Catching Mr. Right

by Misti Murphy

  “Why do you think Casper is such a jerk?” I lean across the table to stop her stirring. The chink of the spoon on the edge of the cup is making my teeth ache, and I keep recalling the haunted look in Casper’s eyes when he thought I didn’t see.

  “I have no idea.” Summer’s eyes widen as she jumps back a fraction. “You know I don’t like to conjecture about other people.”

  “It isn’t gossip when it’s important information one party needs to know.” I grip her arm. “And I need to know.”

  “W-well you could ask Claire. She might have some idea.” Summer purses her lips. “Does this mean you really are over your obsession with Sam?”

  “It’s hard to be obsessed with a man who you haven’t seen in a year, and who isn’t here.” I exhale through my mouth as I slump back in my seat and scoop up some of the colorful frosting on my cupcake with my fingertip before popping it in my mouth. Still, I find myself fantasizing about him in vivid detail. Wondering if I would have had a chance with him if he lived in Reverence. “So yeah, I guess I am.”

  “That’s good to know,” she says.

  “I’m sorry. You were saying you had a surprise?” I try to steer my thoughts away from men.

  “Nothing.” Summer waves it off. “It wasn’t a big deal. Not even worth mentioning really.”

  “Okay.” I’m preoccupied enough that I’m not going to press for information she’ll eventually tell me anyway. “Do you think Claire would know if Casper has a big dick?”

  “What?” Summer sputters and coughs.

  “It could explain why he’s mean. If it’s really big. Having it hang like a snake to mid-thigh. I heard there’s some that even hang to a man’s knee. Could you imagine carrying one of those between your legs?”

  “Uh, no.” She’s staring at me agape, her coffee cup held halfway between the table and her open mouth. I run the gamut of giant penises while she takes a moment to sip her coffee. Then she puts the cup down. “So you’re sure you’re over Sam?”

  “Absolutely. It’s a pity Casper wasn’t blessed with a small dick. I can tell that he’s probably got an anaconda in his pants.”

  “H-how?”

  “It’s just a talent I have. Like I know Sam’s isn’t too big, or too small. If anything he’s probably got the perfect package.”

  “I really don’t want to talk about my brother’s package.”

  “Well, don’t worry. That will be the last time,” I tell her. Although not thinking about him is easier said than done. We didn’t even kiss, and I’m still swept up in sexy fantasies. “Unless you’re going to tell me he has a nice cock that a girl should hold out for. Because I could hold out. If it was worth it.”

  Chapter Two

  CASPER

  “For fuck’s sake.” I storm out of the kitchen and into the yard behind the ranch, thick dirty smoke billowing out the door behind me. It was only a matter of time before that stupid girl set fire to my kitchen.

  The guy I’m filling in for left the day I arrived so I had to find my own way around the quirks and foibles of his setup. Which was fine. I wanted the time to get into a routine and train up my help before busloads of kids showed up and things got busy. Only I hadn’t expected Razer to saddle me with such an incompetent female when I asked for an assistant. It’s only been a few days and she’s already doing my head in.

  Fuck. If she hadn’t been in my kitchen then I wouldn’t have been distracted by her Pepto pink lips, or her long, golden legs. At least the fire was easy enough to put out. I smack the heel of my palm against my forehead, grind it into my brow where a headache’s beginning to pound, and growl out my frustration.

  A second later she knocks through the kitchen door on wobbly legs, comes to a halt in the middle of the path, and bows over in a coughing fit. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how that happened.” Her apology is punctuated by the sharp hacking caused by her inhalation of smoke.

  “You’re a menace,” I bark as I turn and stalk toward her. “I knew it from the second I saw you.”

  Actually, what I knew from the second I saw Mandy Pearce was she’s trouble. The kind of trouble most men wouldn’t mind finding themselves in.

  Wide, expressive, green eyes hold mine without flinching as I stare her down. They water a little, probably stinging from the smoke, but she doesn’t give an inch. Fuck, she really is pretty, isn’t she? The kind of girl you want to see in a pin up calendar wearing sexy lingerie and nothing else. The kind of girl who has an immediate effect on my cock. The only girl in a long time that has made me want to trap her against the kitchen counter while I rip away her panties and pound into her.

