Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2013 Melissa Hosack
ISBN: 978-1-77130-273-9
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor: Natascha Jaffa
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
As always, I would like to thank my husband for all of the effort he puts into my writing. I suppose I should also thank my son, Marshall Frost, and his naptime for allowing me the opportunity to get some writing done.
A BIG thank you goes out to all of my readers. I really appreciate the positive feedback given and the support shown by such a wonderful group. You are the people who make this so much fun! Keep reading!
STUPID CUPID
Melissa Hosack
Copyright © 2013
Prologue
“Happy birthday, dear Lincoln! Happy birthday to you!”
Lincoln Belmonte stared at the over-the-top birthday cake in front of her and tried to keep a smile plastered on her lips. The large burning 30 candle perched in the icing almost seemed to taunt her.
Thirty. She was thirty and still single. When she’d graduated college at twenty-two with a degree in counseling, this wasn’t where she’d projected herself to be at thirty. She’d wanted a husband. She’d wanted children. She’d wanted a family. By thirty, she thought she would have two chubby, angelic toddlers running about her home. Instead, she lived alone in a tiny apartment even her dog wasn’t content with.
Over the years, she’d watched all her friends get married, down to the very last one. A few of them even had children of their own while she was still stuck in the dating scene. Her best friend, Amy, told her to blame it on Cupid. He was the one responsible for making people fall in love…or out of it.
“Make a wish!” Amy demanded joyfully from behind.
Lincoln glared accusingly at the candles. I wish I could meet Cupid. I wish I could look him in the eyes and ask for an explanation. I want to know why I’ve been jilted time and time again in love. I want to know what I’ve done to deserve to be alone. With that depressing thought, she blew out the candles.
Chapter One
Lincoln gave a soft, tired moan as consciousness slowly leaked its way back into her. “I hate birthdays,” she mumbled groggily. Rolling to her side, she stretched out on her tiny, twin sized bed.
Instead of her hand falling off the side like usual, it hit an expanse of soft sheets. Her eyes flew open in alarm and she bolted upright in bed. Before her was an unfamiliar room in which she sat in an unfamiliar bed.
She gave a squeak of horror and clutched red satin sheets that didn’t belong to her against her chest. The last thing she remembered from the night before was climbing into bed, her own bed. How she’d ended up here was a mystery.
A horrible thought occurred to her and she peeked under the blanket. “Oh, thank goodness.” She still had on her pajama set. At least she hadn’t done something extremely foolish and irrational. Her happiness lasted only a moment before she realized if she hadn’t come here of her own free will, that meant she’d been brought here unawares. She’d been kidnapped.
A noise from somewhere outside the room drew her attention, and her eyes widened in alarm. Crap. She wasn’t alone.
It gave her satisfaction knowing her kidnapper would be disappointed when he or she found out she wasn’t worth much. One look around told her the person who owned this place had way more money than she did. If they were looking for a decent ransom, they were about to be greatly dissatisfied.
“You picked the wrong girl to kidnap.” Sliding out of bed, she fought the urge to climb back under the warm blankets. This bed was much more comfortable than hers, but alas, there was a kidnapper to deal with, and she wouldn’t be caught lounging in bed like a damsel in distress no matter how comfortable the sheets. She was here against her will despite how alluring the place was.
Perusing the room, she calmly searched for an item that could be used as a weapon. Her eyes locked on a brass candle holder, and she quickly made her way over to it. Placing the candle to the side, she hefted the large holder into her hand. “You’ll do.”
Holding her new weapon like a club, she marched with purpose toward the door and was surprised to find it unlocked. “Not the smartest kidnapper, are you?” Easing the door open, she peeked into the hallway.
Gorgeous hardwood floors stretched the length of a seemingly endless hall. Straight across from her was a lavishly carved banister overlooking the main foyer of the house. Below were black marble floors and a pricey looking chandelier.
“Holy wow,” she breathed in awe as she tiptoed toward a wide staircase that looked like it belonged in an opera house. “I’ve been kidnapped by Brad Pitt!” In amazement, she tiptoed down the stairs, feeling out of place in her fuzzy pajama bottoms and spaghetti strap top.
Reaching the main landing, she could have easily run for the front door, yet she found herself turning toward the noises coming from the room beyond. She was curious to know what type of person owned this mansion and harbored the urge to kidnap her.
As she approached the door in front of her, Lincoln heard the unmistakable sound of a kitchen. Whoever was on the other side of the door was cooking and seemingly having a really good time of it.
A male voice belted an oldies tune accompanied by the clang of pots and pans.
In disbelief, she pushed open the kitchen door and tiptoed inside. The man whose tenor filled the room had his back to her, but he was good looking even from this angle.
His shoulders rippled with muscles beneath a fitted black t-shirt. His jeans were so tight, it was impossible not to stare at his backside. He had a gorgeous mane of shoulder length blond hair pulled back into a ponytail.
