Seven Day Fiance: A Love and Games Novel (Entangled Bliss) (2 page)

Magnolia Springs may not be the adventure Angelle had set out to find, but she was ever grateful for the detour.

Women began taking their seats, alerting Angie that the auction was about to begin. Her heart beat a strange rhythm against her breastbone and, removing her straw, she tipped her glass back and drained the remaining contents with one big gulp.

Colby gave the empty glass a pointed look. “So you’re really not bidding tonight? Not even on an overbearing, good-hearted, bartender-slash-restaurant-owner?”

“
Especially
not on him,” she answered emphatically, even as a voice whispered that doing so would solve her problem. Realizing that may sound harsh to the man’s sister, she explained, “Not that there’s anything wrong with Cane. Your brother’s great. He’s just not my type.”

Colby snorted. Judging by that and the arch of her perfectly defined eyebrow, the talented chef wasn’t buying the disinterested line of bull at all. Unfortunately, Colby had eagle eyes. She’d witnessed enough of Angelle’s squeaks, blushes, and stutters whenever Cane flashed his dimples or showed her extra attention that she could call her bluff. But Angie planned on pleading the fifth to the grave.

The truth was that other than a passing, embarrassing interest in Jason (the fire captain who was now Colby’s fiancé), Cane was the only man in town who’d even sparked Angie’s interest. And he put the miniscule flicker of attraction she’d once felt for Jason to shame. That’s probably because it hadn’t even been
Jason
Angie had wanted. More like the idea of him. Her ill-advised crush had been back at the start of the summer, when her parents had first started hounding her.

Before her lies had snowballed. And she became short one fake fiancé.

“Then sweetie, enlighten me,” Colby said, resting her chin on her hand. “What
is
your type? Because as long as we’ve been friends, I don’t think you’ve gone on a single date.”

Angelle blew out a breath as she flagged a passing waitress with her empty glass. It was always fun when
that
depressing truth made its way into a conversation. “To be honest, I don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t been on a first date since I was seventeen.” Colby’s jaw gaped, and she shrugged. “I didn’t really date much before then, either. Brady, my ex, was a family friend, and we actually dated until right before I came here.”

Right after he proposed in front of God and everyone.

Angelle wasn’t proud of how it had gone down, or that she’d broken her best friend’s heart. But they hadn’t been right for each other. He had proved that by proposing so publicly, both embarrassing
and
forcing her to decline in front of all their loved ones. But they’d had no passion, no excitement. And other than having to tell him no in front of a packed auditorium, she had no regrets.

Shifting her gaze to her wrist, she touched the word she’d branded over her old childhood scar the very next day when she’d decided to leave home. It was a reminder of what she was searching for, what she was hoping to find, and now that she’d gotten herself into such a crazy scrape, perhaps even a suggestion on how she could get herself out of it.

Chance.

…

How in the hell do I get talked into this shit?

Taking in his reflection in the men’s room mirror, Cane Robicheaux wondered if perhaps he’d lost his mind. Sherry had pulled some crazy stunts in the past, but this went beyond, even for her. He prided himself on always being there for his sisters, helping them with anything they asked. But after tonight, maybe it was about time he started telling them
no.

The bathroom door opened, letting in the high-pitched squeals from the main room.
Awesome.
Just what he wanted—inebriated, horny, most likely middle-aged-and-over women. Never mind that was normal barfly material. At least when he tended bar he wasn’t dressed like a male stripper. A familiar face appeared in the mirror behind him, mouth pinched in a pathetic attempt to contain a laugh as he said, “Ho-ho-ho.”

Cane flipped Jason off, but it only made him laugh harder. “Your ass should be doing this shit with me,” he muttered, slapping the damn Santa hat on his head.

His best friend for more than thirty years leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb and grinned. “Ah, but see, a perk of being engaged is getting out of the annoying crap your future sister-in-law asks of you.” Cane narrowed his eyes, and Jason punched him on the shoulder. “Having a smoking-hot fiancée doesn’t suck, either.”

Cane grunted. Five months together and it was still awkward as hell hearing Jason call his little sister
hot
. And whenever Colby went there, Cane straight-up tuned her out. He had no problems with their relationship—marriage wasn’t for him, but if they were happy, he was happy. He just didn’t want to hear the gory details.

