A Taste of Sugar

by Marina Adair

  But this was bigger than Charlotte. Bigger than Darleen’s grudge. The Grow Clinic was almost there, so close Charlotte could finally see how many kids would benefit, how many local families they could help, and she just needed to convey that to the board.

  “I would like to propose to the board that the pot go toward the Grow Clinic.”

  “Of course she would,” Darleen said under her breath, making sure to give her words enough air to filter through the crowd.

  The other night at dinner, Charlotte had feared that she would receive some opposition, but now that Darleen was spearheading what was turning out to be an inquisition, Charlotte would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little rattled.

  “The Sugar Peaches have played a huge hand in the building of the new pediatric ward and clinic. There are hundreds of children, brave children, who need a place like the Grow Clinic to heal. A place that supports and gives them the tools and care they need to transition back into living a full life. These funds will help provide that safe place, ladies. And we are almost there. With this pot we should be ready for business.”

  “We’ve almost been there for three years,” Darleen argued, and a few women nodded in agreement. “Which is why I propose that, this year, the board consider something different, something that will benefit everyone in the community. Not just the patrons of the Holdens’ hospital.”

  Charlotte wanted to argue that her Grow Clinic would benefit everyone, because helping these kids only made the community that much stronger. But Darleen was already on her soapbox. “Something that, if done right, could cement the Sugar Peaches as the most prestigious and respected organization in the history of the county.”

  Darleen gave a long, dramatic pause, and Charlotte rolled her eyes. All of the other eyes in the room were too wide with anticipation to do any kind of rolling.

  When she had every strand of pearls in the room clicking with excitement, Darleen said, “I propose that we use the pot to resurrect”—she snatched the Golden Peach off the table, which was a sign that she was taking the floor—“Bluebell Hall.”

  As though on cue, Summer Sheen, Darleen’s sister debutante in crime, yanked the covering off an easel holding a poster board to expose a blown-up picture of Bluebell Hall in its prime.

  Several gasps escaped, including one from Charlotte herself—because this glossy presentation, with its high-resolution images and symmetrical design, was too slick and professional to be anything other than a premeditated strike on Charlotte—and Darleen had used the perfect weapon.

  Bluebell Hall was not only one of the oldest buildings in Sugar County, in its day it was the heart of entertainment for the area until it was destroyed by a tornado that blew through Sugar back in the forties. In fact, John Wilkes Booth had once performed on its stage, accidently stumbling over a warped board and cutting himself with his own sword, an event that was later considered to be a symbol of the hall’s patriotism. So when it toppled over on the same day as the attack on Pearl Harbor, the citizens believed it was confirmation of the landmark’s patriotic roots, and the Bluebell Hall debacle of 1941 became known as the day that would live in infamy—and the town would never rest until Bluebell Hall was standing proudly again.

  Over the years, developers, local organizations, even the town had tried their hand at restoring the old hall, but between pleasing the historical society’s stringent guidelines and Bluebell’s stubborn pride, every single attempt had ended in bankruptcy—even death. Bluebell Hall was not only the biggest money pit in the history of Sugar County, it was the chupacabra of philanthropy—history, patriotism, and centuries of local folklore.

  And everyone in the room knew it.

  If the Sugar Peaches could resurrect what no male organization had been able to do, they would gain a new respect in the eyes of the town. If they failed, Charlotte would be seen as the only Peach regent on record to ruin the Miss Peach pageant and fail old Blue herself.

  “I think that is a great idea,” Charlotte said diplomatically. “But I believe that a project that ambitious, that means so much to the town, would be risky to jump into without really coming up with a plan.” Because once they made the announcement, there would be no going back.

  “Maybe it’s just too ambitious for the current leadership,” Darleen challenged, then leaned in so that only Charlotte could hear her. “Or maybe you’re just scared because you are one little scandal from being im-peached.”

