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

  “Okay? I can’t believe you did this for me.” My grin is huge. So fucking huge. A weight lifted off me that I didn’t realize was quite so heavy until she came along and plucked it away. Better, I didn’t have to ask my siblings to help. Didn’t have to burden them with shit I couldn’t handle.

  “I...” She darts a glance at the horizon as though she’s expecting a storm to be gathering there. She ducks her head as though anticipating it will break over top of her as she says, “You’re a good man, Nox, and I care about you, and I just wanted to help.”

  “You do, huh?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I like the sound of that, Mrs. Casey.” I squeeze her shoulder, though I wanna pick her up and spin her around. Kiss her in front of all these people. First the oranges and then her admission. Makes my chest warm.

  “Oh. I didn’t mean...” She swats my shoulder, and I capture her other hand while she blushes the prettiest shade of pink. “I was saying of course I want to help.”

  “But you said you cared.”

  “Like a friend. In a friendly way. In the way I might care about anyone I meet.” Her eyes are huge, doe-eyed. Her gaze flicks about, not quite landing any place.

  “Come here.” I wind my fingers around her wrist and pull her away from the group. We cross the aisles of trees, heading to the furthest part of the grove. Away from the people and the noise and the oranges still hanging like fat little baubles.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  Stopping at the last tree, I pull her between it and me. Her back up against the bark, I grip the trunk on one side of her, rest my other arm above her head. Voices waft toward us from the group, but they’re faint. Far away enough that no one can see us or hear us if we’re quiet. “It’s okay to admit it.”

  “Admit what?”

  “That you want something you like to believe you don’t need.”

  “But I don’t want anything,” she says, even as her body arches closer to mine and her tongue glistens her lips. “Except for your signature.”

  “On those damn papers,” I agree, running a hand up the outside of her leg from her knee to her hip. The papers that have been sitting on my bench since they arrived. The ones I refuse to open or read. Especially after she told me why it’s so important to her. Because what she really wants is for me to prove her wrong.

  “Exactly.” She winds her leg around me, her heel pushing into my calf. Small hands spread across my chest.

  I bow my head to hers. “Our lives are entwined for better or worse and I happen to like it like that. I like the way you want me even though you can’t admit it. Headstrong or shy. Either way works for me.”

  “I can admit it, but it’s still completely irrational.” She twists her head to the side, giving me access to her neck. “Human nature. That’s all.”

  “It’s a fucking turn on is what it is.” I nip her skin at the juncture of her shoulder, breathe in her sweet and yet slightly tart scent. “If we were alone...” I grasp her ass and pull her tight against me “...I’d have these cute little shorts you’re wearing down around your ankles. Your panties too. And I’d show you how much I like the fact that you care about me and you wanted to help.”

  She gasps, and her breasts push against my chest. Tight diamond points form under the thin cotton of her top. “But we’re not alone, so you won’t, will you?”

  Can’t help teasing her a little. Let my fingers graze up and down her side. “You don’t want me to make you come with my fingers? Don’t want my rough hands on your skin, making you hot, making you see stars?”

  “Oh God.” She whimpers in my ear as her hands grip my hair and hold me close.

  “I know how much my fingers turn you on. Rough calluses.”

  She breathes in sharply, her leg tightening at my hip. “Skilled, agile digits.”

  “Flexible. Able to touch you exactly how you like.”

  A low moan breaks from her lips. “You know how to play me.”

  It’s so tempting to ignore everything but the desire to touch her the way she wants me to. I love that I have this effect on her. My chest puffs up and my cock stiffens. I skim the bare flesh between her shorts and top and she starts to pant. The warm sliver of flesh quakes with my touch as I slip the tips of my fingers beneath the waistband of her shorts. “All I would have to do is slide this hand into your panties.”

  “Nox.” She says my name like a plea.

  Makes me feel like a god. I wriggle my fingers lower. Slide a digit through her wetness and around her clit. “Going to want to hear you say my name again, Angel.”

