Sweet Dreams (A Sugar Rush Novel) (18 page)

He didn’t look up from his phone. “I travel often for work.”

“Where?”

“Europe. Switzerland, Germany, and France mostly.”

“How many times have you been to Paris?”

“I don’t know.” He swiped the screen on the phone. “I go a couple times a year for business. We consult with several chocolate and candy makers in Paris.”

“Really? Like who?”

He rattled off the names of the chefs who ran Fouquet, La Maison du Chocolat, and Alain Ducasse. Polly had read their books, visited their websites, learned where they were educated and trained, watched their TV shows.

And Luke Stone personally consulted with them.

“What about Pierre Lacroix?” she asked.

“We worked with him last year to develop a candy version of macaroons.”

Awestruck, Polly sat back. She pictured Luke visiting the kitchens of such renowned chocolatiers and patisseries—the air filled with sweet scents and the lyrical cadence of French, watching chefs create towering, sugar-glass confections and tiny, perfect candies of almond paste. Miniature apples and pears, hand-painted animals and
sucettes
. Caramels, pralines, bon-bons.

She looked down at her textbook. The Hartford course in candy technology was required for the Culinary Arts certificate, and though she was enjoying the class, it was nothing compared to what she could learn in Paris.

She reached for the open bag of Jelly Rolls, which was one of several packages of candy Luke had produced from his briefcase, and plucked out a few red ones. The Sugar Rush version of jelly beans, Jelly Rolls were soft, round candies encased in a smooth icing shell. He’d also brought a bag of Puffles, the gummy candy she had liked, and Chocolate Crackles, crispy nut-and-puffed rice nuggets coated with bittersweet chocolate.

“These were my sister Hannah’s favorite when we were kids.” Polly indicated the Jelly Rolls. “She was never really into desserts, but she liked these.”

“They’re based on a French fruit candy called
calissons
.”

“Where do you stay when you visit Paris?” She popped the red Jelly Roll into her mouth, enjoying the burst of sweet cherry.

“One hotel or another,” Luke said. “Wherever the secretary books a room.”

He made it sound like he was visiting Podunk, Nowhereville, and staying at the Motel 6. Polly had thought she had missed out on a lot of youthful adventures, but she was only twenty-three years old. She had a lot of time left to see the world and have new experiences—at least the possibility was there even if she didn’t have the resources to do any of that anytime soon.

Luke hammered out another text or email on his phone, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen. A crease furrowed the space between his dark eyebrows, and a slight frown curved his mouth.

He needed to nap in a hammock under the trees, to feel the sunlight filtering through the leaves and a breeze drifting over his skin. She needed that too.

He glanced up, as if sensing her gaze on him. “What?”

“When you were a kid,” Polly said, “what did you want to be when you grew up?”

Luke gave a humorless laugh. “I can’t remember that far back.”

“Sure you can.” She poked his leg under the table with her foot. “At various times, I wanted to be a firefighter, a magician, a veterinarian, and queen of the sky island of Cerulia. Not necessarily in that order.”

“So which one took precedence?”

“Well, I ended up majoring in history in college. But mostly so I could have an excuse to do a year abroad in Paris.”

“And did you?”

She shook her head. “I was going to, but then my mother got sick, and I came back to Rainsville to be with her.”

Something flickered in his eyes. “So you left college.”

“I had to. I wasn’t going to leave my mother to face cancer alone. But when I’m finished at Hartford, I’ll be a certified pastry chef. If I have better qualifications and can get Wild Child back on its feet, I hope to expand into catering and wedding cakes. Maybe even open an online shop.”

Maybe even go to Paris one day.

No one ever said dreams had deadlines, though Luke might not understand that. Even his romantic relationships had deadlines.

“So what did you want to be when you grew up?” she asked again.

He was silent for a moment as he leafed through one of her textbooks. “I wanted to pitch for the San Francisco Giants.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I actually got into Stanford on a partial baseball scholarship. Played for three years until I had to leave.”

“You left Stanford?”