  Charlotte opened her mouth to speak, then thought back to yesterday at Kiss My Glass and swallowed hard. Surely, the reemergence of a secret husband wasn’t scandal material. It wasn’t as if she’d be married to him forever—that dream had sailed a long time ago, and the disappointment barely even bothered her at all anymore.

  She needed this annulment to happen and hoped beyond hope that its finality would be the closure she needed to finally let go and move on. She just didn’t think she could make it happen in Jace’s time frame. After the fair she’d be more capable of finding the time and, more importantly, the emotional capacity to go to Atlanta.

  One look at Darleen, though, and she knew that if she didn’t get that annulment, and soon, it might turn into the biggest news to hit Sugar County since, well…since the entire Miss Peach court was arrested for B&E and public intoxication of a minor.

  * * *

  The next morning, Jace hadn’t even gotten out of his car, and already he knew he’d made a mistake. Then again, whenever it came to Charlotte, mistakes seemed to be his specialty.

  When she had called earlier, asking him to swing by on his way out of town, he’d honestly assumed it was to check on the status of her car—or ask for a ride to work. But one look at her sitting on the porch swing with her well-manicured hair, hoity-toity dress, and PhD heels and Jace knew that she was finally going to give him what he wanted.

  “Morning, Dr. Holden,” he said, unfolding himself from the car.

  “You’re late.” Charlotte stood and swished her way down the steps toward him. No good morning, no thanks for coming, just a you’re late as though they had plans, as though he’d disappointed her again.

  “Sorry,” he said coolly, tapping the face of his watch. “Forgot to set it to Charlotte Standard Time.”

  She stopped a few feet from him, and he could see the hesitation in her expression. Hesitation and something else. Something that looked an awful lot like vulnerability. Oh, there was a good portion of irritation and hostility glaring at him through those baby blues, but behind it all was definitely vulnerability. Interesting.

  “You’re the one who said we had to go to Atlanta today.”

  “I believe you told me you were too busy to make the time,” he said, not sure how he was going to handle six hours in an enclosed space with her. Just standing downwind taking in her floral scent was making him hard.

  “I changed my mind.”

  Jace looked at her for a long moment, then laughed. She was serious.

  “Darling, you don’t change your mind. Ever.” Charlotte Holden might be a Southern belle, but her Kevlar wall of stubbornness could rival a Southern granny’s—and having been raised by the most mule-headed granny in the world, that was saying a lot. Oh, he believed that Charlotte had changed her mind, he just didn’t know why. “So what happened with your debutante sisters yesterday that has you desperate enough to call me?”

  “Sugar Peaches,” she corrected. “And since when do you keep up on Sugar gossip?”

  “Since you started calling yourself a Sugar Peach. I mean, weren’t the Peaches your mom’s thing?”

  Charlotte had once confided in him that she moved to Atlanta to escape the pressure of following in her mother’s footsteps. The pageants and parties and social ladder climbing were Babette’s dream for Charlotte. Charlotte’s dream was to save lives—and she was a master at it.

  “Well, it’s my thing now,” she said, and he couldn’t help but notice the resignation in her voice. He wanted to know what else had changed, then realized it
didn’t matter anymore. “And that means I have to be back as soon as possible. Founder’s Day is only three weeks off, and I have a lot to do.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He had to get an annulment, convince his buddy to fix Hattie’s car, and secure that loan before Dale pulled his offer.

  “Good, because as the current regent of the Sugar Peaches it falls to me to plan the Founder’s Day Fair, so this trip needs to be a quickie,” she said, her bossy, take-charge tone making him smile.

  “Quickies aren’t really my specialty,” he said. “But who am I to argue with a lady?”

  “Easy and discreet, Jace. The last thing I need right now is to explain this to my parents,” she clarified as though he was slow, as though he didn’t know just how anxious she was to put the past behind them. Which shouldn’t have pissed him off, because that was what he wanted, too. But it did.

  “Easy and discreet? Kind of like our marriage?” he mused.

