Free Blissed (Misfit Brides #1) by Jamie Farrell

don’t do that,” CJ murmured. “We’re just getting to the good stuff.”
    His lethal tone sent a shiver from her hairline to her tailbone, but it wasn’t fear.
    It was genuine intrigue. He wanted a fight.
    She lifted her gaze again. His eyes, spindled with the red lines of exhaustion, were nonetheless sharp and glittering. His lips were tight, and he slowly rubbed his hands together.
    “Because if you do that ,” he continued, his dangerous edge inspiring her second shiver of intrigue, “I might feel guilty for suggesting I did your husband a favor. And I’m not real big on feeling guilty.”
    The list of reasons continuing this fight was a bad idea was longer than the train of Princess Di’s wedding dress. 
    But he didn’t remember what he’d done. What kind of person forgot something like that? She licked her lips.
    His eyes went a shade darker.
    “Must suck for you, then,” she said, her voice low and husky and unrecognizable, “that you actually did me the favor.”
    A flash of teeth showed in his hard smile. “Interesting way of expressing your appreciation.”
    “Tell you what. When you remember what I’m supposed to be appreciative for, then I’ll thank you properly.”
    His gaze took a slow meander up and down her body. “Define properly .”
    Properly would be to wipe that blisteringly inappropriate speculation off his face.
    But despite everything, his suggestive scrutiny was awakening her long-forgotten femininity.
    She needed to cut this off right now. “Hard,” she said. “Loud. Painful. Properly .”
    “Too bad you’re a nutjob, or you might be my kind of woman.”
    When his lazy, broody-eyed stare took another meander at her goods, she knew she was in trouble. Was it because she hadn’t heard that smoky tone from a man in too long, or was it because she was extra-susceptible to CJ?
    That had been the problem, hadn’t it? “Too bad you destroy marriages, or I might’ve mistaken you for a decent human being,” she said.
    “Lady, I’m a guy. There’s a lot of asshole under this skin. But I’m not a homewrecker. Never have been, never will be. So you and I, we’re going to work this out. I’ve got too much respect for the institution to let you say otherwise.”
    Natalie’s breath caught.
    Hard not to be susceptible to a guy who said things like that.
    A muffled, off-tune baritone cut through their staring match. “ Twinkle, twinkle, little bar… ”
    She shot a glance down the hall. Her father’s door was still closed. The singing faded, replaced by a slow, deep snore.
    “You need to go,” Natalie whispered. If they could wake Dad, they could wake Noah.
    CJ shifted, putting himself squarely in her personal space. “You own this place? Because your dad told me to make myself at home.”
    “My father’s inebriated. And whose fault is that?”
    “Yeah, that’s right. I forced all that liquor down his throat. You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
    “Would you keep it down?” Natalie hissed.
    “Sure. As soon as you tell me what the hell your problem is.”
    “You know what? I’ll call you a cab.” She’d call Lindsey. Same thing.
    “Or,” CJ said, “I’ll ask your dad.”
    Natalie stopped with her hand on her phone. He wasn’t talking about asking Dad for a ride.
    Her chest ached. She should’ve stuck that sewing needle in her eye this morning. She’d done this day completely wrong.
    The last six months hadn’t been easy on any of them. Suddenly having to bury Mom, the injury of having the Golden Husband Games taken out of the family, explaining why Grandma was gone to Noah. And now she was on the verge of making tomorrow worse for not only herself, but for Dad too.
    She dropped her phone back in her pocket and did the one thing she hated the most.
    She gave up.
    “You kissed me,” she said, but it was barely more than a whisper, because saying it was like living it all over again.
    And while the fall-out had been horrific, there had been a moment