Sweet as Sugar, Hot as Spice

by Kimberly Raye

  “I’ll, um, see if I can dig up another bottle before we take off.” She glanced at her watch. “We’ve still got a good twenty minutes before the rest of the passengers finish boarding and we get into the air.”

  “No need,” Linc quickly told the shocked flight attendant after shooting Eve a behave yourself will ya? look. “We can share the bottle.”

  “The entire bottle,” Eve called out as the attractive woman turned to walk back up the aisle to retrieve glasses and a corkscrew. Forget walked: She sashayed, swaying this way and that, obviously determined to give Linc the Love Monkey a nice parting view.

  Eve frowned and barely ignored the urge to chuck the champagne bottle at the woman. Not that she was jealous, mind you. It was the principle of the thing. Eve felt outrage on behalf of all married women everywhere. The flight attendant had a heck of a lot of nerve flaunting herself in front of a committed man.

  At least that’s what Eve told herself as she fought back her feelings, unfolded her lap tray, and tried to mentally prepare herself for the flight ahead.

  Chapter 8

  You’re not really going to drink that entire bottle, are you?” Linc asked a few minutes later.

  “I might, if there was an extra-large athletic cup handy. But since there isn’t, I’ll content myself with a teeny, tiny glass.” Eve meant to wipe the smile off his face, but the expression only widened.

  “You’re good, but you can save the really outrageous comments for my parents.”

  “I didn’t say that for shock value. I’m dead serious.” At Linc’s skeptical look, she added, “What? Women can’t be just as obnoxious as men?”

  “Drinking beer out of a bra isn’t obnoxious. It was supposed to be, but the only thing it did was garner more attention. It seems ninety-nine percent of the female population think it’s a turn-on. I’ve got women mailing me their bras.”

  “There’s no accounting for taste these days.”

  He grinned and winked at her. “That’s a fact I’m banking on, sunshine.”

  “So give me some background on your parents,” Eve said after a heart-pounding moment. Better to talk and keep her mind busy than sit silently by and lust after him. “If I’m going to pull this off, I need to be prepared.”

  “My dad’s a career politician. He started small as a city councilman and worked his way up. He served several terms as the mayor and now he’s a state senator, second term. He’s handpicked each of the last three mayors of our town, and was about to endorse the fourth when I stepped up to the plate and agreed to run.”

  “To help your friend win.”

  Linc nodded. “It’s time we had someone to shake things up and start looking after the little people. Craig knows what it’s like to work his ass off to make ends meet, and he’s got some pretty good plans.”

  “I get the feeling that’s not the only reason you’re endorsing him,” Eve told him.

  Linc grinned and shrugged. “I grew up going to polo matches and golf tournaments at the Adams Country Club. I never even knew NASCAR existed until I saw a race over at Craig’s. My parents weren’t very happy about me hanging out with Craig because he didn’t have money. But he was the coolest boy in the eighth grade. He came to school in old faded jeans and T-shirts and played ball at recess, while I was stuck in Dockers and polo shirts, my lunchtime spent studying for the academic decathlon team. He was everything I’d always wanted to be. He was a kid, just being a kid.”

  “You were a kid, too.”

  “Not in my family. I was an extension of Jackson Adams, and I was expected to act appropriately.”

  “I know that feeling.”

  Linc eyed her. “I can’t imagine you ever doing an appropriate thing in your life.”

  “I realized early on that the only way to escape the expectation was to be a huge disappointment. So here I am.”

  “A disappointment?” He arched an eyebrow at her. “I’d say you’ve got it going on.”

  “Very funny.”

  He grinned before his expression went serious. “You own a highly successful production company, and you’re on the verge of breaking into the big time. That’s far from disappointing.”

  “Professionally. I’m talking personally. I don’t dress the way my mother thinks I should, I don’t look the way she wants me to, and I certainly don’t act it.”