  Trouble. Mega fucking trouble is what she is. I can almost see the pink of her bra through her collared shirt, or maybe I’m imagining it.

  Either way she’s too pretty. And young. And stupid.

  “Stay the fuck out of my kitchen and away from me,” I order, punctuating my words by stabbing my finger at that pink strap I’m now certain I can see under her shirt.

  “It was an accident,” she repeats. “I didn’t do anything that should have caused the fire.”

  I don’t know if she’s trying to placate me or keep her job but either way I’m not interested in having her underfoot, causing havoc, and increasing blood flow to my dick. The fucker will fall off before it gets the better of me again.

  “I mean it.” I glare at her before storming past her and back to the mess I now have to deal with. “You’re nothing but a disaster waiting to happen. Stay the hell out of my way.”

  ***

  It takes me a couple of hours to scrub the entire kitchen from ceiling to floor and get rid of the acrid scent of burned to ash meat. And now I have my head inside the oven.

  Yeah, I might be contemplating death by baking. It has to be less painful than the alternative. I undo the screw and pull the element free. The thing is toast. The wires inside the coil are burned through, which means the oven was probably faulty when it was installed and it was only a matter of time before the damn thing caught alight anyway.

  I suck in a breath through my mouth and blow it out through my nose. It wasn’t her fucking fault. Getting up, I gingerly pick up the broken element and place it on kitchen paper on the counter. Then I Google the nearest repair shop. No, it wasn’t her fault, and it wasn’t because I was preoccupied either. Though I still shouldn’t have let her distract me at all. But she’s not accountable for that either. That’s all on me. It’s not like she’s coming on to me, not like she’s dressing to seduce me. But she’s making it hard, me hard. How long can a man ignore his dick before it takes over his brain anyway?

  Fuck me, I’m going to have to apologize.

  It takes me half an hour to locate her. She’s in the same place where her and her friend watched me work Soldier a few days ago. Of course I was aware of her then. I have a pulse after all.

  This time she’s sitting with her legs over the top railing, her hands gripping the rough wood on either side of her. She pretends not to hear me as I approach, but her spine straightens and her shoulders pull back. She doesn’t look at me though, just stares out over the dusty yard.

  What is it Juliette used to tell me after we fought? A heaviness settles over my chest the same way it always does when I think about the past. Her smile fills my mind like an open curtain letting in sunlight, but it also floods me with pain. Until acid burns my throat and I’m dizzy with the dark aching that spreads through my soul. I bite down on my back teeth until my jaw creaks. But I don’t wish things were different anymore. There’s no point. Nothing can fix what I’ve done.

  I shove my feelings down, deep, as far as they will go, but I surrender to her voice. She would have told me that a woman can give the cold shoulder for a lot longer than it takes to use the word asshole. As in I’m being one, and I need to admit it.

  I shove my fisted hands deep in my pockets and blow a breath out through my mouth. “Look, I shouldn’t have blamed you for the kitchen. It was a faulty element.�
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  Without acknowledging my apology, she says, “What is it specifically that you don’t like? Is it people? Or me?” When her gaze captures mine, I can’t look away. There’s an unguarded, beautiful honesty in the way she looks at me, and my callous words hurt her, but she’s not afraid of me. “Not that it matters. You’re obnoxious, and you’re mean, and—”

  “An arrogant son of a bitch?” I hitch my boot on the bottom railing and lean on the fence beside her. I can’t drag my focus from her parted lips, and the pale green irises in her eyes, with their flecks of gray and charcoal. “A jerk? An asshole?”

  “Yes,” she exclaims. “Exactly. You’re totally ruining my fantasies.”

  “What?” There is no way I heard her right. This girl can’t be sitting here having thoughts about me, nice ones or naughty ones. Not after the way I lost my temper.

