A Taste of Sugar

by Marina Adair

  “This is private,” Jace said, feeling his palms start to sweat.

  At first glance, Hattie, with her apple cheeks, round bifocals, and spiky white halo of hair looked like your run-of-the-mill, sweet-as-pie grandma. Only she was like a ferret when it came to other people’s private business. Her family was no exception.

  So if Hattie read the letter, then she knew about the annulment. And if she knew about the annulment, she had to know about the marriage. Which meant the entire town of Sugar was bound to be buzzing with marital bliss by morning.

  “Honey, private ended when I changed your first diaper. And you can guess where I think your privacy can stick it, since I watched as you burned rubber across the South, stopping everywhere but home.”

  “I go where my job takes me,” he defended.

  “You’re going to crack hell wide open with that lie,” Hattie said, but her voice held no real steel. In fact, his grandma sounded sad. And if there was one person Jace hated to disappoint, it was Hattie.

  After the fire, she had given up everything, buried her grief and pain over losing her son, to help them rebuild some semblance of family. Hattie never judged, never laid blame when the laying would have been easy, put up with his shit, and loved him even though he was pretty hard to love back then. “I’m tired of waiting for you to come to your senses,” she said quietly. “So I hope you’re tired of running, because I’m too old to chase you. Now come over here and sit down, tell your grandma what’s going on.”

  Jace sank into the couch and closed his eyes. It wasn’t just a letter from the county recorder’s office, it was a letter confirming that the annulment had been filed and sent to Columbus, and now they were just waiting for the judge’s signature. When that happened it would be mailed to Sugar and would require two additional signatures.

  A signature he wasn’t happy about providing anymore.

  “How much did you read?” he asked.

  Hattie rested a hand on his knee, and when she spoke it was in that tone she’d used when he’d decided it would be funny to pick up his prom date in Mr. Harper’s hearse. “Enough to know that you’re flushing away what might be your last chance with that sweet doctor. No woman will forgive a man for walking out twice, I don’t care how handsome you are.”

  He straightened. “Twice? You knew about the first time?”

  “Who do you think signed for the certified letter the first time, telling you there was a mistake in the filing?”

  Well, shit. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Hattie smiled as though he was the slowest man on the planet. And maybe he was. “I figured that if you loved that girl enough to make her a McGraw then she must be someone pretty special.”

  Jace looked Hattie in the eye and went for bone-deep honest. “Charlotte is beyond special.” She was everything to him.

  “I can’t believe you made me miss my favorite grandson’s wedding.”

  “We eloped,” he explained. “And Cal’s your favorite grandson.”

  “Actually, Brett is, but he already has it so easy with women I pretend it’s Cal.” Then she lowered her voice, serious and thick with emotion. “But you were so young when your parents went, so hard to reach but so easy to love, I’ve always considered you mine. And the boy I raised wouldn’t walk out on love.”

  Jace swallowed hard past the emotion clogging his throat. “If I had stayed I would have ruined everything for her, and she has worked so hard. I couldn’t do that.”

  Jace explained the position Charlotte had been up for and how the lawsuit would have ruined everything.

  “I hear what you’re saying, son,” Hattie said when he finished. “You were young, scared, made what you thought was the best decision. But why are you filing this time?”

  Jace stumbled. Unsure how to answer that question, because the reasons seemed so clear to him now. “Because it was over. Dead and buried.”

  “Was?” she said, her eyes were zeroed in, dilated and assessing, and flashing with amusement, making Jace want to ask what was so damn funny.

  “I asked her if she wanted to refile. She said yes. I’m giving her what she wants.”

  “And what do you want, son?”

  Her. No hesitation, no question. He wanted Charlotte. For as long as he could have her. Period.

  “You still love her,” Hattie stated with so much conviction, Jace had to wonder just how bad his poker face was.

  “So much it hurts to breathe sometimes,” he said, knowing that it would only get worse if he walked, but terrified that if he stayed and blew it, it would be game over. Forever. “What if love isn’t enough?”

