Gimme Some Sugar

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “Oh, sure.” Autumn turned toward Carly, her smile becoming a notch more serious. “Whoa, that’s a whopper.” Her forehead creased into a V as she squinted over the cut.

  “It’s really not a big deal,” Carly said. The words might as well have been tattooed on her forehead, she’d uttered them so often in the last hour.

  “Mmm, I’m gonna beg to differ with you on this one.” Autumn cupped Carly’s elbow, examining the cut closely. “Shane, be a doll and run up to the house for Mom’s first aid kit, would you? There are some leftover steri strips in there from when Tucker took that dive out of the tire swing last fall.”

  Carly’s gut squeezed. “I didn’t even feel it happen.”

  Autumn patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, the steri strips are just a precaution. If I thought you needed stitches, I’d send you off to the ER. Although you’ll need a tetanus shot ASAP if you did this out here.”

  Jackson stiffened next to her, and Carly let out an internal groan. That was something she hadn’t thought of. As much as she glossed over the various cuts she garnered along the way in the kitchen, the last thing she wanted to deal with was a big-deal infection from a cut she got from being outside. “Okay,” she agreed.

  Autumn examined the cut for another minute before Shane returned with the first aid kit, and while she turned to rummage for supplies, Jackson dropped his gaze to Carly’s.

  “I feel really bad about this,” he said so only she could hear him, and she noticed the lines around his eyes that normally formed creases of laughter had gone deep with seriousness.

  “It was an accident.” Carly’s answer was hushed but firm. He opened his mouth to argue, but then Autumn swung her attention back to Carly’s arm, and the words just disappeared.

  Even though Carly was technically right, Jackson still felt like the world’s biggest miscreant for pushing her against that shed. Yes, she’d been a willing participant—Christ, the fact that she’d matched his hunger and intensity from the word go had been half of what turned him on so much in the first place. Still. Next time, he’d have to make sure to figure out a way to rein in his overeager libido.

  Next time? If there was a next time—he’d just be more careful, and he’d be damn sure to stay away from the freaking shed. After all, it was no big deal to kiss a girl a couple of times, even if those kisses had been packed with enough electricity to power up an entire city block. They were only kisses. He’d done it plenty of times without losing his mind.

  Autumn tipped her head at Carly in a measured glance, examining her face as closely as her arm. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but have we met? You look awfully familiar,” she said, swabbing the cut with an antiseptic wipe.

  “I don’t think so. I’ve been in Pine Mountain for six months, but I haven’t gotten out much because of my job. I moved here from New York,” Carly added, her face slightly strained.

  Well, sure, that cut probably hurt like hell. Renewed guilt pushed through Jackson, and he squashed it down. He must be crazy, thinking there could be a next time with her. That cut was evidence enough that the two of them together fell squarely into the very-bad-plan category.

  “Carly’s my boss. She’s the head chef at La Dolce Vita,” Bellamy said.

  Autumn gasped, a steri strip poised over Carly’s arm. “Oh, no way. I’ve seen you on TV. You’re Carly di Matisse, from Couples in the Kitchen. I love that show!”

  Jackson bit back a laugh, waiting for Carly to correct the mistake. A TV show? Really? Sure, Carly had worked at some swanky New York restaurant, but come on. Not everyone who came from the Big Apple was a celebrity. Plus, she seemed way too real for that, fancy chef status or not.

  “You’ve seen my show?” Carly’s mouth opened in surprise, and Jackson couldn’t help but feel like her mirror image. What was she talking about?

  “Heck yes, I’ve seen your show. I caught it last year when I was up in the middle of the night feeding my youngest. They run all kinds of local cable around here after the late night talk shows sign off. It’s better than infomercials, that’s for sure.”

  “You have a cooking show?” Jackson blinked, trying to register the thought.

  Carly nodded, a swath of hair falling free from her braid and tumbling across her cheek. “It wasn’t glamorous or anything, just a low-budget cable TV deal. I can’t believe it ran all the way out here.”

  “In Philly, too,” Bellamy chimed in. “I’ve seen every episode.”

