“What in the fresh hell is this?”

“It wasn’t like this when I was here earlier.” Mason rushed to get the words out, and it made me feel a little better than he sounded as panicked as I felt.

Panic was an understatement. It started as panic when my eyes landed on the big banner that said ‘Congratulations on your Wedding Trish & Mason’, but as I took in the red and white theme perfect for a Valentine’s Day, or Christmas wedding, panic grew to a full on attack.

Panic attack maybe, but more like an anxiety attack.

The walls were decorated with red and white lace hearts, and a kissing couple silhouette acted as centerpieces for all the dining tables. Then there was the food. Three tables piled high with food, and one of them held nothing but meat.

“Is that a wedding cake?” It had three, no four tiers and a couple on top.

It was a damn nightmare come to life. “Looks like uh,” Mason swallowed hard, looking nervous as his gaze landed on what looked like buttercream frosting. “Looks like I was gone a little longer than I thought. It was normal when I left…”

No doubt that was exactly the town’s plan. “I believe you. The citizens of Belle Musique are a sneaky lot. You can’t turn your back on them for one second. That’s why they sent you to come get me.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone else was in on the shenanigans.” Which probably explained why none of my so called friends had greeted me yet.

“Damn.” Mason raked a hand through his hair and blew out a low, overwhelmed breath, but my focus was on the tattooed arm and the muscle flexing with every move. “So what do we do, Cupcake?”

Run. Pack a bag. Change my name and get on a plane to Eastern Europe. That sounded good right about now, but that wasn’t an option, not with my business finally doing so well. Since news of the double wedding broke, internet sales increased by more than forty percent, and another ten percent after Kerry, fresh from her honeymoon, hit the interview circuit and gushed about my engagement and wedding products. This whole marriage thing was good for my bottom line, but terrible, oh so terrible for my peace of mind.

“I don’t know about you, but I plan to fill my empty stomach with all of this delicious food.”

“All of it?” I understood Mason’s skepticism, but I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and the scent of pulled pork with pineapple and habanero barbecue sauce called to me. My tired feet carried me towards the food tables and I was almost there when I was accosted by Aunt Mae in her teal and yellow flowing dress.

“All of it,” I grumbled, accepting Mae’s warm hug.

“Trish, dear, I am so happy for you. For both of you!” She wrapped one of her arms around mine, chattering a mile a minute as I looked over my shoulder where the pulled pork grew further and further away. Dammit. “I was so glad to hear you and Mason were dating, and even happier this marriage was no mistake on my part.” Mae laughed to herself like this was all some big joke. Though I guess from her perspective, it kind of was. Clapping her hands, she held my face in her hands and kissed both cheeks. “Enjoy your evening my little lovebirds.”

Lovebirds. I snorted a laugh to myself at that. Mason and I were a lot of things. Enemies. Lovers. Hot for each other. But lovebirds we were not.

My stomach chose that moment to growl again, and I was grateful for the Top 40 music blasting through the speakers to cover the sound. “Food,” I said to myself and turned with the plan to get back to the food table and stuff my face.

But I was stopped by a big, hard tattooed body holding two plates piled high with food. In that moment he looked almost as good as if he were naked. Almost. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got a little bit of everything.”

Aw, man. Why did he have to look so dazed while he was being so sweet? It took the edge off of any snarky comments I could have made, damn him. My gaze landed on the plates, one had a serving or two of at least eight different side dishes while the other had a bunch of, what else, meat. Front and center, was the pulled pork and my mouth watered.

“Works for me. Thanks,” I told him and gestured for him to sit while I ran to the drinks mini-table and came back in less than a minute.

“Champagne? Are we celebrating?”

I groaned and leaned back against the chair with a pulled pork sandwich in my hands and sighed. “I guess it was stupid to think they wouldn’t react this way.” That thought had me taking a giant unladylike bite, because that’s what any red blooded woman did when faced with overwhelming emotions. She ate them.

