Seven Day Fiance: A Love and Games Novel (Entangled Bliss) (3 page)

And now was as good a time as any to prove that.

Usually, women chased him, but for Angelle Prejean, Cane was happy to play the hunter. He actually looked forward to it. Settling his determined gaze on hers, his lips tipped up into a smile as a slow flush rose in her cheeks.

Chapter Two

Holy molasses.
The heat in Cane’s stare could melt Angelle’s panties. And the way it made her twitch in her seat, she almost wondered if it had. Never had a look of such intensity been directed at her before—not by the man in question, and certainly not by her ex. Brady had been many things, but
passionate
hadn’t been one of them. She’d lost track of the nights she had spent lying in bed, fantasizing about what it would feel like to experience
real
desire. To be on the receiving end of such a burning look, knowing
she’d
been the one to inspire it.

Now that she knew, Angie could declare with all certainty that passion scared the ever-loving crap out of her.

Cane was a flirt. Not to mention a man-whore who was charming to boot. From the tattoos covering his skin to the cuts and bruises he often sported courtesy of the gym to the unruly and sexy-as-hell hair, the man was simply out of her league. And way, way,
way
over her head. Sure, he’d let her know he was interested, and she’d vowed to take more chances in her life—but not
that
much of one. There was taking chances and then there was duct taping her heart to a target and loading Cupid with the equivalent of a turbo missile. She wouldn’t have a prayer’s chance of recovering from a round with someone like him.

But that didn’t stop you from putting your gigantic foot in your mouth, now did it?

Cringing, Angelle broke eye contact with the embodiment of sex—and the answer to her sticky engagement predicament—and ran headlong into his sister’s smirk.

“But Cane’s not your type, right?”

Knowing full well Colby had caught her undressing the man with her eyes—well, what was left to undress; seriously, he was practically naked up there—Angie chose to remain quiet. Colby covered her mouth with a delicate hand, which did absolutely nothing to hide her snort of laughter, and said, “Oh my, this is going to be fun.”

“Happy to amuse you as always,” Angelle muttered. She redirected her attention to Sherry, who was surprisingly announcing the first bachelor as sold for one hundred dollars. She hadn’t even realized the auction had begun. Such was the power of Cane Robicheaux. The first bachelor, a cute kid who barely looked twenty-one, walked down the steps and joined his middle-aged winner, who promptly wrapped him up in her generous arms and did a happy shimmy.

Yep, I’m
out of my element here.

Breathing through the heated stare she could still feel on her skin and the deep desire she had to meet it, Angelle picked up her drink and chugged.

The next half hour or so passed in much the same way, which was to say a blur of skin, sexy stares, exciting shivers, and her trying her best to ignore it all. With each new name Sherry called, the line of bachelors dwindled. And with each drop of alcohol consumed, the room’s collective purse strings loosened. The winning bids grew. Several of the guys from the firehouse raked in more than two hundred dollars each, and with three empty hurricane glasses to her name, Angelle could even admit she was having a good time. Lovely warmth buzzed in her veins, a fascinating sensation since she rarely drank more than a glass or two at one time. Sherry was cracking her up with her antics and over-the-top commentary, the bachelors were laidback (and let’s face it, yummy eye candy), and the winning women were hilariously enthusiastic. Angie was having
such
a good time, in fact, that she almost lost track of the lineup.

But when the second-to-last bachelor placed his Santa Hat on old Mrs. Thibodeaux’s head and bowed to kiss her weathered cheek, every hair on Angie’s body stood on end.

Cane was next.

Of its own accord, her slightly blurred gaze snapped to the stage, not surprised to find his already locked on her. A tingle ran down her arms, one that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Reaching for her freshly refilled glass, she held his gaze as she took another long, tart sip, and listened to the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.

“And last, but certainly not least, our very own King of Abs!”

At Sherry’s gleeful giggle, Cane shook his head and closed his eyes. With their contact broken, Angelle stole a breath.

The entire room surged with energy. Energy and
hormones
. Women bounced in their seats. Purses opened. Tongues lolled. Sherry scanned the eager crowd and grinned as she said, “Let’s say we start the bidding for our final bachelor at—”

“Two hundred and fifty dollars!”

A few tables over, the woman in red from earlier thrust a wad of cash in the air, and Sherry’s eyes bulged. Every other bachelor had begun with a respectable bid of fifty dollars—but it appeared the brunette had come to play. Play and win. Resentment roiled in Angelle’s gut.

