Accidentally Married on Purpose: A Love and Games Novel Page 6

  Tyler had no doubt about that. “Think the band will mind?”

  His friend scoffed. “A two-week vacay in The Big Easy? I think they’ll manage.”

  The buzz of his phone vibrating on the table stole his attention, and a genuine case of nerves hit his stomach. Sherry. Screw the band—she was the hitch in this plan. He had to convince her to play along.

  And admit to her who he really was.

  Charlie saw the name flashing on the screen and clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Arianne, what do you say I buy you a drink from the vending machine, huh?”

  She nodded and stood from the table with an amused grin. “Tell Sherry I said hello.” She sent Nolan a pointed look, and he got up from the table with an exasperated huff.

  “Guess I’ll be going, too.”

  Tyler gave him a tight-lipped smile and palmed his phone, waiting until the door closed behind them. Finally alone, he took a breath and hit accept. “Blue.”

  Shit. His greeting was automatic. Automatic and completely damning.

  He heard a sharp intake of air on the other end. “So it’s true?”

  Tyler winced. That was one way to go about telling her. She mumbled an, “Excuse me,” and he heard a scuffling sound in the background. A door closed and then, “I’m married to the freaking himbo of country music?”

  “Not exactly,” he replied, unable to stop his smile. She was sassy, all right, and he loved it. Another reason she was perfect for this. Sherry wouldn’t take his crap. She wasn’t some starry-eyed fan throwing herself at him. And she made him laugh. “Listen, sugar, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. I should’ve told you—”

  “Oh, you think?” she asked, and Tyler’s smile grew.

  “Listen, you have every right to be pissed,” he said, leaning back and kicking his boots onto the spotless tabletop. “But I’m coming into town tomorrow, and I’d rather explain everything in person.” He paused. “If you’d let me.”

  He held his breath and let the seconds tick. Everything depended on her agreeing.

  “Town?” she asked, the feistiness in her voice replaced with uncertainty.

  “New Orleans,” he confirmed. “I have a couple events there this month. I don’t know if I mentioned it, but I’m actually from Louisiana.”

  He fought to keep the amusement out of his voice. Okay, so now he was just pushing her buttons on purpose. For some reason, he couldn’t help himself. She was passionate, and her fire turned on a dime. He knew she’d—

  “Are you freaking kidding me right now?” she screeched, and his laugh broke free. “No, you didn’t mention it. Just like you failed to mention that you’re bloody famous, and that I’d have photographers staked out behind bushes and crawling around my front yard.”

  The smile instantly fell from Tyler’s face. “Are they harassing you?” he asked. How in the hell did the media find out already? Had someone at the chapel recognized him? “How many are there?”

  “Just one,” she replied, voice lowered. “A reporter and a photographer.”

  Muffled voices were in the background, and a surge of protectiveness shot through him as he dropped his boots to the floor. “Are you outside right now?”

  “Tyler, I’m not a complete idiot. I stepped inside after you blew your cover.” He didn’t miss the way her voice tightened, and he pictured her rolling those gorgeous eyes of hers. Yeah, he definitely had his work cut out for him. A noise like blinds moving crept over the line as she said, “My girl stayed out there to watch them, but the chick seems harmless enough. Overzealous perhaps, but harmless.”

  “I’m sure she is,” he assured her. For the most part, the media was fine and even respectful. The kind that loitered on private property, not so much. “But for my sanity, can you please just tell the reporter no comment, grab your friend, and stay inside until I get there?”

  She muttered something about paranoid celebrities, but then said, “Fine.”

  He listened as she stepped outside and waited until she told the reporter, “Sorry, no comment,” before pulling the phone from his ear. It was already after four. Changing his flight wouldn’t do any good. But he hated her dealing with this shit on her own. Especially without them being on the same page about the future.

  He caught Arianne peering through the meeting room window and waved her in.

  Covering the mouthpiece, he asked, “What time does my flight arrive tomorrow?” She held up eight fingers, and he nodded.

