Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

C assie 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.

She swiped at her cheek with the back of her hand and dug her spoon into the ice cream, listening to the sound of Kismet at night. The chirp of crickets filtered in from the open window, an owl hooted in the distance. The house was just a few blocks down from Goldmine Street, where the majority of Kismet's businesses were located, but the town was so small most people closed up shop early. No noisy traffic like in the big cities.

Kismet was so small they only had one main road. It used to be an old mining town back in the eighteen hundreds. Once the gold rush ended, Kismet managed to carve out a new life as a tourist stop. With the latest hipster trend booming only half an hour away in Denver, people frequently stopped in town to purchase their farm-grown veggies, stock up on organic, grass-fed meats, buy the handcrafted jewelry of the many town artisans—herself included—and partake of the famous liquors at the Jackson Family Distillery.

At the reminder of the distillery, Cassie shoved a large spoonful of cold, creamy cookie dough ice cream into her mouth. She closed her eyes, letting the flavors melt over her tongue. Why couldn't men be more like ice cream? Delicious, comforting, and always there when you needed them? No. Instead, they had to be rude, disgusting, and propose outlandish…proposals!

How could Del think getting married would be a good idea? The whole thing was absurd. Okay, yes, it would solve her I need a husband problem, and sure she could invest in his restaurant idea. Truthfully, it sounded kind of great. Kismet only had three restaurants. A breakfast place that closed after two, a small diner that made decent food, and a fancy dinner hall so pricey most townsfolk left it to the tourists or special occasions.

It would be nice to have another eatery in town to choose from. It would also be nice to have some food along with the wonderful alcohol selections at the distillery. She could see how it would profit the business. The Jackson family could significantly up their game financially.

"But why do I have to marry Del?"

She didn't. She could keep going on disaster blind dates, hoping the next guy would be marriage material. Del could keep plugging away at investors. They could continue on their hard roads or…

No.

She couldn't marry Del. For one, he was her best friend's little brother. Besties' siblings were off-limits. Everyone knew that. And she was older than him by two years. Not a huge deal, but something in her recoiled at being the older woman. Especially with society's insistence of calling women who go for younger men cougars. Blech! Society could take a flying leap. If she wanted a younger man, she'd get one, and it didn't make her a predatory feline. It made her a confident woman.

That being said, she still didn't want Del…did she?

Another fortifying sip of wine left her brain fuzzy and her body relaxed. It would be a lot easier if they just threw in the towel and got hitched. Del would get his start-up money and she would get her home. They didn't have to let anyone know it wasn't a traditional marriage. In fact, they couldn't let anyone know. If she wanted the house, her home, they had to make it look real or it could all be taken away. Mandy had made that clear at the will reading. Her cousin fully intended to contest any upcoming marriage, so she had to make it look real. If the lawyer determined Cassie got married just for the house instead of for love, the house would go to Mandy.

Could she actually marry Del? His easygoing, fun-loving attitude wouldn't be hard to handle. Though it might get tricky dealing with anything serious. Del was notoriously allergic to serious. She had no doubts he could clean and balance a checkbook; he was, after all, in charge of the tasting room. But what about life insurance, 401Ks, wills?

She laughed, shaking her head. If they did go through with this thing, she wouldn't have to worry about any of that. It wasn't like the marriage would be real. She didn't need to worry about Del and her future beyond getting what they wanted. They only had to make it appear real. Just for a short while.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she let her mind wander to what being married to Del for real would be like. He made her laugh with his jokes—when she wasn't the butt of them—and he was kind. She knew he coached the town's little league team voluntarily. He said he did it to look good to the single moms, but she knew better. She saw the light in his eyes when a kid hit their first ball. The sheer joy when they made a run. Del could protest all he wanted, but she knew he worked with those kids because he loved building their confidence. He was good at it too. Del could make anyone smile with a simple compliment. The man didn't give out false praise.

Yeah, she could stand to be married to Del. His personality wasn't totally abhorrent. Plus, his physique was absolutely drool worthy. Over the years of her friendship with the Jackson family, they'd gone camping, swimming, and a number of other activities where she'd seen all the family members in various states of undress. No full-on birthday suits—thank goodness, talk about awkward—but the last few summers at the lake she'd definitely noticed how well Delta had grown up. The man wasn't as built as his ex-military older brothers, but he had a sleek, tight tone to his sculpted body.

