Accidentally On Purpose: An Accidental Marriage Boxset

by Piper Sullivan

  “They’re for everyone in attendance,” I told him quickly. “Bon Appetit!” Getting away from Mason was my main objective. We couldn’t spend more than two minutes together without arguing, and this was neither the time nor the place.

  “You don’t like me much, do you?” His voice was deep and casual, as if the answer didn’t matter to him at all. And I was sure it didn’t.

  I stopped and turned to him with a shrug, avoiding his searing green gaze in lieu of the banner visible over his shoulder.

  “I don’t know you, Mason. But what I do know is that you go out of your way to antagonize me, so I think the issue is that you don’t like me very much.” He flashed that panty-melting smile that made me clench my thighs tightly. Good lord, how could someone I loathe be so damn sexy?

  “Haven’t you ever heard that a boy pulls your pigtails because he likes you?”

  I nodded, because I was sure there was a certain type of woman that behavior worked on, but I wasn’t one of them. “Sounds like something women tell themselves to justify being with a jerk. I’ll see you around.” His words were the perfect reminder of why I kept my distance from him, only getting close in my fantasies.

  He called out to me just as I reached the exit. “Save me one of those Irish cream donuts, will ya?”

  I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling back at him and nodded. “Sure.” I stepped out into the afternoon sunshine with a smile on my face. An interaction with Mason that didn’t end with an argument, practically miraculous.

  That had to mean good things for the rest of the day.

  Mason

  I watched Trish Danvers walk away with that little swing in her hips that I knew was unconscious, but still sexy as hell. She was a little spitfire all wrapped up in a good girl package that I shouldn’t find appealing. Never had found it appealing before in other women to be honest. But when it came to the petite blond, everything I thought I knew about myself went out the window. She was all the things I didn’t like or want in a temporary woman, uptight, a Girl Scout, with a high cheerleader ponytail that should look ridiculous on a grown woman. A settling down kind of woman. But she did it for me, especially when she was pissed off. That fire that burned in her big blue eyes woke my cock right up.

  I shouldn’t want her. But I did.

  Too bad she was all the way off limits. I didn’t screw around with good girls because they had expectations. They wanted things I wouldn’t give to them, or to anyone else for that matter.

  “She’s getting under your skin?” Zeke’s voice sounded behind me a second before one hand landed on my shoulder.

  “Maybe,” I admitted with a shrug. “But that’s all it is. I don’t do good girls.”

  Zeke threw his head back and laughed, shaking his head in amusement. “Don’t you know, man? Good girls are where it’s at, but don’t just take my word for it. Hey, Nash!”

  The other man who’d become a friend since I relocated to this small town headed towards us with a smile.

  “What’s up? I hate these things,” he groaned and reached for a cupcake. Nash made furniture that was more like art, and he sold each piece for an obscene amount of dough.

  “Nash, tell Mason about the appeal of good girls. Good southern girls,” he clarified with a smile that said he was thinking of his curvy little wife.

  Nash grinned. “No one is as bad as good girls. They surprise you with it. Every fucking time.” His own grin matched Zeke’s and I knew he was thinking about his own smoking hot wife who wrote dirty romance novels. He looked turned on, and so happy, I almost wanted to believe them. Almost.

  “Except bad girls,” I added. “Bad girls know the score, and they’re always up for a good time. Only a good time.”

  They looked at me like I’d grown a second head, but I’d gotten used to it over the past few months. Both men were totally blissed out with their women and working hard to convince me that the one-woman life was the way to go. But guys were guys, and they didn’t push any further. So after we put in face time at the luncheon and ate our fill of Trish’s delicious donuts, we headed out.

  “Vivi wants a tattoo,” Nash grumbled as we walked towards the main drag in town. “If I send her to you man, I don’t want her to come back with big ass angel wings on her back.”

  I laughed at his grumpy words. “Vivi isn’t that type of girl, trust me. She’s more likely to get a butterfly on the ankle, or a magnolia flower on her shoulder. Maybe a hummingbird on her hipbone… I’ll take care of her.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel better,” he groaned which only made me laugh harder.

