Sugared (Misfit Brides #4)

by Jamie Farrell

  There went that remarkable blush of hers. “We’re being horribly dishonest with my other friends,” she whispered.

  “That friend who just left? You’re telling me she believes us?” He gestured around the room. “Walls aren’t listening, Kimmie. She was giving me shit, like a good friend, to make sure I deserve you.”

  “I hate the lies.”

  “So tell them the truth.”

  “The truth got me in a bit of a pickle last night.”

  “You don’t have to tell them all of the truth. A simple we decided we’re better as friends tends to work fairly well.”

  She wouldn’t. Kimmie hated conflict. And Josh intended to be such a great fake fiancé that she wouldn’t want to get rid of him until her mother was handled.

  “We’re better off as friends? Is that what you told your old girlfriend?” Kimmie slapped a hand to her mouth. “Sorry. None of my business,” she said through her hand.

  “I told my old girlfriend that I have no intention of marrying. Anyone. Ever. Don’t apologize for asking questions. I’m not your mother.”

  “That would be awkward,” she muttered to the table.

  He hid a smile behind his coffee cup. “Miniature golf. Are you as much of a shark on the course as you are in Killer Bunnies?”

  Kimmie lifted those big blue lakes of uncertainty. “I haven’t played in years.”

  “No time like the present.”

  “I’m not a klutz. I’m really not. But I’ll probably hit you with a golf club or hit the ball too hard and it’ll hit you in the head. Or—or where I hit Arthur when I played softball. Do you really want to take that chance?”

  “I’ll risk it.” He stood and offered her his hand. “C’mon. Winner buys ice cream.”

  She perked up. “At Dahlia’s?”

  “Wherever you want.”

  Kimmie’s brows knit together, then a pure Kimmie smile exploded on her face. “Good. I hope Mikey’s there too. He owes you for wrecking his wedding cake.”

  As long as she wasn’t arguing about going to work today, he could handle that.

  * * *

  Four hours later, Kimmie clomped along behind Josh up the stairs to her apartment. Her shoes squished. Water dripped from her hair. Josh’s soaked white oxford shirt molded to his back, his jeans to his rear end, and his hair fell in delicious damp waves against his apparently perfect skull. No good could come of staring at Josh’s wet physique, though, so Kimmie kept ordering herself to look past him or down at his sopping leather loafers.

  “I really didn’t think it could tip,” she said for the forty-hundredth time.

  Josh stepped aside at her door. He was sporting the same half-grin he’d had since she clocked the bride on top of the miniature wedding cake statue on the first hole of the miniature golf course.

  As if he’d enjoyed their morning.

  He’d turned down the Josh Juan charm, beaten her soundly in miniature golf, and then insisted they try out the paddleboats on Harmony Lake.

  Which was where everything had gone wrong.

  “I’m not klutzy,” Kimmie muttered to her door lock.

  She jiggled her keys and swung her door open.

  “Mrow!”

  Boo streaked by, a plastic bag hanging from her neck. Her foot caught in it, and she face-planted on the carpet, then hopped up and took off again, going Matrix off the couch, then the window blinds, then the TV stand. She rolled, came up, and shot into Kimmie’s bedroom.

  “Me-oo?” Peep said.

  She was stuck between two couch cushions.

  Josh stifled a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort-cough. Kimmie went to free Peep. “You can have the shower first,” she said. “Erm, you do have more clean clothes… right?”

  “Barely.” He stepped into the kitchen with the bag from The Milked Duck Ice Cream Shoppe, then returned to the hall and amped up his smile to the dangerous Joshanova level. “Tell me, Kimmie, for your little side business, what cupcakes do you pair with the Cherry Popper ice cream?”

  If Kimmie came back in another life, she wanted cheeks that didn’t ignite. “I make these cherry fudge cupcakes with almond buttercream. They’re super yummy and decadent, but Mom won’t serve them at the bakery because I cheat and use cherry pie filling in the cupcakes.”

  “What are they called?”