“All right, then,” Sherry said, elbowing her brother in the ribs. “I told this man he’d be a money maker. So, our
opening
bid is two hundred and fifty dollars. Anyone want to take it to two seventy-five?”

Conversations broke out among the tables. Cash was counted, cell phones pulled out, and then a voice exclaimed, “Three hundred!”

Angelle turned to the willowy blonde who’d just appeared behind her. She was dressed in a festive green gown that left very little to the imagination. Diamonds draped her neck and hung from her ears, but her eyes flashed brighter than the bling. The woman looked haughty. She looked determined. She looked…not quite right. Her eyes were wide—almost wild—and they were fixated on Cane in a way that went beyond focus and into straight-up territorial.

After only a moment’s hesitation, the brunette sprang into action, upping her bid to three twenty-five, and thus began a bidding war. Excitement and mayhem ensued. Angelle tossed back the rest of her drink. Her skin prickled, her legs twitched, and when she glanced down, the nails of her left hand had embedded into the soft leather of her purse. It must be the hurricanes because otherwise her reaction made no sense. Any time the two of them ended up alone together, she’d always pushed Cane away. She knew he was no good for her. But the thought of watching him walk off into the sunset with another woman made her stomach turn.

Especially if he walked off with the vixen in red.

Or the crazy-eyed chica in green.

When the latest bid upped it to four hundred, Colby made a low noise and stabbed her drink with her straw. Angelle quirked an eyebrow. And here she’d thought
her
reaction was baffling. Then she caught the weird look Colby exchanged with her brother and asked, “Okay, what am I missing?”

Colby lifted her chin toward the blonde. “That’s Becca. An ex with Daddy’s money to burn and a scary obsession with my brother. She stalks the restaurant, shows up at his shows. Apparently, they went out a couple times last year, but Cane said that was enough to know the girl was total Looney Tunes. He broke it off, but home-girl refuses to get the memo.” Colby wriggled her shoulders. “I’m telling ya, Angie, the chick gives me the heebie-jeebies. You remember that woman in
Fatal Attraction
?” Angelle nodded and Colby pointed at the woman creeping closer toward the stage. “Glenn Close has nothing on Becca.”

As if on cue, the blonde cried, “Eight hundred!”

A loud gasp pierced the air. At Colby’s nod of agreement, Angelle realized the sound came from her own throat, but seriously, the woman
was
nuts. Becca had just doubled the bid—a bid
she’d
made.

The brunette gaped, blinked, and then frantically began digging through her purse. Becca cackled in triumph.

Swinging her gaze back to Cane, Angelle noticed him send their table a pleading look.

Colby lifted empty hands. “Sorry,” she mouthed before turning to Angelle. “With the wedding in a few months, I can’t be throwing around that kind of money.” She checked her purse anyway, her lips pressing into a thin line. “No one in this town can. And Becca
knows
it.”

Angelle bit her lip. See, that wasn’t exactly true. What Cane’s creepy stalker
didn’t
know—what no one in Magnolia Springs knew—was that Angelle had money. Family money. Her grandparents had it in sugarcane, her parents had it in rice fields, but Angie’s bank account was padded. Padded beyond what she made at the stables and fire station, and padded enough to rival whatever Becca thought she had. Angie just never went around flaunting it. She drove a used pick-up truck, shopped sales, and lived in her worn-out cowboy boots. It was how she was raised. Where she came from, money in the bank meant you had security, but it didn’t define you. It didn’t change the person you were.

But in times like this, it sure did come in handy.

The brunette dejectedly lifted her head from her emptied purse. She shook it, and for the first time that night, Sherry’s smile dimmed.

A loud
clap
rent the air as Becca began walking toward the stage to claim her
prize
, and the resentment in Angelle’s stomach morphed into red-hot anger.

“Uh, going once,” Sherry said slowly, dragging out the words.

Well, I
did
plan to donate to Project Nicholas anyway…

Sherry sent her brother an apologetic glance and called out, “Going…twice.”

And if I do this, Cane will owe me…

Angelle rocked in her seat, knowing this could be the answer to her fiancé problem. She watched Sherry anxiously meet every eye in the crowd then hold a silent conversation with her sister. Colby lifted a slender shoulder as Becca reached the bottom of the stairs, cash in hand. Angelle squinted, positive she could see devil horns sprouting on the woman’s head.

