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    Painted Bride: Best-Dressed Series, #2
    Painted Bride: Best-Dressed Series, #2
    Painted Bride: Best-Dressed Series, #2
    Ebook133 pages1 hour

    Painted Bride: Best-Dressed Series, #2

    By Suzanne D. Williams

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    About this ebook

    He rolled over on his side, facing her, and took her head in his hands. "You're good at way more than pool. I don't know why anyone ever rejected you, but I want to say this up front. No matter who you are, I want you here."

     

    Haydn Fabrinni is a spoiled rich boy used to getting his way. But growing up with a silver spoon in his mouth has definite drawbacks, especially when a girl he doesn't like determines to put his ring on her finger.

     

    Upset and willing to do anything to get out of it, he makes his rashest choice yet. He challenges a stranger, a woman obviously out to make a buck, to a game with extremely high stakes. If he wins, she agrees to marry him.

     

    Marcy Gregg had a difficult upbringing. After running from her last foster home, she took up pool as a way to survive. But she's not prepared for Haydn's skill at the table, the sparks that quickly bring them together, or the secret of her past that threatens to tear her new life apart.

     

    Book 2 of 2 in the BEST-DRESSED SERIES by best-selling author, SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSuzanne D. Williams
    Release dateMay 1, 2016
    ISBN9781533777867
    Painted Bride: Best-Dressed Series, #2
    Author

    Suzanne D. Williams

    Best-selling author, Suzanne D. Williams, is a native Floridian, wife, mother, and photographer. She is the author of both nonfiction and fiction books. She writes a monthly column for Steves-Digicams.com on the subject of digital photography, as well as devotionals and instructional articles for various blogs. She also does graphic design for self-publishing authors. She is co-founder of THE EDGE. To learn more about what she’s doing and check out her extensive catalogue of stories, visit http://suzanne-williams-photography.blogspot.com/ or link with her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/suzannedwilliamsauthor.

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      Book preview

      Painted Bride - Suzanne D. Williams

      CHAPTER 1

      THE NUMBER ON THE SCREEN flashed at him for the twelfth time, and once again, he ignored it, with a grimace, flipping the phone over on the table. It continued to vibrate, even louder in fact, an annoying sound that made the throb in his skull more pronounced. He squeezed his head with one hand, ruffling his blond hair into spikes.

      He had himself in a mess this time. She thought ... actually thought he’d proposed, and so she’d been telling everyone they knew. His friends. Her friends.

      She misunderstood. She had to have. Because though he couldn’t remember it, the very thought of putting a ring on her finger, being hitched to her, sent him reeling. And drinking.

      Haydn Fabrinni curled his hand around the empty glass and signaled for a waitress. She appeared from nowhere, leaning her weight on one fleshy hip.

      Another, he said.

      She pranced away, and he barely registered her return, except to drain the glass again. The scrape of a chair on the other side of the table raised his gaze.

      What’s her name? the girl said.

      She leaned an elbow on the table, the sleeve of a snug-fitting leather jacket riding up enough to give him a glimpse of a tattoo, what looked like a sun.

      Jackie, he replied. Jacquelyn Blythe.

      She nodded her chin toward his downturned phone. That’s call number, what? Five?

      Since I got here, he said. That she’d been observing snaked through him, but then maybe she was bored.

      Tell me. Why’s a handsome man like you ignoring Jacquelyn Blythe?

      Haydn’s senses heightened. What was this woman’s game? He pulled himself up straighter in his chair. Why’s a pretty woman like you sitting at my table? he asked.

      She smiled and pillowed her chin in her hand. You look like you need a friend.

      "I need to get rid of Jacquelyn Blythe."

      She lifted her head and tilted it left. Let me guess. She thinks you’re serious, but where you thought she was nice initially, now you’re suffocating.

      The fact she was right brought a crooked smile to his face, but he didn’t say anything.

      My question is why. Why does ... She paused.

      Haydn, he supplied.

      One eyebrow arched upward.

      My mom was a pianist.

      This answer seemed to suffice. Why does Haydn drink himself into oblivion instead of living a little?

      He focused his gaze on her face. She was uncommonly beautiful. Blonde hair fell in waves around an oval face set with two deep brown eyes and gorgeous pink lips. Which made him wonder what she was doing here alone, and subsequently, why she was hitting on him. Never mind she was right. He was depressed and drinking too much, both of which were out of character. But the pressure of Jackie’s big mouth had gotten to him, and frankly, he couldn’t see a way out. How exactly does he tell her no he didn’t propose without creating a riot?

      What did you have in mind? he asked. Taking his mind off of it would be better than the current course he was on.

      The girl stood to her feet and, grasping his arm, dragged him from the table and across the room. His gaze was lost temporarily on the seat of her skin-tight pants and the slender curve of her waist. It shifted upward when she turned and draped her arms around his neck.

