Sweet Escape (Sugar Rush #2)

by Nina Lane

  Hannah stopped. Something fierce and tender flared inside her. Evan extended his fist, and he and the boy exchanged a series of fist bumps. He took a business card out of his pocket and handed it to the father, then ruffled the boy’s hair. The parents couldn’t seem to stop beaming as they thanked Evan and guided the boy down the midway. Evan watched them go, his smile fading.

  No. She didn’t want his smile to fade. She wanted the untroubled, charismatic Evan who found hearts in cotton candy.

  She approached and reached out involuntarily to thread her hand through his hair. “What was that about?”

  The creases on his forehead cleared as he glanced up at her. “I was just inviting them to a tour of Sugar Rush.”

  “Did you know them?”

  He shook his head. “Sugar Rush has a lot of programs for kids, but we go the extra mile for special needs children. Whenever I get the chance to invite a kid to Sugar Rush, I do. It’s not much… a tour, some candy-making lessons and a lot of tasting, but they always seem to have a great time. And I tell the parents about my mother’s foundation, which has a division focusing on services, financial assistance, and wish-granting for special needs children.”

  “That’s incredible. What a wonderful gift.”

  Evan shrugged. “At least it’s something.”

  The mixture of regret and sorrow in his expression told Hannah that his reaching out to special needs children was more than just a charity for him and his family. For some reason, it was personal.

  “Come on.” She tugged him to his feet. “Let’s play some games. Maybe you can win me a ridiculously big stuffed animal.”

  They walked to the game booths and tried their hand at balloon-popping and ring toss.

  “Does your aunt Julia plan a lot of events for your mother’s foundation?” Hannah asked, aiming to throw a ring onto the neck of a soda bottle. “Like the auction?”

  “Yeah, it’s her pet project.” Evan tossed a ring that landed on a bottle. “Her way of keeping my mother’s legacy alive. She even gets Adam involved when he’s in town.”

  “Do you ever go on trips with his travel company?”

  Evan shook his head, collecting three more rings from the vendor. “I’ve always traveled conventionally. Hotels, taxis, mostly big European cities. The best travel I’ve done was spending a year in Copenhagen during college when I was working on my thesis.”

  “Did you learn Danish?” Hannah threw her last ring and stepped back to watch him, admiring the quick flex of his wrist as he tossed.

  “Some, yeah.” Evan eyed the bottles and took aim again, landing his second ring. “I wrote a section in my thesis on the word hygge. It conveys the idea of the emotional contentment that comes from enjoying life’s little pleasures. Like sitting by a fire, or walking into a warm house after being out in the cold. A type of happiness.”

  He tossed a third ring, hooking it around the bottle.

  “Three is a win!” The vendor gestured to the array of stuffed animals. “Anything from the second tier.”

  “You pick.” Evan stepped back to let Hannah approach the prizes.

  She selected a big-eyed stuffed elephant, tucking it under her arm as they walked to another game booth. A warm pleasure rose in her. Being on the boardwalk with Evan made her long for a nostalgic youth she’d never had. She wanted to share ice-cream sundaes with him, hold hands at the movies, kiss in a parked car by the ocean.

  “So do you have a favorite moment that brings you hygge?” she asked.

  Evan was silent. She glanced at him. His eyes were so blue, like the clear cobalt of Icelandic waters.

  “Right now,” he said, “is definitely one of them.”

  She smiled. He could pull a smile from her like no one else ever had.

  “For me too,” she said.

  Chapter

  NINE

  A cold wind swept in from the ocean. Evan watched Hannah take a picture of an old-fashioned Love Tester machine. The sleeve of her sweater had ridden up her arm, revealing the goose bumps prickling her tanned skin. Was she that same golden-brown tone all over? She’d taste like warm things—honey and spice cake, apple crisp, cinnamon.

  She turned, focusing her camera on sights he wouldn’t have thought were photogenic—a creepy jester on the side of a game booth, a crumpled funnel cake wrapper, a few pigeons flocking around a bench.