  “I don’t, either. Not anymore. But I did. I dressed the part, and I even earned a law degree from Yale.”

  “You’re a lawyer? From Yale?” Don’t panic, she told herself. Just because he didn’t get a degree in partying from some mail-order college, doesn’t mean he’s an actual thinker. He’s probably an ambulance chaser who specializes in sucking money out of insurance companies for fake injuries.

  “I was a lawyer—a public defender. Now I’m NASCAR’s latest and greatest.”

  Uh-oh.

  “When I was fifteen, Craig’s dad let us take turns driving his old souped-up Ford Impala in the field back behind the shop.” Linc grinned. “There was just such a feeling of freedom when I climbed into the driver’s seat and felt that wheel in my hands . . .” He shook his head. “I know it sounds crazy.”

  Unfortunately, it didn’t sound crazy at all. Or insensitive. Or chauvinistic.

  “I felt the same way the first time I dyed my hair black,” Eve heard herself say before she could think better of it. “Up until then, I’d been a miniature version of my mother. But then I dumped on the dye and suddenly, I was different. Me.” Free.

  Linc shifted and turned in his seat. His gaze burned into her, his eyes bright and assessing. She moved away from him and folded her hands in her lap at the intense speculation. “What?”

  “I’m trying to picture you with blond hair.”

  “Trust me. It’s not a pretty sight.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  The compliment slid into her ears and Eve felt a rush of heat. A crazy reaction because that’s what men like Linc Adams did. They smiled and charmed and complimented their way into a woman’s heart, only to turn right around and eat hot wings with a voluptuous Hooters girl.

  It didn’t mean anything.

  “So you owe your whole NASCAR career to Craig,” she went on, eager to ignore the strange warmth creeping through her.

  “I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for him.”

  “What about your mother? What does she do?”

  “She’s the wife of a career politician. She goes to all the obligatory fund-raising lunches and heads the local women voters league and does anything and everything to ensure that my father stays in power and that his image remains untarnished. That’s what my grandmother did for my grandfather. What my great-grandmother did for my great-grandfather. What every Adams woman has done for every Adams man since the town’s founding in the early eighteen hundreds.”

  “Sounds like a true calling.”

  “It’s a lot harder than it sounds. You know the saying ‘Behind every good man is a good woman’? Well, it’s true. My father wouldn’t be where he is without my mother, and he knows it.”

  “I bet your parents were thrilled when you agreed to run.”

  “They were happy, but not surprised. They don’t take my racing seriously. They figured I would outgrow it sooner or later the way my dad did his fishing—he won several amateur bass competitions back in his day—and settle down into career politics.”

  “But you just won the Daytona 500. How can they expect you to just walk away?”

  “They’re politicians, not NASCAR fans.”

  She wanted to point out the fact that they were his parents, too, but she kept her mouth shut. Judging by the stern set to his jaw, she had no doubt that Linc had already thought the same thing himself, and he wasn’t all that pleased about it.

  “My mother was thrilled when I started Sugar & Spice Sinema,” Eve said instead. “But that’s about the only thing I’ve ever done that she didn’t totally hate. She’s a sex guru, after all.”

&nbs
p; “Have you always wanted to make sex education films?”

  Yes. It was there on the tip of her tongue, but instead she heard herself say, “Actually, I’ve always wanted to make movies. Not the sex-ed kind, but the big-screen, 20th Century Fox, box-office-hit kind.”

  “So what are you doing filming a documentary?”

  “It’s for a major cable network. Hopefully, it will get my production company some much-needed exposure and our big break.”

  “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s not about getting a break. It’s about cracking that mother yourself. Luck doesn’t just happen. It’s made. You decide what you want and you go after it.”

  There was a truth to his words that made her chest tighten. She forced the feeling aside. “Any brothers and sisters?” she asked.

  “One sister. She still lives with my folks, along with my grandmother. My grandfather died five years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. It was unexpected—a car accident—which made it that much harder on everyone. Especially my dad. What about you? Grandparents still living?”