      The pace of the song being played didn’t seem to matter. She tucked her head beneath his neck and swayed. There now, isn’t this better? she asked, her breath whisking warm across his skin.

      Better than Jackie. He spoke the words in her ear, and she laughed lightly.

      Jackie doesn’t dance?

      Jackie didn’t dance or wear skin-tight pants or smell as great as this woman did. Her heady perfume drifted up his nose.

      Jackie’s a stuffed shirt, he said.

      And you like to let your hair down. She pulled her head back and one hand drifted to the side of his. Tugging him downward, she pressed their mouths together.

      She tasted as good as she looked, as good as she felt curved against him, and his mind blanked during the moment. Nothing mattered but the caress of their tongues, the moisture of their lips sealed together.

      She pulled back, a spark in her eye. What would Jackie say to that?

      I don’t care.

      She laughed then and detached herself. Let’s do something else Jackie won’t like.

      He had to admit his mind went where it should not. He was male, after all, and they’d just shared the most amazing kiss. But at his expression, she smirked. Pool. You play?

      Did he play pool? That was like asking if there were clouds in the sky on rainy days. He’d lived to play pool at home. His dad, who’d passed away when he was young, had been an avid player with a very nice table in the back room.

      Some, he said.

      She took his hand again and led him to an empty table. "Well, I play some, so what do you say?" She picked out a cue.

      He eyed her. She didn’t look like a pool shark. Then again, he knew nothing about her. Nothing. Not even her name. He selected his own cue. What are the stakes?

      Stakes? Why must we have stakes?

      Because Jackie wouldn’t like it, he said.

      She smiled at that. What do you say then to a hundred bucks?

      One hundred bucks? She wanted to play for money. That meant she was confident in her ability and maybe that she’d planned this. He eyed her.

      What if we make it higher?

      Higher? What do you have in mind?

      What did he have in mind? A thought settled in his head, a crazy thought. He toyed with it. It might work. It not only might work; it would work, and right now, it seemed preferable to Jackie’s yammering. Jackie couldn’t kiss like that. Hell, Jackie didn’t look like that either.

      He sucked in a breath. You hit on me, so I’m going to assume you’re unattached.

      If she was puzzled by his statement, she didn’t show it.

      What do you say to a game of one pocket, winner take all?

      One pocket. Her facial expression said she knew he was way more familiar with pool than he’d let on. The fact she didn’t ask what one pocket was meant that she did, too. She was definitely confident.

      What’s the ‘all’? she asked.

      One grand if you win.

      Her smile stretched wider, and her grip on the cue tightened, though she appeared to struggle to stay calm otherwise. She wanted money.

      "And if you win?" she asked.

      A proposal and you say, ‘Yes.’

      She leaned on one hip. A proposal?

      He stepped forward until the heat from her skin rushed up his neck. She craned her head backward. Yes, you agree to become my wife.

      THE ADRENALIN PUMPING through Marcy Gregg’s veins increased her pulse. Haydn was insane. Marriage? That was his deal? She let his statement settle in the dim atmosphere and tried her hardest not to react.

      He was insane and also apparently loaded. The gold watch and name brand shoes had told her that from the start, but now to offer one grand ...

      One grand would set her up a long way. But marriage? He was insane. He was loaded. He was desperate to get away from this Jackie-creature. He was also incredibly cute. His cuteness had brought her to his table.

      An easy mark, she’d said to herself. Now, maybe not so much. Then again, he had no idea of her skills. He probably thought she was an average girl and hadn’t a clue how to play, or played very little. Plus, he’d been drinking, so she held the advantage. Nine times out of ten she won one pocket without giving the other man a turn.

      An hour tops. She’d beat him inside an hour, be one grand richer, and if she was lucky, naked in his bed. Desperate men always gave her what she wanted. Ordinarily, she didn’t want to sleep with them, but this one ... this one, she did.

      Well? he asked.

      She raised her face, and lips parted, drew him in for another kiss. This one was long and sensual. Hot. Man, he was great.

      "Is that a yes?" he asked after.

      Yes. She heard her own breathy voice and couldn’t believe it. She sounded besotted. By a stranger. She couldn’t be. She had to keep her head on straight. The stakes were too high.

      You break, he said. We play for eight.

      She turned her back on him, her mind in a whirl. If he was letting her break, that meant he thought he knew what he was doing, and that could work in her favor. On the other hand, it could mean he was second guessing this.

      Second guessing? She glanced at him. No, he wasn’t second guessing. He definitely intended to play. Then why let her break? If she wiped the table, he wouldn’t get a chance.

      She backed to the end, aware of a small crowd growing around them. "Left

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