Sweet Escape (Sugar Rush #2)

by Nina Lane

  Hannah watched them leave, experiencing a sudden and forceful wave of relief. Almost as if she hadn’t wanted to go to Ireland in the first place.

  Well, of course she’d wanted to go. She just couldn’t. She was keeping her promise to Polly, like any good sister would.

  She pulled out a chair at Evan’s table. He glanced up from his laptop, his expression unreadable.

  “You’re not going?” he asked.

  “I can’t. Promises and all.” She picked up a few packets of sugar and started building a little house with them. “Plus we have two more dates, right?”

  “We do. I’ve booked the yacht trip on the Bay for this weekend. We’ll take a town car up to San Francisco, stay the night at the Four Seasons.”

  “That sounds lovely, but…”

  Evan frowned. “You don’t want to go?”

  “Yes, I want to go. But not because of the yacht or the Bay.” She cleared her throat, her cheeks heating. “Because of you.”

  “Good. I want to go because of you, too.”

  “Then you won’t mind if we don’t go at all,” Hannah said.

  A crease appeared between his eyebrows. “Now you don’t want to go?”

  “Ever since we… got together, we’ve been having expensive dinners and doing things that I could never afford if I were traveling the way I’m accustomed to,” Hannah explained. “A yacht trip on the Bay is definitely one of those things.”

  When he didn’t respond, she added, “I’ve enjoyed every minute of it, but what if we skipped the yacht trip in favor of something else? I want to show you how I do things.”

  Evan leaned forward, a glint firing in his eyes. “Oh, you’ve shown me how you do things, Lockhart.”

  “I mean…” Hannah tweaked his nose. “Come with me on a weekend road trip done my way. It’ll be our third date, the date of our choice.”

  “What’s your way?”

  “Low-budget. Cheap food. We take the bakery delivery van. No fancy hotels or hot-air balloon rides. We have to make our own good time.”

  A smile tugged at his mouth. “Don’t we always?”

  “I mean, we have to rely on ourselves. Can’t fall back on paying for something or someone to show us how to have fun.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I have no idea. We leave Friday night and just go.”

  Intrigue appeared in his eyes. “You can take time off again?”

  Guilt pricked Hannah. “If we go the weekend after next, it should be fine. Better than going to Ireland, right? Are you in?”

  “I’m in. But what should we do about the yacht trip?”

  Hannah glanced toward Mr. Becker and his lady friend, who were laughing merrily at a private joke.

  “I have an idea,” she said.

  Chapter

  SIXTEEN

  Hannah and Evan’s Lock Heart Road Trip. Every time she thought about it, excitement spiraled through her. She couldn’t wait to travel with Evan in her unplanned, spontaneous style, as if by doing so they would close the circle of their knowledge about each other. She’d experienced his world; now it was time for him to experience hers.

  Three days before they planned to leave, she sat in her apartment and tried to make some headway on her book proposal for Franklin Publishing. She reviewed the Lock Heart archives, struggling to come up with whatever elusive element the book editor needed to tie the whole thing together. Two fruitless and frustrating hours later, she pulled on a jacket, packed her camera, and headed to Indigo Bay for a change of scenery.

  She parked in a lot near the pier and walked to the sand, enjoying the cold ocean air against her face. The beach was deserted, the sand peppered with bits of shell and driftwood. The red-gold colors of the sunset glowed on the water, but the wind whipped white caps on the surface.

  Even though turning her blog into a book was proving to be more difficult than she’d anticipated, Hannah had discovered a newfound pride in what she had been doing for the past decade.

  She wasn’t just an irresponsible vagabond who roamed the world with no purpose or destination. She earned a solid income with her writing and photography. She had a readership, a strong online presence, interest from a publisher. Wanting to leave Rainsville didn’t mean she was running away. It meant she was making a living.

  She walked along the ocean’s edge, pausing to focus her camera and adjust the lens on various sights—a smooth, gnarled piece of driftwood, a sand crab scuttling into a hole, the brush of the water against the sand. The smell of salt and seaweed filled her noise, and the ocean stretched out endlessly in front of her. Cypress trees stood on rocky cliffs, waves crashed against natural rock outcroppings, and pockets of sand created both private and public beaches.

