It's Holy Matrimony, Baby_The Casey Brothers Series Read online

  IT’S HOLY MATRIMONY, BABY!

  It’s Holy Matrimony, Baby copyright © 2018 by Misti Murphy

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review. If you have not purchased this book from Amazon or received a copy from the author, you are reading a pirated book.

  You can contact the author at [email protected]

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  Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of content is disturbing to you.

  Edited by Tami Lund

  Cover Design by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Cover Image by: Eric Battershell Photography

  Model: Kevin Hassam

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  So many women spend their lives dreaming of their wedding day. Their mother’s dress. The walk down the aisle. The disgustingly perfect bouquet.

  Yeah, that’s not me. I don’t believe in the idea that love is more than a complex chemical equation with an expiration date. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s a curse.

  But I have a secret...

  A weakness...

  A mistake...

  Nox Casey is rock star gorgeous. Broody, blue eyed and built, he’s a fallen god among mortals. And he’s driving me crazy. When he looks at me science goes out the window. When he speaks my body catches fire like Hendrix’s guitar. And when he plays me...

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  THIS RADIO LOVE EXCERPT

  OTHER BOOKS

  HOW TO STALK ME

  PROLOGUE

  Wine slaps the side of my glass, tumbling over the edge and down my fingers, along the inside of my wrist as he backs me into the wall. His mouth curves like a woman in orgasm, his blue eyes are heavy lidded, the pupils blown.

  My pulse races, and I drag him against me. Hard muscles and heat are packed into a nice pair of worn jeans and a linen shirt. One of his legs slides between mine. The denim is a rasp of fine sandpaper on my skin, giving me a mind full of another type of friction I’m desperate for.

  “Do you come here often?” He has this voice, kind of rough, overlaid with deep sensuality, and it wraps itself around my core as his dark stubbled jaw tickles my cheek.

  The guy, his name is something I can’t remember, puts his mouth to my ear. His breath flutters on my skin, his lips a caress, and my brain is on overload with the sensations running rampant inside me.

  “No.” Turning my face, I seek out his mouth. I want his kiss almost as much as I want to get my hand in his pants.

  Grasping my hips, he shifts me tighter against him. Those soft jeans don’t hide the hardness underneath them. It prods my thigh and liquid fire pools in my panties.

  “Let’s get a room?” He makes a soft groan, barely audible above the din in this casino bar.

  The scent of citrus and spice makes my mouth water. “Stop talking and kiss me.”

  One of his hands slaps the faux log wall behind me as he pitches his whole body to mine. The rubbing of linen against the silk of my dress makes my nipples ache and pucker. I whimper as he drags his mouth from my ear to my lips. It starts out slow and cool. His lips trace mine, a gentle nip to my bottom lip. Then his tongue slides over my parted lips to dig into my mouth. It turns hot, heady. My fingers bite into the flesh of his shoulder, my leg slides higher on his, opening me up for more of the delicious pleasure that makes this about being as close to another person as possible. Inside them even.

  Okay, hold up.

  Pause there.

  He’s gorgeous, right? I mean sure, who knows if he has a personality. He could be the most boring sod on earth, or he could be one of those guys whose only commitment is to how many women he can bang in any one given week. But those blue eyes, that perfect set of abs —I got my hands on them a few minutes ago, so sue me. Like you wouldn’t have. His demanding touch, and the rather sizable bulge he’s toting is definitely worth swooning over.

  See this right here? This is the problem with relationships. You meet someone, you’re attracted to them. Your body gets flooded with all these awesome hormones. Everything about the other person is amazing. That’s love, right?

  Nope. Wrong. That’s lust. That’s your body’s reaction to pheromones, and if you ever took a biology class then you know that those pesky little pheromones are for one reason and one reason only. To populate with good genetic material. It’s not about connection. It’s not some mystic neon sign telling you you’ve found Mr. Right. There is no happily ever after here.

  Love is another beast entirely, and even if you do find it there is no guarantee it will last. Sure, thinking the sun shines out of your boyfriend’s ass probably helps. I mean, if you can overlook the other person’s failings, then sure, that makes developing real, deep emotions easier, but what happens when the chemical high wears off?

  We fight it. We’ve been programmed to believe that love is the stronger connection. We’re not talking family and friends here, people. Sure you’ve spent most of your childhood with the same group of Homo sapiens. You’ve put up with them, been put up with, and at the end of the day there’s not much that will change that. But we’re talking about romantic love, the happily ever after, body on body, let’s make babies type love.

  I’m sorry to be the one to break up your Disney princess fantasy, but love like that doesn’t exist. We don’t get to spend the rest of our lives with one person. The sex won’t always be fantastic. And the cute way they have of talking in their sleep is going to get old real fast.

  Honestly, the chances of finding that special someone, that other half of our whole, the one who completes us for the rest of our lives isn’t in our favor.