  Curious girl. A wanderlust photographer who found beauty in strange places other people wouldn’t think to look. What other secrets did she have? She was like a present wrapped in bright shiny paper that he couldn’t wait to tear open.

  When she lowered her camera, Evan shrugged out of his jacket and put it around her shoulders. She slipped her arms into it without hesitation, as if it were natural for him to give her his jacket, as if she’d expected he would do no less.

  “You ready to head home?” he asked.

  “Just about.” She put the camera back into her bag and zipped up the jacket, murmuring a noise of pleasure that went straight to his blood.

  He gathered the length of her hair in his hand and tugged it free from the collar, barely restraining himself from running his fingers through the thick strands. His fingertips brushed her warm neck. His teeth clenched with the urge to slide them lower, to trace the elegant ridge of her spine and follow the path with his mouth.

  She stood very still, her back to him. Evan pulled his hand away from her, forcing a casual note into his voice.

  “Any other rides before we leave?” he asked.

  “No, I’m good.”

  She hitched her bag over her shoulder. Even in the multicolored lights of the boardwalk, a visible flush colored her cheeks. Blushing was, he’d noticed, the most telling sign of her emotions.

  He kept a distance between them as they walked to the parking lot. His want for her was like a rubber band stretching tighter by the second. One day soon it would snap, but before that happened he had to tell her the truth.

  As a child, he hadn’t been able to hide his heart defect, but it became easier to do when he was older. His childhood surgeries had repaired the problems well enough that he was able to live a relatively normal life.

  Of course there was no hiding the scar on his chest when he took his shirt off, which meant he’d always been upfront with his girlfriends about his condition. He’d never balked at the confession either—sometimes they’d already known about it, but if they hadn’t, he’d just told them the straight truth and answered whatever questions they had. A simple enough way of dealing with a complex issue.

  But Hannah was different. He trusted her not to cut him off—though a couple of women had in the past, he wouldn’t believe Hannah capable of that—but he didn’t want his damned heart to get in the way. He didn’t want to think about his upcoming surgery. If he was lucky, he’d have a short time with her. He didn’t want her to look at him differently.

  “I was in Paris when they had the Ferris wheel on the Place de la Concorde.” Hannah paused by his SUV to look at the Ferris wheel lit against the dark sky. “It was amazing to see Paris all stretched out below like a magic carpet.”

  Evan could imagine her high above Paris, the wind blowing through her long hair and her cheeks flushed with cold. He could imagine her anywhere in the world—hiking up a mountain in Cambodia, drinking sangria in a Barcelona cantina, navigating a Mexican marketplace. Her evident ease in the world was just one of the things that pulled him to her.

  “Of all the places you’ve traveled,” he said as they got into the SUV, “what’s been your favorite?”

  “Iceland.”

  “Iceland?” he repeated. “Not a tropical island?”

  “I’ve seen some amazing tropical islands, but Iceland is magical.”

  “Because of the Huldufólk?”

  “You know about the Huldufólk?” She glanced at him with raised brows.

  “The hidden people.” He started the engine and headed out of the parking lot. “Like elves or fairies, who live in the lava
rocks. I’ve heard you shouldn’t walk over lava fields so you don’t hurt them.”

  “There’s also a tradition that you should leave food for them on Christmas,” Hannah said. “And sometimes if you keep an eye out, you see little wooden houses that people have built for them to live in. The landscape of the whole country seems to support this belief in the supernatural. When you’re there, it’s not even all that strange. Of course the sea has monsters, and trolls live on the black sand beaches. It’s just the way it is. There are good and bad things in the world we can’t always see.”

  Good and bad. Just the way it is.

  Evan guided the SUV on to the freeway. His scar twinged. He rubbed his chest. What happened when a scar was sliced open for the fourth time? Did the scar tissue ache forever? And what would happen when they stopped his heart again? What if it didn’t restart?