“My mother died.” A shadow crossed his face. “She was killed in a car accident, and my sister was badly injured. Our family was a mess after that. And when other corporations heard what had happened, they thought Stone Confectioners would weaken. They started rumors of a takeover after we rejected their sales offers. And my father was focused on my sister’s recovery, so I dropped out of Stanford and moved back to Indigo Bay to take over as CEO.”

“What did your dad say about you leaving?”

“He didn’t find out until it was already done. And then it was too late.”

Silence fell, edged with a faint sadness over dreams about baseball and sky islands that never had a chance to take root.

“We both left college because of things that happened to our mothers,” Polly said, struck by both the coincidence and the realization that perhaps it was just one of the reasons she’d been so drawn to him. She’d seen herself—the responsible, hard-working sibling who’d put her family first—reflected in him.

“Yeah.” Luke gazed at her, and it almost seemed as if the same recognition appeared in his eyes. “Strange, huh?”

“There’s a belief that our souls guide us to certain people because something in them reminds us of ourselves or because there’s something we have to learn from them,” Polly said. “It’s an attraction of energies, the seeking of fulfillment. Sometimes opposites attract, but sometimes
likes
attract. We like each other, and we’re also alike. So, on one level it’s not so strange after all.”

Faint bemusement tightened his features. “You’re very different from me, Peach.”

“How?”

“You’re warm. Trusting. Open. Friendly.”

“So are you. You’re just a little more guarded, that’s all.”

He shook his head with a laugh. “A little more, huh?”

“We have some differences, of course,” Polly said. “But on a fundamental level, we’re . . .”

She paused, realizing she was about to say
the same.
But that would be like telling him they were soul mates, which they couldn’t be given the fact that he could make no promises to her.

“We’re similar,” she finally said, handing him a blank piece of paper. “I’ll prove it. Write down your favorite Jelly Roll flavor.”

Still baffled, he picked up a pen. Polly took another piece of paper and shielded it with her arm as she wrote down her favorite flavor.

“On the count of three, we reveal our answers,” she said. “One two three.”

They both put their papers in the middle of the table. Side by side, written in his scrawled handwriting and her curly letters, were the words:
Cherry vanilla.

She gave him a triumphant grin. “See?”

“Well,” Luke said, his voice deep with amusement, “far be it from me to deny the proof of candy.”

He reached over to take a few cherry vanilla Jelly Rolls, then picked up her open confectionary textbook.

“Speaking of candy,” he said. “If you’re going to ace this test, you’d better keep studying. I’ll quiz you.”

He went over to flop on the sofa, stretching out with one bare foot on the coffee table. His sheer size and masculinity were a striking contrast to the floral sofa, but he looked relaxed in her little apartment. Like he was at home. And given their similarities, it made sense that he would feel comfortable in the surroundings that she’d created.

“What is the approximate density of a marshmallow?” He popped the Jelly Rolls into his mouth.

“Between point two five and point seven grams per milliliter.”

“What are the basic ingredients of nougat?”

“Lecithin, DMG, and sugar ester,” Polly said. “Which helps stabilize the emulsion.”

“What’s the most important component of making aerated confections?”

“Controlling moisture content because it affects the texture and shape.”

Luke tossed out more questions, leafing through the book and a few of the papers Polly’s teacher had assigned. Finally he put them all on the coffee table and sat up.

“You’ll be top of the class, Peach.” He lifted his arms above his head for a stretch. “You’ll have to come work for me after you graduate.”

“Why, Mr. Stone, are you offering me a job?” Polly pushed up from the table and approached him.

She let her gaze slide admiringly over his body, lingering on his shirt stretched across his broad chest and shoulders. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a tempting V of tanned skin.

“Sure.” Luke grabbed her around the waist as she neared, tugging her down onto his lap. “You can be my personal assistant.”

A rush of warmth filled Polly. She settled herself on his thighs. “You already have an assistant.”

“Not a
personal
assistant.” Luke’s hand slid up her leg. “You can be in charge of walking around my office half-naked and occasionally bending over to pick something up off the floor.”

She gave him a light smack on the cheek. “Pig.”

“What? I’ll give you all the candy you want.”

“Hmm. Sounds like you’ll want the same thing from me.”

“And who could blame me?” His eyes crinkled with a smile.

