Sweet as Sugar, Hot as Spice

by Kimberly Raye

He leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, as if trying to get a grip on what he was feeling.

  She felt him throb against her palms, his erection twitching in anticipation, and then she stroked him. Her fingers slid back and forth, tracing the bulging head, the hard, smooth length. She cupped his testicles and massaged them, and he groaned.

  He leaned up and stared down at her, his gaze dark and hooded and hungry. He reached for her jeans, freed the buttons, and shoved them down until she stepped free. Her panties followed until she wore nothing.

  He turned her and placed her hands on the wall. His arms came around her and he cupped her sex, dragging a finger over her wet folds in a smooth, sweet rhythm that made her catch her bottom lip. He paused only to slide on a condom before touching her again.

  She had the fleeting thought that she was buck naked on an elevator for the first time in her life. A fact that should have stirred an illicit thrill because Eve prided herself on doing the wild and unusual, but she felt nothing save the need clawing at her belly. Her senses were focused solely on the man who surrounded her, his hands on her hips. Behind her, his arousal throbbed, pressing against her buttocks, hot and desperate for entry.

  His palm met the wall next to hers and his other arm slid around her, anchoring her for a full upward thrust until he was buried to the hilt. He didn’t move for a long moment. He just stood there as her body throbbed around his.

  She barely heard the ring of the emergency phone through the haze of pleasure that surrounded her. He withdrew then, only to plunge back in. She strained against him, moving her hips and meeting his thrust with a sense of urgency that had little to do with the constant ringing and everything to do with the need building inside her. A fierce, encompassing feeling unlike anything she’d ever experienced before with anyone else.

  Because of him.

  He turned her on physically with his hands and his mouth and the raw magnetism of his body. But it went even deeper than that. He stirred her emotionally with the possessive way he’d slid his arm around her at the hospital just when she’d needed him most, and the way he seemed genuinely concerned about her sister, and the way he’d noticed her freckles. And liked them.

  She liked him.

  The truth rooted in her brain as he thrust harder and deeper and she went higher. Fear gripped her, but it wasn’t the fear of not having an orgasm. Suddenly, she was terrified to climax. Because if she did, and it turned out to be spectacular, then she was bound to want to do it again. And again. And again.

  Eve Farrel didn’t do again. Not with a man like Linc—a man who’d made it perfectly clear that he didn’t have time for a relationship.

  She didn’t have time, either. Not now. Not yet.

  No!

  She closed her eyes and started to moan for everything she was worth. When she reached an earsplitting crescendo, he slid deep inside her and held himself.

  She blew out a deep breath and tried to think of anything and everything other than the feeling of fullness between her legs. Because if he moved one more time, she was a definite goner. Her toes already tingled. And her thighs were shaking. And her nipples pulsed. Just one more thrust and she would plunge all the way over . . .

  Rrring!

  She fixated on the sound and started to count. One ring. Two rings. Three rings.

  Seconds ticked by and he finally withdrew.

  “Yeah?” Linc growled as he snatched up the phone on the twelfth ring.

  Eve took the opportunity to snatch up her clothes and start yanking them back on, careful to keep her gaze diverted from his.

  “Sorry,” he went on, “but my wife was feeling dizzy and I had to stop the elevator and give her a few minutes to catch her bearings.” He listened for a few minutes. “Sorry if we caused any inconvenience. She’s fine now.”

  Right. Eve was anything but fine. She was a fake and a fraud and she was totally freaked out.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw him pull up his underwear and shorts. He yanked his T-shirt down and punched the ON button. With a loud screech, the elevator started moving again.

  Holy Mother Upstairs, she really and truly liked him. And that put a whole new perspective on things.

  She wasn’t supposed to fall into like with him. She wasn’t ready for that in her life just yet. She had too much going on. She couldn’t focus on her project if she was busy liking some man.

  And what if she liked him and he didn’t like her? Or what if she liked him too much and he only liked her a little? Or what if she liked him totally and completely, despite the fact that he was completely unlikable?

