Fool Me Twice Read online

  Fool Me Twice

  a Cartwright Brother Romance

  Lilliana Anderson

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2018 by Lilliana Anderson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Ember Designs

  Editing by Hot Tree Editing and Making Manuscripts

  Created with Vellum

  For the fools who dare

  Contents

  Foreword

  1. Best Night Ever

  2. I Didn’t Come Here to Talk

  3. Complete and Utter Fool

  4. Payment for Services Rendered

  5. Comfort Food and Family

  6. Duchess

  7. To the Man Who Steals Your Heart

  8. Reconnaissance Only

  9. Maybe You Drank Pee

  10. I’m Saving You

  11. There’s Always A Choice, Duchess

  12. Slave to Desire

  13. Air to Breathe

  14. Snitches Get Stitches

  15. It Might Work

  16. No One Touches My Wife

  17. A Sentimental Sod

  18. No Fucking Clue

  19. Begging Duchess

  20. At First Sight

  21. Don’t Leave Out a Thing

  22. A Loveable Rogue

  23. Teach Me

  24. Playing Angles

  25. An Olive Branch

  26. Don’t Keep Your Husband Waiting

  27. The Beast You Are

  28. All On Me

  29. Cash or Cheque

  30. Are They What I Think They Are?

  31. Me Over You

  32. Blanche and Stella

  33. I Know It

  34. Pinch Me

  Also by Lilliana Anderson

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Foreword

  This book was a dream. I woke up one night, laughing from the silliness of it, and the first thing I did was grab my phone and put everything I could remember into notes. I just had to write it. So it went on my list along with everything else I wished I had time for.

  This story had been itching the back of my mind, and I talked about it frequently, eager to work it into my schedule. I couldn’t really find time for it, then I thought fuck it, and shuffled everything to fit it in. And wow, did I have fun writing this book!

  It’s supposed to be funny. It’s supposed to be silly. It’s supposed to be a little out of the realm of possible. The whole point of this story is to have a little fun and get lost in the crazy for a while and swoon a little while an expert lover behaves like the man every woman dreams off.

  If you finish this book smiling, then I’ve done my job.

  I’ll stop talking now. Enjoy!

  Chapter One

  Best Night Ever

  “I can’t believe your cousin themed her hens night pink and black. We look like we’re extras in a shitty stage production of Grease. Or worse, stewardesses on the Barbie Glamour Jet.”

  “Oh, Holland, it’s really not that bad.” Alesha sighed, leaning close to the worn-looking mirror of the club’s bathroom while she carefully touched up her bow-shaped pout. The colour she used was a shade of pink a little darker than the Barbie pink of our outfits. Pink looked great on her. It made me look like I fell in a vat of fairy floss while I got my snack on. Not pretty.

  With my mouth tight, I positioned my bleached-blonde locks over my shoulder and studied my reflection. My most striking feature peered back at me: two very big, round, honey-coloured eyes. In the warmth of the evening, my kohl eyeliner had smudged, giving them a slightly smoky look that I was unable to create on purpose. But I liked this happy accident, and decided to wear pencil eyeliner on hot nights more often. I sucked in my cheeks and turned my head side to side. The rest of my face was super-basic—round with a functional nose and some very average lips—nothing to write home about. I considered applying a fresh coat of lip gloss for something else to do while I waited for Alesha but chose not to. I was just going to drink it all off again, anyway.

  “I don’t know why we let her have outfit approval as well. We could’ve worn all black with pink earrings or something tiny like that to buck the trend.”

  Alesha laughed, moving on to powdering her nose. “Because we’re pushovers. And because it’s her wedding. We’ll get to boss everyone around and force them to wear unflattering colours too one day.”

  I scoffed. “Unlikely. We’re already in our thirties and haven’t even come close to a long-term relationship, let alone a marriage proposal.”

  Alesha and I had been best friends since primary school, when I moved in with my aunt who lived next door to her. She was practically my sister. In all that time, I could count our collective boyfriends on one hand—and that wasn’t even using all my fingers. We were perpetually single, a fact I’d grown accustomed to since my big three-oh. That was two years ago.

  She tucked her make-up into her purse, shrugging. “I still have hope.”

  She would. Out of the two of us, Alesha was by far the prettiest. She was tall and Olive Oyl thin, with light brown hair, chocolate doe eyes, and a heart-shaped face that she accentuated with a carefully crafted layer of make-up. Guys often approached her, but she was painfully shy and socially awkward. The last time a hot guy spoke to her, he asked if he could buy her a drink and she just looked at him, then blurted, “I put make-up on dead people.” Yes, Alesha was a beautician at a funeral parlour—a fact I kept advising her to save for at least the second date, but her awkwardness always beat out her common sense.

  I, on the other hand, was short and a little on the round side. Growing up, my aunt used to assure me that I was like a caterpillar, eating my way through all the leaves until I spun my cocoon and emerged a beautiful butterfly. She lied. I’m still a chubby caterpillar. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to embrace my curves and be unapologetic over my love of food—life’s too damn short to apologise for enjoying anything. I knew that better than anyone, especially since I was currently the exact age my mother was when she and my father died in a car accident. I was thirty-two and had hardly done a thing with my life. It was hard to imagine having it over already.

