Sweet Dreams (A Sugar Rush Novel) (14 page)

She rubbed her hand up and down his erection, letting her fingers drift lower to cup the tight sac of his testicles and then back up to the damp head. A thick vein pulsed along the underside of his shaft. Curious as she was to know what he tasted like, she couldn’t work up the courage to lick him like an ice-cream cone.

Yet.

Another groan rumbled through Luke. Polly glanced up, rather thrilled to see that he’d broken into a sweat and his chest was heaving, the muscles flexing and rippling beneath his taut skin.

“Polly . . .” A lust-edged warning laced his voice.

“Come on, Luke,” she whispered, staring at the movement of her hand on his slick shaft. “I want to see you come. Give it to me.”

She tightened her grip and massaged him with faster, harder strokes. His body tensed suddenly, and he gave a rough shout at the exact instant that creamy seed spurted from the tip of his cock, splashing over his abdomen and onto Polly’s breasts. She drew in a ragged breath, her whole body quivering with excitement and fresh longing.

Luke sagged back against the pillows, exhaling a long breath as she gently milked the final sensations from his body. He grasped her wrist and tugged her toward him. The musky scent of sex rose between them as Polly settled her wet, naked body against his.

He slid his hand to her nape and held her in place, his gaze oddly intent on her face. Something about that look twisted through Polly, as if he were still questioning the wisdom of getting involved with her.

Then she remembered his expression of relief when she’d come back into the house after having been unable to start her van. How he’d ordered all the chefs and her entire culinary class out of the test kitchen so he could be alone with her. How fiercely possessive he’d been about her not hooking up with another man.

From the instant she’d seen Luke Stone, she hadn’t wanted any another man. She only wanted him.

A strange feeling fluttered inside her, pleasure mixed with the unease of realizing that not only did she want him, she also liked him. A lot. He was straightforward, hard-working, dedicated, and caring. Yes, he had control issues, but frankly so did she or she wouldn’t still be holding so tightly to Wild Child.

But surely her growing fondness for Luke was a good thing, an emotion that would only enhance their hot sexual relationship. It was like indulging in a bag of her favorite candy while knowing she’d run out eventually. The limited quantity made her enjoyment all the sweeter and more satisfying.

With that resolved, she leaned over and pressed her lips against his. He tightened his grip on the back of her neck and deepened the kiss. Her blood warmed all over again, faint dizziness sweeping through her head.

“Forget the candy, Mr. Stone,” Polly whispered, sliding her hand down his chest. “You’re the one who gives me a sugar rush.”

He smiled and pulled her closer. She sank into the kiss, trying not to think about the fact that a rush was usually followed by a
crash.

SHE WAS GONE AGAIN. LUKE
knew it the instant he opened his eyes.

Except this time, the evidence of her presence was everywhere—in the sex-drenched smell of the sheets, the indentation of her head on the pillow, the rumpled comforter, even the fact that the first thing he saw was the painting Polly had admired on the opposite wall. He could still feel her hands on his body, her cherry taste in his mouth, her scent on his skin.

He pushed up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Twin emotions rolled through him—a strange combination of deep satisfaction and disappointment. Satisfaction because the night he’d spent with Polly had been unlike any he’d ever spent with a woman—which he’d known it would be with her—and disappointment over the discovery that she was gone.

A note sat on the bedside table, written in her curly handwriting:

Called a cab, but will be in touch later about the van. Thanks for a lovely night and an amazing sleep.

P.S. I took some of those fruit gummies from the jar in the kitchen. Are they new? They’re delicious!

A shaft of sunlight fell over the note. Luke lifted a hand to block it, then realized with dawning shock what he was doing. He looked at the clock, blinking as if the numbers 9:34 were somehow a visual lie.

What the . . . ?

He shoved his legs into his pants, hitching them around his hips as he went downstairs to find his cell phone—which he’d left in his office. He never left his cell phone in his office at night. He always kept it on the nightstand.

Sure enough, the phone was filled with texts and voice mails. He called Kate, who sounded breathless with concern.

“Mr. Stone, everyone has been so worried,” she said. “Are you all right? Were you in an accident? I’ve been checking the traffic reports, but—”

“Kate,” Luke interrupted. “I’m fine. I overslept.”

She was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, sir? You overslept?”

“It was a shock to me too,” he admitted wryly. “But you can send out a news flash that I’m fine and will be into the office soon.”

“Yes, sir. Would you like me to order you some breakfast or . . . er, brunch?”

“No, thanks. I’ll see you within the hour.”

He ended the call, answered a bunch of others, and checked in on the flooding situation in Venezuela. The relief organizations had gotten in and were distributing fresh water, food, and medical supplies. His brother Adam reported that the waters were receding and they had crews out to assess the damage.

