Seven Day Fiance: A Love and Games Novel (Entangled Bliss) (4 page)

“Ho-ho-ho,” he said with a smirk, watching a pink stain sweep Angelle’s cheeks. “Having fun, ladies?”

Perfect white teeth bit into a full bottom lip as a small, sleepy grin softened her already angelic face. Overwhelming needs to both ravish and protect her hit him at once. The opposing reactions he got around Angelle were unsettling, but far from new.

Colby sighed and answered, “It’s been a night of surprises, that’s for sure.”

Angelle nodded. Wrapping a long strand of auburn hair around her index finger, her gaze dipped to his bare chest. Her eyes gave a slow blink. “King of Abs,” she drawled, reading his sash, her roughened, whiskey tone as sexy as ever, before turning to Colby. “Does that make you Sister of Abs?”

Colby laughed and slid Angelle’s glass to the other side of the table. “That would be a no.”

“What would be a no?” Jason asked, slapping Cane’s shoulder on his way behind Colby’s chair. He slipped his arms around his fiancée’s neck and pressed a quick kiss against her lips. Then he asked Angelle, “That the size of Cane’s sizable ego shrank after that cat fight?” He grinned to show he was joking, then caught sight of his co-worker’s obvious condition and frowned. “You all right there, Ang? You look a little wasted.”

Angelle waved a hand in the air. “Nah, I only had a couple—”

“You had four,” Colby interrupted.

That seemed to surprise her. “
Four,
really?” But at both Colby’s and Cane’s nods of confirmation, she kept on trucking. “Perhaps I’m a bit buzzed, but it’s all good.”

Watching that lazy, sexy smile cross her face was indeed
all good,
and it gave Cane his perfect opening
.
“How about I drive you home, just in case?”

And there was the wide-eyed panic he was used to inspiring. “No. No, no, no. That’s not necessary.”

He leaned his forearm on the table, biting back a grin when he saw her fidget at his proximity. “Oh, but I think it is,” he replied.
And not just for the safety of our citizens.

“We could bring you home,” Colby offered, her lips twitching at Cane’s scowl. “Or you could wait for Sherry, since you’re heading to the same place, but since she’s in charge tonight, I have a feeling she’ll be a while.”

Angelle looked at her half-empty drink, tilted her head, and closed one eye. Then she nodded. She pulled the drink closer and wrapped her pink lips around the straw.

Cane had never been so jealous of a straw in his life.

Jason cleared his throat and Cane lifted his gaze. His friend chuckled as the opening notes of Etta James’s “At Last” began to play. “I’m gonna dance with my fiancée for this song,” he said, taking Colby’s hand and helping her up. “Ang, meet you at the door when it’s over?”

Angelle nodded again, and then they were alone. Cane watched her sip her drink, strangely amused as her eyes focused on the crowd, the table, her straw, briefly his eyes, and finally his chest again. Obviously, if they were going to discuss the elephant in the room, he’d have to be the one to bring it up.

“So, our date,” he said, grinning as she gasped around the straw and pushed away the glass. “Any idea what you want to do?”

She licked her bottom lip, then dragged her teeth across the plump skin as she ran her hands along the sides of her lap. Her eyes widened and then narrowed as her mouth opened and closed. She had
something
in mind, all right. But then she shook her head and attacked her drink again.

Interesting.

She lifted her head a long sip later, eyes sparking like she was committing some sort of internal dare. “Will you be at Robicheaux’s tomorrow? I’d like to come by and proposition you.”

Holy hell.

Now it was Cane’s turn to widen his eyes.

Angelle slapped her hand over her mouth and sputtered. “
Shit,
that’s not what I meant.” It was a tossup what was funnier: hearing her sweet voice issue a curse or watching her wince and flail her arms. “I meant to say I have a proposition
for
you. Not that I want to
proposition
you. Not that there’s anything wrong with you, but I just don’t—you know. I mean, you’re probably used to being propositioned. Happens all the time, right?” Then she screwed her eyes shut and stage-whispered under her breath, “Oh my God! Shut
up,
Angelle.”

She was adorable. The flush on her cheeks, the uncomfortable squirming. Cane knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. Resting his other arm on the table, he pressed close and said in a low voice, “Just so we’re clear”—he placed his hands on hers—“you can proposition me
any
time, angel.” Her eyes shot open, and he grinned. “But yeah, I’ll be at the restaurant tomorrow.”

