Blissed (Misfit Brides #1) (8 page)

A pleasurable pang knocked on her dormant bits, which only made her want to show him a few other things. Like the door. Maybe with a side serving of humility.

She had to get him out of here.

A cab was out of the question. The Queen General would hear about that. Lindsey was half an hour away. Dad was drunk.

“Why are you doing this?” she half-whispered.

He stretched back on the couch, hands linked behind his head. His light-green eyes held hers for what felt like longer than her marriage had lasted. His words rumbled out low and rough, as if the question had made him as vulnerable as it made her. “I’m tired. Why are
you
doing this?”

For more reasons than she’d tell him face-to-face.

Thank God they weren’t in a confessional tonight, or she might’ve spilled her guts again. “I know more about Bliss propriety than anyone should have to know,” she said, giving herself a mental pat on the back for not adding
because of you
. “And I know you need to leave this house before I ruin your reputation.”

He snorted. “What is this, the Dark Ages?”

“This is Bliss. And it’s close enough to where your in-laws live that you might want to keep that in mind.” It was a desperate play, admitting that she knew exactly who he was.

His body went rigid and his eyes flat.

Bullseye
.

“My in-laws are fair-minded people,” he said, the dangerous edge to his words making her shiver in both good and bad ways. “Is there anything
else
I should worry that they’d hear?”

Oh, no.

Not that.

Not tonight.

Nat’s heart jumped into her throat and threatened to choke her. “No.”

“You sure?” CJ said. “Because you sound just like this woman I met in a confessional today. She had a lot to say about a Queen General’s poster boy, and turns out—unless there are two—I’m him.”

Words wouldn’t come. Because here, late, alone with him—and the undeniable knowledge that he was the type of guy who could kiss a woman and not remember it, and that she was the type of girl whose body was having a serious reaction to his maleness and broadness and general male Neanderthal-ness despite his being CJ Blue—she was too far out of her own skin to formulate coherent thoughts, much less put them into words.

“So that
was
you today.” He stood, peeled off his tux jacket. “Looks like you and I have some unfinished business.”

Her eyes tripped on the fit of his white dress shirt, and she had to force herself to look away and point to the door. No way, no how. The QG would
kill
her. And then bring her back to life, kill her again, follow her to hell, and do it a third time.

And then there was CJ himself.

Bad enough he didn’t remember. The last time she’d seen him, the last time he’d touched her, her entire world, her entire
life
, had broken. It had taken him less than three seconds to strip her of everything she’d ever wanted.

She hardly had anything left, but what if he did it to her again?

“You need to leave,” she said.

He tossed his tux jacket over the back of the recliner, then assumed stubborn-male position: arms crossed, feet wide, expression growly. “Can’t say to my face what you’ll say behind my back?”

Natalie wanted to flinch, but she refused. “Feeling guilty?” she shot back instead.

Wrong move.

He took a step toward her. A giant, manly, CJ-size step.

She gulped. But she maintained eye contact.

“About what?” he said.

Hell with it. He wanted to talk? They’d damn well talk. “About destroying my marriage.” But she had to admit that saying it out loud, to his face, didn’t feel nearly as good as she’d hoped it would.

Damn
it.

CJ took another step. His eyes went dark and ominous, his cheek ticking over his solid jaw. “I don’t feel guilty over something I didn’t do.”

Natalie matched one of his forward steps with one of her own. She didn’t have his stature, but she refused to be intimidated in her own home. “Not having the decency to remember doesn’t help.”

“Or maybe you’re a freaking nutjob looking to blame anybody but yourself for your problems.”

Her face went white-hot, and before she realized she’d moved, he caught her hands mid-air, abruptly stopping her from shoving him.

“A feisty nutjob,” he murmured, “but definitely a nutjob. Too bad. Waste of a pretty face.”

The jackass was
playing
with her. And while there was a flash of amusement in the quirk of his lips, there was flat calculation in his narrowed eyes.

“Were you this much of an ass to your wife?” Natalie said.

His grip went lax, releasing her hands, and everything about him went still as death.