  She looked at him for a long moment and then slowly shook her head. “Nothing about our marriage was easy, Jace,” she said, and the absolute certainty in her voice made him want to prove her wrong.

  “There was one easy thing between us,” Jace said, stepping into her and closing the distance, trapping her between the car and his body. He reached behind her neck, crushed his mouth to hers, and kissed the hell out of her.

  Only one touch, and she was kissing him back. No hesitation, no second-guessing, just—pow—debutante to seductress. Not interested to tongue down his throat in two seconds flat.

  And holy fucking God, it was perfect. The way she felt, the way she tasted, the way she crawled up his body and demanded more… How had he forgotten this side of her?

  Charlotte hadn’t accidently stumbled and caught herself on his mouth, which was the only way Jace would have imagined this miracle taking place even a day ago. No, Charlotte Holden, the woman who had done her best to avoid him for the past four years, was pressing her elegant, bombshell body so firmly against him she couldn’t possibly get any closer. And her hands? Yeah, those were wrapped around his middle, making these insane little strokes under his shirt.

  His hands? They didn’t waste a minute, working their way around to cup her ass—and what a spectacular ass she had. Soft, round, and custom-made for him.

  Her mouth, that was made for him, too, and the way she was melding it to his had him wondering what the hell he was doing.

  That insane pull between them, which he’d convinced himself didn’t exist, wasn’t only burning a hole through his clothes—and his mission—it also wasn’t one-sided. Which told him that he should a) back the hell up, and b) immediately cancel this field trip they had planned. Before things got crazy.

  But then she made this sexy little sound in the back of her throat—the one that used to drive him batshit crazy, that still drove him batshit crazy—and he was a goner.

  So he deepened the kiss, because why the hell not? Charlotte had her prim and proper hands all over him, and he was certain that this was the best kiss he’d ever had. Hot and needy and raw and so damn desperate it was like driving down the track at three hundred miles per hour with no breaks.

  Then he realized that this was not only the best kiss ever, but probably also their last kiss ever, and he slowly pulled back, tugging her lower lip between his teeth as long as he could until the connection finally broke. And damn, he wished he hadn’t stopped.

  That one second of uncharged air was all Charlotte needed. Sure, she was breathing heavily, and her gaze was dazed and confused. A mirror image of his own. But within a split second her eyes frosted over and that unflinching fortitude was back.

  Not that he was fooled. Jace knew that they had chemistry, remembered how electric they were together, but what had arched between them just now floored him. And it had floored her, too.

  Charlotte cleared her throat. “This changes nothing.”

  Jace lowered his gaze to her hands, which were resting on the buckle of his belt. “Oh, it changes something.”

  Charlotte jerked her hands back and stuffed them into the pockets of her dress. “I go with you to Atlanta, we get the annulment straightened out, then you leave. That’s the plan.”

  He knew the plan, had come up with it himself. Yet after that kiss he was reconsidering if there weren’t a few road stops that were missing. Like another mind-blowing kiss with his wife.

  Charlotte stepped back—way back—putting a good even if hell freezes over distance between them. “If this is going to work, then we have to set some guidelines.”

  “Sugar, the only lines in my world are at the end of a track,” Jace said, tipping the bill of his FERRARI PIT CREW ball cap. “And the guy who crosses them the most in the least amount of time wins.”

  She ignored this and held up a finger. He was surprised that it wasn’t her middle one. “First rule. No kissing.”

  He leaned a hip against the door of his car and tsked. “Yeah, we already broke that one, so that rule doesn’t work for me.”

  “Too bad. Second rule.” There went another finger. Long and sleek and elegant—and about two seconds ago they’d been two inches from dropping him into third. “No touching—”

  “Please refer to my earlier statement,” he argued.

  “—no flirting, and absolutely no talk of the past.”

  There was no point in arguing the last one. The last place he wanted to revisit with this woman was the past.