Lincoln stared transfixed. Her kidnapper was not only rich, but he was better looking than her original guess of Brad Pitt. As confusion whirled through her mind, the man finally turned around, drawing a gasp from her throat.
Violet eyes dominated a masculine face. His cheekbones were high, his jaw sharp and prominent. And he looked completely pissed off at her presence. “Vandal!” he accused loudly.
“Kidnapper!” Lincoln shot back.
“No good, thieving…what?” He’d been stomping in her direction with ill intent when her accusation seemed to sink in.
“No good, kidnapping…stud.” She blinked at her choice of description.
“Kidnapping stud?” the man roared in incredulity. “I didn’t kidnap you!”
“Then why am I here?”
He gave a derisive snort. “You tell me, honey. I have no idea.”
Lincoln frowned at that. As much as she wanted to peg him as the bad guy, it didn’t make much sense for him to kidnap her. He was obviously wealthy, and he was extremely good looking. Why would he need to kidnap a thirty-year-old bachelorette?
Apparently sensing her confusion, the man let out his breath in a put upon sigh. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“The last thing I remember is going to sleep,” Lincoln said slowly, “in my own bed.” There was a bit of sting to the second half of her sentence. As unlikely of a kidnapper as he was, she still found it hard to believe she could have wound up here without his interference.
Mr. Yummy turned his back on her and returned to his cooking. “Did anything unusual h
appen last night?”
At his unthreatening demeanor, Lincoln shrugged and sat the candle holder down as she slid into a seat at the kitchen table. “Not really. I went out with a few friends to celebrate my birthday.”
“Were you drunk?” He reached above his head into a cabinet to pull down two plates.
She gave him a sour look. “I’m thirty, not twenty-one. I had cake. Period.”
“No ice cream?” he asked with surprise.
“No.” She gave him a peculiar look behind his back. “For your information, I don’t really care for ice cream.”
“Then you’re not eating it right.”
Lincoln gave him a dirty look but chose not to comment.
The man turned from the stove with two plates of food in his hands. Making his way over, he placed one in front of her before sliding into the seat across the table. “What did you wish for?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You said you had cake. I’m assuming there were candles and singing as well. What did you wish for?” He arched a brow in question and held a fork out to her.
“That is none of your business. A wish is personal.” Despite her defensive comment and haughty tone, she snatched the fork from him.
“Come on,” he wheedled as he shoveled a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. “A wish can be a very powerful thing. Let me hear it.”
Lincoln lifted a slice of bacon from her plate and stared at him over it. “Oh, all right,” she finally said with a huff. “I wished I could meet Cupid, so I could tell him what a jerk he is to his face.” She rolled her eyes with a snort. “I wanted to tell him off.”
He was suddenly choking on his food. He grabbed for the carton of orange juice in the center of the table and downed half of it in three long gulps. Coughing, he pounded at his chest. “That’s quite the wish,” he finally managed to wheeze out.
“I’m insane. I know.”
He shook his head with one last cough and sat the carton down between them. “You’re not insane. There’s nothing wrong with being frustrated. So Miss…” He arched his brows, silently asking for her name.
“I’m Lincoln.” She grabbed for the orange juice carton and took a challenging swig. Her eyes were transfixed on his, daring him to comment. Thankfully, he kept his thoughts on her dining etiquette to himself.
“So Miss Lincoln,” he said slowly, “what would you say to Cupid if ever given the chance?”
“Well, Mr....”
“Valentine.”
“Well, Mr. Valenteen,” she said, stretching out his name.
“My friends just call me Valen.”
“Okay then. Valen.” She paused. “I would tell Cupid that he’s an arrogant jerk.”
“Arrogant, huh?” His lips twitched with the hint of a smirk.
“Totally arrogant. He plays with people’s lives and hearts as if it’s a game. He doesn’t care who gets hurt in the process.”
“You’ve been hurt by Cupid before?”
“Have I ever!” Lincoln snapped. “Six months ago, my boyfriend of four years sits me down for an important talk. I think I’m about to be proposed to, but instead Dirk blindsides me with the admission that he’s in love with a flight attendant. After helping him through college, he leaves me for some bimbo who serves cocktails in the sky! My boyfriend before him cheated on me with his ex-girlfriend. He claimed he suddenly realized he couldn’t live without her.” She made a sound of annoyance. “Cupid has been screwing me over for years. The guy…well, he’s an ass.”
Valen’s grin turned downright devilish. “Feel better?”
Lincoln nodded. “You know what? I do.” She dug into the scrambled eggs in front of her with enthusiasm. “Still doesn’t explain why I’m here.”
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Let’s just chock that up as a mystery.”
She snorted and bobbed her head in agreement. “It can be one of those wild adventures we tell our friends.” She smirked at him as she added, “I’m still telling people you kidnapped me, though. It makes the story more interesting.”
He chuckled with a shake of his head. “Fair enough.” He motioned to her plate with his fork. “Now eat your breakfast so I can drive you home.”