  “If Mackenzie Stone trusts me with his wife’s skin, you can trust me with yours,” I told him, referring to the mega action movie star who’d helped make me a well-known name in certain circles.

  Nash grunted his response, which told me Vivi was dead set on this course and he didn’t like it. “Just remind her how much it’ll hurt.”

  Zeke laughed and pushed at Nash’s shoulder. “Dude she’s had a kid, this will be nothing in comparison.”

  He wasn’t wrong, but I kept my mouth shut as we walked inside La Belle Bean, the girliest shop I’d ever been in that didn’t sell lingerie. The pain wasn’t what turned people off tattoos, though. In my experience it was the permanency of body art that scared them away.

  “Damn it smells good in here.” I hung back while Zeke and Nash went to the counter and chatted happily with Trish. Observing the good girl in action was always an erotic experience. She would smile shyly and tuck a stray blond lock behind her ear. Lick her lips before she spoke, or bit down on her lush bottom lip as she listened.

  I needed to get laid if she was getting to me this much. It had been a few months since I had a woman, taking a break while I set up my shop had seemed like a good idea at the time. But my business was established now, and my rich and famous clients had no problem flying to me for their body art needs. Despite not being in New Orleans, I still had plenty of newly minted eighteen year olds who also came to me because they wanted the guy who’d tattooed the guys in Steel Dragon to ink their skin too.

  A break was in order before I did something stupid, like proposition Trish.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  I smiled at the hint of annoyance Trish always had in her voice when it came to me. She was such a good and proper southern woman, that even her irritation was polite. “What are you offering?”

  She rolled her eyes and waited me out, giving me a chance to realize I’d been staring at her so much I hadn’t noticed Zeke and Nash were gone. Leaving me alone with the sexy little sprite. Her pink tongue darted out and left a trail of moisture along her bottom lip, and I had to fight the urge to adjust the front of my jeans.

  “Any of those Irish cream donuts left?”

  She nodded, full lips twitching in a smile before she turned to grab a pink checkered bag and pulled out a tray. “Two left, you want them both?”

  “Sure.” The woman had a way with sugar that only added to her allure, which is why I so rarely came into her shop. That, and we couldn’t seem to stop fighting if our lives depended on it.

  She set the bag on the counter with care and rang me up, nibbling on her bottom lip the way she always did when she was lost in thought or consumed with a task. “What?”

  I don’t know what kind of hell had gone through me, but I grinned and when I opened my mouth, I said, “You’d be so much hotter if you did something with your hair.”

  Yeah, I was an asshole, at least to her. But the flash of fire that flamed white hot in her big blue eyes reminded me why it was so worth it.

  “You’re a jerk, Mason.”

  She tossed my change at me, literally tossed a handful of coins and a few bills at my chest and then kicked me out of her shop.

  I left with a wide, satisfied grin. Totally fucking worth it.

  Trish

  “This is crazy!”

  Molly’s wide-eyed smile across the counter was contagious as we both handl
ed customers during the busier than usual lunch rush.

  “No idea why this is happening, but I’m happy it’s happening,” I told her honestly. I would never complain, about being busy at work because more business was a constant reminder that I’d made the right decision to stay open later during the week, to add a quick lunch option, and to add fresh bread for other local businesses. “We’re getting low on sandwiches, can you handle the rest while I whip up some more?”

  “Yep, no problem.” She flashed a quick grin and herded the two lines into submission in an orderly fashion.

  The kitchen was quiet, peaceful. I took a deep breath before washing my hands and pulling out more deli meats and sandwich fixings to slice. The butcher always saved me the good stuff in exchange for keeping him in a steady supply of his wife’s favorite muffins. Which meant the sandwiches were always perfect. The different types of bread, including a gluten free option, meant that anyone could stop in for a quick sandwich that was in line with their dietary needs.

  Like Aunt Becca always said, “Everybody is different, and they appreciate it when you acknowledge it.”