  A study determined that three million first dates happen each day. That’s three million chances on any one day that any woman might be lucky enough to come face to face with the love of her life. Three million chances, can you imagine, and yet something like seventy percent of couples break up within the first year. Sure, after that the chances of breaking up goes down. For the couples still together after five years the percentage drops to twenty. Good odds, you’d think, but that’s still one in five.

  One in five.

  And that’s not including those relationships that wouldn’t survive if they were honest with each other. Twenty-two percent of the world population have cheated on the person they supposedly love. Only eight percent will admit it though. And these are the statistics, if only eight percent will admit it to their partner, how many won’t admit it to those running the analysis reports? That number has to be higher, don’t you think?

  But sometimes, ve
ry rarely, we do manage to find that person who we can stand for the next fifty or sixty years. Only four out of five couples will come close, but the real number of those who make it… nobody knows.

  Some of you won’t believe me. I bet right now you’re saying, but my man would never cheat on me. He wouldn’t lie to me about anything. He’s the man of my dreams, and I know that we’re going to be together for the rest of our lives.

  Well, maybe that’s true, and maybe it isn’t.

  And some of you are thinking, maybe this chick has a point. So what do you do if you’re starting to get that gut sinking feeling your man isn’t all you thought he was? What if you’re thinking, I see your point, and I’m concerned that I’m destined for heartbreak?

  You come to me, of course. The Anti-Cupid. I’ll help you discover whether your relationship is built for a lifetime, or if it’s time to get out.

  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have quite the sexy man to unabashedly grope in public.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I’ve never been to Vegas. Never gambled in a casino.

  I’ve never played the odds, given lady luck the time of day, or believed in fate.

  And I’ve never married a stranger in a drunken moment of lust either.

  That would be ludicrous. Preposterous... “I do.”

  BECK

  Peeling open one tacky, gritty eyelid, I catch sight of white ceiling. Where am I? Could be anywhere, except Liv and I were at a craps table at some point in the last twenty-four-ish hours. Give or take an ish. It’s blurry and blindingly bright, and I slam my lid closed with a groan while I throw an arm across my face. Christ, did we end up in Vegas? How much did I drink last night?

  My skin is sticky with dried sweat despite the constant background hum of what is most likely an air conditioner. A high thread count sheet, the type that is so soft it might as well be silk, clings like luxury sandpaper to my dehydrated skin. And what the heck is that overly warm weight on my hip?

  It feels, oh Christ, it almost feels like—dare I say it when I don’t want to think it—a hand? Is it a hand? Somebody’s hand? I lift the sheet slowly, carefully, not wanting to wake up the hand. Oh shit! It’s attached to a wrist. Nice watch though. Huge, classic face on a thick, tan leather band. I jam one eye shut and wince as my gaze follows that wrist to a forearm. Masculine, tanned, lightly dusted with gold hair until the elbow. Oh my freaking goodnight, is that his dick that I spy through the space between his arm and my body? He’s naked? And that’s his cock? It’s definitely his cock. His big, thick, erect cock with quite the proportional helmet. Did I ride that last night?

  I scramble to get away from the humongous boner. Thump.

  “Ouch,” I whisper, rubbing at my bare ass cheek as I sit up on the floor beside the bed. Is that my naked ass cheek? I glance down. Oh shit! My boobs are swaying in the wind. Just hanging out for all the world to see. There’s not a stitch of clothing on me. Grabbing the edge of the white sheet, I rip it off the bed and wind it around my naked body as I climb to my feet. Please don’t be awake. Please don’t be awake, Mr.…?

  Why don’t I remember his name? Christ, that body. All bronze and muscles and shaggy hair that’s fallen over his face. Not too long, not too short. The type of hair that makes women envious and looks good from bed until bed again. And those eyelashes are insane, dusting his cheeks. He’s like a cover model. Or a rock god. His lips move lightly with each breath he takes. His eyelids flicker. His morning wood bobs against his stomach as he rolls onto his back. I hide my eyes behind my hand and stumble away from the bed. I need water. Painkillers. To get out of here before Mr. whoever he is wakes up.

  The bathroom is almost as big as the main room with its orgy sized shower and separate tub. Glass tiles break up my reflection and spin it back at me. Thick black smudges around my eyes make me look like a panda, and is that a hickey on my shoulder? Another on my neck? Why is my bra hanging from the rainwater showerhead?

  I step inside the shower to retrieve my bra and accidentally knock the water on. The icy blast makes me yelp and almost fall out of the stall in my haste to get away from it. Dizziness gives me a head rush that makes my stomach defy gravity as part of last night rushes me.

  “These tits are amazing.” My back against the tiles, my hands caged above my head in one of his, he nibbles my shoulder and grapples with the hooks on my bra before peeling the wet lace from my skin and hooking it over the corner of the square shower head.

  Gripping my hip tight enough to bruise, he growls. “Can’t believe how much you teased me all night, and now you’re mine. I’m going to fuck you all over this hotel room.”

