Red Hot Valentine: Falling for Cupid

by Christin Lovell

  Red Hot Valentine:

  FALLING FOR CUPID

  A Red Hot Valentine Title

  Christin Lovell

  —

  FALLING FOR CUPID

  Copyright © 2014 by Christin M Lovell

  Cover Image © CURAphotography

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Falling for Cupid

  Cupid Valentine, a.k.a. Coop, is the worst divorce attorney in the entire Southeast. Ninety-eight percent of his clients reconcile before the gavel hits the block. He's dedicated his life to love; yet he's never experienced it for himself...until Daisy.

  Plus size Daisy and her best friend, Brad, made a pact when they were younger: if they weren't married by thirty, they'd marry each other. Two years later, they've learned that love has many forms, and a passionate love is needed to have a fulfilling relationship.

  The pair confounds Coop. His job has always been to repair relationships, but what happens when he suddenly finds himself rooting for the opposite of all he stands for? He does what any smart Cupid would do and flies away. But you can only escape Cupid's arrow for so long, even if you happen to be Cupid.

  —

  Falling for Cupid

  Chapter One

  October 24th

  Daisy

  My feet were barking in my shoes. They were going to hate me by the end of the day. Truth be told, high heels were made for the skinnies of the world, but I couldn’t resist how they elongated and slimmed my short, extra plump legs, particularly in the light wash, ripped and rugged skinny jeans I wore. The high heeled, grey suede booties I donned, with the V-shaped top, looked identical to a high-end pair I dreamed about but could never afford. A forgiving hot pink tank top beneath a hunter green military style blazer with a long, elegant silver necklace layered atop blended several styles in my one ensemble.

  But that’s what I enjoyed. I didn’t box myself in. My clients knew me as a trend-defying master. I mixed and matched Bohemian with Hampton chic, vintage glam with rocker, retro with trendy every day. I believed no one should confine to one label but rather use many labels to define themselves. What you’re wearing is always the first impression you make, and I enjoyed surprising others. After all, the last thing my size two millionaire nightmare was expecting this morning was a size twenty-two fashionista claiming to be her new personal shopper and temporary stylist. Apparently she’d expected another size two with a toned down outfit, although she conceded, “I suppose you don’t have to look good so long as you make me look good, but I cannot in good taste offer you referrals as you are.”

  Yup. That was how I started my morning. I then spent the next five hours combing two out of her three closets as she sipped imported water from a plush chair an assistant relocated to each closet, so she could ensure I didn’t steal or damage anything. At noon she consumed a small salad with no dressing and at two I excused myself, promising to return and go through her third closet, which she claimed was the largest. God help me.

  It was common practice to get a sense of their style, learn their sizes with different brands, and to avoid purchasing something they already owned. What was taking me so long was she wanted an entire outfit that was unlike anything she currently owned. There could be no similarities, which was going to be a challenge given all she had…

  It felt good to sit down in my car after standing so long without a break. My arms ached from sliding hangers, holding out items and reaching for accessories all day, and it was far from over. My legs and feet practically sang their gratitude for the reprieve the entire drive to the coffee shop in downtown. All too quickly I found street parking and was back on my feet walking towards the shop.

  The air was crisp and cool despite the sun’s efforts. Living in a high end, small sized Florida beach town had its ups and downs. Ups? It was sunny year round, which meant it was busy and booming with tourists and potential clients year round. I had a steady stream of corporate wives and small time celebrities seeking me out for charity functions, golf tournaments and vacation chic ensembles upon arrival. I enjoyed shopping and making my clients look amazing, no matter their budget.

  Downs? My own budget was far smaller than theirs, which meant I shopped boutiques for them and bargains for myself. On occasion, Paleo, a local designer extraordinaire, gave me a generous discount for bringing him more customers. Too bad I could only use it for accessories, for he only designed up to a size ten, and incessantly pestering him to expand his line hadn’t helped over the years. He claimed, “Not all fat women are as fabulous as you, my dear. I would not want my name tarnished with elastic waistlines.” I tried not to be offended for all the plus size women around the world at that moment, but it was difficult.