For one long moment, they stayed like that. Eye to eye, her sweet labored breath fanning across his chin. Close enough that if he wanted to press his luck, he could lean in and steal a kiss from those lips. But Angelle was like the skittish horses she loved so much. He couldn’t rush her. This was a marathon, not a sprint, and he was confident she’d be worth the pursuit. So he settled for staring into her haunting eyes. They drew him in every time. One look and he knew everything she was thinking, everything she was feeling.

And tonight Cane saw confusion, fear, and—his absolute favorite—
desire
.

As the long, drawn-out words of “At Last” signaled the end of the song, Angelle lowered her gaze to the table. She grabbed her purse and slid off the chair, wobbling the moment her feet hit the floor.

Cane cupped her elbow to help steady her on her heels, smiling at her soft gasp. He lowered his mouth to her ear and said, “See you tomorrow.”

He heard her squeak and then watched her walk away. But for the first time since he’d met the feisty redhead, Cane knew she’d be back.

Chapter Three

Hangovers were inventions of the devil. Angelle was convinced of it. They were punishment for drinking in excess, and in her case, trying to ignore the
un
ignorable—namely her giant pickle. And as if sluggishness and a migraine from hell weren’t enough, thanks to last night’s unwise inebriation, she’d also landed herself in an even bigger scrape than the one she’d been trying to forget.

If it were possible for faux pas to be an art form, Angie was an
artiste
.

Sweat pricked her forehead as she parked her trusty pickup in front of Robicheaux’s. It was midday, and as Sherry had promised, the lot was deserted. Angie released a relieved breath. She still didn’t have the foggiest idea how to explain the disaster she’d made or why she so desperately needed Cane’s help, not to mention how he’d react to the whole thing. The fewer witnesses they had for this humiliating conversation, the better.

Angelle frowned as she pocketed her keys. Why on God’s green earth did she drink last night? She was enough of a hot mess as it was without adding to it. She needed her brain fully functional to stand toe-to-toe with Cane, not wrung out from getting epically sloshed. But since she’d already poured this batch of lemonade, the only thing left to do was drink it. So Angie faked a sunny, confident smile, winced as even that small movement hurt her head, and hiked up the restaurant steps. Closing her hand around the doorknob, she inhaled a deep breath and then let it out as she tugged it open. Here went nothing.

Bells
ding
ed overhead as she walked inside and she flinched as the sound reverberated through her skull.

“Jumpy there, sweetheart?”

Angie’s tummy fluttered, and for once this morning, it wasn’t from nausea. She shifted her eyes toward the sinfully rich voice and felt the world drop out beneath her.

It should be illegal to look that good.

Cane’s dark brown eyes danced with amusement as he folded his thick, muscular arms against the gleaming mahogany bar top. The soft cotton of his black T-shirt stretched across his broad torso and wicked flames peeked from the edge of his sleeve. Call her a victim of the classic bad-boy syndrome, but just thinking of the artwork left hidden gave Angelle the baffling urge to trace the designs with her tongue.

Before Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous walked into her life, men with tattoos never held any appeal. If anything, they intimidated the snot out of her. Cane intimidated her, too, but it had absolutely nothing to do with the designs on his skin.

He made ink look
good.

Cane cleared his throat, and Angelle realized she’d been gawking. Drooling a puddle onto the scuffed hardwood would be more accurate. Mortified, she averted her gaze to the back deck overlooking the bayou, wondering if a day would come that she’d be in the man’s presence and not embarrass herself.

Angelle was used to being…less than poised. Awkward Angie was one of her childhood nicknames, after all. But whenever Cane came within a half-mile radius, she left awkwardness in the dust. Her brain straight up short-circuited. A reaction that was not in the least helpful, since she hoped to be spending the rest of the week with the man. Alone. With no more hiding.

Rolling her shoulders back with renewed determination, Angelle forced herself to meet his eyes. “Is now an okay time to talk?”

The corners of Cane’s mouth twitched. “Well, we
are
kinda slammed at the moment.” He glanced at the one remaining straggler from the lunch shift and shrugged. “But I guess I can squeeze you in.”

Two deep dimples appeared in his cheeks that, coupled with the low notes of his voice and the sexy wisp of ink peeking under his sleeve, turned Angelle’s legs into cooked noodles. The man could make
anything
sound erotic…although it wasn’t as if she had a ton of experience with that sort of thing. The one time she’d actually attempted to watch a porno, she’d been alone and way too embarrassed to finish it. And too concerned about what the camera crew was doing. Or if the men and women filming ever farted during a scene. But from her very limited knowledge, Cane would make a killing in the industry.

