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

Also by Rachel Harris

The Love and Games Series

Taste the Heat

For Teen Readers

My Super Sweet Sixteenth Century

A Tale of Two Centuries

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by
Rachel Harris
. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at
www.entangledpublishing.com
.

Edited by
Alycia Tornetta and Stacy Cantor Abrams

Cover design by Jessica Cantor

Ebook ISBN
978-1-62266-238-8

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition
October 2013

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Playgirl
, “Holly Jolly Christmas,” “I’m Too Sexy,” Looney Tunes,
Fatal Attraction
, “At Last,” Harley Davidson, “Mayberry,” Oscar, Old Spice, Walkman, Patron, Disney World,
Cinderella
, The Powerpuff Girls,
Star Wars
,
Freakonomics
, Wikipedia, Discovery Channel,
Waterboy
, “U Got It Bad,” “How Do I Live,” “I’ll Make Love to You,” “Let’s Get It On,” “Wild Thing,” “Firework,” iPod, “Crash Into Me,” “She Will Be Loved,”
The Walking Dead
, Band-Aid, Holiday Inn,
Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants
, “Walking in a Winter Wonderland,” Target, Lemon Pledge.

For the people of Carencro, Louisiana, who inspired so much of this story, and my beautiful tour guide (and cousin) Chantel. You are a blessing. Also for my husband, Gregg, whose unwavering love and encouragement proves that happily ever after truly does exist.

Chapter One

Shivering as cool November air kissed her exposed skin, Angelle Prejean quickened her pace across the Magnolia Springs Banquet Hall parking lot. The rhythmic
click
of her toe-pinching heels sounded amplified in the dark, but it did jack squat to drown out her mama’s voice still ringing in her ears. What Angelle needed was a distraction, and an event planned by her crazy roommate was sure to deliver. Digging through her beaded black handbag, Angie fished out her ticket and flashed it at the entrance, then stepped inside the toasty warm lobby with a hopeful smile. It promptly froze and withered on her face.

What the…?

Looming directly across from her in the crowded vestibule stood an almost life-size poster of three faceless, shirtless men. The words
For Your Holiday Pleasure
were written in elegant swirling letters along the bottom.

For her
stupefaction
was more like it.

Angie glanced at her ticket, confirming she had the date and location right, and promptly returned her gaze to the glorious sight before her. Her breath escaped in a rush. Heat crept up her neck. But a herd of wild horses couldn’t tear her gaze away. And from the excited whirr of murmurs and giggles filling the entryway, she wasn’t the only one enjoying the man-tastic view.

Together, the half-nude beefcake trio in the poster was devastating, each man impossibly gorgeous. But for Angelle it was one man in particular, the one in the center, who had butterflies doing the cha-cha in her belly and her limbs gushing with warmth.

Cane.

It didn’t matter that the image stopped at his throat. She didn’t need to see his face to recognize the rugged bartender. The confidence in the man’s stance, the ink on his skin, and the way her entire body shook with desire
and
trepidation gave his identity away. Thanks to the class they took together at Northshore Combatives, Angie had seen Cane Robicheaux in various stages of undress. But despite the overwhelming temptation, she’d never allowed herself the luxury of a thorough examination. In fact, she did everything she could to avoid eye contact of any kind—not an easy feat in a town as small as Magnolia Springs. Or with an attraction as fierce as hers. But now, alone with a bazillion other women doing the same, Angie let her eyes drink their fill.

Her gaze caressed the width of his broad shoulders. Traced the lines of his flat, rippled abdomen. And feasted on the artwork adorning his skin. A koi fish swam up one side of his smooth ribs, flames licked up a thick, muscular arm, and a cross with angel wings and his mom’s name peeked from inside the other. An intricate yin-yang of a tiger and dragon covered the left side of his bulging chest, and she knew from prior, covert inspection that a fleur de lis marked his toned calf. The sound of her erratic pulse eclipsed all other sound in the room, but if Angelle were a betting woman, she’d put even money that a hum of feminine swooning was breaking around her. Cane Robicheaux exuded sex—sex and danger. And in spite of her many, many,
many
attempts to pretend otherwise, she was every bit as susceptible to that potent combination as the rest of the female population.

“
Which is why I’m in so much trouble,” she whispered with a disgusted snort.

A long shadow fell over the trio, breaking Angelle’s lust-dazed trance. She blinked and shifted her attention to a statuesque brunette wearing a bright red evening gown and an amused smirk. “Sure puts you in the holiday spirit, doesn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah.” Angelle averted her gaze back to the poster as the heat of a blush extended to her cheeks. “That it does.”