Displeasure radiated off Cane in waves as he shifted on his feet and raised his eyes to hers. Angelle’s heart went out to him. This was bigger than her anxiety. Bigger even than her pickle. He needed help, and she was in a position to give it.

Sherry heaved a sigh into the microphone, the joy that had poured from her all night replaced with regret as she said, “If there are no other takers…” She paused to give the room a final hopeful glance, then squeezed Cane’s enormous bicep. “Sol—”

Angelle clamored to her feet. “Fifteen hundred dollars!”

…

“Holy crap monkeys.”

Sherry’s response echoed through the quiet room. Cane wanted to laugh, but she made an excellent point. One more second and Becca would’ve won. And if she had, no amount of morning shifts would’ve made up for it. It wasn’t that Becca was dangerous; she was certifiable. From the moment she’d shouted her bid, he’d been planning his escape. If he had to, he’d been prepared to cover the donation to Project Nicholas himself. But then his green-eyed temptress had come through.

Why?

Not even an hour ago, Cane had vowed to satisfy his curiosity with Angelle and move on, and here she was, handing herself over on a silver platter. After months of dodging him, turning tail whenever they were alone, spending the entire auction evading eye contact, she had saved him. He’d like to think it was jealousy—jealousy or attraction, he’d take either—but more than likely it was pity. No doubt, Colby filled her in on all things Becca. Add that to the unsubtle SOS vibes he’d sent her way, and the sweet woman couldn’t help herself.

Guilt punched him in the chest. Followed by a softer emotion he chose to ignore.

As far as Cane knew, Angelle wasn’t rolling in dough. She was a volunteer firefighter and taught horseback riding lessons to kids part-time for shit’s sake. How in the hell did she have that kind of money to throw around?

Did
she have that kind of money to throw around?

Sherry snapped out of her daze and quickly exclaimed before Becca could counter the bid, “And the King of Abs is sold to Angelle Prejean for fifteen
freaking
hundred dollars! Hot damn, Mama needs a drink.”

The silent room exploded. Chairs screeched, glasses clanked, and voices erupted. Angelle blinked, obviously shell-shocked, as women crowded her small table. She reached a blind hand to grasp the back of her seat and slowly sank down onto its cushion.

“What in the
hell
just happened?” Becca stood at the end of the stairs gaping, her eyebrows scrunched in the lost way he was ashamed to admit he’d once found attractive. That was before he realized that clueless was her usual look—other than the times she looked like a demon straight from hell—and he’d wised up.

Averting his eyes to his woman—damn, the thought of Angelle as finally being his for the night sent a jolt straight to his pants—Cane hopped off the stage to claim her.

He’d only taken a step when the psycho latched on to his arm. “
I
was supposed to win you.”

Cane gritted his teeth in frustration. If he told Becca that it wouldn’t have mattered, that they were never getting back together and that she needed to move on, he’d only be wasting his breath. She’d heard it all before; she just had selective hearing. Becca saw him as some sort of challenge, the one that got away. He’d been clear from the start that he wasn’t looking for a relationship, back when she’d claimed she wanted the same.

When he was younger he’d always planned to settle down one day, but that was before his parents taught him what a crap investment relationships were. Feeling too much, getting too close to one person, meant getting hurt—or hurting someone else. Cane wanted no part of that, which was why he needed Angelle out of his head once and for all. But first, he had to get past Becca, and from experience, Cane knew responding to reason wasn’t her thing.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said, twisting out of her grasp and refusing to meet her intense stare. He stepped back and added, “But hey, happy holidays,” before turning away, leaving her behind him.

I’m never doing this crap again
, he thought, catching the furrowed line between Colby’s eyes as he approached their table
.
She appeared as confused by tonight’s turn of events as he was.

As for Angelle, she no longer looked dazed. She looked
lit
. She was face-first in yet another drink, and from his vigilant watch during the auction, Cane knew she’d consumed three hurricanes prior to this one. Four hurricanes, depending on their strength, were enough to knock some men on their asses—and this woman was tiny. Cane made a quick adjustment to his plans. He wanted Angelle in his bed, but he wanted her sober, consensual, and preferably well rested. But as she set down her half-drained drink and cautiously looked him in the eyes, he discovered one upshot to her current condition: inebriated Angelle didn’t hide.