Sweet Dreams (A Sugar Rush Novel) (37 page)

“I
could
,” Evan said, and a sudden note of urgency threaded his voice. “I’ve been wanting to do more at Sugar Rush for five years. This is my chance to prove it, not only to you but to the whole damned company.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“I’ve always had to prove something to
everyone
,” Evan retorted, his eyes flashing. “I’ve always had to work harder and be better just to get recognized for being competent. Is it any wonder I was flattered when Crown Foods contacted me about their COO position? For once, someone was looking at what I’d done, what I
could do
, instead of what I have.”

Shame spread through Luke. He couldn’t look at his father, but he felt Warren’s alliance with Evan as if it were a physical bond between the two men.

“Look, I get why you gave the Fair Trade Foundation to Sam, okay?” Evan continued. “I know you were worried about the traveling. Fine. But don’t you tell me I shouldn’t take on the stress of being CEO or that the job would be too much for me. Don’t tell me about the long hours or that I don’t have the experience to handle the Switzerland project and the Alpine acquisition. And don’t you fucking dare tell me I don’t love this company as much as you do just because I wasn’t the one who saved it.”

Silence fell again, heavy and thick. Luke stared at the pattern of balls on the pool table as if it would somehow provide him with a response to that speech. He was starting to sense that his controlling nature had affected his relationships with his family more than he’d been willing to see or admit.

“Give me a year,” Evan said. “Let me run the company and finish the Switzerland project. If at the end of twelve months, you come back and think I’ve made a mess of things, then I’ll leave. If not, you give me a position I want.”

Luke lifted his head and looked at his father. Warren’s expression was inscrutable. Not for the first time, Luke wondered how different their lives would be if his mother were still alive.

“What would I do?” His voice sounded hoarse, even to his own ears, and he had a flashback to when he’d been eight years old and anxious about his upcoming tryout for Little League pitcher.

“If I don’t pitch, what would I do?”
he’d asked his father.

“Whatever position you get, you play the best game you can,”
his father replied.
“That’s all you can ever do.”

Now a faint smile appeared on Warren’s face.

“Son,” he said, “you should go get your girl.”

POLLY STOOD ON THE PONT
des Arts, the gray waters of the Seine flowing underneath her as she gazed at the curve of the Île de la Citè. The bell towers of Notre Dame sat against the cloudy sky like building blocks, the banks of the river lined with elegant stone quays and buildings that resonated with beauty and history.

She crossed the bridge and passed one of the bouquinistes on the quay, his stall filled with old books, cards, and newspapers. She caught snippets of conversation in French and was pleased with herself every time she understood something. In the three weeks she’d been in Paris, she’d enrolled in intensive French lessons since some of the course instruction would be conducted in French.

Every now and then, Polly still faltered at the thought. Classes started next week. Her fellow students would be from all over the world, and the instructors were known to be exacting and demanding. If she didn’t measure up, she could fail.

Or not.

A breeze ruffled through her hair. As she walked alongside the Seine, she wondered why she’d ever wanted to be a different version of herself. She’d always been brave, resourceful,
scrappy.
The only thing she had to find was the courage to realize that she didn’t have to deny her own dreams to follow ones that weren’t hers to begin with. To remember that she had dreams of her own.

Polly spent most of her days learning French and exploring the city—watching tourists and Parisians, visiting museums, local markets, restaurants, and shops. She sent emails and photos to Mia, Clementine, and Hannah, all of whom updated her regularly with assurances that Wild Child was just fine, thank you, and even had a bit of international aplomb now that they were telling everyone that owner Polly Lockhart was off studying pastry-making in Paris.

Polly stopped alongside the quay when her phone buzzed with a text. She tugged it out of her satchel.

JULIA:
If you fall in love with a Pierre or an Antoine, I will personally curse you.

POLLY:
Your very existence upon this earth is a curse.

JULIA:
True. But I mean it. No Frenchmen for you. At least, not until I’m over this breakup.

POLLY:
You aren’t supposed to like me, remember?

JULIA:
I was starting to soften toward you until you went off to live your life instead of thinking about how it affected me. You’re not wearing jeans, are you?

POLLY:
Uh, no. Of course not.

JULIA:
Hear that? That’s me grinding my teeth. And if you’re wearing tennis shoes, I am personally coming over there to shake some sense into you.

POLLY:
No tennis shoes. Promise.

JULIA:
Wear the blue crepe dress tonight.

POLLY:
I’m not going anywhere tonight.

JULIA:
Yes, you are.

POLLY:
Scorpios don’t have clairvoyant powers.

JULIA:
This one does.

Polly shook her head with amusement, resisting the urge to ask about Luke. She’d said everything she needed to say to him, and she didn’t need Julia to tell her he was holed up in his office working 24/7. Polly promised Julia she would send her pictures of what she planned to wear to her first day of class, then she put her phone away and walked toward the left bank.

Her studio apartment was located just off Montparnasse Boulevard in a rickety little building that had once been an artist’s workshop. She crossed the courtyard and stopped at the building’s entrance.

A row of cellophane-wrapped hard candies were lined up on the steps, a glittering pathway leading to the front door.