There was no text from Polly, no matter how many times Luke scrolled through the messages in the hopes that he’d missed one.

Seemed he was still an idiot, even in the light of day.

He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to take out the eggs, seeing the pizza box sitting on the middle shelf. With a shrug, he took out a piece of cold pepperoni and ate it while walking around and opening the curtains.

The glass house afforded majestic views of the California shoreline—cypress trees dotting the rocky cliffs, white-capped ocean waters, soaring seagulls, and breaking waves. The scenery had sold Luke on the house, and he was further irritated that Polly had spent the night but hadn’t even seen the view.

Polly, all softness and light with the incongruity of her shy smile, who had worked him to an orgasm as if she’d known exactly what he liked.

Hell.
She
was what he liked. All of his good, protective intentions aside.

He polished off the pizza and returned to the kitchen, where he removed the lid from a jar of Puffles, multi-colored gummy candies sprinkled with silver sugar crystals. He took a few out and popped them into his mouth, unaccountably pleased that Polly had liked them since they were a new product in the Sugar Rush line of bite-sized treats.

As he reached for another handful of Puffles, his gaze landed on the macramé bag she had left on the counter. Deflecting a pang of guilt that he shouldn’t do this, but doing it anyway, Luke opened the bag and spilled the contents onto the counter. Then he rifled through them as if he were an archeologist digging for clues.

There were the usual girl things—hairbrush, lipstick, tampons, mirror—and a little plastic first-aid kit. Paperback books, a romance novel, a “live your best life” self-help book, and one about using an accounting software program. A half-knit scarf, chewing gum, incense, hard candies (not Sugar Rush, he noted with displeasure), sunglasses, hand sanitizer, and a notebook filled with scrawled lists. At the bottom of the bag, there was a silver elephant charm with a loop for a necklace.

As Luke studied the little charm, his cell phone buzzed again with a call from Kate.

“Mr. Wyatt from Godson and Wyatt called and asked if he could see you this afternoon instead of tomorrow,” she said. “You have a one o’clock opening, but will you be here by then?”

“Of course I’ll be there by one.” He glanced down at his half-naked body. “I’m practically on my way right now.”

“Very good, sir. I’ll schedule the appointment then.”

Luke put his phone down and headed upstairs to shower, still holding the elephant charm in his fist.

After a day at work during which Luke had to keep pushing Polly out of his head and reminding himself to “
focus, dammit
,” he inputted the Wild Child address into his GPS and headed toward Rainsville.

When he exited the interstate, he realized he was nowhere near downtown Rainsville—where he’d assumed the bakery was located. Instead he was on the outskirts of town, an area filled with old, clapboard buildings, overgrown lots, and junkyards.

He navigated a dead-end street, turned, and circled the block three times before finding himself in front of what looked like an abandoned warehouse. With a frown, he checked the address again and peered across the street at an old stucco building that had several boarded up windows, a bail bondsman’s office, a closed auto parts store, and . . . Wild Child.

An old awning sat above the door with the name Wild Child written in faded blue. The windows were decorated with flowers and peace signs that might have been bright and cheerful ages ago, but now just looked faded and sad. A Closed sign hung crookedly on the door.

Shit. Polly had said she was trying to upgrade her bakery. She’d need a wrecking ball to upgrade this hole in the wall.

Luke shoved his car into gear and headed back to the interstate.

Don’t get involved.

Since college, he’d been rigidly focused on Sugar Rush, and never more so than over the past year. Though there had been a time when he’d thought he’d fit marriage and kids into his well-organized life, he’d soon realized there was no room for that. He’d always been wary of people—aware they usually wanted something from him—but the lawsuit had made him downright suspicious of almost everyone.

He couldn’t let his guard down with a cute bakery girl, even if he could still feel her hand circling his dick, still see the naked curves of her breasts, still feel her body shudder as she came. He’d meant it when he said he couldn’t give her anything long-lasting, and it didn’t matter that she hadn’t seemed to mind.

From his experience, women always eventually
minded
his lack of desire and ability to commit. So despite his determination to prevent Polly from hooking up with anyone else, he couldn’t start an affair with her. He
wouldn’t.

Having come to that conclusion, he pulled through the gates of his mansion. Polly’s old van still sat in the driveway. The painted peace signs and flowing Wild Child Bakery logo looked incongruous against the backdrop of minimalist Scandinavian architecture. By contrast, Polly had
fit
both in his house and in his bed.

Luke suppressed that realization. He would get the van fixed and returned to her tomorrow. Then he’d walk away and get back to his real life.