  It happened. Trina, an intelligent, happening kind of woman, had fallen for her share of bums. Xandra had fallen for a total user and loser prior to meeting Beau. Even Skye had been a bum magnet before she’d met Clint. In her search for rock-solid commitment, she’d only managed to hook up with buff, macho, temporary types who’d all taken a hike before she could say the word relationship, much less develop one.

  To Linc’s credit, he wasn’t the total chauvinist he’d made himself out to be. But he wasn’t 100 percent her Mr. Kaboom, either. He was all about temporary. About not having a relationship.

  His behavior proved it. He said nothing as he walked her to the hotel room, as if he hadn’t even noticed that she’d faked it. As if he didn’t care.

  “I’ll see you next week after the Coca-Cola race.”

  “Are you coming in on Sunday night or Monday morning?” Ugh, was that hope in her voice?

  “I’m not coming in at all. You’re coming to me. The fund-raiser in Adams, remember?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You can pick up your ticket at the airport. Your flight leaves from LAX at seven A.M. Monday morning. Sleep tight.” Then he kissed her on her nose, right on top of the three freckles, and left to catch his plane back to the racetrack.

  The minute the door closed, Eve hit the bathroom and spent the next hour in a very cold shower. She did her best to talk herself out of liking Linc Adams, but it didn’t work. By the time she stepped out, she was no closer to solving her new problem. She only knew she wasn’t about to make it worse by having sex with him again.

  From here on out, she was flying solo, even if it wasn’t half as much fun as the real thing.

  “What is up with you?” Cal, Linc’s crew chief, came up to him as he climbed out of the car and pulled off his helmet after a disappointing practice at Lowe’s Motor Speedway.

  “Nothing,” Linc growled as he downed a bottle of ice water while his crew went to work fine-tuning the car.

  “Nothing?” Cal shook his head. “Bernie was on the horn talking you through that last turn and you ignored him.” Bernie was Linc’s spotter, and the boss of tactical maneuvers when Linc was on the track.

  “I heard him; I just thought it was better to take that turn on the inside.” In truth, he’d been gripping the steering wheel, his gaze on the stretch of track in front of him and his mind on Eve and her fake orgasm.

  Fake?

  He still couldn’t believe it. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. She’d looked first surprised, then turned on, just as the video had said. And she’d been into it. He’d felt it in the way she’d trembled beneath his hands and how wet she’d been. Christ, it had been all he could do to control himself. He’d wanted her for so long that he’d been ready to explode in the first moment of penetration. But he’d paced himself, determined to bring her with him all the way. She’d been right there . . . Right friggin’ there . . .

  “. . . what the headset is for. If you’re not going to listen to the point man, there’s no reason to have one.”

  “I made a bad call.” Linc wiped a hand over his face. “It won’t happen again.”

  Amen to that. He was through busting his ass to please Eve Farrel. Forget the damned video. The next move would be hers, and if she didn’t make one . . .

  He didn’t want to think about it.

  He pulled on his helmet an
d climbed back in the car for more laps.

  “Listen to the point man,” Cal said.

  Linc nodded and climbed back into the car. He gunned the engine and steered back into position.

  If she truly had been turned on and she’d faked it for whatever reason, then she would be back for more. An attraction as fierce as theirs was too powerful to resist. If she wasn’t turned on and was just a damned fine actress, then she would keep her distance.

  Either way, the ball was in her court. Linc wasn’t making any more moves except the ones on the track.

  He pressed the gas and opened up the engine and in a matter of seconds he was running wide open.

  Jacqueline was not going home, not unless Donovan asked her to. Which she fully expected him to do as they walked off the plane together in L.A.

  Other than their initial bickering, they hadn’t said one cross word to each other since Skye had given birth to the babies. Obviously sharing such a special moment with their oldest daughter had helped him see the error of his ways. He’d been pleasant ever since. Sensitive. Understanding. He’d even let her pay for breakfast that morning without so much as an attempt to take over the situation and pay himself.

  He was back to his old self.