  “Nox, stop.” Beck shoves both hands into my shoulders, pushing hard. It leaves me reeling for a moment. I want to tell her that when I told her to say my name I didn’t mean like that. Then the voices break in.

  “Have you seen Beck? Wanted to tell her we were done with that side of the orchard.”

  “Yeah, we’re done with our side too.” That’s West’s voice. “She’s not with the others? Maybe she went back to the cabin.”

  “I saw Nox a little while ago. Maybe she’s with him.” Another voice chimes in. “He’s your guitar teacher, right?”

  “Right,” West speaks again. “They’re friends. I’ll text him and tell him we’re finished.”

  “Great, bro.” Footsteps trudge away from us.

  “She’s hot.” Another of West’s friend’s comments, and Beck makes a funny little noise as she covers her mouth. I try not to smirk but he’s right; she is. And she’s my wife. And maybe I could be one lucky bastard if I could make her mine in more than name.

  “She’s fine all right.” Someone else picks up the conversation. More footsteps move closer to our hiding spot. “That rack, man. That ass. There’s no way they’re just friends. He has to have tapped that.”

  I growl under my breath. Cuss. Should go out there and tell those boys not to talk about her like that. But I’m half hard and I don’t want to put more wood on their fire. One of them spots me like this and they’re going to have some evidence to their theory.

  Beck makes a face and winds an arm around my waist, keeping me close. Rubbing up against me in a way that doesn’t help.

  “Shut up, Julian,” West grumbles.

  “All I’m saying is that we could all use a friend like that,” this Julian kid calls out and the group laugh as they head out of the grove without spotting us.

  There are still other people in the grove. Other voices. So I don’t hold onto her when she pulls away from me. But I do help her brush the bits of tree debris from her back.

  “You didn’t tell me,” she says. “Why do you hate the oranges so much?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Romance is a sexy man, fixing furniture.

  Without mentioning how incompetent you are.

  Because you couldn’t follow directions.

  #hottip. Have a bucket handy to catch the drool.

  BECK

  Nox doesn’t answer, but his face says a lot. The way his brows draw close together across his normally clear blue eyes that darken, and he scrapes his hair back from his face uneasily suggests it’s more than a dislike of citrus. My heart gives a funny little start. “You don’t have to tell me. Forget I asked.”

  A few of the pickers move toward us toting bags and gardening gloves. They wave as they pass. A couple stop to say goodbye. Pretty quickly after that it’s him and me again. I almost want to go back to that spot under the tree with his hands on me and his filthy words in my ear. I’m not sure I want to know why he hates these trees.

  He glances around at the bare fruit trees. A heavy breath shifts his chest and his shoulders slump. “Were you aware some people believe that orange trees are a symbol of a strong relationship?”

  I’m the wrong person to ask that question. All I see is branches and leaves. “That’s a lot of importance to place on a tree.”

  “Yeah, I thought so.” He shakes his head and shoves his hands deep in his pockets. “They weren
’t my decision. But the woman I was with...she wanted them. She kept on about them and how they were a symbol of our relationship.”

  “So you gave them to her?” I rub at my arm, goose bumps forming on my skin. Did he ever think about giving her the ring that was on my finger that night in Vegas before I lost it? Was she meant to have it and him, and I somehow ended up ruining his life?

  “I gave her a lot of things,” he says. “Too many things. And she took everything I gave and then some. But she left me with this symbol. And the oranges that start to rot when I don’t have time to deal with them because I’m still trying to put my life back together.”

  “You’re not over her?” I ask, and I don’t know why, because it shouldn’t matter. But it does. The idea pinches and claws at my gut. Jealous stabs of insecurity that shouldn’t be there at all because I don’t want him to be free to care for me. It would be better for both of us if he didn’t. Especially when I can’t stop these emotions that are developing inside me.