  Mikey had named them Edible Undies cupcakes, but Kimmie had no desire to discuss that with Josh, lest she start thinking about him thinking about edible underpants. She pulled Peep out of the couch and snuggled her, and even though Kimmie was dripping wet, the sweet gray tabby purred, then licked her chin. “That’s between me, Dahlia, and the ladies who use our catering services.”

  Josh hadn’t shaved this morning, and the stubble made his grin Snack Cake Romeo scandalous. “What if I want to order your cupcakes?”

  “Quit Josh Juan-ing me and go take a shower.”

  Naked. In her bathroom. With his body against her towels—Kimmie shivered.

  Finally, a man who stood up to her mother, and who apparently had decided Kimmie was tolerable, yet he only wanted to torment her and be friends.

  If he really wanted to be friends.

  If this weren’t another ploy to get her to go along with his plan of trading cupcake recipes for a business plan for Kimmie-the-pushover to take over General Mom’s share of the bakery.

  He quirked one last smile at her. “You’re not all cupcake, Kimmie. Got some of your mother in you after all.”

  “How lovely for the world.”

  “Good balance on you.” He grabbed his duffel bag and headed to the bathroom. Kimmie deposited Peep on the ground, then went in search of Boo to save her from the evil plastic bag.

  She found the goofball cowering under her bed, panting hard, bag still around her neck. “C’mon, Boo.” Kimmie scooted on her belly under the bed, going slow, making sweet kitty noises to calm the poor calico. Boo shied away, but Kimmie kept moving slowly until the cat was trapped between the wall, the nightstand, and Kimmie. “That’s a good girl.”

  It took some grunting, and Kimmie earned a scratch or two, but she got the bag off Boo’s head. She scooted out from under the bed and let the cat lick her wounds and heal her pride in private while Kimmie stripped out of her wet clothes and put on her pink fuzzy robe.

  She snuck a peek at her phone. Josh had been so bossy about insisting she leave it alone.

  The other girls at the bakery could handle Kimmie not being there. They trained for this sort of thing.

  But General Mom was in a mood. And that was completely unfair to the other girls.

  Kimmie had no texts or missed calls.

  No answer to the messages she’d snuck to Rosita and Paige before Josh took her phone away when they got to the miniature golf course. They were probably too busy delivering cakes.

  Which Kimmie should’ve been doing instead of traipsing around Bliss with Josh.

  But she knew her mother well enough to know that if she had shown up for work this morning, she probably would’ve been fired.

  For everything. For not securing Heaven’s Bakery from Josh. For announcing to all of Suckers—and therefore all of Bliss—that Josh owned half of Heaven’s Bakery.

  For not being the daughter that the Queen General of Bliss needed.

  Kimmie rubbed her heart while she padded to the kitchen. She checked that the ice cream was in the freezer and was digging in her cabinets for cupcake ingredients when a horrific yowl exploded deep in the apartment.

  It was followed by a masculine yelp.

  Kimmie flew out of the kitchen.

  The bathroom door swung open.

  Peep darted out, fur wet and matted, and Josh stood there, glowering, water dripping down his broad chest and chiseled abs, to the blue towel he had gripped in front of his…

  Wow.

  Kimmie gulped.

  She couldn’t see his man-parts, but she could see his hips. The man-vee. The muscles in his thighs.

  “Your cat
—” he started.

  Kimmie snapped her gaze up. “She sees pixies in the shower.”

  His hooded eyes narrowed. “She saw something else she wanted.”

  “She—oh. Oh.” Kimmie gulped. “She, erm, doesn’t see… dangly things… often.”

  When he focused on her that way, Kimmie was fairly certain he could not only see through her robe, but also through her brain. As if he could feel her heart bouncing like she’d taken a shot of corn syrup.

  “Do you, um, need a Band-Aid or anything?”

  “I’ll live,” he said shortly.

  “She didn’t mean to. She’s a sweet cat. Just a little—”

  “Kimmie-ish,” he finished.

  She didn’t know if that was a compliment, and she honestly didn’t want to ask.

  Someone knocked.

  Josh didn’t hesitate. He strode forward, wrapping the towel about his lean hips as he went.

  “No, wait.” Kimmie grabbed his solid bicep, and a zing! shot through her hand and straight to her belly.