  A few cars passed on the streets of Indigo Bay beyond the rows of oceanfront cottages and shops. Hannah continued walking. She reached a hillside where rocks cascaded out into the ocean. Gray storm clouds gathered on the horizon, casting a metal-colored shadow over the water.

  She started to go back in the opposite direction, but then turned toward the rocks. A memory of her childhood flashed in her mind, a time when she’d spent many happy hours exploring tidepools with her father. They’d picked their way over the rocks as the sun and sea air surrounded them. Just the two of them. Back when it felt as if nothing would ever change.

  Then it had.

  A low wave crashed against the rocks, sending up a spray of salty water. Though it was mid-tide and the clouds were growing darker, it was still light enough to see, and the water wasn’t too rough. She put her camera around her neck, found a handhold on a large rock and hauled herself up, taking care to step in shallow grooves as she made her way slowly out onto the ledge. Water pooled in the depressions, creating miniature ecosystems filled with tiny fish, sea anemones, crabs, and sea stars.

  Out on the ledge, the wind gusted harder. She hiked out carefully, pausing to crouch and take pictures of the tidepools. Another wave crashed against the rocks, splashing her. She shivered as the cold penetrated her jacket. Rain started falling. She poked gently at a sea anemone and watched a crab scuttle along the sandy bottom of a tidepool.

  The cold intensified, more waves washing over the rocks and wetting Hannah’s shoes. She stood, tucking her camera into the case.

  “Lockhart!”

  The familiarity of the deep voice, carried on a gust of icy wind, lodged inside her. Her body warmed down to her bones. Hannah turned, squinting through the gray fog. Evan was running across the beach toward her, his face shadowed by a black hoodie.

  She started back to him, her rubber-soled sneakers slipping over the rocks. Another wave, heavier and stronger, splashed against the base of the ledge.

  Evan shouted her name again. He reached the rocks and started to climb, his steps quick and certain despite the increasing rain. He moved as if he’d climbed these very rocks countless times before and knew exactly where to grab hold of them.

  Hannah hurried toward him, trying to maintain her balance on the rocks. Waves slammed with increasing force against the ledge, the water spraying high overhead. “Hannah, look out!”

  His words crashed into her ears the instant before a rogue wave blasted against the rocks. The freezing water flooded her in a terrifying rush. A cry lodged in Hannah’s throat. She went down, her knees hitting the stone hard. She scrambled to gain a foothold, a handhold, anything…

  Evan’s hand clamped around her wrist.

  “I’ve got you.” His voice was gritty and certain.

  He hauled her toward him, dragging her away from the last currents of the ocean. The wave receded in defeat. Shaking and coughing, Hannah struggled to her feet and followed him toward the slope leading to the other beach. He tightened his grip on her wrist as he led the way over the rocks and back down to the sand.

  He turned to face her, pushing the hoodie off his head. His dark hair was damp with rain, his eyelashes spiky around his sharp blue eyes.

  “Are you all right?” he de
manded, his expression flashing with something resembling anger.

  Hannah was momentarily startled. She’d never seen him angry before.

  “I’m… I’m fine.” She coughed to rid her throat of the sting of salt water. “What… what are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here?” His mouth compressed. “What are you doing out here in a storm?”

  “I didn’t know a storm was coming. I just came down to take some pictures.”

  “The National Weather Service issued an alert that goes until tomorrow night,” Evan said. “The beaches all along the coast have a high probability of sneaker waves and long shore currents. There’s also a steep grade right at the end of that ledge that creates abnormally large waves. Even on a nice day it’s not safe.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Obviously.” He heaved a sigh, some of the anger seeming to drain from him as he tracked his gaze over her again. “You need to come in and dry off. The storm isn’t going to let up for another hour at least.”