  “Love is never enough,” Hattie said, as though it should be adopted as Hallmark’s newest slogan for greeting cards. “It takes love and trust and a whole lot of elbow grease to go the distance. Marriage is hard work, all relationships are. And sometimes we make mistakes, get scared, but how you deal with your own devil shows the character of the man. And I like to think I raised me three strong McGraw men.”

  Whether it was the honesty in Hattie’s eyes or the simplicity in her smile, Jace realized he couldn’t walk away again. He had to do whatever it took to prove that what they had was worth fighting for. More importantly, let Charlotte know that she was worth fighting for.

  Taking things slow, giving her the space she needed to distance him right out of her life wasn’t the answer. Not when the final papers would be arriving in a few weeks and the woman he loved was on the line.

  “Looks like I won’t be needing those spare sheets you just put out,” Jace said, his heart giddy over how incredible it would be to be back under the same roof. To start and end the day watching her from across a home-cooked meal. “Seems I have a set across the lake.”

  Hattie cupped his face and got eye to eye—which was pretty funny considering she was standing and he was still sitting. “You telling me that you’re going to ask your woman for a key?”

  “Who needs a key when boots work just as well?”

  * * *

  “No risk, no thrill,” Charlotte mumbled.

  It was the same mantra she had embraced last night over a pint of vanilla-bean ice cream when, tired of people stomping all over her plans, she’d decided to toss the demure debutante attitude right into the hamper and crawl into bed in nothing but what God had given her. After her mother had guilted her into coming over tonight for Sunday dinner to hear her father out, Charlotte had slipped on a new set of silky sheets she’d ordered off the Internet, part of her grown-up sexy plan and part of her horrify her mother plan. Then she decided it would be a shame to put a matronly cotton gown between her and the 1,500-thread count. So she’d gone the full monty on life, and now that the sun had risen she was questioning her sanity.

  Because although Charlotte felt very grown-up and sexy, she was also one hundred percent positive that although she’d gone to bed alone, she had woken up to a party of two.

  In her bed.

  “I have to be honest and tell you that your risks are thrilling as hell,” a smooth voice drawled, way too amused and happy for the early hour. Charlotte hadn’t forgotten that bedroom voice, she just hadn’t expected to hear it again while in bed—and naked.

  Ignoring the way her toes curled, she opened her eyes. Blinded by the gleaming white teeth and smug face sitting next to her—on her bed!—she immediately closed them. “I must still be asleep, having some kind of ice-cream-induced dream.”

  “I’ve been telling myself that for the past hour, then about fifteen minutes in, you got hot and kicked off all the covers and I considered pinching myself to make sure.” She opened her eyes to find Jace propped up against the headboard reading a copy of Hitched magazine that advertised “Ten Ways to Keep the Sizzle after Singlehood.” He was on top of the covers—thank the Lord—wearing a blue flannel shirt, a pair of well-worn jeans, no socks. “But if you’re that concerned, I can pinch you.”

  His hand went to lift the sheets and Charlotte smacked him away. “What ar
e you doing here?”

  “Besides bringing my wife her morning cup of joe?” He reached over and grabbed a mug off the nightstand and wafted it under her nose.

  “I’m not your wife, and…” The mug took one more pass beneath her nose, filling it with the bitter and rich scent of coffee, and she took one more heavenly sniff. Peppermint latte. The man was playing dirty.

  She slipped her hand out from beneath the covers, just enough to grab the mug without showing the goods. “Thank you.” She snatched the cup. “Now go home.”

  Jace looked up from the magazine and slid her a smile. “According to the great state of Georgia, I am home.” He flipped the magazine around and pointed to number five on the list. “And according to Hitched magazine, couples who have little rituals together, such as sharing their morning cup of coffee, often have more spontaneous sex.”

  Charlotte choked on her coffee. “Me drinking this does not mean we are going to have sex. Spontaneous or otherwise.” Charlotte had worked for years to get her life back in order, and she wasn’t about to let him walk back in and wreak chaos again.