  Her words of wisdom often rang in my ears just when I needed them, and they kept me going when exhaustion had me questioning if this was how I wanted to spend the rest of my life.

  “What the hell else am I gonna do, anyway?” Given my lack of a love life, and my poor excuse for a sex life, the answer was a big fat nothing.

  “Hey Boss, we need six vegan sandwiches.”

  I froze and looked up at her. “Vegan?”

  Molly nodded with a look that said she thought I was an idiot. “Yeah. No animal products, but anything else we can whip up. Two of those with the gluten free bread.”

  Aunt Becca’s words played again and I grinned. “No problem. Coming right up.” It was a first for this small town in the deep south, but I had enough ingredients to make it work. I assembled the sandwiches using cucumbers, tomatoes, sprouts, avocado, bell peppers and pickles, adding mustard to some and pesto to others because all of my sandwiches were made to taste amazing. After wrapping each one and labeling the gluten free options, I pushed the door open with my hip and set them on the counter. “Six vegan sandwiches, two with gluten free bread, ready to go.”

  I looked up and froze at the sight of my nemesis, I mean my neighbor. Mason stood with his trademark smirk, a gorgeous tattooed girl at his side.

  She stepped forward, as bold as her appearance, and flashed a smile that softened her tough girl demeanor. “Thanks. Apparently, butthead is tongue tied in front of a pretty girl,” she said with a laugh, nodding in the direction of the brooding tattoo artist. “How much?”

  I told her the total with a grin. “He is kind of a butthead, isn’t he?”

  She laughed again, the sound husky and melodic. The kind of laugh that invited you to join in on the fun. “Totally. He has been a world class butthead since the day I met him.”

  “You were literally like five hours old,” he grunted from behind her, giving a clue to their relationship. Why I cared that she was his sister and not his woman, I wouldn’t examine now. Or ever. “And don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” he told her, wrapping her in a headlock with one arm and putting money on the counter with his free hand, showing off strong, golden forearms that made my mouth water.

  Or maybe it was the sandwiches. It was definitely the sandwiches. I added the sandwiches to a large box used mostly for donuts, along with a few napkins. “Enjoy your sandwiches,” I told her, ignoring her brother.

  “Thanks. I’m Magenta, his younger, but oh so much wiser sister.”

  “Yeah, Mags is a brat,” he added with a playful grin that, somehow, made him even hotter. Dammit.

  “I’m Trish,” I told her and extended my hand to her. “I love that tattoo, it’s beautiful.” It really was, a colorful fantasy land covered her shoulder in exquisite detail. “It reminds me of that painting, Garden of Earthly Delights.”

  Her face lit up at the compliment. “Thanks! That was my inspiration.”

  “You never compliment my tattoos,” Mason said with a pout.

  An actual pout.

  It made me laugh, because I didn’t want to think about getting an up close and personal look at the ink on his body, mostly because I was certain his arm wasn’t the only inked part of him.

  “You’re never nice long enough for me to get a good look at them.” Thank goodness.

  He winked at me over Magenta’s head and I gripped the counter to avoid drawing attention to his affect on me. “You can have a good long look anytime you want, Trish.”

  Yeah, right. “As soon as I do something with my hair to look hot, right?” Yeah, I hadn’t forgotten that little bit of unhelpful advice. I hadn’t forgiven it either.

  “Nah, I decided I like the ponytail. It’s kinda cute.”

  Cute. Exactly what a twenty-seven year old woman aspired to be. I rolled my eyes at that backhanded compliment, and handed the change to Magenta. “Have a good day Magenta, it was nice to meet you.”

  “You too, we should hang out sometime. Butthead is the only person I know in town.”

  I could use a new friend, particularly a single one, since both Maddie and Vivi were happily wed. “Sounds good. I’m usually here most days, so I’m not hard to find.”

  She took the bag and headed for the door, leaving her brother to give me a long, intense look that held all kinds of promises. “Just let me know when you want that look, Trish.”

  Right. Now. Please.