  He led her toward a rustic bungalow nestled among the trees with a rickety deck overlooking the beach. The wood siding of the house was weather-worn, the windows smudged. She followed him inside, glancing around at the tiny kitchen with a worn Formica table, peeling paint, and linoleum stained with age.

  Surely this wasn’t Evan’s house. The Stones were mansion people, not beachfront shack people. She was beachfront shack people.

  Water pooled from her clothes onto the floor, and a shiver rocked through her. Her teeth rattled uncontrollably.

  “Is… is this your house?” she stuttered.

  “Yeah.” Evan’s eyebrows drew together. “You need to shower and change. You’ll catch a cold if you don’t.”

  “I don’t have any spare clothes.”

  “You can wear mine.”

  He strode down a narrow hallway, returning a few seconds later with a blue T-shirt and a pair of cotton pajama pants. “These will be too big, but at least they’re dry. I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

  Hannah pushed off her tennis shoes so she wouldn’t soak the carpet and followed him down the hallway to a small bathroom. She started unfastening her running jacket, but couldn’t get her numb fingers to work the zipper.

  “Need some help?” Evan tugged the zipper down, then peeled the wet jacket from her body. His gaze heated as his eyes lingered on her hard nipples poking against her T-shirt, but he remained businesslike and he reached for the hem.

  “I can take it from here,” Hannah assured him, more embarrassed by her stupidity in being out during a storm than by his attentiveness.

  “Clean towels are in there.” Evan pointed to a white cabinet. “Get yourself warmed up.”

  He left, closing the door behind him. Hannah tugged off the rest of her clothes, peeled off her striped knee socks, and turned the water on. She got into the shower, groaning with relief as the hot water cascaded over her and her blood started flowing.

  She found a bar of soap in the holder and worked up a lather over her body. The scents of sage and cedar filled her head, evoking memories of burying her nose against Evan’s throat and inhaling his delicious scent. She’d thought it was from some expensive aftershave, but no. He was all soap and maleness.

  She washed the lather off, then briskly dried herself with the towel and slipped into the clothes Evan had given her.

  Her bra had been soaked through, but as Evan had predicted, the shirt came almost to her knees. It was also baggy enough to provide her with some modesty, and it was dry and warm. She tugged the drawstring pants on and folded the waistband over a few times before tying it so she wouldn’t trip.

  Only when she was brushing the tangles from her long hair did she realize she was wearing Evan’s well-washed, soft T-shirt and pajama pants. And she had nothing on underneath, not even her panties. Which meant the material tucked between her thighs had once touched his…

  Heat spooled through her, like an uncoiling thread.

  Girl. Not the time or place. Besides, I think he’s still mad at you.

  She gathered her wet clothes and hurried out of the bathroom. Evan was in the kitchen, still soaked, though he’d removed his hoodie and shoes.

  “Sorry if I took too long,” she said breathlessly.

  “It’s okay.” He reached out to take her clothes. “Your shoes are probably ruined, but I’ll put your clothes in the dryer. There’s a drink for you, and coffee’s brewing. I’ll be right back.”

  He disappeared into the bathroom, and a few seconds later Hannah heard the shower running. She turned to the counter where a bottle of scotch sat next to two highball glasses. The first sip burned her throat pleasantly.

  She poked around his kitchen a little, curious to know more about him since her assumptions about his house had proven wrong. A bowl of fresh fruit sat on the counter, and the cabinets were filled with low-sodium canned goods, brown rice, and various spices. The refrigerator mostly contained healthy foods—green leafy vegetables, eggs, chicken, yogurt—but the evidence of Evan’s sweet tooth was obvious in the quart container of ice cream, the half-eaten slice of apple pie, and the canister of whipped cream.

  Smiling to herself, Hannah closed the fridge and picked up her scotch again. He was like a boy sneaking cookies from the cookie jar, and she found his penchant for dessert rather ridiculously endearing.

  By the time the coffee was finished brewing, Evan emerged from the bathroom. Clean and dry, dressed in a green T-shirt and a pair of black cotton pants, he looked both warm and deliciously edible.

  “Coffee?” He nodded toward the pot.