  “We were together for a long time. We got engaged. I thought we were going to be together forever.” He exhales deeply, and it’s tinged with regret. “She wasn’t who I thought she was though. In the end. She caused a lot of damage.” He grasps my hand. “She cleared out my bank accounts. Left me in a bunch of debt. Destroyed what was left of Casey Records because her boss wanted the land it was on.” He lifts my hand to his chest and settles it there. “But I’m not bitter over her. And I’m not messed up because she left. She didn’t ruin everything. You can trust me on that, Angel.”

  I peer at my hand on his chest, the one that should wear his ring, and up into his eyes. He’s focused only on me, like he’s trying to tell me more than what he’s saying. That he’s hoping I might catch his meaning through osmosis. Like he’s telling me he saved the best for me. Dropping my hand, I ask, “You didn’t give her Casey Records?”

  “Couldn’t do it. Couldn’t give her my dad’s life work. He might have left it to me, but it belongs to my family. And after everything I’ve put them through... I’m going to rebuild it. I’m going to take what’s left of it and turn it into something my father would be proud of. Something my siblings can be proud of. I won’t let them down again. I just need time.”

  “That’s why you work so much isn’t it?” Working himself to the bone to put his life back together. Because he believes it’s his fault that Casey Records is gone. Because he blames himself. Takes responsibility for everything.

  “Mostly I’ve been playing catch up.” He smiles, his gaze lightening as he walks toward the cabin. “But things are starting to fall into place.”

  “What things?” I fall into step with him.

  “Hopefully in the next few months I’ll be able to start fixing up the property,” he says. “Restore the building. We still have the equipment. I still have contacts in the industry.”

  “I’ll help,” I say. “If I can. If there’s anything I can do.” Even if I won’t be here. Even if I still have to find a way to make him let me go before we’re both in this too deep. “I can talk to my editor about some promotional articles. We could run a series about Casey Records. Get interviews with some of the musicians who worked with your dad. Start a fundraising page. I bet Sophie would help if you asked her to.”

  He stops to stare at me. “You’re amazing. You know that?”

  “What? What did I do?” I ask. I’m not suggesting anything amazing. Or offering him the money to do it. Although if I had it I might with the way he’s staring at me. Like I’m the only woman he could ever see.

  “You’re smart. And you’re sweet.” He comes nearer. Picks up my hand and places a kiss to my palm. “And you’re beautiful. Marrying you might have been the best decision of my life.” He glances back at the orange grove. “Maybe the trees aren’t so bad after all either.”

  “Still pretty sure the marriage shouldn’t have happened.” My heart skips all over the place. “And they’re still just trees.”

  “Yeah.” His eyes crinkle, and he smirks. “But now when I look at them I’m going to think about my wife and how much she cares about me.”

  “I do not.” I slap his chest, but I can’t quite bring myself to make the words sound convincing.

  He cups the nape of my neck as he lowers his face to mine. The heat of his breath tickles my lips and they buzz with the need to be pressed to his. He graces my mouth with his in an easy kiss. The kind that should last for an eternity because every moment of it is tender. His tongue slides along mine while his hold on me tells me he could take whatever he wanted. That he always could. That the only choice I’ve ever had in this is when I will admit to myself that I could fall for him.

  When he draws away, I run my fingers over my swollen, tender lips. I immediately miss his presence and the warmth of his kiss. How much more will I miss it when our time is up?

  “It’s okay,” he says. “We have plenty of time.”

  He’s wrong though. We don’t. I have less than a month to talk him into signing the papers or we’ll still be married at the two-year mark. And if that isn’t tempting fate, I don’t know what is.

  It’s Sunday morning, and I’m sitting cross-legged on the couch nursing my coffee while Nox crouches over the pieces of the busted coffee table. It’s the first morning he’s been home when I’ve woken up since I moved in. Hollander is perched on the back of the couch behind my head, his giant paws kneading the cushion. Every now and then he swats at my hair like he wants to remind me that he’s there.

  “Tell me about this curse,” Nox says while he examines the ends of a couple of the pieces.