The annual Bachelor Auction was the town’s official kick-off to the holidays and
usually
involved tuxedo-clad gentlemen and endless glasses of champagne. Of course, that was before her roommate and Cane’s spunky youngest sister, Sherry, took control of the reins.

The brunette tapped a painted nail over Cane’s chest. “Makes me want to do a little early Christmas shopping.”

Irrational jealousy flared in Angelle’s stomach.
Cane’s not really mine,
she reminded herself.
Despite what my parents may think. This chick’s free to bid on him if she wants.
But as the woman’s lips tipped up in a cougar-like grin, that irrational flare grew into a blazing inferno of possession.

Chuckling to herself, the woman glanced at the elevated stage and catwalk centered in the room. “Good luck in there tonight. And may the auction gods be in
both
our favors, huh?”

Angelle nodded, forcing a brittle smile as the brunette sauntered away, hips swaying beneath the skin-tight fabric of her dress. Then, exhaling a frustrated breath, she began scouting for the bar. Normally, Angie wasn’t much of a drinker, but if Cane was a bachelor up for bid—which she should’ve assumed considering he was
Cane
, after all—then she was gonna need the mental fuzziness. Otherwise, she’d likely do something to embarrass herself.

Such as win the man and then ask him for an
incredibly
crazy favor.

Looking past the image of forbidden flesh, her eyes slid over the long silent auction table boasting lingerie, jewelry, and highly questionable novelty items. Lining the floor beyond that were cramped cocktail tables decorated with what appeared to be
whips
and bright feather boas
.
A jolly, holiday-appropriate, yet completely incongruous Christmas tree was off in the far corner, holding ornaments she was sure would shock the country out of her if they were visible. To say Angie was out of her comfort zone would be an understatement of massive proportions. She was so far outside the zone she may as well be in a different zip code.

Why on earth had she thought an event by Sherry Robicheaux would be tame?

This was what Angelle got for not asking questions. She’d been too slammed between working shifts at the stables and volunteering at the firehouse to push for details, and her roommate hadn’t exactly been forthcoming. Now she understood why. Sherry knew Angelle wasn’t brazen like the brunette or a flirty vixen like herself. Nope, she turned five freaking shades of red simply ogling a damn poster.

Shaking her head with a grunt, Angelle turned to leave, her well-worn flannel pajamas and the Hallmark channel calling her name…and locked eyes with Colby.

So much for her escape plan.

Colby was Angelle’s former rival turned friend. She was also Sherry’s sister, and together the two women had taken her under their wings, practically making her an honorary Robicheaux. Now that Colby had spotted her, there was no way Angelle could get out of staying. At least not without admitting her considerably
non
-sisterly feelings for big brother Cane. Which she’d never do. The two women would be like dogs with a bone if they ever caught wind of her feelings—matchmaking, plotting, and hankering for a love match. She loved her friends to death, but despite her town newbie status, there was one thing Angelle knew as well as any native…

Commitment, in Cane Robicheaux’s eyes, was a four-letter word.

Colby waved her over with a wide smile, indicating the empty chairs at her reserved table. A table located dead center facing the catwalk, giving them front-row seats to the debauchery beginning any minute.

Oh goodie.

“This is for charity,” she reminded herself, propelling her feet forward. Her continued presence and the tightness in her belly had
nothing
to do with Cane being a bachelor. Or the fantasy of bidding on him. Nope, even her overactive imagination knew that was never gonna happen.

Audacious she wasn’t. But oh, how she wished she were.

When she’d left her small hometown of Bon Terre, Angelle had vowed to reinvent herself. To leave the timid mouse behind in Cajun country, honor her sister’s memory, and carve her
own
destiny for once. But nine months later, Angelle was still Angelle, just in a different town.

Her plans for taking on the big bad city of New Orleans had changed the moment she stumbled upon sleepy, sheltered Magnolia Springs. A suburb a mere thirty miles shy of her intended destination and a town that, while certainly different, was only marginally larger than the one she’d fled.

Her wish to be daring
did
lead her to become a local volunteer firefighter, a dream she’d held since she was nine years old. But it also only took three months of flinching at every creak of the floorboard and whistle of the wind to kiss her dream of living alone good-bye and move into a cramped apartment with Sherry.

And finally—and perhaps the most distressing—it was Angelle’s overwhelming desire for more than a string of Cracklin Queen titles and a life of inactivity that had landed her in the biggest pickle of her existence.

The reminder of her ginormous lie, followed by the crazy promise she’d made her mama just an hour ago made her groan aloud.
At least when I make a mess, I make sure it’s a good one.