  That’s what I wanted to say, instead I gave him a polite smile. “No thanks. Have a good day, now.”

  With a smirk he walked away, and I may have given his long legs and perfectly shaped ass a good long look. I couldn’t help it, the man made jeans looks as sinful as a thong and oil slicked torso. He was singlehandedly responsible for my new fascination with denim.

  The jerk.

  Mason

  Looking around my shop, I couldn’t help but grin.

  It was finally all done, and the Ink Stain was open for business. Officially. The black, red and white décor was modern and vibrant, exactly what I was going for when I found this corner shop. A quick look at the day’s schedule showed a few appointments for bigger tattoos, but there were always a few walk ins with Belle Musique being so close to New Orleans.

  Speaking of walk ins, the wooden chimes above the door sounded and I looked up to greet the customer, only to pause when my gaze landed on the oddest character in town.

  “Aunt Mae, what brings you by?” I tried calling her just Mae, but she insisted that I, along with the rest of the town, call her Aunt Mae.

  She flashed a flirtatious smile that had me taking a step back. Mae laughed. “Don’t worry Mason, you’re too young for me to do anything other than look ‘atcha, but I do love to look.” To punctuate her point, light green eyes gave me a thorough perusal from top to bottom, and all the way back up again. “Such a handsome boy.”

  Magenta’s laugh rang out from the back room, but I chose to ignore her. “What can I do for you, Mae.”

  Hands on her hips, which were encased in a hot pink dress that never seemed to stop moving, she jutted her chin out, matching pink lips parted. “I want a tattoo.”

  Okay. It wasn’t so surprising, actually. In this line of work, I’d tattooed elaborate images over mastectomy scars, fiery eyebrows over a burn victim once, and even a tramp stamp on a seventy-year-old widow.

  “What do you want, and where?”

  Her face brightened when she realized I wasn’t going to turn her away, and she reached inside her bra for a sheet of paper, which she unfolded and slid across the counter. “This. I want this.”

  This was a whimsical romantic style fleur de lis that was very eye catching. “It’s beautiful. Do you have time now?”

  Mae shook her head energetically. “Oh no, not today. Next week. On the seventeenth,” she clarified with certainty. “That’s a good day for me, according to the spirits.”

 
Yep, old Aunt Mae was as crazy as she was kind. And I had yet another casserole dish in my fridge to prove the latter, because she insisted I couldn’t find a woman if I lost my muscles. “Okay, the seventeenth it is. Afternoon or evening?”

  She thought about it for a second, tapping her chin with a long red-tipped finger. “Late afternoon or early evening. Let’s do five.” I penciled her in the appointment book, giving her one last chance to back out.

  “Five is on the books, Mae. The seventeenth at five in the evening.” I smiled at her, watching the blush suffuse her face. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I won’t.” I didn’t think she would, not with that self-assured tone and the stubborn set of her shoulders. “And Magenta, honey?”

  “Yeeaaah?” My sister’s voice floated from the back room.

  “I have just the thing you need for what ails you. Come see me tomorrow.” With those cryptic words, Mae sashayed out with as much flare as she’d entered.

  When the coast was clear, Magenta walked up front to join me, green eyes just two shades darker than mine were wide with shock. “I can’t decide if I want to be like her when I grow up, or if I fear her. Maybe it’s a little of both.” She laughed and crossed her arms in a protective gesture that made me wonder what exactly ailed her. Then she turned with mischief in her eyes. “So, what’s up with you and Trish?”

  I groaned at the question, surprised it had taken her four whole days to even ask about Trish. Her curiosity had been lit after the encounter in the bakery, but she surprised the hell out of me by keeping her mouth shut.

  “Nothing.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was the truth.

  “Yeah, right,” she snorted, giving me that familiar O’Malley stare in an effort to break me.

  It wouldn’t work. “Nothing,” I said again and turned back to the appointment book.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said pointedly, stepping closer until all I could see was her face. “You told her she’d look hot if she did something with her hair? Are you out of your mind?” She shook her head, incredulous. “You’re only an ass like that when you like a chick.”