The door opened again, and this time his youngest sister stuck her head into the room. “Five minutes, Santa-man.”

Jason tugged a strand of her dyed-purple hair. “Sherry, you realize this is the men’s room, right?”

“Please,” she scoffed. “Ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before. Besides, have you gotten a look at the hotties in this group? If I ‘accidently’ caught a peek at their bits, I certainly wouldn’t cry.”

Cane grimaced, and Sherry flashed him a grin, flicking the white puffball dangling off the side of his face. He plucked the hat off his head and raked his fingers through his hair. “You owe me for this.”

“Brother of mine, tell me, how is this different than any other weekend at the restaurant?” she asked. “You know good and well women line up the moment you step behind the bar, all on the off chance you’ll shoot those magical dimples at them, and we rake in the profits. The only difference tonight is you’re being ogled for charity.”

Cane didn’t give a shit about being ogled; Sherry was right, women did it all the time, and if admitting that made him a dick, so be it. But prancing around like a jackass wasn’t his thing. Auction organizers had hounded him for years to be involved and he’d declined them every time. But when his baby sister did the asking… Of course, she’d waited until after he’d reluctantly agreed to mention he’d be a
shirtless
jackass, in bright red drawstring pants and a Santa hat.

He shook his head in disgust at his reflection. He looked like a damn pansy.

“Oh, cheer up, you grump,” Sherry teased. “Buzz on the street is you’re gonna raise Project Nicholas a crap-ton of money.” Pushing up on her toes, she kissed his cheek, wiped her thumb over the red lipstick mark, and grinned. “Besides, it’ll be fun. I promise.”

Fun
was a Friday night behind the bar. It was strumming his guitar after a long-ass day, grabbing a beer with Jason, or even watching a stupid teen movie with his godchild because it made Emma smile. It was balancing the restaurant’s budget because he was screwed up in the head and enjoyed that kind of thing. He doubted any part of tonight would be
fun.

As if playing devil’s advocate, his mind brought forth the image of a jittery woman with haunting green eyes and a killer body. Now if
she
were in the audience, it would be a different story.

Sherry sent him another dazzling smile. “I’m off to gather the rest of the cattle—I mean guys. See your cute bootie out there.” She blew him a kiss as she backed out the door, letting in another wave of horny female buzzing.

Jason chuckled under his breath, and Cane turned with a scowl. “Why are you here again?”

“To help Sherry with the sound equipment,” he replied, unfazed. Grabbing Cane’s hat from the sink, he held it out with a smirk. “Besides, you didn’t think I’d miss seeing this, did you?” The gleam in his eyes promised he’d never let Cane live this down.

Yanking on the damn hat, Cane strode from the men’s room. The line of half-naked bachelors extended down the hall, and with a shake of his head, he took his place at the back. Together they looked like a deranged elf’s wet dream. Or a Christmas card for
Playgirl
. Jason slid him another smirk on his way to the sound equipment, confirming they looked as stupid as he felt, and a minute later, Michael Buble’s “Holly Jolly Christmas” faded.

It was show time.

“What’s up, Magnolia Springs?”

The response to Sherry’s animated question was a wave of
whoop
s, and Cane rolled his eyes.

“Do I have a treat in store for y’all!” his sister continued. “Sixteen of the hottest guys in the area are here tonight: musicians, business owners, and local heroes, all eager to become your l-
ove
slaves.”

The audience exploded again and Cane muttered, “I’m eager to get the hell out of this outfit.” The guy in front of him turned and gave a nod of agreement.

“First up is the highly anticipated Best Abs contest!” Sherry shouted, and Cane could picture her gleeful smile. “One at a time, the men will strut their stuff on the stage, and it’s your job to clap, squeal, and stomp your feet for the bachelor with the most toe-tingling, tummy-twirling, sinfully sexy washboard abs. And ladies, I got a sneak peek at the goods backstage and let’s just say I know the temperature’s cool outside, but it’s about to get
hot
up in here!”

Another round of girlish cheers went up as the very
un-
holiday beginning of Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy” rolled through the speakers. In unison, the line of guys’ heads in front of him drooped. If he weren’t so pissed, Cane would’ve laughed. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one dreading this.