  The fact that my parents were gone wasn’t the reason I was still requesting a table for one. I wasn’t damaged in any way because of their passing; I’d been raised by an awesome woman who loved me so fiercely that I never once felt alone. Sure, I missed my parents, and I often wondered what my life would’ve been like if they’d stayed home that night, but I wasn’t defined by my orphan status. No, the only thing that defined me was a single word—big. Big booty, big personality, big boobs. I was larger than life in every way, and that wasn’t easy for a lot of men to take.

  I wasn’t always without male company, however. Every now and then, I managed to hook up with a chubby chaser. You know, those guys who just love the sight and feel of all that flesh. They were a riot for a short period of time. It just rarely went anywhere because I couldn’t handle that fetish long-term. I mean, what if I got sick and dropped all the weight? Would they leave because I didn’t fit their ideal anymore? At the end of the day, I just wanted someone who liked me for me. But at my age while attending the hens night for Alesha’s twenty-four-year-old cousin, I was pretty sure that particular someone didn’t exist for me. And I loved myself too much to settle for anything less than what a big beautiful woman like me deserved. I wanted a man who worshipped every part of me, inside and out.

  The bathroom door burst open, caus
ing the previously muffled noise of the club to invade the room at full blast. Two giggling twenty-somethings rolled through the door and rushed for the stalls.

  “We should probably get back out there,” I said, dreading rejoining the black-and-pink, penis-straw-wielding gaggle of women. Hens nights typically stuck out like sore thumbs, but with us all dressed the same, it was even more obvious. Honestly, it was embarrassing.

  “One sec.” Alesha ran her fingers through her super-straight hair, neatening it even more than it already was. For someone who struggled to speak to the opposite sex, she sure spent a lot of time on her looks.

  Still waiting, I looked in the mirror and studied my face a moment longer. Maybe I should put a little more effort in too. Maybe wear a little more make-up, figure out what the hell all that contouring business was about. I was often told that I had ‘such a lovely face’. I didn’t know exactly what a ‘lovely face’ was supposed to be, but I did always hear the unsaid part of the sentence: ‘If only you’d lose the weight.’ Not like I hadn’t tried. I didn’t get why people needed to be so freaking judge-y; it wasn’t like they could catch my fatness from me.

  “OK. I’m done.” Alesha smiled, then tucked her purse under her arm. “Ready to sing some karaoke?”

  I laughed, following her out of the bathroom. “It’s literally the only reason I came.”

  Most clubs have dark walls and a colourful light show to create the ambience. This particular one was all white: white walls, white floors, white tables and seating. The lighting glowed soft and blue, and the stage was a round platform directly across from the bar, big enough for a DJ, a microphone and the TV prompter. At full capacity, there was no shortage of warblers to take the stage. Some of them were OK, but others were nails-on-a-chalkboard terrible. I sat and listened, made conversation, sipped my margarita, clapped, and even whistled in all the right places. Then my patience was rewarded—it was my turn.

  “Holland, whooooo!” The hens girls cheered when my name was called, hooting and hollering while I made my way up to the stage. Once there, I waited for my song to start with a smile on my face as I adjusted the height of the mic. I could hear the murmurs in the audience, see people whispering to each other. I knew I harped on a lot about my size, but that was the world for a big girl—it was the sole focus of everyone who looked at you. Every time you stood up and tried to shine, everyone was judging and thinking the F-word—Fat. That’s why, whenever I got up to sing, I chose the most empowering song I could think of. My current favourite was Meghan Trainor’s “No”.

  When the DJ nodded my way and the words loaded on the screen, I took a breath and began. This was when the magic happened. It didn’t take long. The moment my voice floated from my throat, I could feel the shift in the room, see their expressions change as their scowls turned into smiles and their head started bobbing along with the tune. Suddenly, I was OK—untouchable. They may not have liked looking at me, but my voice was killer, and as I sang and danced along, animatedly performing with the words, they clapped and cheered. Suddenly, I wasn’t just the big girl anymore. I was the big girl with the voice. And I was fine with that.

  “Encore! Encore!”

  I stepped down amid the applause, a grin plastered on my face. There was nothing like pleasantly surprising people to make a girl feel good about herself. It was fucking awesome.

  “That’s some voice you’ve got trapped in there,” a male voice said next to me when I reached the bar.