  He folded the magazine and shrugged, as though unconcerned with her statement. “Sharing a drink led to stairwell sex, so who knows where a few more of these coffee-in-bed mornings will lead?”

  “Nowhere. Because this is the last coffee we will share in this bed or any other. Because there is no way you are staying here.”

  He let out a low whistle. “Thing is, I already gave my notice at Cal’s, Brett’s house is full of baby crap, and the B&B is booked until Founder’s Day. So I don’t know what to tell you, Charlie,” he said. “Except to point out the fact that, while it may take some getting used to your snoring again, you did offer.”

  “It is not a fact, because I never offered for you to stay here,” she countered, sitting up on her elbows. “And I don’t snore.”

  Jace raised a disbelieving brow. “Ah-huh, and you did,” he said. “Right there in that official government office. You went on record saying that you understood it would take three or so weeks for the marriage to be absolved. And darlin’, I want my three or so weeks.”

  His eyes drifted to the sheets, which had shifted slightly, and he grinned. His smile was crooked and a little naughty around the edges, and her heart fluttered. Four years, and he still had the ability to send her into a free fall with one smile. “You can be such a jerk.”

  “True,” he said, meeting her gaze when she tucked the sheets around her neck. “But part of marriage is accepting your partner for who they are, so I would hate to deny you part of myself. That’s number three on the list.” He went back to the magazine and turned the page. “But I have to admit that I’m looking forward to number seven the most. ‘Naptime Shenanigans.’ ”

  “There will be no naptime, because you aren’t sleeping here.” She snatched the magazine and threw it on the floor.

  He rolled to his side so that he was facing her. She had to admit that being this close to him when he had that mischievous twinkle in his eyes was tempting.

  “I like naptime when we’re awake better anyways.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes, because grown-up sexy women didn’t give into temptation, they harnessed it. “I meant that you need to find your own bed.”

  “Already did.” He patted the mattress a few times, then went about snuggling in, getting his massive body comfortable, purposefully grazing her thighs with his in the process.

  “This,” she spread her hand out to encompass the entirety of the bed, sure to hold the sheets tight with the other, “is my bed.”

  “This,” he took her hand and a jolt of something familiar and heated slid through her body as he moved it to the middle of the mattress, “is your half. And this is mine. You can use the big pillow I have down in my car as a wall if you’re afraid you might be tempted to spoon. But don’t blame me if I cross the line tonight. You know me, I like to be the big spoon.”

  He also liked to hold her close, as though even while asleep he wanted her to know she was completely adored. Treasured. Cared for. Three things that she desperately wanted but was terrified to reach for. It had taken her a long time to get used to an empty house. Having him stay only to leave again would make her house seem even emptier than it already did.

  “There is no way in hell…wait.” Her heart, which was already beating irregularly due to being naked in the presence of the best lover she’d ever had, kicked into high gear. “Did you say your car is here? As in out front?”

  “That a problem?”

  “Yes!” Charlotte sat up so fast little dots of anxiety spotted her vision, then she nearly lost the sheet completely. Jace smiled, so she tugged harder. It didn’t help, the big ox was too heavy to budge. “You know how Sugar is. Brett spent one night at Joie’s place and stories of the big city Yankee polishing PGA playboy’s five iron was all anyone talked about for months.”

  And Jace’s big blue muscle car with black racing stripes in her driveway was a problem of epic proportions. The thing was so noticeable, so identifiable, having it at her house would be worse than hanging a neon DR. HOLDEN SHACKIN’ UP IN SIN AND SCANDAL sign from her front porch. One night and the gossip mill would shred her reputation.

  And Darleen Vander, Lord help them all. That woman would take one look at Sugar’s fastest ride making cozy with Charlotte’s Sunday school sedan and Darleen would have the im-peachment campaign locked down before Monday’s meeting. And Charlotte would be out of office before Founder’s Day. Which would mean any headway she’d made in moving the fair to the clinic’s lot would vanish. Poof. Just like that.