“We can just get a divorce, Trish.” His voice sounded resigned, and maybe a little disappointed, which I didn’t quite understand, because it wasn’t like he wanted to be married to me. I didn’t even think Mason did commitment.

Not that it mattered if he wanted to stay married or not, because I had no plans to prolong this relationship. If you could even call it a relationship.

“We could, but when Vivi and Nash tried that, all the lawyers in town were mysteriously absent for the foreseeable future.”

He whistled his shock and leaned back. “Seriously?”

“Yep. They excel at sabotage, and it’s this low-key, slightly intrusive kind of sabotage that doesn’t even allow you to get mad about it.” I refused to get mad about it, because it wouldn’t change anything. What I had to do was be smarter.

“So, obi wan Cupcake, what do we do?” He scooped up a spoonful of jambalaya with a grin. And an erotic moan. “Damn that’s good.”

I licked my lips at the sound of his moan, a thousand different carnal thoughts flashed through my mind, the least of which was me between his legs, his head thrown back with a growl working its way out of his mouth while I made him lose his mind. “Damn,” I whispered to myself and when Mason gave me that knowing look, I played it off. “This is good too.”

“Right.” Yeah, he was right not to believe me, but a gentleman wouldn’t call me out, even with a little hum of disbelief.

“We wait them out,” I told him, changing the subject because that was the coward’s way out, and totally acceptable. “Make them think we’re married and happy and all that junk. This way they won’t be expecting it when we go get a divorce.”

Mason looked skeptical and I understood it why. “I grew up here, Mason. Trust me, if we do this any other way, they will find out and they will sabotage us.”

“You’re sure?” His lips twitched, and I shoved a rib into my mouth, letting the taste of Jack Daniels and barbecue sauce set my taste buds on fire.

“Positive. Totally.” I finished chewing that rib and even though another was calling my name, I decided that I was right. We had to play the happy couple. For now. “So, how was your week honey?”

Mason blinked, pausing like he thought maybe it was a joke. At first. “Good. Mostly. And weird. This town is really nosy.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “You have no idea. If you let them, they’ll ask the most personal questions. A couple days ago, someone asked if I was emotional because it was that time of the month.”

“No!”

“Yep and when I said no, Betty and Mae passed cash between each other, betting on whether I was pregnant or premenstrual.”

He choked on his bite of potato salad, green eyes wide with shock. “They didn’t.”

“They did. So…any exciting tattoos this week?”

He blinked again, confused. “Um, a couple. Why?”

I grinned. “Because this is what husbands and wives do, talk about their day and stuff.”

“And stuff?” I nodded, defiant. “Okay. This guy came in, totally sober, and asked me to tattoo his mom’s face on his belly.”

I frowned. “That sounds weird, but not all that crazy.” I mean, I was sure people came in for all kinds of weird tattoos, I’ve seen them on the internet.

“He wanted the mouth to be his belly button because, ‘She was a dirty whore who spent most of her life with her mouth like this but I love her, ya know?’ His words, not mine.”

I laughed way too hard over that and we managed to talk for thirty full minutes while we finished our food, okay our second set of plates, without arguing. I knew we didn’t have much time alone, so I wiped my mouth and stood with a smile. “Ask me to dance?”

The jerk had the nerve to make me wait while he dragged the final roll through the remaining mixture of barbecue sauce and chewed. So slowly. Finally he wiped his hands and mouth before he stood. Finally.

“May I have this dance, Cupcake?”

I accepted his hand and let him guide me onto the dance floor where we spent the rest of the night dancing. And polishing off that bottle of champagne.

And maybe some of another bottle because, you know, apparently Mason and I aren’t a pair who learns from their mistakes.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into that.” My skin was flush with that slightly invigorated feeling that I hadn’t expected to feel. My legs tingled, specifically my thighs tingled and Mason’s clean masculine scent was wrapped all around me. “I must be drunk.”