  “Are you serious?” Carly froze in place, and Bellamy nodded her answer.

  Holy crap. He’d known Carly must be a good chef; after all, those scones had been unbelievable, and she sure seemed to know what she was talking about in terms of food experiences. But a freaking TV show?

  Autumn dropped her voice a notch and leaned in toward Carly with a conspiratorial waggle of her brow. “So I have to know . . . are you and Travis really married?”

  Jackson’s eyebrows shot upward just as his jaw thunked open, but his vocal cords were torqued shut. Carly was married? As in, we registered for pots and pans, I now pronounce you man and wife, married?

  No fucking way.

  “Well, yes. Technically,” Carly replied after an eternity, her eyes flickering over Autumn’s before zeroing in on the grass beneath all of their feet. “But we’re in the process of getting a divorce.”

  A faint buzzing sound resonated in Jackson’s ears as his sister fumbled with an apology and Bellamy immediately changed the subject to food. Jackson nodded dumbly and pretended to listen, but all he could hear was the white-noise whoosh of his blood moving through his ears, firmly pushed by his pounding chest.

  From the look on Carly’s face, whatever was going on between her and her ex—Trenton? Truman? Anyway, whatever was going on wasn’t a done deal. As in, not only was the ink not dry, but the writing wasn’t even all the way on the wall. If Carly was in the middle of a divorce, chances were that she harbored at least some emotional baggage over it. She’d want someone who could hold her hand through the whole thing, not somebody whose only desire was to stay in let’s-just-be-casual-and-make-out-while-we’re-at-it mode. Was making out even kosher? Christ. Legally, she was still somebody’s wife.

  Wife.

  God damn it, Jackson should’ve known this was a bad idea to begin with. Enticing kisses or not, it was in both their best interests for him to forget about her, period. After all, not only had he lost control of himself to the point of drawing blood, albeit accidentally, but legally she was still Mrs. Somebody Else.

  Forget being a bad idea. This was getting downright insane.

  Jackson started to form a polite yet definite cut-and-run in his head, but a squeal of female happiness coming from the direction of the side yard blanked his thoughts. Before he could even see what hit him, Jackson’s arms were full of a tall, lush-bodied honey-blonde whose lips were planted firmly over his.

  Carly tried not to stare as a leggy stranger gracefully loped across the yard to lay a kiss on Jackson like they were the only two people at the party—hell, maybe even the universe.

  “Loveyducks! Sorry I’m late, but work was just awful! I’ve missed you so much,” the woman crooned, kissing Jackson again before releasing his lips to settle against him in a perfect fit. She looked like a photo shoot waiting to happen, from her shampoo-commercial tresses to her adorable kitten-heeled sandals, complete with French pedicure and sparkly rhinestone accents. Carly’s stomach twisted tighter than her fists before dropping toward her own unpolished toes.

  Jackson blinked in shock. “Jenna. I, uh . . . wow, I thought you might be a while longer.” He snaked a reluctant arm around the woman, his smile stiff as over-whipped egg whites, and Carly fought the urge to throw up.

  How could she have fallen for this?

  “Nope! I went as fast as I could so we could be together.” The woman beamed up at him like he’d invented the wheel. Or kiss-proof lipstick, which she was evidently wearing.

  “Wow, it took you long enough. Wa
s 295 a parking lot or what?” Bellamy hugged her friend and made a quick round of introductions to both Carly and Jackson’s sister while Jackson stared a hole in the grass beneath his feet.

  “Oh, Jenna!” Autumn leaned in to hug the woman, who miraculously managed to keep herself glued to Jackson’s side while hugging his sister back. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you. You must be something special. Jackson’s usually so secretive about his girlfriends.”

  Secretive enough to sneak around in the garden, cheating with the first available idiot who happens by?