  “Oh,” she said, snatching his keys right out of his hand. “And I get to drive.”

  “There are too many horses under that hood for you to handle.” He snatched them back, holding them out of reach to be safe.

  “You don’t know what I can handle, Jace,” she said, and he knew that one would leave a mark. Charlotte might look like a debutante, and she was persuasive as hell, but when she couldn’t negotiate herself into the winning chair, she fought dirty. And that comment was below the belt, probably only because it was true.

  “Yeah, well, the no-touching rule still extends to my keys,” he clarified.

  “You can’t extend a rule that you rejected.”

  “Are you saying that the touching rule is out of play?”

  “What?” She smacked his chest and he flexed a pec. She jerked her hand back. “No!”

  Jace leaned in, and in that tone that usually had women melting like putty said, “You sure? Because you said no, then groped me, so I was a little confused.” When she didn’t even blink, he flashed his trademark grin, the one that had been passed down from McGraw father to McGraw son. “Then I drive.”

  He gave her a quick pat on the ass and walked toward the passenger door. Opening it like the gentleman his mama raised him to be.

  Charlotte stood there for a long, tense moment before releasing the huff to end all huffs and stomped over to the car. “Fine, but I get to pick the station.” She looked at his car, sleek and muscled and zero to speed-of-light in two seconds flat. Then she took in his backseat, custom leather that was butter soft and built to impress, and smiled.

  Her smile was just wicked enough to have him wondering what ideas Charlotte had with regard to the backseat. And that got him thinking what the two of them could do in that backseat—what they’d already done a time or two. And suddenly all of the possibilities loomed in front of him.

  All he had to do was lean in for the kiss and get this party in motion. Within minutes, maybe even seconds, he could have them both sprawled out in the back—although he was a big guy and it was a tight space, he could manage—and he could remind her what else was easy between them.

  The memories had a wicked smile of his own forming.

  “No staring,” she said. “Or smiling like that.”

  “Darlin’, those weren’t in the agreed-upon rules.”

  “Fine, stare all you want,” she said, climbing into the passenger seat. “But that smile counts as flirting, and you know it.”

  He did. Which is why he released the double dimples her way before walking ar
ound the back of the car and sliding behind the wheel. He started the car and noticed that Charlotte was turning her body to look out the window, avoiding eye contact. Fine with him, since the twisty motion she was executing caused her dress to ride up, showing off a good three inches of creamy white skin.

  He looked his fill, then started the car and let it idle for a few minutes while he flipped through the stations.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Finding some mood music,” he said, stopping on a smooth, sexy jazz station.

  “Mood music?”

  He looked over at her and smiled. “You never said anything about fantasizing on that extensive list of yours.” Then he dropped the car into gear and gunned it.

  Chapter 5

  The county recorder was out sick.

  Of course. Because of all the days for the one person who could fix this mess to be sick, it had to be today.

  “But we had an appointment,” Charlotte said.

  Jace took one look at the OUT OF OFFICE sign, gave an unfazed shrug, and started walking toward the exit to go God knew where. That was it, one little unexpected hardship and he was already walking away, leaving her to figure it out. “Wait, you’re really leaving?”

  Jace stopped to look around. He looked at the security guard standing by the metal detector, at the endless row of people in the Social Security line that stretched on forever, at the very unwelcoming woman in the I HEART JOHNSON T-shirt who sat behind the welcome counter, then back at Charlotte. “Oh, are you talking to me?”

  Heat flooded her cheeks at his comment. Charlotte had feigned sleep for close to two hours in the car. She couldn’t remember the last time she had worked so hard to ignore someone. Not that Jace complained. Nope, he just turned up the radio, took a peek at her thighs, and then grinned, the big jerk.

  Every time he’d look her way, she’d pretended to be asleep. But the moments when he was concentrating on the road gave her the chance to look at him, really look at him for the first time since he’d come home without the fear of being caught breaking her “no staring” rule.