  “Okay, music man, I did your bidding.” A door closed on the other end, followed by a woman’s voice in the background. “My pit-bull future sister-in-law has me securely locked inside my house and is standing as bodyguard. Happy?”

  No. He’d be happy once she agreed to save his career. And once he got her a real bodyguard. “Thank you,” he told her, squeezing the tight muscles in his neck. “You haven’t dealt with these people like I have. I’ll feel better once I’m there to protect you.”

  Sherry didn’t say anything in reply, which Tyler took as a good thing. If she were annoyed, she’d have no problem letting him know. “So, my flight arrives at eight in the morning,” he mentioned casually. “Any chance you can come and get me?”

  “Gee, I don’t know.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice, but the anger had definitely lessened. With any luck, it’d be gone completely by tomorrow. A man could hope, right? “Pick you up from the airport? That seems hardcore, Ty. Normally, I’m married to a guy for at least a couple weeks before I take that big a step.”

  “Funny.”

  “I am, aren’t I?” She released a sigh, and when she spoke again, she only sounded tired. “Fine. Text me your flight number, and I’ll meet you at eight.”

  The call disconnected before Tyler could say anything else. He dropped his head into his hands. Their secret was out. The truth was out. And he suddenly had a migraine.

  Chapter Six

  Thank heaven for small miracles—the New Orleans airport was dead. Either the media didn’t know the current heartthrob of country music was en route, or they were secretly hiding behind the luggage carousel. In view of the excitement yesterday, nothing would surprise her, but Sherry seriously hoped they weren’t. Her poor nerves were frazzled enough.

  After placating her overly protective bestie with tales of a whirlwind romance, flimsy excuses for her gobsmacked behavior on her porch, and promises to tell all soon, Sherry had feigned exhaustion and escaped to her room. If anyone would understand her predicament, it would be Angelle. She’d lied to her parents that Cane was her fiancé, way before they were even dating. Her friend deserved the truth. But Sherry had seen that look forming again, the sympathetic one that always trailed her “pulling another Sherry,” and she just couldn’t find the words. Because in this case, Angelle was absolutely right.

  She’d pulled a doozy.

  It took a special kind of person to land in this kind of mess. Sherry had learned a lot about Tyler Blue while hiding out in her bedroom. It was fascinating the things you could find on Google. She’d read about his modest upbringing in Opelousas and the amazing things he’d accomplished in the last three years. Critics said he had a unique sound, classic country mixed with a swamp pop flair that they credited as being his daddy’s influence. Another article mentioned him being the captain of the Erato parade and that he was soon to be one of the youngest inductees into the Louisiana Music Hall of Fame. She’d also discovered that her initial assessment had been spot on.

  Tyler was the himbo of country music.

  Judging by the steady stream of women he was photographed with—never the same one twice—he was as big a player as any of her ex-boyfriends. What made it worse was that these women were mind-numbingly gorgeous, every single one. Blonde, ginger, brunette, the full spectrum had been represented—and with her in the mix, Tyler could even add purple-streaked. But the hair wasn’t the only thing that made Sherry stand out like a sore thumb. It was the whole package. The women Tyler had been with in those pictures were glamorous
and polished. They wore the right clothes, they stood the right way, and you could just tell they never accidentally dropped an F-bomb in public.

  Sherry glanced down and tugged on her hem. The fabric was scratchy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a dress. It wasn’t that she was trying to impress Tyler. Hell no, that ship had sailed. He’d made her look like an idiot in front of strangers and was the reason a weird dude had been creeping in her bushes. But until they figured this disaster out, she’d wanted to look the part. It seemed stupid now. The little number she was rocking hit mid-thigh, was angelic-white, and was as far from her usual attire as she could get. An improvement from the photos snapped of her yesterday in ripped jeans and shrunken concert tee. Bra strap, no doubt, exposed.

  A fresh batch of people made their way down the baggage claim escalator, and twinges Sherry hadn’t felt since high school hit her stomach. She smoothed a hand down the back of her hair. She also hadn’t been this nervous about a guy since the night of her ninth grade dance.