  One night, and Charlotte would be back to ground zero.

  Her chest started tightening, and Charlotte was pretty sure that the bed was spinning.

  “Five iron, huh?” Jace shook his head empathetically. “Poor guy, at least they could have said nine iron.”

  “Jace, I’m being serious, you need to move your car. Now,” Charlotte demanded, pulling a pillow up to her chest as though that was the same as wearing clothes. Then she gave him her most intimidating look, which was difficult considering she was afraid she’d flashed a little skin in the process. When he didn’t move, didn’t even blink, she figured all the important parts were covered and went for honest. “Look, I know you’re mad about me avoiding you and not returning your calls and that you want to talk about Atlanta, but—”

  “I am so past talking.”

  “—if anyone sees your car here they will assume we’re”—she looked at his mighty fine body sprawled across her bed, then at her mighty naked state, and whispered—“you know.”

  “No, I don’t know,” he whispered back. “I have a pretty good idea, but why don’t you explain it to me so we know we are both on the same page and I can get the visual?”

  She ignored this. “If anyone sees you here, at my house, it will ruin”—her position with the Peaches, her position at the hospital, her position in the community—“everything.”

  “Everything, huh?”

  A flash of hurt crossed his face at her statement, and Charlotte found herself wanting to explain, wanting to say that she didn’t care if anyone knew, that once upon a time she was proud that he was her husband. But so much had changed since then, and so much was on the line now, she held her ground. “I am serious.”

  “Baby,” he said, sitting up and leaning over her until she was pressed against the headboard, and the only thing between her and his big, muscled body was a few measly feathers wrapped in cotton. He smelled of warm sheets, sweetened coffee, and pissed-off male. It was a complete turn-on. “You have no idea how serious I am. You want to keep all of this quiet? Fine,” he said, and nothing about his tone or the way he flicked that F sounded fine at all. “But this time around, I want something, too.”

  Charlotte swallowed, hard, because his look was fueled by anger, sadness, one hundred percent bone-deep determination. And the last time he’d been so set on something was the night before he walked out, when he�
�d been adamant that his reputation would ruin her chances at Atlanta Memorial. And too concerned over her family’s opinions, she didn’t fight hard enough to convince him otherwise. “I’ll play your game, but you’ll have to play mine. I want three weeks. Three weeks of morning coffee, talking about our days, you being the last person I see before I go to bed.”

  “Jace,” she said on a broken whisper, her chest so tight it hurt to breathe, because she couldn’t give him what he was asking for. Couldn’t go there with him again only to lose him in the end. She’d been there before, and it took years for her to finally heal enough to move on. Sure, she knew the sex would be magical. Just like she knew his leaving would open up old wounds that would never properly heal. “Three weeks of pretending that this is real—”

  He put a finger on her lips, silencing her. But when he spoke his voice was low and gravelly and caused something deep in her soul to warm. “I want to hear what you have to say, I really do, baby. But I’m not done talking, and I need to get this all out, okay?”

  “Okay,” she finally breathed against his finger, because although she was terrified to hear what he was going to say, she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t let him finish.

  “I walked out. I got scared and I walked and I hurt you, so damn much I can still see it every time you look at me.” He tucked her hair behind her ear and let his finger trail down her jawline and she felt the tears she’d buried long ago begin to rise. “I am so sorry for being that guy to you, for letting you down, and I know that no matter how much I apologize it will never be enough. Never make it right. That’s why I need three weeks of naptime shenanigans and holding hands and marriage. To prove to you that I’m not that guy, that we can make this work somehow. No pretending, Charlie, real and raw and honest. Like how it used to be.”

  He closed his eyes, and when they opened Charlotte forgot to breathe. Because there looking back at her was enough longing and loneliness and earth-shattering desire to break her resolve—and her heart. Even worse, it was like looking in the mirror four years ago. “I want three or so weeks of you, Charlie, so please don’t say no.”