His eyes, his breath, probably his very pulse. She felt it as surely as if it were her own.

She’d hit a nerve. A major nerve.

She couldn’t stop herself today, could she?

And what right did she have to attack his marriage? What good would it do?

She blinked at the floor, gathering her courage.
I’m sorry
wasn’t a sentiment she’d ever been good with, but she’d crossed a line.

Several, in fact, by Bliss standards. Her mother would have been horrified.

“Oh, don’t do that,” CJ murmured. “We’re just getting to the good stuff.”

His lethal tone sent a shiver from her hairline to her tailbone, but it wasn’t fear.

It was genuine intrigue. He
wanted
a fight.

She lifted her gaze again. His eyes, spindled with the red lines of exhaustion, were nonetheless sharp and glittering. His lips were tight, and he slowly rubbed his hands together.

“Because if you do
that
,” he continued, his dangerous edge inspiring her second shiver of intrigue, “I might feel guilty for suggesting I did your husband a favor. And I’m not real big on feeling guilty.”

The list of reasons continuing this fight was a bad idea was longer than the train of Princess Di’s wedding dress. 

But he didn’t remember what he’d done. What kind of person forgot something like that? She licked her lips.

His eyes went a shade darker.

“Must suck for you, then,” she said, her voice low and husky and unrecognizable, “that you actually did
me
the favor.”

A flash of teeth showed in his hard smile. “Interesting way of expressing your appreciation.”

“Tell you what. When you remember what I’m supposed to be appreciative for, then I’ll thank you properly.”

His gaze took a slow meander up and down her body. “Define
properly
.”

Properly
would be to wipe that blisteringly inappropriate speculation off his face.

But despite everything, his suggestive scrutiny was awakening her long-forgotten femininity.

She needed to cut this off right now. “Hard,” she said. “Loud. Painful.
Properly
.”

“Too bad you’re a nutjob, or you might be my kind of woman.”

When his lazy, broody-eyed stare took another meander at her goods, she knew she was in trouble. Was it because she hadn’t heard that smoky tone from a man in too long, or was it because she was extra-susceptible to CJ?

That
had
been the problem, hadn’t it? “Too bad you destroy marriages, or I might’ve mistaken you for a decent human being,” she said.

“Lady, I’m a guy. There’s a lot of asshole under this skin. But I’m not a homewrecker. Never have been, never will be. So you and I, we’re going to work this out. I’ve got too much respect for the institution to let you say otherwise.”

Natalie’s breath caught.

Hard
not
to be susceptible to a guy who said things like that.

A muffled, off-tune baritone cut through their staring match. “
Twinkle, twinkle, little bar…
”

She shot a glance down the hall. Her father’s door was still closed. The singing faded, replaced by a slow, deep snore.

“You need to go,” Natalie whispered. If they could wake Dad, they could wake Noah.

CJ shifted, putting himself squarely in her personal space. “You own this place? Because your dad told me to make myself at home.”

“My father’s inebriated. And whose fault is that?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I forced all that liquor down his throat. You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

“Would you keep it down?” Natalie hissed.

“Sure. As soon as you tell me what the hell your problem is.”

“You know what? I’ll call you a cab.” She’d call Lindsey. Same thing.

“Or,” CJ said, “I’ll ask your dad.”

Natalie stopped with her hand on her phone. He wasn’t talking about asking Dad for a ride.

Her chest ached. She should’ve stuck that sewing needle in her eye this morning. She’d done this day completely wrong.

The last six months hadn’t been easy on any of them. Suddenly having to bury Mom, the injury of having the Golden Husband Games taken out of the family, explaining why Grandma was gone to Noah. And now she was on the verge of making tomorrow worse for not only herself, but for Dad too.

She dropped her phone back in her pocket and did the one thing she hated the most.

She gave up.

“You kissed me,” she said, but it was barely more than a whisper, because saying it was like living it all over again.

And while the fall-out had been horrific, there had been a moment in that kiss—maybe two—that haunted her for a different reason.