  Fuck. He deflected a stab of fear. He’d deal with it. He’d hide his fear, act like it was nothing. Then when he could no longer keep the surgery a secret and had to tell his family, maybe Luke wouldn’t come back, and maybe his father wouldn’t keep him away from Sugar Rush.

  And if they still did, at least Evan’s calmness might make it easier for his family to watch him go under the knife again. He just had to be fucking calm about it first.

  After taking the exit to Rainsville, he pulled up in front of Wild Child and got out to walk Hannah up the narrow stairs to her apartment door. He stopped behind her on the rundown landing and breathed, inhaling the scent of her—sea salt, perfume, cotton candy. Desire pulsed through him, washing away his apprehension.

  Hannah lowered her head to dig into her bag for her keys. Her hair parted at the nape, revealing the sweep of her golden skin. Evan couldn’t resist. He moved forward, clutching her hips with both hands the instant before lowering his mouth to the back of her neck.

  Her gasp of surprise bolted through him like fire. He pressed his lips to her warm, soft nape, right at the top of her spine. His fingers flexed on her hips. Her ass nudged against his thighs. Her breath increased. He darted his tongue out to taste her honeyed skin. His cock hardened. Her hair tickled his nose.

  He lifted his head, his breath rasping against her nape. He tightened his hold on her hips and turned her so she was facing him. Her eyes were wide and luminous in the porch light, her full lips unbearably tempting. No lipstick or gloss, just a beautiful, pale pink mouth he ached to kiss, touch, lick.

  He slipped his hand under her chin and lifted her face. Kissed her. Gently at first, gauging her response. He had no doubt about her intense attraction to him, but she was skittish, wary, uncertain of exactly what he—or she—wanted. He wouldn’t scare her away, not when he needed her so badly. She needed him too. She just didn’t know it yet.

  “Open,” he whispered against her mouth.

  A tremble coursed through her. Her bag dropped to the floor. She parted her lips, letting him inside. Their tongues touched. Christ in heaven. His dick was pulsing against his fly, and he’d barely gotten started. Naked together, they’d be combustible.

  A low murmur escaped her. He pressed closer, easing her up against the door. She was still wearing his jacket. He yanked the zipper down and pushed his hands into the opening. Ah, fuck. He touched Hannah’s warm, soft curves encased in that blue dress that had been driving him crazy all night. He’d go there again too, a thousand times over, if it meant he could look at her and touch her as much as he wanted.

  He slid his hands up to her breasts. She moaned, her tongue sweeping across his, her hands fisting in his shirt. Her hard nipples poked against his palms. He rubbed and squeezed, aching to drag her dress down and kiss her breasts, suck her nipples. He moved one hand lower, edging his fingers under the hem of her dress to her smooth, bare thigh.

  Her lips broke from his, her breath hot against his jaw. She trailed her mouth across his cheek to his ear. The scent and feel of her consumed him. His heart jackhammered, pumping hot blood into every corner of his being.

  He slid his hand to her inner thigh and up higher… higher… ah, shit… a flimsy thong met his touch, the scrap of fabric already damp with her arousal. His cock throbbed like a fucking engine. His lungs burned. He pushed a finger under her thong, sinking it deep into her wet folds. She gasped, her head falling back against the door.

  “Evan…”

  The sound of her voice—throaty, pleading—intensified the haze of lust, even as part of his mind knew he was pushing this too far, too fast. He wanted to make her come while she was writhing naked underneath him, not standing on a decrepit porch outside her one-room apartment.

  He forced his hand away from her pussy, but couldn’t stop himself from stroking it around to cup her smooth round ass. He brought his other hand to her hair, tugging her forward. His mouth crashed down on hers again.

  She whimpered, a little pleading noise like a preview of all the sounds she’d make while fucking. She loosened her grip on his shirtfront. Her lower body pressed to his. His cock throbbed against her stomach. Her hands moved under his shirt, and then she was stroking his bare skin, her touch hot and cool at the same time. His body fired in response, his nerves blazing with heat.

  “You feel like I thought you would,” Hannah whispered, tracing the ridges of his abs with her fingers. “So warm and hard.”