  God…that night still nauseated her. It had been the beginning of a new year, and Sherry had just shed a ton of weight. She’d made the school dance team and had been primed and ready to take her place outside of Colby’s shadow. Her date was two years older and a friend of a friend’s from another school. Someone who’d never met the pudgy girl her small town knew, and would hopefully see the new her. As it turned out, she’d thankfully chosen right. Her dating debut had been magical. She received her first kiss and believed she was head over heels in love—that is until the guy came over a week later, got one look at Colby, and decided he wanted to be just friends. By the time the loser realized sisters stuck together, the damage had already been done. In more ways than one.

  When the crowd broke and Tyler was still a no-show, Sherry’s shoulders slumped. Was his plane delayed? Had he changed flights and forgot to tell her? That type of thing certainly fit the Blue she’d imagined originally…but not so much the man she’d gotten to know in Vegas. Deciding she’d give it another ten minutes, she walked over to the Starbucks stand. Times like these may not require caffeine—she was plenty edgy enough—but lemon pound cake was another story.

  As she waited in line, she busied herself on her phone, twirling her hair as she checked for bad weather in Nashville. Nothing from what she could see. She sighed and dropped her phone back in her purse. The guy in front of her moved aside, and she’d finally made it to the front when an unexplained shiver rolled down her spine.

  It was as if her body was attuned to the man. Damn, that was annoying.

  Smiling stiffly at the woman behind the counter, Sherry shook her head and stepped away. She turned around, and there he was. Denim slung low on his hips, that damn belt buckle reflecting light, ball cap shading his eyes. But there was no missing that his gaze was locked on hers. He picked up speed, marching down the moving escalator as if he was that eager to be near her.

  Don’t be ridiculous, she scolded herself. Thoughts like that are what get you in trouble.

  But that wasn’t true. Heated looks like that, the ones her so-called husband was giving her right now, and the responding warmth that filled her belly, was what did her in.

  Good grief. Celebrity or not—craptastic liar or not—the man was smoking hot. Memories of their weekend together slammed into her as he purposefully strolled toward her, now sliding past the crowd separating them, his long, lean muscles moving in fluid rhythm. Delicious, sexy memories of the many ways he could use those muscles…followed by breath-stealing memories of him deliberately withholding the truth.

  Embarrassment burned as she recalled the times she’d alluded to his boss or asked about the hundreds of phone calls, and how he’d distracted her every time. Deceived her. Played her like a damn fool.

  Tyler’s small smile fell and his stride faltered as the desire kindling her blood doused, morphing into a hot streak of utterly pissed off.

  This is better, she thought, rolling her shoulders back. Anger was easier for her to handle. And much, much safer.

  …

  Tyler detected the instant Sherry’s passionate gaze ran cold. It smacked the smile right off his face and pumped the breaks on his momentum. The look was such an anomaly on her. As strange as the straight-laced dress she was wearing…and almost as unfamiliar as the sudden, fierce need he’d had to hold her.

  Where had that come from anyway?

  Sure, he’d been eager to discuss their situation. To get them on the same page about their marriage and find a way to make it mutually beneficial. Hell, it was all he’d thought about during the flight. But his career hadn’t propelled him toward her like a dog in heat. Not even the memories of those exposed, curvy legs wrapped around him in his hotel room. It was her. Sherry. The tempting caterer with a sassy mouth and honest, unguarded eyes. And the brief instant that she’d turned and looked as though she’d missed him, too.

  He stopped in front of her and placed a finger on her perfect lips, obviously ready to spit hate fire. “Shh. Not here.”

  Her mouth puckered beneath his finger and her eyes narrowed. The weight of her distrust hit him in his gut. He’d lost his easy. Forfeited the stress-free, infectious smiles he hadn’t realized he’d been counting on. But he’d earn them back. It just became his mission, right along with regaining her trust.

  “My assistant is bringing the rest of my things tomorrow,” he told her, gripping the handle of his guitar case as he wheeled his carry-on between them. “I’ve got all I need right now, so might I suggest we move the fight you’re clearly itching to have, and rightly so,” he added when her gaze grew even steelier, “to your car?”