She placed her wine glass on the coffee table, eyes still closed as she pictured Del's half-naked body in her mind. A strong broad chest with just a smattering of dark brown hair that trailed down his scrumptious-looking abs only to end somewhere beyond the waistband of his trunks. At night, when she was alone, and no one would ever know, she'd often wondered about the end of that happy trail. What was Del hiding behind those shorts that drove all the women he'd dated wild?

And no doubt about it, Del drove them wild. She'd been on the unfortunate receiving end of some very explicated bragging one night when a woman she didn't know sat next to her at Jack's and proceeded to regale Cassie with her previous night's exploits with "the sex god bartender." She'd been both uncomfortable and intrigued. Poor woman had been looking for a repeat, but Del didn't do seconds. He was a one and done type of guy. Or so he told her once when she asked why he only dated tourists.

The woman's vivid descriptions stuck in her head. She imagined Del doing those things to her. His long fingers running over her neck, down her shoulders to stroke her breasts. Her nipples tightened at the thought, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Dream Del's lips caressed her cheeks, gliding over her heated skin as he peeled her clothes off excruciatingly slowly. A deep throb ached low in her belly. Heat gathered between her legs. She clenched her thighs together to relieve the tension, but it didn't work.

Her imagination took off without permission. Del doing wicked, naughty things to her, things that had her moaning, writhing on her couch, wishing he was actually here to help sate this growing desire. She brushed her hands over her breasts, grasping and squeezing. Good, but not enough. One hand slid down her stomach, making its way to the spot between her legs, begging for attention.

Just before she slipped her fingers below the waistband of her pants, a knock sounded. Startled, she froze. Another knock. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she shook her head. Who the hell was at her door at two in the morning? And holy crap when did it become so late? How long had she been lying on her couch fantasizing about Del?

Embarrassed, frustrated, and a little bit pissed at having her Me Time interrupted, she rose from the couch and headed to the front door just as the knock came again.

"Who is it?"

"Open up, Sassy."

Oh crap! Speak of the devil. What was Del doing here at two a.m.? Nothing good, she would bet on it, and considering how badly she'd lost her last bet that was saying something.

"What do you want, Del?"

"I want you to open the door."

He wasn't going to go away unless she did. Knowing he could out-stubborn her any day of the week, she sighed and opened the door. He stood, hands braced on the top of the doorframe, hair slightly mussed as if he'd spent hours running his hands through the dark strands.

"You have to marry me."

"Wow, the proposal every woman wants. Is that why you came over? The answer is still no. Goodnight."

She started to close the door, but he stepped forward, placing a hand on it, stopping her from slamming it in his face. He pushed into her front entryway, shutting the door softly behind him. It put them within inches of each other. She could smell the fresh mint on his breath. From his nightly closing mojito, no doubt. Her body still trembled with unfulfilled need.

"Why not?" he said. "It could solve both of our problems? It's a good idea, Cassie, and you know it."

She did. Hadn't she just been going over the entire issue and concluded that marriage to Del wouldn't be the worst thing ever? Heck, it could even be a little fun. Still, there were a lot of reasons not to go through with his insane plan.

"Fine." She placed her hands on her hips. "I'll concede it might be an okay idea."

"Okay?" He grinned, leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms over his broad chest. His gaze traveled over her body, heat sparking in his eyes. "It's a great idea. All my ideas are great."

Cocky bastard.

"Oh really? So that time you wanted to prove you were better at climbing trees than the twins, but you fell ten feet and broke your arm. That was a good idea?"

He winced. "Okay that one might have been bad, but this one isn't."

"Del," she sighed, too many thoughts and emotions rolling through her to deal with him right now. "This is absurd. You can't even propose properly!"

"There's a proper way to propose?"

Stupid, clueless men!

"Of course there's a right way to propose. Most little girls spend hours crafting the perfect proposal they hope to get one day."

His brow furrowed. "Okay then, what's yours?"

"I said most women."

"Come on Cassie." His lips turned up in a sly grin. "I know you've got an idea or two."

"Perhaps." Crossing her arms, she leaned against the wall, mimicking his pose. "It sure as heck wouldn't be a demand of marriage at two in the morning."

"Enlighten me then. Show me the error of my ways."

Now there was an open invitation she was tempted to take him up on. Deciding to teach Del a lesson on wooing women—and not just for bed-fun purposes—she lifted a hand to count off. "Okay. First, it has to be somewhere special, beautiful, and surrounded by flowers or candles or something."