Mason laughed and lifted me off his death trap motorcycle, keeping his big hands on my waist because I was too unsteady on my own.

“If you’re drunk off anything, Cupcake, it’s barbecue sauce.” He laughed at his own joke and I smacked his belly, nearly falling over in the process. “I gotcha, wifey.”

“Now I get why you ride this thing.”

“Because it looks and feels cool as hell?”

I laughed again, this time allowing him to take my weight, and absorbing the hot, hardness of him. “No, because every ride is like a mini orgasm.” At his shocked look, I burst out laughing, which turned into a squeal when he hoisted me over his shoulders.

“Tell me more about this mini orgasm of yours.” Mason, the sexy jerk, laughed and smacked my ass. “In great detail.”

If he smacked me one more time it would become a very large orgasm. “Mason, don’t make me kick your ass.”

With another laugh he smacked my ass and climbed the steps to my house. “You and what army, Cupcake? Now open the door before people start talking.” He turned so I was facing the door, and though it took me a minute, I got the door unlocked.

“Put me down!”

“I will. When I’m good and ready.” He punctuated his final word with another slap on my ass. “Damn Cupcake, you got a fine ass!” Another smack.

“Dammit, Mason! You’re gonna pay for that.” I wasn’t in a position of power, dangling over his shoulder, but I said it with as much firmness as I could. Through the laughter.

He did put me down eventually. Right on my bed. “Okay Cupcake, I’m ready to pay.”

When I righted myself, he stood at the foot of my bed with his arms crossed looking hot and intimidating, sexy and tough. Like a whole lotta badass. “You should probably sleep here tonight.” It wasn’t the bold proclamation it sounded like, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought he should stay the night.

“To sell that we’re happily married?”

I could tell my answer mattered to him, because of course it did, because Mason couldn’t just be some big bad tattoo artist, he also had to be sensitive, damn him. So I gave him honesty. “That’s a factor too.” He looked uncertain, and that made me feel uncertain. “But if that’s a problem, take the guest room.”

Mason stood staring at me for so long I began to squirm, uncomfortably. Or maybe it was the intensity of his stare that hit me right on my clit. My throbbing, throbbing clit. Then he toed off one boot and then the other.

“Nope, no problem at all.” His hands tugged up on the hem of his shirt and I froze, breath held as I waited for Mason to reveal the holy hell hotness that was his chest and abs. And arms.

Annnnd, there it was.

“How much do you work out?”

His lips spread into a grin that, under normal circumstances would have just pissed me off, but not now. Now I just wanted to kiss the hell out of that grin. “You like?”

“You know damn well I do.” He let out a deep chuckle that made my nipples harden and I sat up, sticking my chest out at first before I realized I was wearing a plain old Belle Bean t-shirt and nothing could be less sexy. “Are you fishing for compliments my dear husband? Feeling insecure?”

Instead of responding, his deft fingers went to the button on his jeans before tugging on the zipper and shucking his jeans to the floor. The sight of Mason standing there in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, well that was a special kind of heaven. Indeed.

Now it was my turn. If we were gonna do this, and we were, then I had on too many clothes. I sat up and tugged off my shirt, tossing it on the floor beside the bed. The way Mason looked at the swell of my breasts, the way my nipples went hard behind my sheer green bra, made me feel desirable. Like the sexiest woman in the whole world. The bra came off next, and the way his eyes darkened made my breasts feel heavy. Needy.

“Fuck, Cupcake.”

“That’s the general idea.” I leaned back and kicked off my sneakers so I was left wearing just my khaki skirt and matching green thongs. “A little help?”

He knelt on the bed and yanked me closer to him in that hot, forceful way you always hoped a guy would handle you. It was so hot that you didn’t give a damn that a small part of you said ‘hey watch it, buster’. But the part was so small it was easy to ignore. His knuckles brushed the sensitive skin just below my navel as he popped the tab on the button and pulled down the zipper, dragging the skirt and the panties in one fell swoop. “You always have the sexiest panties,” he told me, balling them up under his nose and taking in a huge breath.