  Sherry inhaled a breath, and for a moment, he was sure they were about to have it out right there in the baggage claim. That would make for an intriguing photo spread. But then she nodded curtly and spun on the heel of her shoes, her high, delectable ass swaying beneath the shape-hugging material of her dress. Oh, she was pissed, all right. And he damn well deserved it. But there was no stopping the grin on Tyler’s face as he watched her go.

  “Are you coming or what?”

  She glanced back over her shoulder and frowned when she saw his smile.

  Tyler ducked his head. “Right behind you, sugar.”

  Chuckling quietly to himself, he followed the lady through the doors of the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport.

  The air was cool, but not cold, as they walked across the access road. He kept his head down when a full shuttle drove past, on the off chance someone recognized him. To his knowledge, no one other than Sherry expected him for another two weeks. But after her recent brush with the media, he wasn’t taking any chances.

  They didn’t speak a word on the trek across the lot, or even glance at each other during the tense ride up the elevator. It wasn’t until she’d locked his luggage in the trunk of her magenta-colored Bug, and the doors slammed behind them, that she turned to him. With eyes that could kill.

  “You lied to me,” she accused. “Or at least omitted the truth, which I think is just as bad.” Her voice broke on the last word and her mask of anger slipped. Revealing the raw hurt underneath.

  That was Tyler’s fault. His selfishness had done that. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head onto the seatback, never feeling less like a man than he did then. “You’re right. It was wrong and selfish, and all I can say is that I’m sorry. But I swear I didn’t do it to hurt you.”

  Silence met his confession, and he nodded. Had he really expected anything less? The plans and scenarios he’d cooked up on the plane didn’t matter. His marriage was over before it even began. And, if his team was right, it could very well spell the end for his career, too.

  “Why then?” she asked softly, and Tyler opened his eyes. She licked her lips. “If you didn’t do it to hurt me or embarrass me, then why? Why not just tell me who you were from the beginning, or correct me at any point during the weekend?”

  His mouth lifted in a halfhearted smile. “I couldn’
t chance it,” he admitted. “I wanted to be the roadie or the super fan, or whatever-the-hell it was you thought I was, just for a night. I wanted to be with a beautiful woman who looked at me and saw me, not my reputation. Not my bank account. I wanted a night without the fame and any expectations.”

  Sherry’s guard came down again, this time revealing sympathy, and his hand brushed against her cheek before he could stop it. “Don’t go wasting your emotions on me, baby girl. I’m the jerk here. I don’t remember everything that happened, or whose idea it was to get married. We were both wasted. But I should’ve told you the truth in my hotel room. I planned to tell you that night and I’m guessing that never happened. Afterwards…well, I panicked.” He lifted a shoulder, knowing it was no excuse. “Even though I knew you were special, I had to get my team around me before I told you everything. Find out how to handle it. You know, on the off chance you were a crazed stalker or something.”

  He attempted a grin, and despite accusing her of possibly being psychotic, she returned it.

  Blowing out a breath, Sherry glanced out the windshield. Her hands tapped along the steering column and Tyler listened to the beat, waiting, until she turned back. When she did, she said, “I guess I can kind of see your side.”

  That, he hadn’t expected.

  “It must suck being hot and famous all the time,” she continued, with not a hint of sarcasm. “Not knowing whom you can trust. I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.” The rest of her protective armor fell away, and a hint of the comfortable, laidback girl he knew in Vegas seeped through. She held up her ring finger with a smirk. “And clearly, this idea was mine. That night’s a total blur for me, too, but this sucker has me written all over it.”

  She laughed at herself, and the tightness in Tyler’s chest lightened a fraction more.

  “So now what?” she asked, lifting a shoulder. “The wedding may be a blank, but I do remember some choice moments of the wedding night. An annulment is out of the question.” Their eyes met, and lingering heat snapped the air. Clearing her throat, she scooted away and rested her head against the window. “A divorce then?”