"Make it pretty, got it."

She ignored his annoying wink and went back to her list. "Don't do it somewhere where's there's a big crowd. Public proposals just put too much pressure on people and it's awkward for everyone if the woman says no. But a few people around are okay. It's nice to have a couple of congratulations and well wishes."

A mischievous twinkle entered his eyes—she didn't like the look of it—but it was gone in an instant. Perhaps she'd imagined it? She hoped so. Anything that put a look of devilish glee on Del's face couldn't be good for her.

"No big crowds," he said. "But well wishes. Cool."

Her head began to pound. It couldn't be from the booze; she hadn't even finished her wine. Must be a tension headache from dealing with the frustrating man in front of her. He did make her tense. For various reasons, only one of which she would acknowledge at the moment.

"And lastly," she finally said, "you need the most important thing."

His brow crumpled. "Booze?"

Shaking her head in exasperation she held up her left hand. "A ring, moron."

"Moron? Is that any way to talk to your future husband?"

"I didn't say yes, Del. We"—she motioned between the two of them—"would make a terrible couple."

He arched one dark eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Why?"

"Well…we fight. All the time."

He scoffed. "We do not."

"Yes, we do! We're doing it now. A marriage, even a pretend one, won't work if the couple is bickering all the time. You and I get under each other's skin."

He stared, pale eyes gazing at her with a startling intensity she'd never seen from him before. "Hmm."

He stepped closer, and she pressed back against the wall. His chest brushed hers.

Her nipples, still hard from her earlier fantasy, rubbed against him. She bit her lip to hold in a moan. Holy crap, that felt good .

His head bent down, gaze focusing on her mouth, hunger blazing in their crystal-clear depths. "Do you ever think we fight so much to avoid this?"

"Avoid what?" The words were barely a squeak. She had no air in her lungs; it had all been taken the moment this man pressed his hard, tempting body against hers.

His answer came in the form of his lips, pressing against her own. Oh sweet mercy! Del was kissing her and he was good at it too. So, so good. The firm press of his soft lips sent a shockwave over her entire body. The moan she'd been stifling escaped, unable to hold the sound back this time. He answered her by grasping the back of her neck, angling her head for a better fit. His thumb brushed along her jaw right before his teeth nipped at her bottom lip. She gasped, and he took advantage, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth.

Holy cow, the man could kiss. She eagerly met his hunger with a voraciousness of her own. Yes, this is what she'd needed earlier. His lips, and his body pressed against hers. A particularly hard part of his anatomy rubbed against her lower stomach. Lifting up on her toes, she tried to adjust, to fit him right where she needed, but the second she brushed against him, he was gone.

Harsh pants escaped her lungs as she opened her eyes. Del stood across the tiny entryway hall, his breathing just as erratic as hers. Gone was the fun-loving guy who tended the bar at Jack's, the little brother of her best friend. In his place was a man who resembled a hungry tiger. The way her heart beat a furious rhythm in her chest, she felt like his prey.

His eyes were liquid heat, searing her for a long moment just before he stepped toward the door. Looking over his shoulder with an expression that was a heady mix of lust and confidence, he said, "Goodnight, Cassandra."

With those parting words, Del headed into the pre-dawn night, leaving her confused, unfulfilled, and…horny. Pressing her hands to her heated face, Cassie licked her lips, swearing she could still taste Del on them.

"What the hell was that?"

This night had gone from despair to confusion to… She didn't even know what this strange feeling in her gut was. And what was with that kiss? That didn't clear anything up. It only added more questions. Like why had Del kissed her, and why had she enjoyed it so much? Sure, it'd been a while since she'd gotten hot and bothered over a man, but Del? Was she seriously so hard up that one kiss from Del had her brain a puddle of mush and her body nothing but a coiled ball of need?

Headache be damned. After that sensually confusing visit she needed all the wine in her arsenal. She marched back over to the living room, forgoing the empty glass and drinking straight from the bottle. She would drive the ridiculous image of a naked and sweaty Del writhing above her from her mind with all the Cabernet she had. Then maybe she could get a peaceful night of sleep. But as she took a large sip, her brain played the kiss over and over again, her tongue not tasting the slightly bitter alcohol, but the sweet honey of Del's mouth.

It was going to be a very long night.