“I have a thing for them.”

“So do I now, Cupcake.” He gave me an assessing look that held just a hint of affection and I closed my eyes against that thought. It had no place here with us, in this moment. “You can back out, you know?”

I opened my eyes and my gaze was pulled to the way his cock strained in his underwear. “Not backing out, just calibrating my sanity levels.”

Mason’s deep chuckle sounded, and it warmed up my whole body. “Sanity’s overrated.”

He was right about that, but it wasn’t just my sanity, it was the man. Everything about him just did it for me, and I knew that I was powerless to stop this thing that was happening between us. Not the marriage, just the heat, the chemistry, this impossible desire. It couldn’t be helped. “You know Mason, I think we finally agree on something.”

“Oh, come on, Cupcake, we also agree that things between the sheets are explosive. And we agree that I’m about to make you scream my name.” He was so cocky I wanted to prove him wrong, but what kind of idiot would steal an orgasm from herself?

Not this idiot. I let out a low moan when two of Mason’s thick fingers slipped between my folds in a slow, back and forth motion that set my blood to boiling. “Yes.”

“Feeling talkative?”

I felt everything, but foremost in my mind was anticipation. “I feel like you’re torturing me.”

“I am,” he said smugly and dipped one finger inside me. “Fuck, you’re wet for me already. Hot,” he groaned as he slid his finger in and out, slowly, and dragging his thick finger just to the point of pleasure. “So fucking hot and wet.” He added another finger and I tossed my head back and arched my back, crying out and letting the feel of his thick fingers plunging deep inside me take a hold of me. “Yeah, let go Cupcake.”

And I did, back arched with overheated skin I reached for Mason’s wrist and rolled my hips against his hand, taking as much of him as I could get, and then, sweet hamster on a cracker, his thumb massaged my clit like she was a high paying customer and I let go. All the way. “Mason, yes!”

“Ah, I do love it when you scream my name.” His voice held a laugh that tugged at the corners of my mouth. “And that’s just the first time.”

“That was more of a moan, not a scream.” Yeah, I was splitting hairs, but I had orgasm brain, not no brain.

“And here I was just feeling bad that I didn’t get a taste of my cupcake.” God the way he said dirty things, in that low voice that sounded like he had a drink of whiskey, gravel and honey just before he spoke. “Must be my lucky day.”

“Must be,” I told him, barely dragging myself to a seated position so I could grab his waistband. “Since it’s my turn for a taste and I don’t plan to waste it.” I had his boxer briefs down around his ankles and I slid flat on the bed, taking him as deep as I could.

“Oh fuck! Trish!” He grabbed a handful of my hair, tight, but I didn’t mind not when my muscles clenched between my thighs. And when Mason didn’t thrust as I expected and yeah, kind of wanted, I rewarded him, taking him deeper and deeper still. “Fuck.” The word came out on a low growl as he stepped away, chest heaving and eyes wild. “No more. I need to be inside you. Now, Trish.”

His voice was dark and seductive. “I’m right here, Mason.” With impressive speed, Mason flipped me around and slid deep in one, smooth move. “Yes!”

“Not my name, but it’s a nice start.” He thrust deep. Hard and deep. Oh so deep.

So deep I started making a strange chirping noise I couldn’t control. “Mason, yes!”

“That’s right, Cupcake but I think we can do better.”

And we did do better. So. Much. Better.

Three, no four times.

By the time the sun rose we’d gone at it too many times to count, being creative when we had to be, because we just couldn’t get enough of each other. Well I couldn’t get enough of him and men, they were easy. Sex all night was pretty hard to turn down for most men and sexually speaking, Mason was nothing like most men.

He was insatiable and he was all mine.

At least until we went and got that quickie divorce.