She rolled her eyes as she caught herself ogling his backside en route to their table. That was her—sweet, naïve, innocent Angelle Prejean, the only twenty-six-year-old in the history of forever sporting a chastity belt, trailing behind temptation incarnate. Hoping he’d agree to become her white knight in black leather.

Angie snorted as she pulled out a chair, and Cane inclined his head. “What’s so funny?”

“Absolutely nothing,” she said with an internal sigh. She shoved her hands through her thick auburn hair and laced them together on the table in front of her. Maybe if she stared at her chipped nail polish she could do this without sounding like a complete idiot. “So, last night—”

“You bid an obscene amount of money just to go out with me,” Cane interrupted, his deep voice laced with humor. Her eyes shot to his and he winked. “You know, darlin’, all you had to do was say the word. You could’ve had me for free anytime.”

Sweet baby Jesus.
Was she actually supposed to hold a thought in her head when he said stuff like that?

“Um, right.” She cleared her throat, and his dimples deepened. “But I—I saved you from that lunatic, right?”

The naughty smile fell from Cane’s mouth and he leaned back in his chair. “Becca.” He bit out the name like a curse. “Yeah, angel, you did. And I appreciate it. That woman’s a friggin’ nightmare. But there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go into hock for helping me.” His brown eyes grew dark with determination. “I’m covering that donation to Project Nicholas.”

Before he was even through speaking, she was shaking her head. The gesture was sweet, surprisingly so, but unnecessary. Angelle didn’t need Cane to cover the bid. What she
needed
was for him to agree to her crazy scheme. But if the man felt as though he owed her, then that could only help her chances, right?

Willing forth confidence she didn’t possess, she took a breath.

This was as good an opening as she was gonna get.

Angie lifted her palms to halt the argument she could already sense brewing. “Cane, you don’t need to do that. I know I haven’t talked much about where I’m from or my family situation, but trust me, I can handle the financial stuff. That’s not a problem.” She wet her lips and shifted in her seat. “I was glad to help you, honestly, and I didn’t do it for any ulterior motives…”

She trailed off, simply unable to finish the rest of that statement.
Lord,
why does this have to be so embarrassing?

When she continued sitting there like the open-mouthed fish jumping in the bayou outside, Cane prompted, “But?”

But I need your help desperately, even though I’m terrified of what it’ll mean.

That was the real doozy because while Angie needed Cane to get her out of this predicament, she knew if he did they’d be opening a whole other can of worms. It was like inviting Pandora to open a box of whoop-ass on her heart, her willpower, and her nonexistent love life. But she’d gone and made herself this mess. Now she had to live with the consequences.

Resigning herself to her ridiculous fate, Angelle closed her eyes and said, “
But,
I need you to be my fiancé.”

…

Whatever
proposition
Cane had expected, it sure as shit hadn’t been that. A few minutes ago, hell, a few
seconds
ago, he was confident he’d agree to anything that gorgeous mouth asked of him, as long as it didn’t involve wearing a Santa hat. Apparently, he was wrong.

And apparently, Angelle was a little loco.

“You need me to be
what?
”

That familiar blush rose up Angelle’s slender throat as her eyes popped back open. “Not for
real
. I need you to be my
pretend
fiancé,” she clarified, like that somehow made so much more sense. She gnawed a plump lip and cringed. “I-I kinda got myself into a situation.”

She seemed to sink into herself, and just like that, Cane’s need to flee shifted into a need to protect. Worst-case scenarios began flashing through his mind. There was no doubt Angelle was tough. Volunteering at a fire station wasn’t for the weak of heart, and neither was ninjitsu. In both endeavors, she stood toe-to-toe with the guys and fought as hard as any of them. That spunk was one of the sexiest things about her. But at the same time, Angelle was sweet,
too
sweet, and way too trusting. She’d be an easy mark for anyone wanting to take advantage.

Legs tensing, every muscle clamping down ready to take her and bolt, he asked, “Are you in some kind of trouble, sweetheart?”

Angelle scrubbed her hands over her face and gave a muffled snort. “Yeah, but not the kind you’re thinking of.” She waited a beat, then sighed, lowering her fists to stare gravely ahead. “This week is Thanksgiving.”

Her tone implied it was a revelation, and Cane nodded, well aware of what month it was. “That usually comes at the end of November.”