  “My fantasies. You know, a girl has to look after her own needs by keeping her spank bank full of steamy sexual fantasies.” Her eyes widen and she sucks in a breath before clamping down on her lip gently with her teeth. “I don’t have one of you, of course. I’m not imagining you and me doing anything naked.” She starts tugging at the bottom of her silvery braid. “I was thinking about someone else, here, right now, on the fence, and then you came—”

  “Right, I get it.” That’s the appropriate response, isn’t it? It’s not to cup my hands to her face and kiss that bright pink pout. I can almost taste cotton candy as I shift my stance to deal with the thickening of my dick. “I’m not…” Not what? Half hard because of her words? Not letting my dick think for itself? Not completely off the fucking rails having a physical response like this to some… some girl?

  I don’t even know her.

  I kick a stone, sending it skittering across the ground in front of my boot. She’s nothing. This is nothing. It’s not the first time I’ve been attracted to someone. I’ve got this completely under control. “I cleaned up the kitchen and arranged for the oven to be replaced. Claire and I agreed that would be best.”

  “Okay.” She’s still focused on her hair. She pulls a few strands from the bunch and rolls them into a little ball between her fingers before dropping it.

  I’m talking to her, trying to be polite and friendly, and she can’t look me in the eye? She didn’t have that fucking problem when I was being curt. “Right. I expect you in the kitchen in five minutes.” With an about face, I march toward the main house, calling out, “We might not have an oven, but we still have a meal to prepare.”

  ***

  “You swear a lot,” Mandy says while she gingerly pokes and prods at the lump of dough on the floured surface in front of her.

  It took a couple days for the new oven to arrive, and now that it’s installed I figured she could prepare fresh rolls to go with lunch, but she doesn’t seem to understand the concept of the firm hand the dough needs. Would she get it if I showed her? If I bent her over the counter and spanked her ass? Perhaps she would. Maybe she’d like it. Maybe we’ll never know. That’s more likely than my touching her. Goddamn dick.

  I try to brush off the thoughts that swamp me. Juliette laughing at me the first time we got naked together because she hadn’t believed me when I told her I was hung. Her body pressed tight to mine while she whispered my name against my ear in a tiny hotel in Versailles. The way she sucked on a cigarette in one of those antique holders like the actress from Breakfast at Tiffany’s, a movie we used to watch far too often. Then she’d lick her lips and stare at my crotch until I ached to give her something else for her pretty mouth.

  EMTs and ambulances, white hallways and bright lights. My fault. My goddamn fault.

  “More than anyone else I know,” she continues.

  “What?” Mandy pulls me back to the kitchen, where I’m taking part in a conversation I don’t want to have. “Couldn’t we just work in fucking silence?”

  “See. You did it again.” She waves a finger at me.

  “What?”

  “Said fuck.”

  “Fuck?” I scowl at her. If she keeps poking that damn dough like that swearing will be the least of our problems.

  “Exactly. You swear all the time. Is that because you’re always in a foul mood?”

  “I’m not in a foul mood,” I huff. This is nothing but frustration and impatience at being stuck with a complete novice in my kitchen. Yes, she’s volunteering, but surely Claire could have found her something better to do that would have kept her out of my face, instead of making it impossible to ignore how attractive she is. Or that she can’t cook to save herself.

  I leave vegetable prep and stride across the kitchen to stand behind her. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m doing what you told me to,” she snaps.

  “I told you to knead the fucking dough, not poke it.” Leaning over her shoulder, I glare at the sticky blob in front of her. “Did no one teach you to fucking cook?”

  “No, they didn’t.” She glances at me, and her dark lashes flutter.

  There’s this scent in my kitchen. This faded aroma that I thought might have been the flowers Claire carts through the kitchen a couple days a week, and now I realize is Mandy. Her soap, or a subtle perfume, or maybe just the aroma of her skin. It tickles my nostrils, and I stop myself from sucking in a breath as I plant my hands on her waist and lift her bodily out of my way. “What kind of irresponsible parents did you have? How the fuck did they expect you to fend for yourself at, how old are you?”

  “Twenty-three,” she says. “And my parents were great people. I don’t care that they didn’t teach me to cook.”