He lowered his lips to hers. Pleasure filled Polly as their mouths sealed together in a warm, lovely kiss that held the promise of more. Luke lifted his hand to cradle the side of her face before trailing his lips down to the hollow of her throat. She eased back into the strong circle of his arm and gave herself up to the heat flaring like quick-fire between them. Already her nipples were budding up against her bra, and she nestled closer to nudge her breasts against his chest.

He made a noise low in his throat, tension coiling through his muscles as he brought his mouth to hers again. He tasted all sweet and sugary, like cherry jellybeans, but the tension radiating from him was anything but sweet. It was all hard male urgency and increasing sexual heat.

Polly wiggled her bottom against his groin and parted her lips under his, letting him sweep his tongue into her mouth. She threaded her fingers into his thick, dark hair and held him against her as he stroked his hand up her leg and between her thighs. A breathless moan escaped her when his fingers pressed lightly against her, rubbing the material of her panties into her cleft.

“Ah, you’re hot already,” he muttered, moving his other hand around to cup her breast. “Stand up and strip for me.”

Polly’s heart crashed into her ribs. She pulled back to stare at him. “Strip for you?”

“Take your clothes off.”

“I know what
strip
means.”

“So do it.” His mouth curved with a faint smile of challenge.

She narrowed her eyes. She had never stripped for a man in her life, but she’d recently learned a little something about negotiating.

“I’ll strip for you if you strip for me.”

“You strip for me, and then you can strip me,” he countered.

“Is this a prelude to
all the way
?”

“I sure as hell hope so.”

“Deal.”

She eased off his lap, deflecting a twist of nervousness. It would be easier if she set the mood. She dimmed the lights and found “Lady Marmalade” on her media player. Then she told herself to pretend she was at the Moulin Rouge as she started doing a little bump and grind. Too late, she remembered she was wearing yoga pants and a torn T-shirt, not to mention her everyday underwear.

Work with what you have, girl.

From the hot, anticipatory glow in Luke’s eyes, he wouldn’t have cared if she was wearing overalls as long as she intended to take them off. The music started to pulse in rhythm with her increasing heartbeat. She tugged the band out of her hair and shook it out over her shoulders, swiveling her hips as the music launched into the chorus.
Voulez-vouz couchez avec moi ce soir?

She already knew Luke’s answer to that question, and the knowledge that he
wanted
her was enough to bolster her confidence. She let the music flow into her blood as she pulled off her T-shirt and tossed it to the side. His gaze fixed on the curves of her breasts cupped by a beige cotton bra. His chest lifted with increasing breaths.

Polly strutted around, swiveling her hips and shoulders. She moved closer to him, holding his gaze as she hooked her fingers into her pants and wiggled them down her legs and off. Now clad only in her bra and panties, she grabbed Luke’s loose necktie and unfastened it, pulling it off with one tug. She draped it around her neck and backed away, still dancing.

Oh, she was getting hot. The combination of the heady beat and the intensity of Luke’s gaze made the blood rush like hot cream through her veins.

Luke made a circling gesture with his forefinger. Polly turned, shaking her rear a little in what she hoped was a close approximation to twerking. She turned back around, her heart leaping. He was grasping his erection through his trousers, his eyes dark with lust.

“C’mere, pretty girl,” he ordered gruffly.

She strutted her way toward him, her breath catching when he grabbed her hips and hauled her closer to straddle his lap. She shivered, acutely aware of his cock right between her spread legs. He urged her to sit back on his thighs, his warm hands sliding over her curves and to her back. With a flick of his fingers, he twisted the clasp of her bra and divested her of it in one movement.

Polly shivered. Although she was supposed to be the one taking off her clothes, she did find his gesture rather masterful. And sitting on his lap with her breasts bare, stiff nipples quivering, and wearing only her panties . . . Oh God, her pulse pounded so hard she barely realized the music had stopped.

Luke muttered something under his breath and palmed her full breasts, his tanned hands a striking contrast to her pale skin. He twisted her nipples, sending a shock of electricity right to her core. She shifted, aware of the growing heat between her legs as she stifled the urge to writhe against his strong thigh.