  After the stupid thing collapsed when he walked out days ago, I’d dragged it all outside and dumped it in a pile. I’d also tossed the manual. But this morning he hauled it all back into the living room. Shifting my cup to one hand, I scratch the tip of my nose. “There isn’t much to tell. Curses aren’t real. Karma isn’t real. I didn’t do something hideously bad in a past life, or at least I don’t think I did. It’s my family’s urban legend.”

  “Maybe it’s not real.” He looks up at me as he pulls a little bag of screws and a screwdriver out of his back pocket. “But I think you do believe in it. Or you’re at least worried that it might be true. What you told me about your brother. And your parents. Humor me?”

  “Okay.”

  “But first come down here.” He hands me a table leg and part of the frame as I slide onto the floor beside him. “I need you to hold these two pieces together.”

  There’s something about watching a man, who isn’t my brother, put together furniture, which is fascinating and new for me. It makes my heart pitter-patter and my insides tighten. His big hands and tight biceps flex in such a manly way. I can’t rip my gaze off them.

  “Go on,” he says.

  “Right.” I swallow to clear all the excess saliva pooling in my mouth. Almost need a bucket. “Well, according to my grandmother it all started because of her sister. Patty was the kind of girl who loved love.”

  “Nothing like you then,” he says, a twinkle in his eye.

  “No, nothing like me. Grandma says that Patty used to fall in and out of love every other week. She was stunning of course, and the boys used to flock to her. They’d buy her things and take her out dancing or whatever. She was never without a beau. And then she got a job as a receptionist, where she met James Carter. He was older than her by several years. Worldly, sophisticated, and her boss. She fell instantly in love with him. Grandma says that she tried to warn her about him, that a lot of people did, but Patty wouldn’t listen.”

  Nox takes the finished section and hands me another leg and piece of frame. “So she fell in love with a man her family didn’t think was right for her?”

  “No, it was more than that. She fell in love with a married man. She didn’t know that when it started though. Grandma always says that Patty was heartbroken when she found out. They’d been seeing each other for six months when she learned that he had a wife. Patty promised G
randma she wouldn’t see him again, but...”

  “Sometimes it’s not that easy to turn off what our heart wants,” Nox says, and there’s a softness in his voice that makes my stomach clench. The more time we spend together the harder it is to ignore how my heart reacts to him.

  “I guess so, because they carried on their affair. He told her he was going to leave his wife. That he wasn’t in love with the woman. That he would marry Patty as soon as he could work out how to tell his wife. And get a divorce. But that she would have to be patient as the woman had left her family in Romania to be with him, and he felt guilty that she would have no one to turn to.”

  Nox hands me the next pieces of the coffee table, the frame taking shape. He’s so good with his hands, and so patient with me. Building this crappy coffee table when he hates it. When he’s working fifteen hours a day and the last thing he should have to do is come home to work on projects that are my fault.

  “Anyway, the wife found out before he could tell her. She walked into his office with plans to celebrate their second wedding anniversary and found him and Patty doing the deed. She was so angry she started breaking things and screaming at them in her native tongue. James called security to escort her out, and as the two guards dragged her from his office she looked daggers at Patty and cursed her. She told her she would only have two years of happiness, the same amount of time that this woman had spent as James’s wife. After that the one she loved would be ripped from her hands. Her family would suffer like she suffered. Her family name would be cursed with the same fate. Patty told Grandma it was bone chilling the way this woman stared at her as if she was dead and intoned the same thing over and over.”

  “What happened with Patty and James?” Nox asks, putting the screwdriver down and picking up the frame of the coffee table to turn it over.

  “Nothing at first. James started divorce proceedings. That took a while. Patty stood by him. Once that was done, he asked her to marry him. By this point the curse had become a laughable story. No one took it seriously. Patty said yes and planned their wedding. I don’t know if she chose the date she did as a giant screw you to the woman, but they were set to get married on the second anniversary of their first meeting. Patty stood at the front of that church in her white lace dress waiting for him for hours. He never showed up. He’d died in his sleep. Had a heart attack. Patty was heartbroken. Inconsolable. A couple of weeks later she overdosed on sleeping pills her doctor had prescribed to help her rest.”