to take it to two seventy-five?”

  Conversations broke out among the tables. Cash was counted, cell phones pulled out, and then a voice exclaimed, “Three hundred!”

  Angelle turned to the willowy blonde who’d just appeared behind her. She was dressed in a festive green gown that left very little to the imagination. Diamonds draped her neck and hung from her ears, but her eyes flashed brighter than the bling. The woman looked haughty. She looked determined. She looked…not quite right. Her eyes were wide—almost wild—and they were fixated on Cane in a way that went beyond focus and into straight-up territorial.