redeeming cupid 01 - struck by eros Read Free

I took one last look at my fiancé. His sandy-blond hair—only messy when he slept—fell across his face, obscuring what they call a Roman nose, something a vainer man would have had a plastic surgeon fix. Not Len. He wasn’t Grayson gorgeous, and for that I was thankful.
    Gorgeous equaled heartache, and heartache equaled another dent in my already battered heart.
    I tiptoed into the bathroom, slipped out of my lavender-silk nightie, and hopped into the shower. The warm water washed over my hand and added more sparkle to the diamonds on my finger. Thump, thump, thump. I banged my head against the swirled beige and white tile. “Fuck,” I whispered, so Len wouldn’t hear my slip of etiquette.
    What had I done? It was hard enough hiding my double life as his girlfriend, but engaged? Married? This took complicated to a whole new level.
    Cupid thought Grayson was my perfect match, but he didn’t realize that if I ended up with a man like Grayson, I would die. Men who only cared about their next conquest, the next woman they could get balls deep into. Men who couldn’t offer more than half an hour of pleasure, but could offer a lifetime of regret.
    I dried off, pulled my hair into a high ponytail, applied a touch of eyeliner to my upper lids, then finished off my makeup with light layer of mascara and lip-gloss. I’d love to go au naturel , but who knew what role I would be playing in connecting our unlucky-in-loves. Wandering into my walk-in closet, I found a black bikini and coral cover up, and stuffed the top into my art tote. Might as well take advantage of sunny California’s golden rays and bake my skin while doing Cupid’s errands.
    But letting Len catch me in a bathing suit and headed to the beach would look way too suspicious. So I found my oldest pair of paint-splattered sweat pants and one of Len’s old T-shirts, my usual work uniform, and covered the bathing suit bottoms.
    My new bauble sparkled from my finger, the diamonds catching the light, creating little polka dots on the walls. Len made the perfect choice. Perfect size. Perfect shape. Perfect man. Too bad his fiancée lived the perfect double life.
    A double life I hadn’t chosen, hadn’t wanted, and certainly would be fleeing from the moment I found a way out. And finding a way out had just moved to the top spot on my to-do list.
    Slipping the ring off my finger, I dropped Len’s declaration of love in the center of my vintage perfume bottle collection on my dressing table, hiding the one thing I wanted to show to the world. But Grayson could never find out I’d gotten engaged. After his comments at the hotel yesterday, it was obvious he didn’t think I should date, let alone promise to love, honor, and obey.
    I went back into the bedroom, planning to slink back under the covers, enjoy a few more carefree minutes with the man I loved before I met the man I loathed, but the gold and cream comforter was tossed aside and the bed was empty. I wandered into the hall and the familiar aroma of Len’s amaretto coffee was like an invisible index finger beckoning me to the kitchen.
    Len stood at the stove flipping bacon in a pair of ripped jeans and nothing else, his bed-head hair now slicked back and tame. I wanted to run my fingers through it and return it to its wild state.
    If I had a sketchbook close at hand, I would have loved to take a moment to sketch the way his 501s sat on his hipbone and his Calvin’s peeked out from underneath, but all my drawing tools were safely tucked away in my office to avoid clutter around the house. Instead, I wrapped my arms around him from behind, pressing closer to his body.
    He snaked his free arm around me, pulled me tight, and planted a kiss on my head. He put the spatula down on the spoon rest, turned, and looked at my work attire. “Going out?”
    “I’m off to the studio to work.” The lie tripped over my tongue and the betrayal tripped over my heart.
    He pulled the T-shirt away from my neck and kissed my