  His muscles visibly tensed, and his gaze dipped to her mouth for a split second before he brushed her off with a weird look.

  She tried to stop him, but he was too quick.

  “It’s not my mom—” she started.

  He flung the door open and braced his arms in the doorway, and even from behind him, Kimmie could tell he was wearing his somebody spit in my sugar look.

  Kimmie peeked out from under his arm.

  Rosita made the sign of the cross. Paige let out a breathy, “Wow.”

  Kimmie ducked around Josh and grabbed Rosita in a hug. “You’re okay.”

  “You’re okay.” Rosita squeezed her tight. “We’ve been so worried.”

  “I’d say she’s totally okay,” Paige said. “Hello, secret boss-man.”

  Josh didn’t say a word, but his ominous-and-deadly factor went up by a higher number than Kimmie generally liked to math.

  “Delivery for the Martin-Smith wedding went quicker than expected, so we wanted to check on you,” Rosita said.

  “I’m fine,” Kimmie assured Rosita.

  “Obviously,” Paige said.

  “Oh. Oh! We’re not—we weren’t—”

  “We weren’t?” Josh said.

  “Hush.” She put a hand to his chest and shoved. “Go inside.”

  He didn’t move. Wet heat radiated through Kimmie’s fingers. He trained those deep-set blue eyes on her, and a deeper, hotter heat melted the sugar in her core.

  She gulped. “Go,” she said.

  “We have to go too,” Rosita said quickly.

  “I’m sorry to leave you to—”

  “Child, until this week, you haven’t taken a day off since that snowstorm last year. You cover for all of us. All the time. We’ll handle your mother. You take today for you.” Her gaze shifted behind Kimmie. “And him.” She made the sign of the cross again. “Lord have mercy, I’m a-sinnin’ just standing here.”

  Josh leaned in the doorway and crossed his arms. Still dripping wet. Still in only a towel. Still exuding an authority that rivaled General Mom’s, except his was… sexy.

  One of them definitely had to go at Heaven’s Bakery.

  “If Marilyn gives any of you ladies any unnecessary trouble today,” Josh said, “I want to know.”

  “Wow,” Paige said again.

  “Yes, Mr. Kincaid, sir.” Rosita straightened and pointed at him. “And you be good to our Kimmie. If you mistreat her, you’ll be answering to me. Understood?”

  “You’ll have to get in line,” Josh said dryly.

  Rosita gave a solid nod. “I will.”

  She and Paige left. Kimmie trailed Josh into her apartment.

  “I thought we’d finally found the only two people in Bliss who didn’t want to threaten me,” he said, again with that dry, straight-laced delivery.

  Kimmie collapsed against the closed door. “You can’t blame them. I’m adorable.”

  His laugh seemed to take him by surprise. “That you are.” He angled closer to her, his gaze drifting down to her pink robe. “Unexpectedly so.”

  A tingling shot down her legs, and her toes suddenly felt numb. She gulped and looked away. “Erm, were you done in the shower?”

  Peep darted between them and into the kitchen, where she twisted in two circles, then plopped down and bent nearly backwards to lick a wet spot on her back.

  Josh eyed the cat. “Quite done.”

  Kimmie inched around him. Today was weird enough. She didn’t need to give in to his Joshanova games. Probably she should just agree to his plan. Then he’d have what he wanted, and she could get on with her normal life. “Great. I might be a while. Girls and showers. You know us. We take forever. I have cable, and the remote’s in there, and I keep my Wi-Fi password on a card in the cookie jar if you need it.”

  “In your cookie jar?” Josh said.

  “I can’t exactly put cupcakes in there.”

  “You truly are special, Kimmie,” he said with a chuckle.

  For the moment, she let herself believe that was a good thing.

  14

  Tweeted @WindyCitySociety: #Joshmie Scandal!! Snack Cake Heir Holds Stake In Fiancée’s Family Business! #SleepingWithTheBoss #UnpaidBenefits

  The more time Josh spent with Kimmie, the more he liked her. She was funny. Honest to a fault, except when she was lying, which she did so horribly it hardly counted as lying. He was beginning to understand why everyone—including her cat—had a vested interest in castrating him.