A spark of fire lit those eyes at his sarcasm. “Yeah, well, that’s a huge holiday with my family. My dad’s the mayor of our town, and every year we have a big festival and a parade. Almost everyone still lives in Bon Terre, most even on the same street, but a few of us have moved to larger cities. Thanksgiving is like our family reunion.”

Cane didn’t follow how this was a problem. Or what in the hell it had to do with her needing a pretend
fiancé
. Damn, the word alone acted like a vise on his lungs. Sucking in a breath he said, “That sounds…nice.”

She rubbed her temples. “It normally is. But
normally
I’m not bringing home mythical fiancés.” The smooth skin around her eyes tensed as she shoved a lock of hair behind her ear. “Mama called right before the auction yesterday. I haven’t been home since I moved here, and she wanted to make sure I’m coming up for the week.” She looked at him. “And that I’m bringing my fiancé so they can finally meet him.”

Clearly, Cane was missing something. Growing up with two sisters and a very verbose mom, he liked to think he’d become proficient in deciphering female speak—but Angie had him stumped. “Back up, sweetheart. I feel like I’m talking to Emma here. Why in the hell does your mom think you’re engaged?” Angelle lowered her lashes. “And why can’t you just tell her you’re not?”

A frown tugged her lips and she began picking at the polish on her thumbnail. “I guess I better start from the beginning.” Cane settled back in his chair.
That would be nice,
he thought, watching as she let out a long sigh. Pale pink polish flaked onto the tabletop. “Two days before I came to Magnolia Springs, my boyfriend proposed.”

An unfamiliar surge of jealousy knocked him squarely in the chest. Cane had no claim on Angelle. He didn’t want one. Love, relationships, marriage, the whole shebang was something he gave up long ago. But the thought of another man making Angelle his made Cane’s blood boil. His hands tightened into fists in his lap.

“When Brady asked,” she continued, oblivious, “it was like a wakeup call. If I said yes, I’d just be going from my parents’ house to his. From one protected life to another, my future all planned out for me. I’m the baby of the family, and I’ve always done whatever people wanted. I even dated the man my parents picked, for crying out loud.” She shook her head, the resolve on her face shocking—and hot as hell. “I couldn’t do it anymore, Cane. I needed to live on
my
terms, you know? If that involved a man, great. If not, that was fine, too. Because it’s what
I
would have chosen. My decision.”

Angelle lifted her eyes and as usual, her every emotion swirled in their depths. Vulnerability, resolve, guilt, and fear. It was the fear that hit him the hardest. He covered her hand with his, and her lips parted in a gasp. Ignoring the electric jolt that shot up his arm, he said, “That couldn’t have been easy.”

“No,” she said, swallowing hard. “It wasn’t. Coming here”—her small shoulders shook in a laugh—“that was
so
not a me thing to do. Mama flat out freaked, sure that I’d lost my ever-loving mind, and Daddy, he was fixin’ to drive down here and get me. They kept hounding me on the phone to come back, harping on the ‘good man’ I left behind. I needed them to see that I’m fine here, you know? That I’m great. I have a job I’m proud of, an apartment I got without their help, and friends I love to death. The only thing I
don’t
have here is a man.” Angelle dropped her gaze again and shrugged. “So I made one up.”

Cane didn’t know if he should laugh or run. But neither would help him understand what the hell she’d been thinking. “And so you figured why bother dating when you could just pull a fake fiancé out of your ass?”

She winced, and immediately he felt like a jerk. Jokes and sarcasm were his family’s go-to response, but as fierce as she could be, Angelle was delicate, too. He needed to remember that. “It wasn’t like anyone real was beating down my door,” she mumbled. “Cane, you know I’m shy. I don’t exactly know a ton of men. But I never expected it to go this far. It started small, just one date, one little white lie to get them off my back. For weeks, it worked like a charm. Until it didn’t. Then one date turned into many and before I knew it, Mama called fresh from a visit with my
perfect
ex and out popped my mythical man proposing.”

Her shoulders slumped, like her outburst zapped every ounce of energy she had. It probably had, since it was the most the woman had ever said directly to him, other than a squeaked hello. She looked tired and lost, and an intense need to help her rose within him.

But one thing still didn’t add up.

“Why me?” She squirmed at the question, and his curiosity piqued. “Trust me, I get meddlesome moms. When mine was alive, she expected grandbabies the second I graduated college, so I had to develop my own diversionary tactics. Not as farfetched as yours,” he added with a teasing smile that got her to snort. “But if this has been going on for months, you must’ve dropped a name at some point. And it’s no secret I’m not your favorite person.”