Sweet as Sugar, Hot as Spice

by Kimberly Raye

  “I don’t know if great is the right word”—Susanna adjusted the napkin on her lap and nibbled a small bite of her cake—“but she certainly looks . . . interesting.”

  “Why, that’s exactly the look I was going for, Mother Adams.” She glanced down at her shiny black bodysuit. The waistline had a built-in corset that plumped her breasts and pushed them out and up. She wore black boots and her short black leather jacket speckled with rhinestones. “Interesting and intimidating. Sort of a cross between a Spanish bullfighter and Catwoman.”

  “Catwoman is so totally cool.” Betsy pushed aside her own untouched dessert plate and blew another bubble. Pop. “I don’t know about a bullfighter, but that jacket looks just like one I saw Little Kim wear on MTV.”

  “Actually, it is a Little Kim jacket. I got it on Hollywood Boulevard at this really great shop, along with some fishnet stockings and a pair of neon-blue vinyl boots.”

  “I knew that was a Little Kim design. I wish I could get a Little Kim jacket.” Pop.

  “I can’t even imagine what type of store you would go to for something like that. Certainly not Saks,” Susanna said.

  “They’re sold at specialty shops,” Eve told her.

  “Eve knows all about shopping. She loves spending money on clothes,” Linc added, sliding his arm around her shoulder and giving her an affectionate squeeze. “And shoes.”

  “And firearms,” Eve added, taking a long gulp of her wine to help with the sudden rush of heat from Linc’s closeness. She knew she wasn’t being a team player at the moment, but she couldn’t help herself. She was desperate and he was close.

  “Do tell?” His mother took a sip of her water and cleared her throat. “Um, Linc, darling”—she fixed her gaze on her son—“maybe we can just keep that bit of information to ourselves. Your father is pushing a new piece of gun-control legislation at the next Senate meeting. I’m sure he would be happy to tell you all about it.” She turned toward the man who was standing near the next table talking with another guest. “Jackson, come on over and have your dinner. You and Governor Walsh can talk shop later.”

  Jackson Adams, an older, more severe version of his son, sat down next to his wife. For the first time, Eve noted the lines around his eyes and the dark blue of his irises. There were no gold flickers like those in his son’s eyes. No sparkle. His looked more bland, lifeless.

  “I was just telling Linc about your new piece of handgun legislation. Tell him about it.”

  “I thought you were tired of me talking shop.”

  “As if you could ever stop.”

  Eve could have sworn she saw a flicker of anger in his gaze, but then it faded and his gaze went back to their usual placid blue.

  “Well”—he forked a mouthful of chicken Kiev and chewed—“it’s designed to lengthen the waiting period between purchase and acquisition. I’m also working on a legislative piece geared toward firearm manufacturers that would force them to add an extra identifying code to each individual gun . . .” The explanation continued in the same monotonous tone as Eve finished off her glass of wine and did her best to concentrate on her dessert.

  “I know this is fascinating,” Linc whispered after several bites, his lips warm and stirring against her ear, “but duty calls.”

  “Babies to kiss?” She arched an eyebrow.

  “A few eager supporters to dissuade.” He eyed a man standing near the shrimp buffet. “Malcolm Langtree has offered a ridiculous amount of money and I need to give him a reason to change his mind.”

  “Don’t tell me—you’re going to tell him that I’m a lewd pornographer and offer him an autographed copy of Jack and Candace’s Six Steps to Sexcess?”

  “I’m afraid even that wouldn’t dissuade Malcolm. He’s Republican. I could be Jack the Ripper and if I’m running with his party’s endorsement, he’d be the first to buy me a new scalpel. I’m going to have to pull out the big guns.”

  “You’re going to tell him I’m a Democrat?”

  He grinned and pushed to his feet.

  Thankfully.

  Unfortunately, with Linc across the room, Eve didn’t have anything to worry over, which meant her full attention shifted to Jackson Adams and his description of a bill or something or other.

  “. . . responsibility of citizens like yourself to do something about the crime in our state. That’s why it’s imperative that voters race to the polls come election day—”

  “Speaking of racing,” Eve cut in, desperate for a change of pace before her eyes crossed and she drank another glass of wine, “what about that Coca-Cola 600?”

  “What about it?” His father gave Eve a blank look as he grabbed his fork and cut into his large piece of cake.

  “The Coca-Cola 600,” she repeated. “As in NASCAR. Linc just raced it yesterday. He came in third, but he’s still leading the series in points.”

  “You know that, Jackson,” Susanna told her husband. She took another small bite of her own dessert. “It was all over the sports section this morning.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said after swallowing his mouthful. “He had a good showing.”

  “A good showing? He was in the fifteenth spot halfway through the race thanks to a carburetor leak. But he came back and just passed those other guys like it was nothing. It was incredible.” His father didn’t so much as blink as he ate another forkful of cake. “The greatest comeback of the year.”

  “I didn’t think you were a NASCAR fan,” Linc’s mother said. “Then again, you’re obviously a fan of the opposite sex and NASCAR is predominantly male.”