  “Just my mother’s mother. My gram is seventy-one going on twenty-three.”

  “She’s fun?”

  “She’s fun and sweet and wonderful. She practically raised me and my sisters when we were growing up. Our mother was always off on some book tour, and my dad had various conservationist projects that he worked on when he wasn’t teaching a seminar on the mating habits of the Guatemalan pin monkey at the university of something or other. Gram was our only touchstone. She was always there.”

  “My parents were always home, but they weren’t, if you know what I mean.”

  She knew all too well what he was saying, and it bothered her. Because bad boy Linc Adams wasn’t supposed to talk about things she could actually relate to, any more than he was supposed to be a public defender who went to Yale. His conversations should involve sports, how much Bubba Beer he could drink in a single sitting, and whether or not Jessica Simpson was actually wearing underwear in her latest video. They weren’t supposed to have anything in common.

  But they did.

  Before she could dwell on the notion, a middle-aged man leaned over her and handed Linc a cocktail napkin and a pen.

  “Um, excuse me, Linc, but I was wondering if you would autograph this for my boy.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Just as the man moved to the side with an excited “Thanks!” another appeared. And then another. They were all in a hurry to get Linc’s signature before the plane took off and they would be forced into their seats.

  Thankfully.

  But while she felt grateful that her conversation with Linc had ended, it was a double-edged sword because she was left with nothing to do but remember the feel of his mouth on hers and the way he’d nibbled her bottom lip and the way he’d sucked on it just enough to make her nerves tingle.

  To make matters worse, he kept smiling at his fans. Even worse, he was actually nice to them. No temperamental star syndrome. He made small talk and he made everyone feel comfortable, which made Eve that much more uncomfortable. How was she supposed to focus on his negatives when he kept wiping them clean off her mental slate?

  The question echoed in her head and before she knew what had happened, she’d popped open the bottle of champagne with the corkscrew the flight attendant handed her, and poured herself a glass.

  She was busy sipping her way to a calmer state when a voice over the speaker finally ordered everyone to their seats. The bottle of bubbly was promptly plucked from her hands, along with the glass, and she was left without any distraction.

  “You’re sure you’re not afraid to fly?” Linc asked again as she clutched her hands in her lap and barely resisted the urge to chew at her fingernails.

  “Of course not.”

  “Just breathe and relax.”

  “I’m breathing just fine and I’m relaxed, too . . .” The sentence trailed off as his strong fingers closed around her neck and started to knead.

  “You’re definitely uptight.”

  Amen.

  “And tense.”

  And this close to exploding.

  “I’m really fine with flying.” She stiffened and his hand fell away. “Actually, I’m looking forward to it. I’m going to use the time to get started on my project.”

  “I think I’ll try to get some shut-eye. We’ve got a lot to do in a short amount of time. I figure you’ll make a really bad first impression, which should be all over town by the time we fly out tomorrow morning for Rockingham.”

  “Good news travels fast in a small town.”

  “And bad news travels even faster.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  Once they were safely in the air, Eve retrieved her laptop and tried to ignore the sudden urge to crawl into Linc’s lap and kiss him. She hit the POWER button and watched the screen fire to life. She already had the initial pitch she’d used to sell the documentary, which meant she simply had to turn each key point into a sixty-minute episode.

  Key point: Sex isn’t what it used to be.

  She typed a few ideas of how to portray the notion of sex twenty years ago. The taboos. The gender bias. The—

  Whew, it really is hot in here.

  She readjusted the air nozzle and tried to steady her pounding heart. Linc was snoring softly next to her, the sound sliding into her ears and skimming her nerve endings. She’d always hated men who snored, but his was so soft and steady that it didn’t make her want to poke him. Rather, she wanted to lean even closer and feel the soft rush of his breath against her ear. And then her mouth. And then—

  Clackkk! She snapped the laptop closed, but he didn’t so much as flinch. He just kept snoring softly and soundly. His handsome face so passive and peaceful. His chest, so solid and muscular beneath the soft cotton T-shirt, rose and fell in a steady rhythm. With each intake of oxygen, his muscles flexed and his shoulders expanded. His pulse beat methodically at the base of his muscular neck.