Polly’s heart gave a wild, crazy leap.

She bent to pick up the candies one by one as she walked to the door. The trail continued up the wooden staircase to her apartment. She hurried up the stairs, her hand trembling as she unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Oh.

Sugar Rush lollipop trees filled the small room, drenching the air with the smell of chocolate and sweet fruit. Jars of Puffles, Sweeties, Jelly Rolls, Honeybee Toffee, and Cocoa Nibblers sat on the tables and chairs, and candy bars and boxes of chocolates lined the windowsill.

Her pulse raced. She stood there, not daring to believe or hope that . . .

“Hello, Peach.”

The deep, resonant voice flooded Polly with warmth. She spun toward the kitchen, where Luke stood in the doorway, holding a large glass jar filled with pink, blue, green, orange, and red candies.

Her breath stopped in her chest at the sight of him—tall and incredibly beautiful in dark trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his corded forearms. His thick hair was ruffled, his dark eyes intent and serious, and he was as warm and yummy-looking as chocolate mousse laced with rum and coffee.

“What . . .” Polly swallowed hard. “What are you doing here?”

“The concierge let me in after I explained that I wanted to bestow a grand romantic gesture on the love of my life.”

The love of my life.
A thousand sparks flew through her.

“You mean m-me?” she stammered.

Luke grinned, his eyes creasing at the corners.

“The one and only,” he said as he approached her. “Polly Peach.”

He extended the jar. Their fingertips brushed as she took it from him, the light touch causing a little zinging sensation. Polly lifted the lid of the jar and looked at the rainbow of rock candy inside. She took one out; it was shaped like a heart and multi-faceted, with each angle and surface capturing the light.

“I haven’t seen these before.” She held the candy up to the window. The sunlight shone through, making the crystal sparkle like a jewel. “Are they new?”

Luke nodded. “They’re called Polly Promises.”

She lowered her hand and stared at him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “Marketing is working right now on packaging and a launch campaign. We’re planning a big push for Valentine’s Day.”

“But how did you . . . ?”

“I spent a weekend in the test kitchen, making candy and trying to decide if I fell in love with you when I saw you at the Troll’s House or when I realized the fates had put you back in my life, or when you told me I was a control-freak Capricorn. Sometime during that weekend, I came up with Polly Promises. And I realized it didn’t matter when I fell in love with you . . . the fact was that I just loved you. I
love
you.”

He took the candy jar from her and set in on the table, then placed his hands on either side of her neck. The warm, focused look in his eyes as he gazed at her—as if she were the only person who existed in the world—made Polly’s soul want to sing all the songs.

“I love everything about you,” Luke continued, stroking his thumb gently over her collarbone. “I love your openness, your trusting nature, the way you do everything with your whole heart. I love how your eyes give away everything you’re feeling, even when you try to hide it. I love the interesting ways your hair sticks up in the morning. I love your scent, the sound of your laugh, and that look you give me when I’m being an idiot. I love your body to the point of obsession, and I could spend an eternity learning all the facets of your mind. In other words, you are the glaze on my doughnut, the sugar on my cookie, and the chocolate on my éclair.”

“Oh my,” Polly breathed, placing her hand on his chest. “That was the most delicious speech I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“I meant every word. I need you to be mine.”

“I’m yours. Of course I’m yours.” She let her eyes track over his face, his strong features that were indelibly imprinted on her mind. “But . . .”

“I’m here to stay,” Luke said.

“For how long?”

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

Hope rose anew into her heart. “Really?”

“Yes.” He cupped her cheek, faint uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “I know you’re busy, but I want to be here with you.”

“What about Sugar Rush?”

“I took a leave of absence for the next year. I delegated all my projects, turned my office over to Evan, shut down my company email accounts, and threw away my business cards.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m a man of leisure now, baby,” he said. “I have nothing to do except follow you around Paris while you gaze at old buildings and I gaze at your mighty fine ass.”

A laugh bubbled into Polly’s throat. Luke smiled, the warmth in his expression flooding her with everything good.

He was hers.

“I want us to be together,” Luke said, his voice threaded with urgency. “I want us to have
fun
, but not just for a few dates. I want us to have fun forever. I want us to live a fairytale. I want to take you everywhere you want to go.”

“No.”

He blinked. “No?”

“I don’t want you to take me places,” Polly said. “And I don’t want you to follow me. I want you to go
with me
.”

“Peach,” he murmured, lifting his hands to the sides of her head. “I’ll go with you anywhere. I promise.”

Their lips met in a kiss that sent her into a cascade of love, spilling like hot butterscotch through her whole body. She slid her fingers into his hair as their kiss grew deeper and hotter. He moved his hands to her hips and backed her up toward the bed situated against the wall.

She gripped the front of his shirt, bringing him down with her as she fell against the mattress, which enveloped her in a soft, fluffy cloud of—

Polly jerked away from him, her breath fast as she stared at him in shock. She put her hand on the bed.

“Is this . . .”

“A custom-made Savoir mattress?” Luke pressed his lips across her neck, his touch igniting little fires in her blood. “It might be.”