The Misfit Brides Book Four
“I stayed up till the wee hours of the morning to finish Sugared because I simply had to. I loved it.” – Maria Geraci, RITA-nominated author of the Whispering Bay Series
When Chicago’s Hottest Snack Cake Heir…
Josh Kincaid went from rags to riches when he was adopted by the family who owns the Sweet Dreams Snack Cakes empire. But now the company is floundering, and Josh will do anything to save his parents the way they saved him. Including using his charm on a small-town wedding cake baker.
Takes on the Misfit Princess of the Bridal Capital of the Midwest…
Kimmie is flighty, she spouts off weird dreams when she’s nervous, and her frizzy hair and fashion sense make her the girl least likely to snare a debonair snack cake heir. But Kimmie can bake a cake that’ll make a grown man cry, and that’s exactly what Josh needs.
They Just Might Find The Recipe for Love
Josh’s plan should be easy, except Kimmie isn’t all cupcake underneath. Her cooperation comes with a price. If Josh wants to save his family’s company, he’ll have to do something he’s never done: be himself.
Cupcakes have never been so terrifying.
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Kimmie straightened the silver cake knife and server, then the cake napkins. When she glanced over to make sure her mother was still adequately distracted, though, she found herself facing a nightmare.
“Nice party,” said Josh Kincaid, aka the nightmare, aka Problem Playboy Number One, aka Half The Stick Up General Mom’s Butt.
She couldn’t help herself. She’d been ducking Josh for over a year.
Except usually she ducked him before he’d seen her, or when she was surrounded by friends, or when she actually had a place to retreat to.
But he’d seen her, her friends were all out on the dance floor, and hiding under the cake table wasn’t an option.
She made a point to not shake cake tables.
Under any circumstances.
“Drop something?” Josh said.
“I had a dream that wallabies were dropping from the sky, except the sky was this big underground tavern lined with wedding invitations made out of butterfly wings.”
Kimmie winced at herself. Not the time for her to get nervous.
His shoes—fancy leather wingtips—didn’t move. Nor did the undoubtedly expensive fabric in his suit pants.
Hallelujah for the music masking her words.
“I mean, yes,” Kimmie said, louder. “Yes. I dropped something. A—a button.” She made a show of duck-walking around him until she was closer to the dance floor, and closer to escape, peering intently at the floor. The air moved behind her.
Josh was squatting between her and the cake table.
His sandy hair was just long enough to be stylishly disheveled, his suit jacket hung open over a thin black tie, and his deep-set blue eyes were trained on her with a spark of mischief quirking his otherwise straight brow and ridiculously perfect lips. “Those wallabies always were trouble.”
Kimmie’s feet tingled. Her inner elbows felt sweaty, and her belly fluttered.
He was the most handsome nightmare she had ever met.
Not that she was the only woman to ever think so. Nor would she be the last. And the Josh Juan—a step above Don Juan—had his pick of sophisticated, elegant, presentable, normal ladies.
Kimmie bolted upright. Her mother would crush Kimmie’s coriander if she knew how much time Kimmie had spent thinking about the Josh Juan. “Never mind. It’s not important.”
Josh ambled to his feet. “Depends on which button you lost.” His gaze rose with him—slow and captivating with a hooded laziness that made Kimmie feel something pulse between her legs and that made the fabric of her simple blue dress feel invisible. Lava erupted in Kimmie’s cheeks. She had her fair share of inexperience when it came to men and nudity, but it definitely sounded like the Josh Juan was talking about her dress falling off.
A rare burst of irritation flared in her veins.
He, after all, was the reason General Mom had stepped up her efforts to marry Kimmie off to the highest bidder.
Or, failing that, whoever would take her.
And that whoever wouldn’t be Josh. Whatever his reasons for looking at her like he wanted her naked couldn’t be good.
“I—you—who invited you?” she said.
Josh angled his head toward the dance floor. “Serenity.”
Kimmie studied the dancing women. She knew half of them—mostly Bliss natives—but none of the guests in particular popped out at her as a Serenity.
“The flexible one,” he said.
The flexible—oh. Oh.
Kimmie tilted her head.
A short bottle blonde in cowboy boots and a flesh-colored, rhinestoned minidress was dancing a half-limbo without a stick, pelvis out, shoulders shimmying.
Josh tucked his hands in his pockets and treated Kimmie to a slow grin. “Friend of the groom’s, I hear. She needed a last-minute date. And I needed a last-minute invite.”
Serenity swung her body around and did the grind against another guest.
Kimmie sucked her lips into her mouth. She wasn’t the type of girl a guy like Josh went for. And it made her madder than her mother in a vat of sour frosting that she cared what kind of girls Josh liked.
He was that guy who always had a supermodel—or four—on his arm. He never recognized anything unique in a woman. Or curvy. Or weird. Or less than perfect. His family owned the Sweet Dreams Snack Cake empire. He got to wear fancy Italian suits and supermodels because of mass-produced cupcake-wannabes. No art. No beauty. Just the bottom line.
But the biggest reason Josh should’ve been off-limits in Kimmie’s romantic daydreams—he’d accidentally inherited half of Heaven’s Bakery last year. And then he’d committed the grievous sin of keeping his share instead of taking the buy-out General Mom had commanded him to accept.
He was sort of like Kimmie’s boss. And he wasn’t just a thorn in General Mom’s side—he was a whole stinking rose bush. If the rose bush was six feet of hunky, cake-blaspheming, rich playboy.