  “Please.” I jerk forward and lock my lips with his, eager and desperate for that hardness pressed to my entrance. Want to feel it inside me. His mouth is hot on mine, his jaw rough, and I love the way it makes me shiver when it scrapes against my skin. “Less words. More actions.”

  “All right. All right.” He grins as he presses all those mouthwatering angles and planes against me. “Are you always this bossy? Because it’s a fucking turn on, Beck Casey.”

  Beck Casey? I turn off the water. Did I give him a false name? Putting on my bra, I latch the clasp and straighten the straps. Aliases aren’t exactly new to me, but come on, half a fake name? There’s something pathetic about the half-assed attempt that doesn’t gel.

  Groaning, I lean against the sink, clutching the marble counter with one hand while I put my head under the tap and turn it on. Water runs down my cheek and my chin. What on earth happened last night to make me spend the night with a stranger? A hot, stunning, obviously utterly screwable stranger, but still...

  Liv would say you only live once, and any first is a good first. Vegas for starters. Craps. This bizarre morning after… I splash water on my face and scrub at the thick smears of makeup around my eyes. After what? What else did we do?

  I take a couple of breaths while I turn off the tap and pick up my black panties that are draped over two empty champagne flutes. Another partial memory clicks into place as I pull them on.

  “How did I get this lucky?” he asks, taking my half-empty glass of champagne and setting it with his at the back of the sink. After lifting me onto the counter, he strips off his unbuttoned white shirt and hooks his hand in the back of his T-shirt. Pulling it up over his head, he tosses it over his shoulder.

  “Good Lord.” I fan my hand in front of my chest. He’s gorgeous. Blue eyes and shaggy brown hair that’s got a little blond in it, a little caramel under the lights. What would it be like in the sun?

  “You like what you see, Angel?” He grasps my knees and pulls me right to the edge of the counter, making me yelp. I death grip the marble border to keep my balance as he leans in to slide those firm, seductive lips up the side of my neck.

  “Like would be a little underexaggerated,” I whisper. His actions make me breathless and I rub my thighs against one another.

  “Feeling’s mutual, Beck Casey.” He grasps my chin and moves his lips over mine before digging his tongue between them. My knees fall wide so he can move closer. Firecrackers explode behind my eyelids, travel up and down my spine. The man can kiss like nobody’s business.

  I dig my fingers into his shoulders as he tilts me back. His torso is pressed to my chest and my nipples are spiking my bra hard, and he’s pitching the front of his jeans so tightly I’d be surprised if there wasn’t an outline of his fly on his cock. If he keeps kissing me like this, I’m a goner. “You should take off those pants, Mister.”

  “Absolutely,” he agrees, helping me wiggle out of my panties and dropping them behind me. “Right after I take care of my woman.”

  Giggling, I guide his mouth back to mine. “Can’t believe you called me your woman. We barely know each other.”

  “Feels right though, eh?” He grins widely and somewhat crookedly, one side of his mouth lifting higher than the other.

  I fall into his blue eyes. Biting my lip, I rest my head against his chest as he strokes my hip, then
my thigh. Nothing is supposed to feel this real, especially in a night. “It feels perfect.”

  “Know what else will be perfect, Beck Casey?” he asks, his gaze growing darker with just the right amount of impatience and desire.

  “What?” I wind my arms around his neck.

  “This.” He pushes my thighs further apart as he lowers to his knees in front of me and blows a warm breath between my legs.

  “Oh.” My eyes roll back in my head as he puts his mouth to me, pulling my hips forward and tilting me backwards. I knot my fingers in his hair, my new ring glinting much brighter than the ones on my right hand.

  What? Hold up! Just wait one second. I flip my hands over. Good Lord, did I somehow put the wrong ring on the wrong finger? And did it accidentally grow a diamond? Right hand; garnet and gold ring that my dad gave me for my twenty-first birthday, silver Claddagh from Liv from when we hit ten years of friendship, pearl and titanium engagement ring from my mother’s first marriage. Left; wire ring from Liv that she gave me when we were ten, back before money became part of her identity, and the tiny sapphire pinkie ring I had to have. Phew, everything is where it’s meant to be. Except this whopping big princess cut diamond.

  Princess cut? Whopping big diamond? Oh hell no. It’s stuck too. No amount of twisting is moving this thing from the base of my ring finger. Engagement ring? Did I somehow end up engaged last night?

  Stumbling out of the bathroom, completely focused on the ring, I whack my knee into the coffee table. I stare down at the glass top and my bruised knee. Whoa. Deja vu.

  Climbing onto the glass topped table, I stretch like a cat, arching my back and then sticking my ass in the air as I stare at him over my shoulder. I’m still a little wet from the shower. Sex and soap scents the air.

  “Fuck, that’s a view,” he says, coming up behind me. He’s still naked from the shower, his skin glistening with water droplets. They bead at the end of his hair and in his scruff too.