Read Foolish Expectations Online
Authors: Alison Bliss
Foolish Expectations
Table of Contents
Forever is the last thing they expected…
Lawyer Nash Sutherland encounters a spirited young woman with an untrusting nature in a Texas roadside bar. She’s as sexy as she is surly, and their undeniable attraction leads them to one night of pleasure…and a fateful condom mishap. By morning, the striking beauty has disappeared, but he can’t get her out of his head. She’s everything he wasn’t looking for, but now must find.
After one night of passion, Bailey Hobbs finds herself in an unexpected predicament. And the cause of it happens to be the persistent man standing in her living room, proposing a solution: marriage. She may be pregnant with Nash’s child, but after her past with a cheating ex, she refuses to put her faith in another man. But try telling that to a guy who argues for a living.
The only thing bigger than his…Stetson…is his ego, and Bailey knows firsthand how hard it is to resist Nash when he wants something. But she’s determined to keep him at an emotionally safe distance…one he refuses to allow. Because if Nash can’t get her to risk her heart once more, it will cost them the one thing that matters most.
Foolish Expectations
Alison Bliss
Foolish Expectations
Copyright © 2016 by Alison Bliss
Originally published in
The Sutherlands
anthology March 2016
Cover design by Alison Bliss
Stock Photo by Dollar Photo Club
Edited by Gwen Hayes
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the author’s written permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violations of the author’s rights.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is purely coincidental.
Dedication
Hey, Mom. It’s me!
Thank you for all your love and support,
and for encouraging me from the beginning.
Love, Alison…Bliss
(Just in case you forgot who it was.)
Acknowledgements
As always, thank you to my loving husband, Denny, and my amazing boys, Matthew and Andrew, for their never-ending support. I love you guys more than you’ll ever know! To my parents, thanks for continuing to be proud of me, even though I write dirty books. Thank you to my mother-in-law, Terry, for loving said dirty books. You have great taste! Much love to my four sisters—Annita, Amanda, April, and Andrea—who, without me, would have to fight to the death to become Dad’s favorite.
A big hug to Carol Pavliska for always giving great notes and huge amounts of encouragement. Thank you to Sonya Weiss for your friendship and for being an amazing person. High-five to The Floozies for being such a fun, fierce group of women who always have each other’s back, including mine. You ladies are the best!
I couldn’t do it all without my amazing PAs: Barbara Campbell, Dana Leah, Crystal Wegrzynowicz (I spelled it right this time!), Cindy Yocum, and Tessa Walters. Huge thanks to the Pure Bliss Street Team, who has always supported me in everything I do. You are all amazing, and I can’t imagine going on this journey without you. I have made so many lifelong friends in our group. You guys are unbelievably awesome!
My sincerest gratitude to Gwen Hayes for her brilliant editorial skills and for caring so much about her authors. I adore you, woman! Also, thank you to Judi Weiss for the fabulous copyedits. You are a sweetheart!
I’d like to thank the other authors in The Sutherlands anthology: Robin Covington, Kelly Jamieson, Terri Osburn, Avery Flynn, Abby Niles, Shyla Colt, Julie Particka, Naima Simone, and Joya Ryan. Never a dull moment with you crazy girls!
And last, but never least, a huge thank you goes out to all the readers, bloggers, and reviewers who have sent so many lovely messages to me and have helped spread the word about my books! I truly believe I have the most awesome fans in the world. You guys are amazing!
Chapter One
Bailey Hobbs thought her day couldn’t get any worse. But the moment she stepped inside the small roadside bar in Flat Rock, Texas, she proved herself wrong.
Rowdy’s was jam-packed with Stetson-wielding cowboys and not nearly enough women to go around. The men to women ratio was easily twenty to one, and most females in attendance seemed to be already coupled with their picks of lucky bachelors. Which meant every unattached male in the room had looked up, interest gleaming in their eyes, as she’d entered the bar.
It was almost enough to make her turn around and high-tail it back the way she’d come.
Almost.
But sore feet trumped discomforting men any day of the week. And Bailey’s feet were killing her. Two long miles in tight, three-inch heels on uneven asphalt had that effect on a girl.
Rowdy’s was apparently the place to be on a Saturday night. Not that she’d know, since she never frequented bars, and this was the first time she’d ever wandered into the place. Okay, so limped in was more like it.
She hobbled through the crowd, ignoring the pack of wolf-whistling males who tried to snag her attention as she passed. When she reached a wall of men wearing shit-eating grins and deliberately blocking the aisle ahead of her, Bailey circled toward the bar where she spied a small gap.