It just went to show how formidable his little sister’s powers of persuasion were.

“Our first bachelor, Michael LeBlanc, is the newest member of the Magnolia Springs Police Department…”

As Sherry called out names and read each guy’s stats, she’d pause for the women to show their approval. The whole thing was ridiculous. The dude in front of him took the stage, and Cane lifted his eyes to the clock mounted on the wall. Seven fifteen. In forty-five minutes, the auction should be over. Less than an hour of torture, doing his time with whomever
won
him, and then he could change back into normal clothes and get the hell out.

“Last but obviously not least, we have my brother, Cane Robicheaux. He manages Robicheaux’s, the best Cajun restaurant not only on the north shore, but in the entire New Orleans area, in my ever-so-humble opinion.”

At his sister’s corny joke, the crowd laughed and Cane exhaled. Here went nothing. He stepped out from behind the curtain and the previous wall of laughter morphed into one of sharp whistles and innuendos. A woman in red near the front licked her lips.

Cane averted his eyes to Sherry, conveying again how much she owed him for this, then began walking across the long stage, eyes focused on the wall ahead.

“As most of you know, you can also find Cane behind the bar on the weekends serving up your favorite drinks, and if you’re lucky, you may just catch him on our small stage serenading the masses with his soulful voice and guitar. Cane’s thirty-three years old, six-foot-two, and the three words he’d use to best describe himself are
tenacious
,
ambitious
, and
focused
.”

Cane swung his head around, and Sherry shrugged.

She hadn’t asked him any questions.

“The three things he can’t live without,” she continued, “are his family, his guitar, and Colby’s beignets. His biggest pet peeve is dishonesty. And his idea of the perfect first date involves a bottle of wine, a quiet dinner, good music, and a
great
good-night kiss.”

Up until that last part, he’d actually been impressed. As Cane turned to walk back across the stage, he mumbled for her ears only, “Better get used to the morning shift, little sister.”

The agreement had been that she’d take all the opening shifts for the next two weeks in exchange for Cane doing the auction. After that little stunt, she’d extended her sentence to a month.

Sherry grinned. “As my big beast of a brother takes his mark, let’s hear who thinks Cane Robicheaux has the Best Abs of the night!”

The applause was deafening. Before he knew what was happening, his sister had placed a bright red sash over his head, declaring him King of Abs. And he’d thought he looked like a pansy before.

Cane grasped Sherry’s elbow, ready to inform her she was on permanent opening duty, when he lowered his gaze to the crowd and spotted
her
front and center. The one woman he wouldn’t mind shouting innuendos at him. And the only one, other than his sisters, who currently wasn’t.

Angelle’s head lifted from her drink as if she could feel his stare. The spark of attraction she always tried to hide flared within her deep-set, vibrant green eyes—eyes Cane couldn’t forget. He’d first seen them five months ago, shortly after the sexy redhead tripped over her own two feet and then apologized. He’d been hooked ever since.

Angelle was a mystery, as exotic and foreign as her French-sounding name. Guileless wide eyes, an aura of innocence, a voice like whiskey, and the word
Chance
inked on her wrist, she was the first woman ever to get under Cane’s skin…and the first and only to appear ready to hurl whenever she saw him. Strangely enough, it only made him want her more.

Women didn’t tell Cane no. If anything, they acted like the vapid red dress in the front.

But Angelle was too close. Near the danger zone. She was friends with his sisters, worked with Jason, and gave riding lessons to Emma. She ate at the kitchen table he shared with Colby more often than he did, which
should
make her off limits. Yet against every instinct and belief he had, Cane wanted her.

For months, he’d fought it. Tried ignoring the attraction, tried losing himself in other women. But in each face he looked into, he saw
her
eyes. Eyes so open and honest they gave all her thoughts away. Heard her sexy, roughened tone instead of the soft, feminine voices that used to turn him on. Nothing he’d done had gotten her out of his system, and he was starting to think the only thing that
would
was the woman herself. He needed to satisfy his curiosity for her and get his carefree, no attachment, no commitment life back on track where it belonged. Thanks to his father’s infidelity, Cane wasn’t made for forever—but he was good for one hell of a night.