Page 17 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love

“Then stop. Ditch the profiles and marry me.”

She turned her head to the side, glancing up at him. “A husband for hire?”

He shrugged. If that’s what she wanted to call it, he didn’t care. She could call him anything she wanted as long as he got his investment money.

“What would this offer entail? If I were to accept.”

Her head lifted, gaze roaming down his body. She plucked the toothpick from her drink, placing the olive skewered on it between her teeth and sliding the fruit slowly off the wooden sliver and into her mouth. His dick hardened at the sensual move. She probably didn’t even realize she’d done it. Green eyes heated as she glanced him over.

Or maybe she had.

Rather than be insulted by Cassie suggesting he basically be her man-whore, the idea intrigued him. He couldn’t deny Cassandra Brown had starred in more than one of his late-night fantasies. Her small stature conjured up images of him lifting her against the wall, pressing her firmly against the hard surface and his hard body as he sank into her warmth. Her dark, curly hair could never be controlled, no matter how hard she tried, but he loved it. It made her look wild, untamable.

And who would want to tame her? Cassie had a fire in her that burned bright. Every emotion shone from those emerald eyes. The woman was a terrible poker player, hence the bet he won. She couldn’t bluff her way out of a paper bag, but she could bring a man to his knees with just a look.

Or a smile.

Cassie had a great smile. Lit up a room whenever she graced people with it. He hadn’t had the pleasure of receiving it too many times. She mostly scowled or rolled her eyes in his presence, but to be honest, that was his fault. He liked to rile her.

“Are you saying you want a full-service marriage?” He leaned closer, so close he could smell the briny olive on her breath. It made him want to take a drink of her. “Cause that can be arranged, Sassy.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath, saw her lips part and gaze turn hazy. Was she actually thinking about it? He’d been messing around, but there was a small part of him totally gung-ho for the idea of a fling with Cassie. He inched closer until he could feel her warm breath on his lips. His gaze darted to hers just as her eyes started to close. Holy shit, he was going to kiss Cassandra Brown. They were actually going to—

Sharp laughter made him pull back. Cassie covered her mouth, but the gales flew through her clenched fingers. She doubled over, tears tracking down her cheeks for the second time that night. He had no idea he could incite such hilarity. He should change careers and try stand-up comedy.

“Good one, Del.” She dabbed at her eyes with a bar napkin. “For a moment there, I almost believed you. Can you imagine? You and me married?” She laughed again, pushing back from the counter.

The weird thing was, yeah, he could imagine it. Not the whole happily ever after thing. To be honest, one woman forever wasn’t really his deal. He liked variety. But there was no reason they couldn’t fake it long enough to both get what they needed and, hey, if they could have a little fun at the same time, why not?

“I’ll see you later, Mixing God. Thanks for the laughs.” She gave him a small wave, shaking her head with a chuckle as she made her way out of the distillery.

Damn, that didn’t go the way he planned. No matter. He’d just try again. He wasn’t ready to give up on Cassie. She might think he’d been joking, but she was about to see how serious Delta Jackson could be.

CHAPTER 6

Cassie stared at the contents of her fridge. Week-old take out, cheese she swore wasn’t blue when she bought it, and something that may have once been a burrito but now smelled like botulism in a foil wrapper.

“Chocolate chip cookie dough it is.”

She closed the refrigerator and opened the freezer, grabbing the half-empty pint of ice cream. She had dinner hours ago, before the date with Marc the man-child. She still couldn’t believe he showed up for a date in that shirt. What grown-ass man owned a disgusting novelty T-shirt like that?

“Federal Boobie Inspector? More like Federal Bonehead Inspector.” It took one to know one, and Marc had been the biggest bonehead of them all. She needed ice cream, booze, and a husband. “I’ll have to settle for two out of three,” she muttered to herself, grabbing the bottle of cabernet off her counter.

Mixing wine and hard liquor was sure to give her a headache in the morning, but she couldn’t find the gumption to care at the moment. The two martinis she had at Jack’s had done nothing to ease her troubled mind. Why did you do this to me, Gran? she wondered for the umpteenth time. Her old-fashioned grandmother believed in true love, soulmates. Her romantic notions were the reasons she never remarried after her husband of forty years passed.

“It’s one and done Cassandra dear, and your grandfather was my one. I’ll be with him again someday. For now, I have you to give all my love to. You can’t go back to cotton once you’ve felt the brush of silk against your skin. You’ll understand someday, when it happens to you.”

For all her prim and proper ways, Gran had been an old softie when it came to matters of the heart.

“And how am I supposed to find my one and only silk when you’re rushing me into it?”

The ceiling couldn’t answer her frustrated question, so she uncorked her wine and took a deep sip. Knowing that if she didn’t slow down she’d not only have a headache in the morning but also be bowing in worship to the porcelain god, she grabbed a wine glass and poured herself a respectable amount of the dark red liquid.

She took her glass and the ice cream—spoon-in-tub because a bowl was useless tonight—and headed to the couch in her living room. A sharp pang squeezed her chest. Her living room. But it wasn’t her living room, or it wouldn’t be for long if she didn’t find a husband. This wonderful place that held so many of her fondest childhood memories could soon be in the hands of her irresponsible cousin if she didn’t find a husband soon.

The house wasn’t exactly like it had been in her childhood. Over the years she’d helped Gran update the old appliances after a disastrous attempt at apple pie almost burned down the kitchen. She smiled at the memory of her tough old grandmother wielding a huge fire extinguisher, aiming it at the flames shooting out of the ancient oven.

“I miss you, Gran.” She spoke the words softly into the empty room. A single tear tracked down her cheek. She dug her fingers into the fabric of the couch, the scent of her grandmother still lingering on the furniture. If she lost this house, it would be like losing Gran all over again.

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