Hitched(18)

“I’m not your little Suzy Homemaker, O’Dell,” she says, her tone as sharp as her body is soft and sweet. Her arms go around me as she arches closer, putting on a good show for our spy while she adds, “I have animals to feed and evening chores to finish. If you want dinner tonight you’re going to have to make it yourself. My offer was to help you move your shit, not wait on you hand and foot.”

“I don’t need your help moving my shit.” I squeeze her ass in one hand, summoning a hungry sound from her throat that I know pisses her off. She can pretend she doesn’t want me, but her body betrays her every time.

She sounds even angrier when she says, “And I don’t need a knight in shining armor. You’re my pretend husband, that’s it. So keep your hands to yourself when you get back. As soon as we’re alone, we’re operating under the four-foot rule. Meaning there will be at least four feet of distance between us at all times.”

I turn my head, nuzzling my lips closer to her ear as I whisper, “You’re not making the rules, honey bear. Marriage is a team effort, which means you and I are going to have to learn to work together.” I slide my hand beneath her tee shirt, trailing my fingers up the hollow of her spine, wickedly satisfied by the way she shivers in response. “I’ll be home by nine. You can leave my plate in the microwave. I’ll warm it up after I get my things inside.”

“Fuck you,” she grits out, making me grin as I pull away.

“Maybe.” I wink. “If you’re a very good doo-doo-kins.”

“Your nicknames are an abomination,” she mutters through clenched teeth, wiggling her fingers as I back toward my truck.

“Keep pushing me,” I say with a grin. “They can always get worse.”

“I hate you.” She beams at me.

“Mutual,” I lie, saluting her before slamming into my truck and firing it up with a too-rough jerk of my wrist.

I don’t hate her, despite the fact that she’s right, and I am ruder to her than I am to anyone else on earth. But fighting with Hope is more fun than making love to most women.

Maybe I’m a sadist.

I never thought I was the kind of man who got off on punishment, but a month with that woman—being so close to her, so turned on by everything about her, but unable to get within four feet of her unless other people are around—is going to be torture.

And I sort of think I’m looking forward to it.

Yup, I admit it, as I catch myself whistling a jaunty tune while I pack up my clothes and essential items from the cabin. I’ve been living on Jace’s property for the past two years to be closer to my vines as they matured. I’m excited to move in with my nemesis.

And maybe she doesn’t hate me as much as she’s pretending.

When I get back to the farmhouse with the wraparound porch, Hope is locked in her office with classical music playing at a volume that doesn’t invite a knock, but there are a series of sticky notes on the door that read—The two bottom drawers are yours and I cleared out half of the closet. If you need more space, I’ll see what I can do tomorrow. There are sheets and a pillow on the couch for you and a fresh towel in the guest bath.

See you tomorrow. Thanks for marrying me. You didn’t have to, and I appreciate it, even if we have differences of opinion on how a fake marriage should play out.

Oh—and I contacted the other people I asked to get hitched, and told them it was all a ruse to make you wake up and realize that we’re meant to be together forever. Hopefully that’ll hold up if Dean gets around to talking to any of them. Frederick, my first fake fiancé, lives in Atlanta, and I’m sure he has no plans to return to Happy Cat after I almost murdered his father so we should be safe on that front, too.

Have you been dating anyone recently? Someone we might need to make explanations to or for? Not trying to be nosy, just wanting to make sure we cover all our bases. I obviously don’t care one way or another.

And your plate of meatloaf and green beans is in the microwave. They’re leftovers from two days ago, though, so don’t start thinking you’re special.

I smile. “Don’t start thinking I’m special,” I mutter, as I watch the meatloaf spin in the orange glare inside her pristinely clean microwave that makes my soup-splattered one look like I’m a savage who was raised in a monkey cage.

Don’t go thinking I’m special…

But as I eat the homemade meal, by far the best I’ve had in weeks, I can’t help feeling a little special. Her gesture of kindness, even couched in insults, went a long way. Makes me wonder what a bigger gesture could do.

She’s right. I need to be nicer to her. It’s not her fault electronics blow up when she’s around, and while it’s technically her fault our Vegas wedding ended in an annulment, how many Vegas weddings last?

And what did she mean, I was just like her parents?

I don’t know the St. Claires well, but I know Hope.

Well enough anyway.

She’s right. Animals adore her, and she adores them right back. She works hard to give them a safe home, and I know she’s not doing it with family money.

She earns everything she has, even though she probably doesn’t have to.

Cassie and Ryan love her.

Olivia and Jace love her.

Hell, she and Clint barely crossed paths back when we were all in school—he only got to know her at the weddings—and as far as I can tell, he loves her.