Chapter Two
Lincoln was dreaming. It was a nice dream about a sexy man named Valen who was currently kissing the curve of her neck while his large hands ran over her hips and stomach. Arching against his palm, she gave a soft, encouraging murmur.
That sound drew her out of sleep. Slowly, she returned to consciousness with a reluctant groan at having to leave such a pleasant dream. Then her eyes popped open as she realized the hand caressing her hip was real.
There was an unmistakably male groan as the person next to her slid his hand up her ribcage until he cupped a breast. He shifted his hips and the erection he sported pressed against her thigh.
“Okay,” she trilled nervously as she slapped the hand away. “That’s enough of that!” She whipped her head toward the invasive hand’s owner just in time to see Valen’s violet eyes snap open.
“What the—” He was out of bed in an instant. His feet tangled in the sheets and he nearly fell to the floor in his haste to get away from her. “Holy crap!” As he struggled to get himself loose of the sheets, he pointed an accusing finger in her direction. “You climbed into my bed! Are you insane?”
Lincoln’s jaw dropped and her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t climb anywhere!” As her mind whirled with confusion over how she had once again gone to sleep in her own bed and woken up in this man’s house, she couldn’t stop her eyes from lowering to his red boxer briefs. She quickly averted her gaze, but it was too late. A blush heated her cheeks at the sight of his muscled abdomen and strong thighs.
His eyes widened at her ogling and he snatched the sheet up to cover his lower body. “Did we…did we…”
She shook her head so hard it hurt. “No!” She hesitated. “At least, I don’t think so.”
His eyes lowered to her pajamas, a red silk negligée that stopped at mid-thigh and a pair of tiny silk shorts. “No. I would have remembered that.”
She tried her best not to show her unease. “I’m pretty sure we didn’t…do that, but then I don’t remember how I even got here. Again.” She gasped as a horrible thought occurred to her. “Did you chloroform me?”
“What? Why in the world would I do something like that?” In his anger, he’d dropped the sheets to the floor.
Lincoln’s eyes followed his hands as they went to his hips in irritation. She blinked slowly, unable to believe how amazing his body was. A man that hot should walk around in his underwear all the time. As she took in the magnificence that was his physique, she had to admit it seemed unlikely he would kidnap her. Guys like him had no need to kidnap a woman…unless he was some kind of psychotic mental case. “What’s going on here?” Her tone was full of overwhelming wariness. Absolutely nothing about this situation made any sense.
Valen let out a sigh and ran his hands over his face. “I thought telling me off yesterday would fix this, but apparently I was wrong.”
“Huh?” Lincoln was unable to mask her puzzlement. “I never told you off.”
He shook his head, holding up a hand to keep her from inquiring further. “Come on. Let me get dressed and I’ll explain while I make you breakfast…again.”
After he climbed into a baggy pair of sweatpants and pulled a t-shirt over his head, Lincoln followed Valen to the kitchen where he began making pancakes. And not the cheap microwavable kind either. He was making homemade pancakes from scratch.
Lincoln had followed him over to the stove. Hopping up onto the counter next to where he stood, she gave him a thoughtful look. “So what’s going on? You sounded as if you might have an idea why I keep winding up here.”
Valen grimaced. “I have a hunch as to what’s going on.” His frown deepened as he poured some of the pancake batter into a skillet. “I’m going to need you to keep an open mind.”
�
�Okay,” Lincoln said slowly. “That’s not usually associated with something good, but I’m listening.”
Valen avoided eye contact as he continued with his cooking. “I think you keep popping up here because of the wish you made.”
“The Cupid one?” Lincoln dipped her finger into the bowl of pancake batter. Bringing it to her lips, she stared at him as she awaited an answer.
“I told you. Wishes have power. You made that wish, so now you keep popping up here, looking to tell Cupid off.”
“Okay,” she drawled. “That makes absolutely no sense.” She arched a brow at him as she dipped her finger once again into the batter.
“It makes perfect sense.” Valen snatched her hand out of the air when she attempted to eat some of the batter once again. He stared at her for a moment over her batter-dipped finger before saying, “I’m Cupid.” Then he closed his mouth over her finger, sucking it clean of pancake batter.
Lincoln’s eyes fluttered closed, and she made a soft whimper of pleasure as his tongue flicked along the pad of her fingertip. Then his words sunk in, and even his sex appeal couldn’t make her ignore his claims. “You’re Cupid?” She couldn’t hide her incredulity.
He shrugged. His hand still held hers, though her finger was no longer in his mouth. “The one and only.”
“You’re Cupid?” She repeated the statement just to make sure she’d heard him correctly. “You traipse about shooting people with arrows for fun while wearing a toga?”
“First off, I haven’t worn the toga for years.” While Lincoln was observing the hard arrogance that had set up shop on his face, Valen continued. “Secondly, I get paid good money by the supernatural community to do what I do.”
“The supernatural community?” she asked skeptically. “Like Santa Claus and vampires and stuff?”
Stupid Cupid Page 1