  Jacqueline eyed the woman who walked just ahead of her. Even her mother was acting normal. Great-grandmotherly with her constant picture-taking and her incessant chatter about how beautiful the babies were.

  There’d been no talk about Cherry Chandler or orgasms or hot-to-trot seniors.

  It seemed as if things were returning to normal.

  Jacqueline smiled as she slid into the backseat of a waiting cab next to her mother. Donovan helped the driver with their luggage and gave instructions before joining them.

  He was going to say something any minute now, she told herself as they navigated the freeways and headed into downtown. It was just a matter of time.

  “Over there,” he declared, pointing to the left.

  Her smile disappeared as the driver pulled into the circular driveway in front of the Four Seasons Hotel.

  “What are we doing?” Jacqueline asked as the cab came to a stop.

  “This is your hotel, isn’t it?” Donovan cast a sideways glance at her.

  “Yes, but—” She caught her bottom lip to still its sudden trembling.

  “But what, darling?” His knowing gaze drilled into hers.

  “Nothing.” She swallowed and steeled herself against the urge to press herself into his arms, his strength.

  Just as the urge struck, she battled against it because the last thing Jacqueline Farrel needed was a man’s strength. She had her own, and plenty of it.

  “I just thought you might go home first, that’s all,” she told him, “which would eliminate an argument as to who is going to pay. I would be the last out, so I would pay.”

  “Well, now I’m the last out, so I’m paying.” Before she could say anything, Donovan climbed out and held the door open for her. The driver had already retrieved her luggage from the trunk and slid back into the front seat.

  “Good-bye, dear.” Ruella gave a warm smile and a quick wave before turning her attention to the driver. “How much time until we get to Hanford Street? Because I’ve got a date this afternoon.”

  Jacqueline felt the first twinges of a throbbing headache coming on. So much for a return to the peaceful family they’d once been.

  A bellboy rushed to attention to take the bags as Donovan waved a ten-dollar bill.

  “I can tip my own bellboy, thank you very much,” Jacqueline said as she turned toward the father of her children and opened her purse. “And I’ll give you my share of the cab fare.”

  “I don’t want your money.” He stared at her as if to say, I want something completely different, and you know exactly what it is.

  She stiffened. “I can pay my own way, and what you want is none of my concern.”

  He frowned. “I’m starting to realize that.” He climbed back into the cab.

  Jacqueline started to turn toward the hotel entrance, but his voice stopped her.

  “Obviously things aren’t going to work out between us. Maybe we should try testing the waters.”

  Her heart stalled. “Excuse me?”

  “Maybe we should see other people.” His gaze caught and held hers. “It’s not like we’re married or anything, right?”

  “Right,” she managed, despite the sudden tightening in her throat. “We most certainly are not married. Or anything,” she added, and then she turned and walked into the hotel before she totally embarrassed herself.

  By yelling and screaming and crying.

  Or worse, by rushing back into his arms and kissing him for all she was worth.

  She knew he wasn’t serious. Donovan loved her. It was so obvious. He was merely trying to push her. To manipulate her. To weaken her.

  She knew it. Unfortunately the knowledge did little to ease the tightness in her chest as she walked into the hotel, took the elevator up to her room, and went back to life without her Holy Commitment Man.

  Chapter 18

  Linc Adams is the man,

  There’s no doubt about that.

  He’s got a heart for people,

  And his look is totally phat!

  So what do you think?” Betsy slid into her seat at the large round banquet table at the Stonebridge Mansion just outside Adams, Georgia, the host site of Linc’s campaign fund-raiser.

  Betsy handed Eve a blue campaign button imprinted with silver glitter type. “Grandmother thought I should have called Linc ‘a real hep cat,’” Betsy went on, “but nobody says that.”

  “I think phat says it perfectly,” Eve told the teenager.

  “You would.” Grandmother Adams forked a bite of white fluffy cake with a tiny blue A VOTE FOR LINC IS A VOTE FOR ADAMS pennant sticking out of the center. “I just love the fox-trot,” she said as she dabbed at her mouth. She smiled and swayed side to side as she adjusted her bifocals and stared in the general vicinity of the dance floor. “Your grandfather didn’t like to dance, but I could cut a mean rug in my day. First place at the annual Adams Dance-Off five years running.”