  The bottom line was I lived far below the standards of most of my clients. Yes I lived on the beach, but I lived in a studio apartment with an ocean view you had to crook your neck for.

  Also, as much as I loved the sun, I hated being a big girl in July. I broke more fat girl rules during summer than any other time of year. You couldn’t pay me to wear pants or even capris in Florida during summer. I got many a disappointing glare, but I couldn’t care less. I rocked soft, yet structured black shorts that barely grazed mid-thigh with a loose grey cotton tank, a necklace to glam it up and open-toed neon yellow pumps for edge. I would never apologize for my size or for dressing it as I would a size two. I ensured it was flattering and most of my unflattering-to-the-masses bits were covered.

  I cringed as I rounded the corner to the coffee shop. Brad stood outside the door, clearly waiting for me with his arm around Lisa.

  Brad and I had been best friends for as long as I could remember. It seemed like any time off I had was spent with him, or him and Lisa. We had this amazing bond everyone claimed jealousy over. So when we both turned thirty and were still single, we took the plunge and got married, fulfilling our long ago pact.

  And we were happy…mostly…except in the bedroom. It was all vanilla and no passion. We loved each other, but not like that.

  We were content though…until Brad met Lisa. I adored the petite blonde. She’s warm and friendly, if a bit shy, but she’s always genuine. She made it impossible for me to hate her, especially since Brad was smiling wider than ever. He had a steady glow about him since the day he first laid eyes on her.

  And that’s why I cringed. If I couldn’t make my best friend happy, what chance did I have with anyone else? Suddenly, I found myself losing my husband and best friend, and no matter how happy I was for him, it didn’t ease the bit of sadness that seemed a permanent stone in my chest.

  Brad waved emphatically as I approached. “You look like hell,” he said, pulling me in for a hug.

  He, of course, looked impeccable in khaki board shorts and a blue polo that matched his eyes. He was the all-American boy: surfer blonde hair, ocean blue eyes, an athletic build and a smile that could charm the panties off a nun. He was a catch with looks and personality. But there had always been that brotherly aspect. I didn’t daydream about stripping him and dipping him in chocolate like every other woman seemed to…which was a tad disappointing. I’d often wished I could somehow flip the switch.

  I slapped him on the arm as I pulled away. “You never t
ell a woman she looks like hell, even if she does. No wonder it took you so long to wrangle a woman.” I shook my head in dismay.

  I took a step towards Lisa and hugged her tiny frame. “Don’t let him get away with that crap.”

  She laughed, squeezing me gently before letting go. “Oh I don’t. I planned to give him an earful later for that line. I thought it would be impolite to make a scene in public.”

  Yup. I couldn’t help but love her. “Still do it.” I winked.

  Brad frowned. “I don’t know if I like you two together.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, hush and open the door for us like a gentleman.”

  He harrumphed. “Aren’t you two supposed to hate each other’s guts?” He held the door for me.

  “Please, there’s nothing normal about this tryst.” I sashayed past him, grabbing Lisa’s hand and dragging her ahead of him with me.

  She giggled. “He doesn’t let me get away with half the stuff you do.” She tried to play it off, but I heard her unease.

  I glanced sideways at her, stopping in my tracks. Big brown eyes met my own. I understood her vulnerability because I myself felt it at times with Brad and her. It wasn’t jealousy, but it still centered around fear. “That’s because he doesn’t love me the way he does you. Siblings beat the shit out of each other and act as if nothing happened the next day, but you wouldn’t dare do that with your significant other. It’s a different dynamic with its own set of rules. Trust me when I say you have nothing to worry about, Lis.”