  She licked her lips. She wanted to taste the saltiness of his skin. And feel the raspy stubble against her mouth. And—

  Ugh. This was going to be the longest plane ride of her entire life.

  Eve wasn’t surprised to see the press waiting for them when they arrived at Atlanta International Airport. She slid her hand into Linc’s—they were newlyweds, after all—as they headed for another gate, where a charter plane waited to fly them the eighty-five miles to Adams. Linc paused twice to scribble his name—once when a young kid asked for his John Hancock on a ball cap, and the other when a gushing twenty-something shoved her chest into his face, along with a felt-tip pen, obviously eager for Linc’s legendary cleavage autograph.

  Eve frowned. “If you weren’t so accommodating, you might lose a little more popularity,” she told him once the fan had rushed off.

  “I’m not going to totally kill my career with NASCAR for the sake of losing a small-town election. I plan to be driving long after Craig has taken office. Besides, I don’t have to worry anymore about tarnishing my image with the good voters of Adams. You’ll do that for me.”

  “Great. You get to play the guy sowing his wild oats and I get to be Medusa.” Eve already knew this, but somehow saying it now left a funny taste in her mouth. “I love Medusa,” she murmured to herself while Linc stopped yet again to sign someone else’s cleavage. And a few shoulders. And the naked patch of skin beneath some woman’s pierced belly button.

  “I am Medusa,” Eve muttered as a strange clawing started in her gut.

  Meanwhile Linc was a total chauvinistic jackass.

  Not.

  The truth followed her to the charter gate and onto the small plane. They climbed into the small cabin and settled into two chairs that took up the same amount of space as her one roomy seat had in the first-class section of the previous plane. Her thigh settled firmly against his. Her arm rested along the length of his. Heat skimm
ed along her nerve endings.

  She’d been dead wrong before. This was going to be the longest plane ride of her life.

  Eve practically raced to the gate when they landed at a small airstrip just outside Adams, Georgia. She needed distance and perspective and something to remind her that Linc was still the lowest form of life.

  Her reminder arrived in the form of a young groupie who threw herself into Linc’s arms the minute he reached the gate.

  “Hey, hot stuff,” he told the girl as he lifted her in a massive hug that made Eve stiffen.

  Enthusiastically hugging a woman young enough to be his daughter.

  Definitely a negative.

  And calling her hot stuff.

  Ditto.

  “You looked so radical on CNN yesterday morning. Janie Blueberry’s oldest sister said you’re the hottest driver on the circuit,” the young girl told him as he set her on her feet.

  “And what did you say?”

  “That you are so not all that. Ryan Newman is where it’s at. Young and—”

  He caught her in a headlock and stifled the rest of her words. “You’re a pain, you know that?”

  “And you’re a butthead,” she managed when he finally released her. She frowned. “A big one. An old one. The daddy of all buttheads. The granddaddy of them.”

  Linc looked up at a now-puzzled Eve. “This is my kid sister, Betsy Mae.”

  “I’m not a kid,” Betsy said. “I’m seventeen, and if you don’t stop bossing me you’ll be walking home.” She dangled a set of car keys.

  “Sixteen and two months,” Linc said, grabbing the car keys before she could pull her hand away.

  “That’s practically seventeen, and give those back. It’s my car.”

  “It’s nearly a year away, and it’s not your car. It’s my car. You’re just looking after it while I’m gone.”

  “Butthead.”

  “Short stuff.”

  “Boogerhead.”

  “Piglet.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Betsy Mae,” Eve said, effectively killing their verbal sparring, which reminded her too much of her own relationships with Skye and Xandra.