“Oh, that’s bullshit,” he said. “I didn’t—”

He stopped himself. The sudden flare of his eyes suggested he might have remembered after all.

Nat scrubbed her hands over the goose bumps on her arms.

His brow crinkled. His gaze dipped to her lips, and then back up. Uncertainty and a hint of vulnerability had snuck past the hardness in his eyes. “I kissed you,” he echoed.

Her head drooped as low as her self-worth. She stared at his socks on the tan carpet. “It was horrible,” she said. “And
you
don’t even remember
.”

The blind kissing challenge was the crowd’s favorite event of the Husband Games. All the wives lined up on the outdoor stage set up at the Bliss High football stadium, and then one by one, their blindfolded husbands were led up to find and kiss the right wife.

Usually Dad had led the men onstage. Both Natalie’s parents got credit for being chair couple of the Husband Games committee, but other than Dad’s role as emcee of the event, Mom did all the work. Not that year, though. That year, Dad had come down with food poisoning and missed all the festivities.

Natalie had wished she’d done the same.

Instead, she’d been onstage when Mom led the men out. Natalie was first in the line of wives, itchy in her rayon sundress, her shoulders already stinging beneath the bright sun, her stomach jittery. She hadn’t known yet that she was pregnant.

Derek had been third. She’d intentionally not rinsed out all her shampoo that morning so he’d be able to smell her. Sure enough, when he stood in front of her, his black blindfold a perfect match to his always-too-long raven hair, his nose had hitched in an irritated sniff. He’d given her a perfunctory peck on the lips—obligation over—then taken his place behind her while the rest of the husbands were led out to find and stand with their wives. Four husbands later, when Mom stepped onto the stage with CJ, he hadn’t hesitated. As soon as he stopped in front of Natalie, he grinned big, his mouth wide and happy and
tempting
beneath his blindfold. Her stomach had dropped down—all the way down, until she felt pressure in places she had no business feeling pressure and tasted horror and fear and guilt in her mouth.

He’d said, “Hey, beautiful,” then grasped her by the waist, pulled her into his big, solid body, and kissed her as if he were a caveman and she needed some clubbing.

She didn’t remember if she tried to protest. If Derek did either.

She just remembered that CJ was half a tongue-swipe into her mouth when he stopped cold. The laughter of the crowd penetrated Natalie’s ears. Lights danced behind her eyes.

Watching men screw this one up was a hell of a lot more fun than being the woman onstage he screwed up with. Also much less confusing. Especially given the escalating number of fights Natalie and Derek were having.

Fights over which movie to watch on a Friday night. Why the car was dirty. Who hadn’t paid the bills. The grease and grime from his job that she couldn’t get out of his clothes. Her obsession with expensive purses.

Her demanding that he play in the Husband Games.

Him shouting that all of Knot Fest was stupid.

He’d written her poetry. He’d learned her favorite ice cream flavor. He’d taken her nowhere-near-subtle hints about getting the right engagement ring, which he couldn’t afford, and married her because she’d convinced him they were soul mates. That she could give him a life he deserved. A better life. A happy life.

The life she wanted to dictate for him, since he was the only man in Bliss strong enough to brave dating her.

But he’d still thought the Games, the festival, her
life
were all stupid.

She’d felt pretty stupid then, standing onstage while a man who wasn’t her husband kissed her.

CJ had pulled back, his lips screwing up in honest confusion. But then he flashed a grin in Mom’s general direction, blindfold still in place. “Nope, this one isn’t her,” he said.

Mom, the consummate Husband Games chairperson, had cleared her throat and given the crowd a knowing smile. “The point is to figure that out
before
you kiss her,” she’d said into her microphone.

The crowd—a full stadium—had laughed harder, hooting and hollering and enjoying the hell out of Natalie’s mortification. CJ had gone on to easily find his remarkable bride and kiss the stuffing out of her.

When Natalie finally worked up the nerve to turn around and look at Derek, he’d been white-faced and shaking. “What the hell, Natalie?” he’d snarled through thin lips.

“It’s the Games” hadn’t appeased him.

And there was a part of Natalie that didn’t blame him.