  A grin split her face. She still had cute features. In truth, she was cute all over at twenty-three. “My mom swore up and down that Brad was lying through his teeth when he said his current wife knew about us, supported the whole affair and would divorce him when we were ready to get serious.”

  I pursed my lips, ever so slightly turning my nose up. “Looks like we showed her.”

  Lisa’s eyes danced with amusement. “She about fell out of her chair when you said it was true.”

  A couple months in, Brad had gone to meet Lisa’s parents. I’d called to see how everything was going and to ensure what Lis’ mom made was edible and he wouldn’t want something at home later. Apparently the shit hit the fan when they saw his wedding ring, which he still wore - and insisted I wear. Brad was anything but dishonest.

  When she learned who was on the phone, she snatched it from him and blurted, “Do you know where your husband is?”

  I promptly replied, “Meeting his girlfriend’s parents. And, for the record, he told me the day he met Lisa that she was different and he wanted to pursue her. We haven’t been intimate since weeks prior to that day and I’ve been nothing but supportive because they make each other happy. As his best friend, I want him to be happy. Please tell Brad I will see him home later. I hope you all have a pleasant evening.”

  She stuttered and mumbled something before hanging up. Brad gave me an extra big hug that night and then relayed everything from his side.

  Yeah, this situation was anything but normal. I loved Brad, not passionately, yet I would still mourn the loss of him as a husband; only because I was lonely though. The more time he spent with Lisa, the more I realized he was practically my only friend.

  “There he is.” Brad forced his way between Lisa and me and pointed to a table in the corner. It was still in the open, yet eluded to privacy, as much as one could get in public.

  My gaze stumbled as a pair of crystal clear not-quite-green yet not-quite-blue eyes met mine. Butterflies fluttered in my belly; it felt like faery dust was tickling my flesh. He literally stopped me in my tracks.

  Dark brown hair touched his brow and my fingers itched to push it back. I couldn’t seem to break away. There was something in his depths that held me in place, that revved my engine and warmed me to the toes, that had me helplessly melting into a puddle right where I stood.

  I don’t know how long I stood there, looking like an idiot I’m sure, before Brad interrupted.

  “Earth to Daisy!”

  I blinked in rapid succession as his hand passed in front of my face. I cut my eyes at him and smacked his hand away.

  He laughed easily. “Oh, come on. I’m hotter than him, and you’ve never gone goo-goo for me.”

  I scrunched my nose. “That’s because I know you.”

  “Well, damn. Way to set my heart aflame.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “More like your ego, but I’m sure Lisa will pour water on it.” I winked back at him as I strolled up to the counter and ordered a cappuccino.

  They followed behind me, each ordering something different.

  “For the record, I wouldn’t put it out. He’s gorgeous, but he’s not a god.” Her cheeks colored as Brad scowled at her.

  The three of us walked over to where my version of a gorgeous god was. He stood to greet us. His suit wasn’t high-end or low-end, but it had been tailored to him. It showed off his fit figure.

  My jaw slackened as the outline of his bicep muscle showed when he shook Brad’s hand. Sweet cherry pie I couldn’t stop myself from picturing those biceps near my head as he pummeled me into submission. Get it together, girl!

  “Hi, Mr. Valentine. I’m Brad. This is my wife, Daisy.” He jutted his chin towards me. “And this is my girlfriend, Lisa.”

  His brows rose slightly, but he maintained a professional disposition surprisingly well. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

  He shook Lisa’s hand, then mine all too quickly before gesturing to the chairs. Luckily, three remained at the small square table. “Please take a seat and we can discuss your case.” His gaze skittered to me as we sat.

  I barely contained my sigh of longing. There was something about the lawyer that had me lusting like a starved feline. This was a man I wanted to drizzle chocolate over before tasting every delicious inch of him. Sadly, though, I didn’t see the same spark in his eyes. Figures.

  —

  Cupid

  My groin tightened as she walked in the door. Abundant curves were well contained within her shocking attire. Most women with curves covered them with embarrassment. She owned them in an outfit that screamed look at me, and that’s all I could do was look.

