The Misfit Brides Book One
Publishers Weekly Starred Review:
“Farrell marries warmth with tongue-in-cheek wit in this marvelous romantic comedy.”
Welcome To Bliss, the Bridal Capital of the Midwest!
She’s an out-of-place single mother…
Natalie Castellano didn’t have the wedded bliss experience typical of her hometown, but that won’t stop her from ensuring this year’s bridal festival goes off without a hitch. Even if it means she has to play nice with the man who broke her fairy tale.
He’s a thrill-seeking widower…
World adventurer and reluctant local hero CJ Blue doesn’t want to be in Bliss anymore than Natalie wants him here. But family obligations have brought him back, and now, Natalie is using every trick she has to rope him into helping save a tradition he’d rather forget.
And their fun is just starting…
Despite their rocky past, these two wounded souls have more in common than they expect. They’ve both loved and lost, they’ve both tried to move on, and now they’ve both locked up their hearts. But by joining forces for the sake of Bliss, they might find the courage to risk love one more time.
Blissed is available now as an audiobook!
Get your copy at Audible | iTunes | Amazon
CJ latched onto Natalie’s arm and let out a low whistle. “Where have you been playing this morning?”
Let go. She needed to say it. Because Natalie didn’t trust herself with him.
But, dammit, her skin hurt. Raw welts were rising on her hands, worse on her knees and shins, and his grip on her upper arm was confusing her.
Because she didn’t want to break the physical connection.
Her breath came in heavy pants.
“You been rolling in poison ivy or itchweed?” He tugged her arm. “C’mon. Let’s get you hosed down.”
He was grinning, a wicked, I’m-going-to-enjoy-this kind of grin.
Distinctly lacking in that grin? Animosity.
For the first time since she’d seen him face-to-face, he seemed genuinely pleased to see her.
Probably because she was a mess.
Still, this was a bad, bad idea.
“You gonna stand out here all day and wait for someone to see you, or you gonna get in here and quit itching?” he said.
She was going to go. Go to the gas station.
Except her wobbly legs ignored her better judgment and followed him into the Suckers kitchen.
He gestured to an industrial-sized stainless-steel sink with a large sprayer hose hanging on a hook on the ceiling. “C’mon over. This ever happen before?”
She followed him, her movements jerky and itchy and painful, equally suspicious and hopeful that he knew what he was talking about. “Broken out in hives while driving my car?” Her jaw clenched. She hurt so bad. “Yeah. Happens every day.”
“You ever think of starting your day with a smile? Might help that grumpy-head thing you’ve got going on.”
Her chest inflated, and she opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind—her hands and legs were on fire—but he grinned down at her with the orneriest, most self-assured, heart-stopping smile, and her tongue was suddenly as capable of forming sentences as Cindy the Stegosaurus was.
He held her gaze. His smile slipped—his lips still tilted up, but the spark of mischief in his eyes faded, replaced with a curious intensity that magnified with every thump of her heart. She squirmed.
He blinked, and easygoing CJ came back. One hand on the sprayer, the other gestured at her. “Take ’em off.”
“Mm-buh?” she said, with as much class and dignity as it was possible to put into gibberish. Which wasn’t any at all, but she’d made a life of living with her own delusions.
“Strip. Best way to get it all off.” His voice wobbled, as if perhaps he wasn’t as comfortable as he wanted her to think he was.
“Hell, no.” But he was right. She was starting to itch in places he couldn’t see.
Places she wanted him to—no. No.
Places she didn’t want him to see.
Obviously her brain was breaking out in hives too. She pointed to the door. “Leave.”
His eyes took on a stubbornness that reminded her of the man who had driven her father home two weeks ago. “You make a mess in here, I have to clean it up. We’re doing this my way.”
She squirmed. The itch burned higher and higher on her legs, rushing to meet another sensation traveling down her legs that she should’ve been worried about.
Nothing good could come of her attraction to him.
She forbade herself to scratch anything and glared at him. “I’ll go do it myself in the bathroom.”
His nostrils flared. “For God’s sake, Natalie, I have eleven sisters. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before. You want to feel better or not?”
Oh, yes. She wanted to feel better.
She wanted to feel much better.
His eyes darkened. His gaze darted to her lips, then back to her eyes, and something else inside her lit on fire.
Something primitive and womanly and needy.
Something that made her see something primitive and manly and needy burning in his eyes.
As if he could feel it too.
As if he liked it too.
She was imagining things. She hadn’t given this man a single reason to like her. More, him liking her could cause them both more problems than he could understand or anticipate.
But she wasn’t imagining things.
He was looking at her as though he wanted to kiss the argument right out of her.