  My smile shifted and my lips pressed together. “Didn’t you hear the song, buddy? The answer is n—” The word caught in my throat as I turned my head and looked at him. The hottest fucking guy I’d ever seen. Tall? Check. He was the tallest man I’d ever met with shoulders so broad I was surprised he could find clothes to fit him. Dark? Check. He was tan with dark hair that looked like you could grab handfuls of it while he buried his face between your thighs. Handsome? Check, check and check. But handsome wasn’t a strong enough word. This guy was an easy ten on the hot-o-meter. Actually, I think he’d break the needle. He had muscles—I could see that through the stretched cotton of his grey long-sleeve shirt. He’d pushed those sleeves up to his elbows, exposing two very tan and ripped forearms. I had an urge to lean over and bite him. Was that weird? But on top of all that, he had a nice bit of scruff along his jaw, framing two very smooth and kissable lips. Yum, yum, yum. I was a total sucker for that stylish unkempt look. I had to press my knees together to keep myself from falling in a heap of arousal at his feet. Please be a chubby chaser. One night with this guy and I’d be singing Salt-n-Pepa’s “Push It” for weeks.

  I smiled in his direction, taking in all that was in front of me with an obvious sweep of my eyes. “Actually, the answer is yes.”

  He grinned. Beautiful. His whole face smiled. “You don’t even know the question.” Was that an accent I detected?

  “You were about to ask if you could buy me a drink.”

  He chuckled, a deep rich sound that rippled just below the surface of my skin. “I guess you’ve read this book before.” He signalled for the bartender. “What’s your poison?” He indicated the shelf of spirits behind the bar.

  There was definitely an accent. American, perhaps? I couldn’t pick from where.

  “I’m drinking margaritas tonight.”

  He ordered that, and a rum and Coke for himself. Then he held out his hand. “I’m Ben.”

  His large hand felt like the promise of sex as it wrapped around mine. My insides tingled and tightened. It had been months since I’d taken a man home, and my panties didn’t stand a chance against a big sexy man with lust in his eyes.

  “Holland,” I replied, not wanting the handshake or the eye contact to end. His eyes were the colour of a tropical ocean, and if I wasn’t careful, I could drown in them.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Holland.” The way he spoke my name sounded like melted chocolate poured from his tongue. Delicious.

  “Likewise. Is that an accent I’m hearing?”

  With a nod, he released my hand with a slow caress and my entire body shivered. “I’m from the good ole US of A.”

  “You been here long?”

  “About twenty years.” He smiled and picked up the coaster on the bar in front of him, spinning it around in his fingers. I was about to ask him where in the US he was from, but he met my eyes again and changed the subject. “You planning on giving your cheer squad the encore they deserve?” He looked towards the other pink and black-dressed women. They were huddled together and swaying with their arms in the air while one of them did a stepped-on-cat rendition of Celine Dion’s “The Power of Love”. It hurt my ears, but she was having fun.

  “Oh, they’re not my cheer squad. They’re barely even my friends, to be honest.” He quirked a magnificently shaped eyebrow in question. “Hens party,” I explained.

  “That explains the matching outfits. I was thinking you were like those Pitch Perfect girls or something. But then she started singing.” He nodded towards the stage and winced a little.

  I laughed. “Alcohol bolsters the confidence, but I’m impressed by your movie reference. Have you seen the trilogy?”

  Our drinks were set in front of us and he slid mine in front of me. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Thanking him, I took a sip. “Fat Amy is my spirit animal.”

  He laughed. “You hiding from a criminal past too?”

  I held a finger to my lips and winked. “Holland isn’t even my real name.”

  He leaned in close. “I’ll let you in on a secret. Ben isn’t my real name either.”

  I opened my mouth in mock surprise. “Is it Benjamin?”

  With his shoulders bouncing as he took a mouthful of his drink, I noticed the way his eyes became half-moons when he thought something was funny. “How did you know?”

  “I’m very perceptive.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  A comfortable pause took over while we both watched the next singer get up on stage. “Do you sing at al
l?” I asked.

  “Only in the shower.” His eyes travelled downwards and landed on my chest, staying there and heating my skin while I pictured him naked and singing in the shower. I wanted to rub my breasts against his soapy chest.

  I was so focused on imagining that scene playing out that I didn’t notice Alesha until she touched me on the elbow and startled me.

  “Hey, Leesh!” I put my arm around her. “This is Ben. The only things I know about him are that he drinks rum and watches the Pitch Perfect movies.”

  Barely making eye contact, Alesha did a little wave. We were total opposites, she and I. Not just in body type but personality too—she was a mouse, and I was a lion.

  Ben held out his hand but looked confused. “Nice to meet you… Leech? Is that what she called you?”

  Alesha shook her head, then leaned close to my ear. “He’s American,” she whispered.

  “Yes he is,” I responded. “Maybe you should shake his hand and say hello.” I tilted my head towards his upturned palm and opened my eyes wider.

  Giving the action far too much thought, she timidly slipped her hand in his. “It’s Alesha,” she forced out, pulling her hand back as if burned. “We’re friends.” She pointed at me. “We’re at my cousin’s hens party. I actually work at a funeral home.”

  Oh no. Stop talking.

  I laughed as if it was a joke and pulled her closer to me so he wouldn’t be able to hear anything else she said over the music. I loved the girl, but she really needed to learn how to talk to men. She’d grown up in a strict religious family with an overprotective father, which meant no access to boys until she left school. The result was the quivering mess spouting random facts beside me.