  He’d never much believed in purely, unselfishly, honestly good people, but Kimmie was as close as they came. She made him feel good about being him, the good parts and the bad parts, even when she was giving him those quit Joshanova-ing me glares.

  She was a funny, quirky, nearly perfect woman.

  He intended to threaten any guy she dated too.

  He scowled to himself.

  As if any guy could ever deserve Kimmie. Keeping up this engagement farce for a while was a good idea, and to that end, he snuck out to make a few phone calls and sent a couple of emails while Kimmie was distracted.

  Marilyn would have baby goats when she heard Josh was planning a wedding.

  He almost grinned to himself, but sobered quickly.

  Kimmie could dump him at any minute. Probably should. But as long as she was playing along, Josh would make it look real. Whenever she said it was over—whenever Marilyn was out of the picture at Heaven’s Bakery—he’d spread word that Kimmie realized her cupcakes were too good for him, publicly wish her the best, and then he could play the vengeful ex if any yahoos got any ideas about moving in on her.

  Wouldn’t work if he was the one who broke up with her.

  Maybe they could stay friends, though.

  Being friends was on his mind Saturday evening. He was lounging against the ivory counter in the kitchen, watching Kimmie pipe white chocolate frosting onto coconut macadamia cupcakes. Her hair was flipped up in a funky bun-looking thing, and she once again had flour marks on her butt cheeks. But she was also barefoot, with purple-tipped toes tapping the ground in time with a country music station. She hadn’t been evasive when he’d asked about how she picked flavor pairings, if she used special flour, or why in God’s name she was whipping egg whites over a pan of boiling water to make the frosting.

  She’d turned her nose up like her mother on that last one. “You poor thing. You wouldn’t know the difference between quality Swiss buttercream and frosting made with margarine if they were parading down The Aisle together, naked except for a sign.”

  “But I can pick out the best non-dairy creamer with only one nostril,” he’d replied.

  And then he’d laughed himself silly when she’d made her sourpuss face.

  For an awkward sugar snob, she was cute.

  Her cat, Boo, was rolling on the floor, trying to climb into an empty sour cream container when someone knocked.

  Josh straightened.

  So did Kimmie. “Oh, good
! They’re here.” She flashed him a pure Kimmie smile. “Would you mind getting the door?”

  “Who’s here?”

  Her gaze slid to the right. “Oh, did I forget to mention I invited one or two friends to join us for Killer Bunnies?”

  Forget? Uh-huh. Josh smothered a smile. She was the worst liar he’d ever met. “Yep.”

  “Oh. I did. I didn’t realize you’d still be here. But how fun! You get to spend time getting to know my friends.”

  He shoved off the counter. “Only one or two?” he murmured.

  “Or maybe eight,” she said.

  Josh chuckled. “Math isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

  But there were, in fact, eight people standing outside Kimmie’s apartment. Some had bags in hand—he smelled Chinese food—but all of them wore individually unique you are not yet trusted looks.

  He held the door wide. “Welcome. Get you something to drink?” Between Esme Kincaid and Birdie, Josh had been well trained in the art of hosting a party.

  And then there was the pure satisfaction that came from putting on a show. “Sugar, anyone else coming, or will ten cups be enough?” Josh called to Kimmie.

  Natalie Blue brought up the rear, and she stopped in the doorway and narrowed her dark, menacing eyes at him. “Don’t sugar her unless you mean it,” she murmured.

  “Get twelve,” Kimmie called.

  “Hold the door,” another voice said in the hall.

  Two hulking male figures turned the corner.

  Natalie’s husband, CJ—a massive red-haired dude—and his more massive, dark, tattooed co-owner at Suckers, were joining the party.

  Kimmie had called in the bouncers too.

  Josh wasn’t short, but both men stared him down.

  Hurt her and die was the general gist of it.

  “We brought the beer,” CJ said.

  He didn’t smile.

  Neither did his buddy.

  “Would’ve been welcome even without it,” Josh said smoothly.

  “Boys, there’s plenty of time to wrestle later,” Natalie said. “After we eat. And only if we get to grease you down and have enough dollar bills.”