  I do a double take because I swear there was a wobble in her voice. A slight hitch that isn’t usual. Her expression is neutral, other than the brow she lifts as if asking what the hell I’m looking at. Honest truth. Even though I expect to see sadness on her face I have no fucking idea why. Fuck, now I’m pushing my own messed up shit on other people. “Of course they were. Wait, were?”

  Is that why I caught a note of sadness?

  “They passed away just after I was born.” She shrugs, and then grips her elbow with the opposite hand. “Car accident.”

  “Shit. Losing people at any stage is…” I’m a fucking prick for being such an ass to her without knowing anything about her. My chest tightens the way it always does when Juliette pierces my thoughts. In the distance, Soldier whinnies. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why? You didn’t cause the accident. And I didn’t know them, not really.” She brushes her fingers down the inside of her arm, and I have an acute need to know what that sensation would feel like. “Now, since you keep complaining about how I don’t know how to cook, why don’t you teach me?”

  “Sure,” I say, turning to the dough in front of us and gesturing her forward. I mean what other choice do I have? I already tried to convince Claire that Mandy would be of better use in any other part of the ranch, specifically one that didn’t involve my kitchen or the possibility of food poisoning, and she’s still here. May as well teach her how to be useful since I’m stuck with her for the summer. “Have you ever given a massage?”

  “Sure.” Her forehead puckers. “Not a sexy one, though. Mostly shoulders. I have magic fingers.” She wiggles them in front of my face.

  “Good. Great.” I try to block out the visual of her hands kneading bare flesh, stroking, caressing, and the impact the idea has on my body. I did not need that prompt, but I sure as hell will drag it out later tonight. “So imagine this dough is someone’s flesh. Put some flour on your hands and then start massaging. Light but firm.”

  “Okay.” She coats her palms with flour as I go back to the vegetables. By the time I pick up my knife, she’s kneading dough like a professional. “I think I’m going to imagine it’s a guy’s butt.”

  How the heck do I not faint on the spot with how quickly all the blood rushes to my stupid cock? I can practically sense her hands kneading my ass. I squeeze my eyes shut, clench my teeth, try to block out the insistent t
hrob in my dick. She shouldn’t bother me like this. I open my eyes and stare at her. Why does she get to me?

  “I’m going to call him Chris.” She doesn’t even blink as she names the imaginary man under her hands. “Chrises are hot. Like Hemsworth, and Pratt, and Evans. Oh, and Pine.”

  “Right.” I place a white salad onion on the board and carve perfectly thin rings. “I can’t say I’ve noticed.”

  “Caspers are hot too, actually.” She stops to look me over. “I don’t think I know another Casper, so perhaps you should scratch that.”

  There’s an itch that’s really starting to bother me that she makes me need to rub. Not going to happen. I clear my throat, and move on to a punnet of mixed tomatoes. “Stick to cooking.”

  She beams at me, and I can’t help smiling, though I try to hide it behind a scowl. “Call me Cas from now on.”

  Chapter Three

  MANDY

  Dancing on a Friday night is one way to shake off the week’s worries, but it sure is thirsty work. I lean over the bar to catch Jack the bartender’s attention. It only takes a minute before something pink and delicious is set down in front of me. Holding the straw between two fingers, I suck on it and batt my eyelashes at the beefy Casey brother. “What are you doing here?”

  “What does it look like?” He grins at me and wiggles his eyebrows. He doesn’t take my flirting seriously. Never has. “Louise needed a hand, and I had the night off.”

  “Wait. Where’s Dean?” Usually the second youngest Casey helps with the bar at Mayhem between setting up for the bands and occasionally treating us all to his musical talents. The man can sing like nobody else I know, but then all the Casey family have music in their veins.

  “I couldn’t actually say.” He shrugs. “I gotta keep moving. Not everyone has the summer off.”

  “I’m volunteering in the Bennington Ranch kitchen,” I yell at his back as he moves down the bar. “Under an evil dictator. Seriously. It’s all hollering and cussing. I don’t know how I’m supposed to put up with him for the entire season.”