  “I’m not a fan of the opposite sex. I’m a Linc Adams fan.” She would have worried over the implication of what she’d just said if she hadn’t been too busy being stunned by the blank look on his parents’ faces. And a little outraged. They were his family, for heaven’s sake. Even her mother, who totally disapproved of the Jack and Candace series—for her how-to meant step-by-step instruction, no plot allowed—owned every tape in the series. And she’d been at the adult video awards last year when Eve had walked off with Best-selling Video of the Year for Jack and Candace’s Panting, Screaming, and After-Sex Dreaming. She’d even clapped.

  “I bet neither of you has ever been to a NASCAR race.”

  “We’re very busy people. We have commitments. Jackson is a state senator, and I’m the wife of a state senator. We don’t have time to flit about the country every Sunday. We serve this great state and the people who live here.”

  “How do you suppose Linc is going to juggle his racing and the mayor’s position if he wins?”

  His mother smiled and set her fork down. “When he wins, I suppose he’ll have to race less. Maybe do it every other weekend if he has time.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, Mother,” Betsy pointed out. “I told you he loses points if he misses a race. He has to be at all of them.” She shook her head. “She never hears anything.”

  “I hear everything,” Linc’s mother told Betsy.

  “But do you listen?” Eve asked pointedly. “Maybe Linc likes racing more than he likes politics.”

  “I’m sure he does. I enjoy golf, but you don’t see me shirking my responsibilities to go putting around the green. Hobbies are fine, but there’s a time and a place for them. Why, my father loved to fish. So did your father, remember that, Jackson? But they did it when they had time.”

  “Which wasn’t very often”—Jackson waved his fork—“I remember many a Saturday when we were supposed to go down to Lake Sheridan, but something or the other would come up.” Eve saw something flicker in his gaze. The same something she’d seen in Linc’s eyes when he’d told her about all the football games he’d missed. And all the friends he’d never had time for. And all the fishing trips that had fallen by the wayside. But then it disappeared and Eve was left to wonder if she’d seen it at all. “He was a busy man and it couldn’t be helped. Duty calls.”

  “It’s time for Linc to get his priorities straight,” Susanna said as she pulled
the napkin from her lap and folded it. “He will once he wins this election and sees how time-consuming his position is going to be. Speaking of positions, Jackson, did you talk to the sheriff about those extra funds for the jail? He says he’ll gladly give Linc his full endorsement if you give him your word that Linc will approve their budget adjustments . . .”

  And she thought her own mother was close-minded when it came to listening to someone else’s opinion. Linc’s mother could definitely give Jacqueline a run for her money in that category.

  Eve kept her mouth shut and spent the next hour listening to Linc’s mother and father go back and forth about various issues. The only reprieve was when Betsy slid her a sheet of paper with her latest rap.

  I loved you so much and I thought it would last,

  But I liked things slow and your hands were too fast.

  Then you lied and cheated, so time to hit the road,

  I thought you were a babe, but you’re a horny toad.

  “What’s this?” Eve whispered.

  “My best friend Angela’s sister’s friend’s boyfriend messed around on her and she wants to break up with him. But she didn’t want to just write him a letter or call. They’re both so lame. So I said I would write her a rap. Cool, huh?”

  “Definitely the way to go if you’re breaking up.”

  The conversation continued and Eve sipped more wine, but even the halfway decent chardonnay did little to ease her boredom. And so she didn’t resist when Linc returned to the table, reached for her hand, and pulled her from her seat. She did wobble a little, however.

  “How much did you have to drink?”

  “One glass. Give or take three or four.”

  He shook his head and tightened his grip on her hand.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as he led her through the maze of tables.

  “To have some fun.”

  Her heart skipped at the notion. Linc and fun could only mean one thing, and she’d already vowed no more sex. Then again, she could always head back to the table and listen to his father.

  “Walk faster,” she told him.

  But instead of pulling her toward the nearest storage closet, or even the bathroom to try step three from the Sexcess DVD, he rounded a table and headed for the dance floor.

  “No.” She dug in her heels as he tried to tug her onto the floor.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t fox-trot.”

  “Neither do I.”

  As if on cue, the big band song came to an end.

  The disc jockey, a middle-aged man wearing a tuxedo and a really bad toupee, flipped on his microphone. “This next one is a special request by the man of the hour himself,” he said, almost apologetically.

  Five seconds later, Eve understood why.

  Forget the smooth sound of Sinatra. Instead, an acoustic guitar and a whining fiddle poured from the speakers, launching a popular country tune.

  “Come on,” he told her.

  “No,” she tugged against his hand. “I don’t do Tim McGraw.”

  “I can’t discourage this entire town by myself and you haven’t exactly been a team player tonight. Just dance with me. This one dance.”

  “I can’t two-step,” she finally admitted. “Not that I would do it even if I knew how. These boots were made for walking, not sliding.” She indicated the three-inch stilettos.

  “We’re not going to two-step.” He pulled her out to the center of the dance floor and into his arms. “We’re going to swing a little.”

  “Swing— Whoa!” Before Eve knew what had happened, he’d twirled her and sent her whirling in the opposite direction.