Angie cut to the right as Colby lifted two glasses high in the air. Either her friend was double-fisting for the night or she’d miraculously read Angelle’s mind. She hastened her steps, the bright red drink calling to her like a beacon—then pitched forward abruptly when her heel snagged on the carpet.

Without thinking, she snapped her arms out to stop her momentum.

And
whacked
an elderly woman upside the head with her purse.

Time stopped. Then it fast-forwarded as Angie’s eyes widened in dawning horror. Wincing, she raised her head and saw Colby sitting a mere two table-lengths away, mouth twitching with laugher. Sadly, it wasn’t twitching with surprise, because this sort of thing was par for the course and, unfortunately, how Angie rolled: ungraceful and clumsy, with an added dash of socially awkward.

Bracing herself, Angelle turned to the poor blindsided woman, who smiled as warmly as she’d expected, because that was how residents of her new hometown rolled
:
forever kind and forgiving, even when randomly assaulted. “Oh, Mrs. Thibodeaux, I’m
so,
so sorry.” She smoothed her hands along the beaded sleeves of the elderly salon owner’s gown, wishing the ground would swallow her whole. “I didn’t see you. I didn’t—”

The gray-haired woman
tsk
ed, brushing her hands away. “Girl, that carpet’s older than me, which means it’s older than dirt. Your pretty shoes getting caught ain’t your fault.” She palmed Angelle’s flushed face and gave it a not-so-gentle tap. “Now stop all this fussing over an old broad and go grab yourself a drink. It’s almost time to win you a gentleman.”

Angelle placed a hand over the woman’s wrinkled one, grateful for the understanding. Of course, there wasn’t a chance in Hades she’d win anything—or
anyone.
But that drink was sounding better and better.

After escorting Mrs. Thibodeaux to her table of friends, Angie finally made it to Colby’s table. With a poorly disguised chuckle, her friend held out a tall glass. “You look as though you could use this.”

“What gave me away?” she asked, making grabby hands for the drink. “My elegant stroll across the room or my cheeks flushing as red as my hair at your sister’s welcome poster?” She took a long pull off the straw and made a yummy noise of contentment—
hurricanes, nectar of the gods.

Colby laughed
.
“And here I thought that rosy flush was my brother’s doing.” Angie squirmed in her seat, and her friend winked knowingly. “As for the poster, I admit the majority of Sherry’s schemes are questionable at best, but in this case I think she’s onto something. Adding the Best Abs contest almost doubled advance ticket sales. Higher attendance means more money for Project Nicholas.”

Angelle nodded, agreeing that anything that made more money for the local charity, which provided a Christmas for kids who didn’t expect one, was indeed awesome. But then the rest of Colby’s words sank in, and she choked on her drink.

Colby patted her back as Angelle slapped her chest. “Did you just say
Best
Abs
?”

That
explained the poster in the entryway.

Colby sat back with a frown. “Sherry didn’t tell you anything about tonight, did she?”

She shook her head as lovely air made its way back through her windpipe. “That would be a gigantic nope. And I’m beginning to think that was intentional.”

“You’re probably right about that.” A chorus of hoots erupted from the table behind them and Colby rolled her eyes, leaning in. “Well then, let’s get you up to speed. The Best Abs contest kicks off the night. Instead of tuxes, I’m guessing the guys will be strutting around shirtless—most likely in Santa hats, if I know my sister. We’ll vote for the bachelor with the most delicious six-pack, and then it’s on to bidding on them like cattle.” She grinned as she looked at the rock on her finger. “Well,
I
won’t be bidding. But the rest of you will.”

An image of a shirtless Cane in living hot color leapt into her mind, and Angelle’s tummy fluttered. “I’m not bidding, either.” Colby wrinkled her nose, and she clarified. “I’m making a donation, but I’m only here to support the guys Sherry roped into this thing.”

Colby shot her a look of disbelief, but a woman with purple-streaked hair and a bright red getup a la Mrs. Claus chose that precise moment to walk out onstage. Angelle watched as Sherry surveyed the amassed crowd with a wide, maniacal grin, then waved enthusiastically when she spotted the two of them front and center.

“That girl has no shame,” Angelle muttered. She pointed her finger with narrowed eyes, indicating her feelings on being bamboozled into coming, but Sherry merely sent her a dramatic air-kiss and Angie couldn’t help but laugh. It was dang near impossible to stay annoyed at her quirky friend.

“Absolutely none,” Colby agreed. “But to her credit, she offered to make tonight equal opportunity and let the women take part. Fortunately, no one thought Best Boobs on an event poster for charity would go over too well.” They shared a look and broke into laughter. Only Sherry would suggest something like that with the genuine intention of being fair.