  He wanted her naked. He wanted her soft body arching full against his, her breasts pillowed on his chest, her legs opening and wrapping around him as she took the deep thrust of his cock—

  Her palms moved higher toward his chest, her breath brushing over his lips. A sudden chill snaked through him. He lifted his head and circled his hands around her wrists, stopping her upward exploration.

  Hannah froze, pulling her head back. She stared at him, her chest rising and falling, her lips reddened. Regret stabbed him. Her pulse hammered against his fingertips. He dragged air into his lungs, willing his hard dick to calm the hell down.

  Before he could speak, Hannah slipped away from him, her hair falling forward to conceal her profile.

  “I… I need to go in,” she stammered.

  Fuck.

  “Hannah, I have to explain.”

  “There’s nothing to explain.” Her voice was composed now, but her hand trembled as she picked up her satchel and resumed the search for her keys.

  “Yes, there is.” Anger twisted through him. He put his hand on her arm. “I have to—”

  “I should have listened to myself.” She shook her head, freeing her keys from her bag and turning to the door. “I’d made all these promises that I would stay away from you after the way I behaved at the auction. Clearly I have trouble keeping promises.”

  Evan frowned. “If you wanted to stay away, why did you agree to go out with me?”

  “You seemed upset about something the day you asked me.” Hannah opened the door and stepped inside. “I thought maybe it would help if we had a good time.”

  His jaw tightened. Bitter cold pierced him. He slapped his hand on the door, keeping it open.

  “You agreed to go out with me to make me feel better?” he snapped.

  “Well, yes.” Hannah put her bag on a chair and slipped out of his jacket. A line appeared between her eyebrows as if his faintly hostile tone of voice baffled her. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “I’m not accustomed to having a woman agree to date me out of pity.” Evan stepped into the apartment, letting the door slam shut behind him.

  “It wasn’t pity.” She frowned, her eyes darkening. “After the Dave debacle, you seemed less… troubled, and I liked the idea that it might have been because of our conversation. So when you asked me out, I didn’t want to say no.”

  “Is that the same thing as wanting to say yes?”

  “Um… yes?”

  He folded his arms across his chest, lowering his head to look her in the eye. She met his gaze unflinchingly, the striking aquamarine of her irises giving nothing away. He liked that about her. With the exception of her desire, which blazed in her exp
ression and movements like a beacon, he had to work to figure out what she was thinking, to get behind her guard. It made him trust her more. Women who didn’t control their emotions were a lot less likely to keep other people’s secrets.

  But he didn’t want Hannah going out with him, or keeping his secret, because she felt sorry for him. No fucking way.

  “Make no mistake, Lockhart,” he said, his voice low. “Pity, sympathy, whatever… that’s not what I want from you.”

  Her throat worked with a swallow. “What… what do you want from me, then?”

  You.

  If he told her that, she’d run. With her bristling urge to leave Rainsville and her futile attempts to deny their attraction even when everything about her signaled a hot yes, she would try even harder to resist him if she knew how determined he was to have her.

  “I want…” he straightened, not taking his gaze from hers, “… Moroccan coffee.”

  Hannah blinked. “What?”

  “You told me Moroccan coffee is so good you learned how to make it yourself. That’s what I want from you.”

  For now.

  “Oh.” An intriguing mixture of relief and disappointment lit in her eyes. “All right, then. Have a seat.”

  Evan watched the sway of her hips and ass as she walked into the kitchen. Lust fired his blood again.

  Hands off, Stone.

  Hardest fucking order he’d ever have to follow.

  Chapter

  TEN

  “The coffee grounds are brewed with spices, kind of like chai.” Hannah handed Evan a cup of the fragrant coffee and settled beside him on the sofa. “Cinnamon, pepper, ginger, cloves. I first had it when an acquaintance invited me to her mother’s house in Marrakesh. I liked it so much I asked her to show me how to make it, though I’ve experimented with the recipe over the years. Took awhile to find the blend that was perfect for me.”