  Thanks to the wine and the impractical boots, she was dead certain she was about to eat the floor. But his fingers tightened around hers and just as she teetered to the side, he pulled her back to him, turned her under his arm, and the wild ride started all over again as Tim sang about missing the good old days and “back when.” By the time the song faded to a close, she could hardly breathe.

  Even worse, she couldn’t stop smiling.

  “Not bad.” He grinned and drew her closer as Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” drifted from the speakers. “But now comes the real challenge.”

  “And here I thought you were testing my coordination.”

  “I was and you passed.” To emphasize, he twirled her, slower this time, before pulling her back into his arms. “But I wonder how you’ll hold up with a little closer contact.”

  “I think I can hold my own.”

  “Want to know what I think?” Before she could reply, he leaned down and whispered, “I think you’re scared right now.”

  “Why would I be scared?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I’m a harmless enough guy.”

  If only.

  Linc Adams was the opposite of harmless. He was addictive. The way he grinned when he smiled at her. The way his fingertips stroked the small of her back. The way he kept glancing at her nose as if hoping to get a glimpse of the damned freckles she’d spent her entire life trying to cover up.

  “What makes you think I’m scared of you?”

  “You’re trembling right now and looking at me as if you’re ready to run the other way. Which doesn’t make a bit of sense because I know you want me.” His deep voice slid into her ears and her body couldn’t help but respond.

  Her nipples tightened and an ache started between her legs. She couldn’t help herself. She leaned into him, molding herself to his hard frame despite the couples that surrounded them. The music faded until she heard only the pounding of her own heart and his deep voice.

  “I just don’t get you.”

  “Maybe that’s the point.”

  He frowned. “If you’re really not attracted to me, just come out and say it. I’m tired of all the games.”

  She didn’t mean to kiss him, but with him staring down at her, into her, with that strange light in his gaze, as if he liked her back, she didn’t stand a chance.

  She slid her arms around his neck, leaned up and pressed her lips to his. Her tongue swept his bottom lip and dipped inside, stroking and tasting and coaxing him to kiss her back.

  He didn’t. His arms were around her waist, holding her close, but they didn’t pull her closer. And while he was open to her exploration, he wasn’t exactly an active participant. A bad feeling worked its way up her spine.

  Bad?

  It was good that he wasn’t kissing her back. What wasn’t good was the fact that she couldn’t seem to keep her hands off him.

  “I didn’t just do that,” she breathed as she pulled away.

  She had to get out of here.

  She left him standing on the dance floor, staring after her. She rushed into the safety of the ladies’ room and slumped against the sink. Her heart pounded and her ears buzzed.

  What was wrong with her? She’d kissed him of all things. She’d kissed him.

  Because you like him.

  She ignored the voice and turned on the faucet. Cool liquid rushed over her fingers. She splashed her face, desperate to relieve her hot cheeks. It didn’t help. To make matters worse, the room started to spin.

  She worked her way into the nearest stall and sank down onto the toilet seat. There. She needed to sit and regroup. If she could just shut out the sudden pounding in her temples . . .

  Her head snapped up and she saw the stall door tremble from the force of the knocking on the other side.

  “Eve?” It was Linc.

  “Go away.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “No. I’m weak and confused and disgusted, in no particular order.” Particular didn’t come out as clearly as she would have liked thanks to her suddenly thick tongue. “And I’m drunk,” she croaked. The floor tilted and her stomach pitched and she found herself hugging the toilet in the next few seconds.

  She wasn’t sure how he did it, but the stall door opened and the next thing she knew, Linc was handing her a cold compress of paper towels. He
helped wipe her face and then he swept her into his arms and took her home.

  Back at his house, he tucked her into bed, kissed her forehead, and killed the light. The door shut behind him and she found herself alone in his bedroom.

  She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved about the alone part. She only knew she didn’t want to think too much about either. Instead, she closed her eyes, snuggled down into his pillow, and prayed for the pounding to stop.

  Chapter 19

  Through the haze of sleep, Eve felt the licking at her fingertips. The tickling sensation sent a rush of warmth through her and she smiled.

  And then she frowned.

  The last thing, the very last thing she wanted was to have Linc licking any part of her body.

  Yeah, right.

  Okay, so she wanted it—in the worst way—but she’d made up her mind to keep things completely platonic, which meant staying far, far away from Linc.

  Distance was key. She’d thought she could hold it together and go through the motions, but her resolve was no match for Linc Adams and his raw sexuality.

  Her eyes popped open as she snatched her hand away. “Don’t—,” she started, the objection dying when she found Killer looming over her, tongue wagging as if she were out of breath.

  Relief swamped Eve as the dog, tail wagging furiously, lapped at her knuckles again.

  Okay, there was a god and she was most definitely female. If Linc had been the one doing the licking and the begging, Eve shuddered to think what would have happened.

  Ka-boom!

  Okay, so shuddering wasn’t the right word. Shivering more accurately described the strange sensation rippling through her body. The anticipation. The need.

  She needed to get out of here.

  Eve rolled out of bed, her gaze darting frantically for her clothes. The latex-looking catsuit lay in a heap near the foot of the bed. She snatched it up and managed to shove one leg inside when the bedroom door opened.