  She was such a fool. Jackson might’ve been infuriating, albeit in a totally sexy way, but the last thing she’d pegged him for was a snake in the grass. Of course she’d never suspected Travis of being a cheater, either, and look what that got her. Had she seriously been desperate enough to wrap her legs around Jackson’s waist? Clearly, her ability to judge a person’s character had left the freaking building.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” Jenna smiled an ear-to-ear stunner like the pages of Cosmopolitan magazine had just spit her out. She nuzzled Jackson’s neck, and wrapped her slender arm around him even tighter as she launched into some story about how not even a work emergency and holiday traffic could keep her from her man. Jackson stood stick-straight next to his girlfriend—ugh, the word itself stirred a groan in Carly’s chest—and she couldn’t tell which of them she hated more; him, for pulling the wool over her eyes so seamlessly, or herself for considering sleeping with him, even casually.

  Either way, she needed to get out of here. Now would be good.

  Autumn and Jenna were entrenched in getting-to-know-you mode, and Jackson stood between them with a tight smile plastered to his face. Carly felt a tiny stab of sympathy for his girlfriend, who despite the fact that she was ten degrees from humping his leg, actually seemed pretty nice. Still, Carly wasn’t about to air out Jackson’s indiscretions right here in the middle of a family gathering. She’d rather forget that stupid, steamy kiss and get on with things, thank you very much. In fact, she’d rather get a freaking tetanus shot than stand here and be made a fool of.

  Wait a second . . .

  “Well, I hate to eat and run, but I think Autumn’s right. My last tetanus shot was a dog’s age ago, so I’m going to zip out to that emergency clinic in Bealetown. Just to be on the safe side.”

  “But you didn’t eat,” Jackson said, his voice stilted.

  “I’m all set, thanks.” She worked up her biggest smile-for-TV face. Local cable or not, she still had some skills. “And thanks for patching me up, Autumn.”

  “No problem at all, hon. Just tell whoever’s working the clinic that Autumn Mackenzie sent you, and that they’d better be nice with that needle.”

  Carly shuddered, but the thought of a needle was nothing compared to the prick standing across from her. “I will.”

  She’d turned to duck through the crowd, the tightness in her chest already unraveling in relief, when Jackson’s baritone stopped her dead in her tracks.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Wait!”

  A wave of hot relief spilled over Carly, making her chest hitch right along with her steps. What the hell was that? She should be relieved to get out of there, not happy that Jackson had called her back after only two steps.

  Traitorous girl parts.

  “Yes?” Carly mentally patted herself on the back for the fact that on the rare occasion she didn’t embody grace under pressure, she could still fake it with the best of them. The rubber sole of her flip flop squeaked against the lawn as she turned back to look at Jackson. He raised his eyes, but didn’t quite manage to meet her gaze, landing his focus on the vicinity of her chin instead.

  “You need a ride back to your car. I can take you.”

  Well, crap. She’d forgotten her car was sitting in the parking lot at Joe’s Grocery. Jackson unwound his arm from Jenna’s waist and dug into his pocket for his keys, causing panic to bolt through Carly’s veins. She didn’t even want to be out in the open with him, much less in the confined space of his truck.

  “No.” A streak of color and sparkly silver light popped like a hot kernel in the distance, mercifully distracting everyone from the hard, unwavering syllable that had just passed from Carly’s lips. “I mean, you’ll miss the fireworks that way. I’ll just call my roommate and have her come get me.”

  “It’s really not that far,” Jackson argued, his eyes glittering.

  “All the more reason it’ll be a piece of cake for me to get a ride,” Carly insisted right back. Although Sloane would certainly grill her for details all the way home, Carly had zero doubts that her friend would come get her.

  “Are you sure?” Bellamy asked, green eyes clouded with concern. “Maybe—”

  “Let me take you,” Jackson repeated, the words coming out like he was strangling in quicksand. Jenna’s forehead crinkled, and the added attention to Jackson’s insistence pushed Carly even harder to stand her ground.

  “No, thanks. My ride will be here in ten minutes. Maybe less.” She took a step backward, then another. No more distractions. She was out of here.

  “See you tomorrow, Bellamy. Have a great night, everybody.”

  This time when Carly turned to walk away, Jackson did nothing to stop her.

  Whoever coined that old phrase about the best laid plans was probably laughing his ass off right now. Carly squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out a dusky view of the front yard.