  “No, the scotch is doing a better job than coffee would.” Hannah took another sip. “It’s really good.”

  “Twenty-five-year-old Macallan, a gift from my father last Christmas. He knows his scotch.” Evan gestured toward the living room. “Come and sit down.”

  As she walked into the living room, Hannah’s breasts swayed beneath the overlarge T-shirt. Her blood warmed. Wearing Evan’s clothes with nothing else on was damned sexy. Not to mention his tall, broad-shouldered presence filled her with warm, cozy pleasure like the scent of hot cinnamon.

  She sat on the sofa, drawing her knees up to her chest as she looked around at the living room—the worn plaid sofa and big-screen TV, the cluttered computer desk. A bowl of Sugar Rush candy sat on the coffee table. The walls were bare, with only particle-board shelves filled with books giving any indication of Evan’s personal interests.

  “I didn’t expect that you’d live in a place like this,” she remarked.

  “What kind of place did you expect?”

  “A mansion like Luke’s. Polly said it’s some big monstrosity overlooking the ocean.”

  “Yeah.” Evan took a swallow of scotch. “I don’t know that he likes it much. He bought it when Sugar Rush hit the highest net worth in company history. It was a big deal to him. To all of us.”

  “What made you choose this house instead?”

  “It came with the beach.”

  “The beach belongs to you?”

  “Technically it belongs to the house, but I guess you could say that. It’s a private stretch of beach between the two rock ledges.”

  Okay, so she hadn’t been entirely wrong. Not many people in the world could afford to own part of the California coastline. Luke’s mansion was a custom-made Nordic castle on a cliff; Evan’s mansion was the sand and the sea.

  She much preferred Evan’s mansion.

  She rose and wandered over to the bookshelf, running her fingers across the spines as if she could somehow absorb everything in his mind. History books, Shakespeare, thriller novels, linguistics textbooks, guides about marine life and conservation. The desk contained more books and papers, along with a few sticks of wood and a paring knife.

  “What’s this for?” Hannah held up a smooth stick whose bark had been carved off.

  “I’m whittling a flute.”

  She laughed. He didn’t.

&nbs
p; Hannah blinked. “Seriously? You whittle? You’re whittling a flute?”

  “Yeah.” Amusement rose to his eyes over her astonishment. “I was a Boy Scout when I was a kid and learned how to whittle. When I was recovering after my surgeries, I spent a lot of time perfecting the technique.”

  “Oh.” A combination of admiration and sorrow washed over Hannah. “That’s rather remarkable.”

  “Not really. It’s just a hobby. Plenty of people do it.”

  “You’re the first person I’ve met who whittles. Do you have any other sculptures?”

  “There’s some in the top drawer. I usually just give them to the children’s hospital.”

  Hannah opened the drawer to find an array of intricately carved wood pieces—a bird, a rough-hewn bear, a sailboat. She stroked her fingers over the smooth edges of a driftwood elephant.

  How many other things did she have to discover about Evan Stone? He was like an entire country, mapped with secret landscapes and hidden rivers that she wanted to navigate and explore until she found the very center of him. And there she wanted to curl up and rest.

  “Can I keep this?” she asked, holding up the elephant.

  “Sure.”

  Hannah set the elephant on the coffee table so she wouldn’t forget to take it with her. Evan’s giving away of his creations reminded her of her father and his paper airplanes. She had the sudden, strange wish that her father could have met Evan. They’d have liked each other.

  She returned to the sofa and sat with her back against one of the arms.

  “So you live here alone?” she asked.

  “No, I live here with my girlfriend,” Evan replied dryly.

  She poked him with her foot. “I meant, do you live here with one of your brothers?”

  “No, we all have our own places. Adam rents his out, so sometimes he stays at Luke’s house or with our father.”

  Hannah set her glass on the coffee table and riffled through the glass bowl of Sugar Rush candy, selecting a package of fruit-flavored Puffles.

  “Ah.” Evan watched as she opened the package and ate a few of the gummy candies. “I knew I’d convert you, Sahnehäubchen.”