  She pulled a pencil of a woman, in comparison, beside her. I bit back a grin as she turned towards the blonde, giving me a perfect view of her ass. It was a downward spiral from there. I couldn’t stop my lusty thoughts.

  Her wide hips gracefully rounded into an impressively large derriere most men would shy away from, too wimpy to handle.

  Stop! You’re meeting a client for crying out loud.

  I took a steadying breath, trying to suppress desire that had never raged so hard.

  With a name like Cupid, of course I loved women, but none had ever spawned the yearning burning my balls right now. This was not good.

  My heart seemed to pause, lodged in my throat as she met my gaze. Her dark chocolate eyes matched her flowing hair. Damn. I wanted to hold tight to her locks as I fucked her tempting ass.

  Shit. When did I become an aggressive lover? The name pegged me as a romantic, and I’d played along…until now.

  I’d send a woman like her a dozen roses every day if it guaranteed me the freedom to explore her every night. That wasn’t love though. That was a-cock-hard-enough-to-hammer-a-nail-in-with lust. It went against everything I’d embraced as my identity. It shook me to the damn core.

  Pull it together, Coop.

  With one last long look up and down her sweet body, I dropped my attention to the basic client profile in front of me. I was above all else a professional, especially when it came to love.

  —

  Daisy

  My heart fluttered every time he glanced my way. Brad knew something was up because I let him do most of the talking. No man had ever tongue-tied me before, but I was afraid Mr. Valentine would be the first.

  His gaze flitted between us. “A judge is going to ask. Do you feel that your marriage could be saved? If not, why?”

  “I think Da
isy says it best.”

  Both men looked expectedly at me.

  I gave them a shy smile, and Brad knew that I was not shy…usually.

  He nodded his head encouragingly, somehow knowing I needed the little boost.

  I swallowed hard. “A love without passion is like a cupcake without icing: it tastes good, but it doesn’t satisfy.”

  “Interesting choice of words, Mrs. Burke.”

  I glanced at the dreamy hunk, gathering my courage from somewhere. The gates burst open. “Look, I love Brad, but not in the heart-skipping-a-beat-when-I-see-him sort of way. He’s like a sometimes annoying older brother.”

  “Two days, Dais. I’m two days older.” He hated when I spoke as if there were years between us.

  “Still makes you older.” My lips curled at the edges as I winked in his direction.

  I refocused, best I could, on our dazzling divorce lawyer. “I think the biggest indicator is I’m not raging with jealousy that he found happiness with Lisa. The truth is, we never should have gotten married. Settling for your best friend isn’t a bad gig, but it’s also not fulfilling if the sizzle isn’t there on every level.”

  His brows furrowed. He seemed perplexed, yet didn’t push for more. “I’m afraid I wasn’t prepared for that answer.” He smiled lightly.

  “The way I see it, Brad and I romantically are like oil and water. We typically don’t mix. That doesn’t mean you couldn’t whisk the shit out of it and make it work temporarily, but we’ll always pull apart again, so why force it? I’m not saying love should be easy, but happiness with the one you love ought to be. Brad and I were content, but not genuinely happy in a life fulfilled sort of way. He didn’t smile like a kid in a candy store every day until he met Lisa. I don’t want to stand in the way of that kind of joy. Plus, I’d like the freedom to find it myself if I can.”

  His smile turned wistful. “Looks like you got lucky twice, Mr. Burke.”

  “Hell yeah.” Brad leaned in and kissed my cheek, but he held firmly to Lisa’s hand.

  “I’ll need a list of assets and how you wish to divide them. Once I have that, I’ll have it typed into the documents. You both will sign and I’ll submit it to the courts. Typically there’s a thirty to forty-five day wait time, but since you’re both signing the initials, we should get a date before the holidays are over. If all goes well, you two will be divorced by New Years.”