  In her haste to get out of Dodge, she’d forgotten that cellular service was hopeless on a good day in the mountains. Her iPhone was as useless as a chocolate teapot way the hell up here in God’s country, not to mention the fact that even if she could use it, she still had no clue where she was or how to get to the bungalow from here. Carly released an exasperated breath, but refused to even think about heading back to the house behind her.

  “Come on, cell phone.” She tapped the screen with a gentle caress. “Give me a signal. Just for a few minutes, whaddaya say?”

  Not even a flicker. Carly muttered a curse in Italian before shoving the stupid thing back into her pocket. A burst of pink and white light bloomed high over the back of the house, a brightly lit peony against the velvet sky, and she stopped to think.

  If everyone was down at the lake watching the fireworks, maybe she could sneak back into the house, just to use the phone. She wouldn’t be breaking and entering or anything, just slipping in unnoticed for a quick call. Even if she couldn’t figure out how to get Sloane here to pick her up, maybe she could call a cab or something.

  News flash, stupida! They don’t do cabs up here in Pine Mountain. She pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, refusing to believe she was out of options.

  “Come on, Carly. Think,” she whispered, taking out her worthless iPhone to give it one last try. There had to be something. There had to be . . .

  “Do you need some help?”

  Carly shrieked at the male voice coming from her right, dropping her cell phone with a skitter and balling both fists into a fighting stance. She wasn’t about to go down like an extra in a B-grade slasher flick, no way. Forget that the deep, disembodied voice had offered to help. Didn’t Ted Bundy do the same thing to all of those poor, unsuspecting victims of his, too? Carly cocked her arms tight against her shaking body, primed to take a swing, and scanned the shadowy yard to locate the source of the voice.

  “Whoa! Carly, relax. It’s me. Shane,” he clarified in a rush. A golden-orange pop of light illuminated the yard from overhead, and the concern on Shane’s face was obvious as he creased his brow at her from a few paces away.

  “Holy shit! You scared me.” She slanted her gaze at him as the darkness settled in again.

  “Sorry. Everyone left to watch the fireworks, and Jack—well, they were all worried that you’d be waiting by yourself, so I figured I’d come keep you company.”

  Carly stiffened. “I’m fine all by myself. Great, actually.”

 
Well, that took stones. Jackson was pretending to be worried about her? He couldn’t seriously think she’d stick around for another clandestine kiss while his girlfriend’s back was turned. She huffed out a breath at the thought.

  “Listen, Carly . . .” Shane trailed off, and a purple and white starburst flashed overhead. “I know this is none of my business, but things here . . . well, they aren’t really what they seem.”

  Carly froze. So Shane did know about the kiss from last week. Otherwise, why would he be trying to save face for his friend?

  “They seem pretty cut and dried to me,” she replied with finality. “And to be honest, I’m not really too interested in a bunch of lame excuses. It’s not worth my time.” In the back of her mind, she could hear Sloane’s teasing voice from a few weeks ago. Jaded, party of one . . .

  Yeah, well, jaded was a whole lot better than duped. No way was she sticking around to hear Jackson try and sweet talk his way out of things.

  “Right.” Shane paused for so long that Carly thought he’d let it go, but then he spoke again. “Jenna’s not Jackson’s girlfriend.”

  “Ex-excuse me?” Carly shook her head in shock, certain she’d misunderstood. “How’s that?”

  Shane blew out a slow breath. “Well, you’ll have to ask him for the whole story. But it’s not what it looks like.”

  For a second, something unidentifiable and warm trilled through Carly’s chest before understanding squashed it, trampling through her brain like a wet dog on a white carpet. “Oh, I get it. He sent you to try and smooth things over, make me believe that this was all just a little misunderstanding. Well, tell Jackson not to worry about it. The kiss wasn’t even all that good.”

  Carly had eaten some crazy things over the course of her thirty-one years, but nothing tasted as burnt or brittle as the lie that had just tumbled from her lips. She swallowed hard, but it did nothing to improve the state of her taste buds or her mood. “Look, I’m sorry. I think it’s best if I just go.”