  “You wouldn’t catch me doing the fox-trot, especially in front of anyone,” Betsy said around a mouthful of cherry Bubble Yum. She wore a bland navy skirt and a simple white shell. A small strand of pearls hung around her neck. She looked like a younger version of her mother, who sat on the opposite side of the table. Only her glitter-tipped nails and the portable CD player sitting on the table next to her plate gave any indication that she might not be as conservative as she looked. “That dance is so over, isn’t that right, Eve?”

  “Way before our generation.” Grandmother Adams cut Eve a frown. She gave the woman her best smile.

  Betsy blew a bubble. Pop. “This is so boring. I’m missing the MTV Video Music Awards.”

  “It’s a rerun,” Linc’s mother, Susanna, said as she glanced at her daughter, “and sit up straight, dear. You’re slouching.”

  “I’m not slouching, and so what if it’s a rerun? I didn’t see the whole thing the first time because you had that stuffy dinner at the house with that old man who smokes those awful cigars.”

  “That old man is Republican Senator Marshall from Florida and you’d do well to remember that. Why, I could name every senator—and party affiliation—by the time I was your age. I have always loved politics.”

  “But I don’t.” Betsy frowned. “I like music. And speaking of music, can’t the DJ play something besides all this big band stuff? It really bites.”

  “It’s lively and upbeat and wholesome and lends just the right tone to this campaign.” She spared a frown for Eve. “Heaven knows we need all the help we can get.”

  Eve took a sip from her crystal water glass. “I’ve told you, Susanna, that I would be happy to donate the proceeds from the next thousand copies sold of my latest video if you’ll just give Sugar & Spice a mention on one of Linc’s campaign buttons.”

>   “I think I’m getting a migraine,” Susanna said. “Hello, dear,” she said to Linc, seemingly grateful for the distraction when he slid into the seat next to Eve.

  His thigh brushed hers. Eve relished the rush of heat through her body for a long moment before she stiffened and forced herself to the far edge of her chair. She’d made up her mind over the past week since the elevator incident—no sex. Nada. Zilch.

  Of course, it had been fairly easy so far, since he’d been in North Carolina and she’d been in L.A. Today had been the real test, which was why she’d brought Killer along for moral support.

  That, and the fact that the dog had been snapping and fussing lately when Eve left for work. While Killer snapped and fussed at strangers—with the exception of Linc—she didn’t do it to Eve. Eve had come to the conclusion that her dog’s odd behavior was a form of acting out because she felt put off by Linc’s sudden presence in their lives. After all, she and Killer had been a duo for over ten years. Eve had vowed to spend more time with the animal and so she’d brought her along to Adams.

  Luckily, Linc had been busy helping Craig beef up his speech for some American Legion dinner and so Eve had spent most of the day making herself very visible around town. She’d worn a leopard-print spandex dress and handed out more flyers for her latest video, along with sexual how-to advice to anyone who would listen. Then she’d returned to Linc’s, locked herself in one of the spare rooms with a grouchy Killer, and got ready for the party. The ride over had been silent and filled with tension, as if Linc were trying to resist her as much as she was trying to resist him.

  Forget trying. She was succeeding. For the past forty-five minutes she’d presented a calm, cool, controlled front thanks to inner strength and unflagging courage and the three glasses of wine she’d consumed thus far.

  “I didn’t get a chance to tell you before,” Linc said as he turned his full attention on her for the first time since they’d left his house, “you look really great.” His gaze lingered on the cleavage visible just above her fitted black bodysuit. Heat swamped her and she had the sudden urge to slide off the short jacket that completed her outfit. But her bodysuit had cap sleeves and her arms would be bare. Bare arms brushing up against the coarse material of Linc’s tuxedo was not conducive to accomplishing her goal: to remain completely unaffected by his presence. “Eve looks great”—he turned back to his mother, who sat across the table—“doesn’t she, Mom?”