A cowboy stood there with his chair pushed back, leaning against the bar with one elbow as he spoke to the bartender. The gap between him and the chair was just large enough for her to slide through. But as she squeezed through the tight space, the man shifted his position, and she ended up rubbing her chest across his back.
He stiffened and glanced over his right shoulder, his crystal blue eyes landing on hers. A smile crept onto his lips. Then he seared a laser beam gaze across her chest that would’ve cut glass. Blatant sexual interest sparked in his eyes, and his tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip. He gave her a wink and tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”
Bailey stood frozen, blinking at him, but she didn’t know why.
Her white sheath dress hugged her curves like a second skin, but it only dipped low enough in the front to display a tasteful—
yet apparently mouth-watering
—hint of cleavage. Even still, it wasn’t the first time a guy had admired her assets. Hell, she’d just strolled through a wild herd of stallions, chomping at the bit to get her attention, and it hadn’t fazed her one bit.
Yet something about the way this man groped her intimately with his eyes had knocked her off balance. His heated look shouldn’t have flustered her, but it did. And judging by the way he grinned, he enjoyed
that
way more than the actual rubbing she’d performed on his backside.
“Are you going to stand there blocking the aisle all night, or are you going to move?” The feminine voice had a festering bite, breaking Bailey from her trance-like state.
She turned to find a woman standing behind her, arms crossed, and reeking of liquor. Bailey recognized her. Just moments before, the same girl had been arguing with her boyfriend in the parking lot. And if the scowl was any indication, it hadn’t ended well.
“I’m still waiting,” the girl rudely noted.
Jeez. Impatient much?
Bailey quickly found her feet and continued on her way, sitting at the only empty table available near the far wall. She glanced back at the bar, but Miss Crankypants had already moved on. The cowboy, however, continued staring at Bailey, studying her from a distance. He smiled, as if he were waiting on an invitation…one he wouldn’t receive. At least not from her.
Bailey was in no mood for company. Especially of the male variety.
Been there, done that. Even bought the damn T-shirt.
It was a mental souvenir she’d gladly return if she hadn’t lost it somewhere in the shambles of her life. Too bad that wouldn’t work—taking a disappointing memory and returning it for a full refund of the emotional purchase price.
She rubbed her throbbing temples.
Yeah, right. If only things were that simple.
Her life was already chock-f of complicated choices. After the day she’d had, the only decision she felt capable of making was what kind of drink she needed.
First things first, though.
She kicked off her tight-ass shoes and released a sigh of relief. The torturous white pumps with a skinny heel landed somewhere under the table in God knows what, but Bailey didn’t care. At least she was off her feet.
She propped her aching bare feet up in the chair across from her, and with a subtle wave of her hand, she flagged down a passing waitress. The tiny woman looked as delicate as a fairy, but flitted around customers with speed and accuracy.
“What can I get for you, sweetie?” the waitress asked, her voice sounding almost as harried as her feet. “Martini or a vodka tonic?”
“How about a beer?”
“Hmm. Didn’t see that one coming. In that fancy get-up, you don’t seem like the type. Bottle or tap?”
“Bottle.”
“My kind of girl.” The waitress winked and then moved through the crowd, ducking and dodging until she careened up to the bar.
It dwarfed her and it was arguable whether or not the tiny thing could actually see over the counter. Instead of looking like a waitress fetching a beer, she looked more like a child ordering two scoops of chocolate from an ice cream truck. Only difference was, in here, she was surrounded on both sides by grown men. One of who happened to be the guy with the staring problem.
And it had become chronic.
His body faced the bar, but his neck craned sideways, keeping his intense eyes on her. She hated to admit it, but there was something intriguing—and unnerving—about the way he focused all of his attention on her.
Tufts of dark brown hair peeked out from beneath the back of his black hat and curled at the collar of his gray plaid western shirt. His unshaven five o’clock shadow darkened his jawline, but somehow he still didn’t appear to be as rough around the edges as some of the other men in the room.
No, actually he stood out. Neatly pressed clothing. Clean, polished snakeskin boots. The expensive-looking gold watch on his left wrist. This guy was no slouch. Oh, he was definitely all male, all right, and—judging from the size of his biceps pressing against his shirt—he looked like the kind of guy who could handle himself in a fight. But she’d bet anything that he was one of those weekend warrior types who didn’t shave or style his hair until Monday morning before work.
It was possible he thought the rough appearance made him tougher-looking to the other men in the room. But as far as women went, it didn’t matter. This cowboy actually looked more dangerous when he smiled—if that was even possible.
Okay, so he isn’t bad-looking.
There, she admitted it. Just because she wasn’t interested didn’t mean she was blind.