Pure Wicked (Wicked Lovers #9.5)(38)
Author: Shayla Black

Bristol sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Why are you always right? You were right about Hayden, too.”

Jayla shrugged, her hair in black waves that dipped behind her shoulders. “Because I’m not in the middle of your situation, I can be more detached. Don’t forget how much of an ass I made out of myself about D’Shaun last year.”

Despite the concern swimming in her head, Bristol gave her friend a wry smile. “That was epic.”

“So unless you’re trying to one-up me, I think you should proceed with a whole lot of caution.”

Suddenly, every muscle in Bristol’s body ached as she stood. “Do you mind closing up for me?”

“What are friends for?” Jayla hugged her. “Think carefully. Do what’s right for you.”

Yeah. Now Bristol had to figure out what that was.

* * * *

Jesse emerged from the bedroom and donned his pants, searching the cozy apartment for his phone. He had to record all the new stuff about the song that had rushed through his head while he’d been making love to Bristol. And he supposed he should tell Candia that he might be getting married. Maybe.

Hell, he wished he knew how to convince Bristol that the amount of time they’d known one another didn’t matter and that all the details would work themselves out. He’d help her find a way to either keep her bakery open here or open another elsewhere—or do whatever she wanted. All he cared about was making sure she was happy…by his side, as his wife.

But he understood her hesitation, her need to think things through. He just didn’t like it.

During his search, he spotted the cinnamon rolls she’d left him earlier wrapped in foil. They were still a bit warm, and the icing dripping off them had his mouth watering. If he didn’t love this woman for what was in her heart, he’d probably love her for her baking talent alone.

The first bite made him moan, and he leaned against the counter, head back, eyes closed. All this goodness from Bristol, both her words and her pastries, was good for his soul.

When he opened them again, he spotted his phone across the room on the coffee table. Dashing over to the device, he punched in the security code. His texts popped up. Candia had left him a message about two hours ago.

Morning! I’ve been researching your new girlfriend. Cute. Clean. The press will like her. I had a powwow with some of my peers. We all think she’s good for your image. Announce that she’s your new girlfriend. Or better yet, your fiancée. That will go miles to taking the attention off the crap about Ryan and the Harris girl. If you’re up for it, a real wedding would totally improve the public’s perception of you. I know it’s quick but think about it…

Jesse sucked in a breath. Was she kidding? Ask someone to marry him for show?

Hell no! He wanted Bristol to marry him because he loved her and they would be good together. She would fill his heart, and he would fill her life.

With an impatient growl, he punched up Candia’s contact and hit the call button. After three rings, the call went to voicemail. “Are you crazy, woman? I’m not going to pretend to marry Bristol for my image. I know your job is to worry what people think of me, but that’s fucking out of the question. And over the line. I’m finally in love and I’m grabbing her with both hands. You can either be happy for me and get on board or hop the fuck off the train.”

Jesse hung up and realized that Candia probably thought he’d gone crazy or been whipped by some magical unicorn pussy. But when she met Bristol, his publicist would love her, too. Yes, Candia knew exactly how to spin this to his advantage. She was like a killer shark scenting chum sometimes, and he didn’t expect to curb her instinct, but he wasn’t going to deceive Bristol to make his life easier.

Shoving the thought aside, he dashed to the sofa and quickly recorded the song that had been dancing in his head since making love to Bristol. He could hear the soft build of a steel guitar, something he never used. But it lent the song a heartfelt, somewhat country feel that reminded him of Bristol. The romantic strains of a piano accompanied as the bridge built to the chorus. He hummed where he didn’t yet have lyrics, but the whole melody flowed naturally. It was beautiful and perfect for him.

Just like Bristol.

Yeah, he definitely sounded like he’d been whipped by some magical unicorn pussy. But he’d finally felt a real connection to a woman that didn’t begin and end with his penis. Seeing her smile made him feel warm inside. Hearing her laugh thrilled him. So fucking sue him if he was feeling all Hallmark. He was happy. After over a decade of misery, he couldn’t wait for the next ten years.