Sugar and Sin Bundle

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  She gasped and raised a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

  What the hell? Something was going on in that gorgeous golden head of hers. Something that made absolutely zero sense to him.

  She withdrew from his grasp and stepped away from the table. “Rémi’s right. We should go.”

  They thanked their hosts and said goodnight to everyone before walking to his car. Once they were out of earshot, he took her elbow to make her stop. “What was that about?”

  “What was what about?”

  “You got all freaky after you suggested having another drink. Why?”

  “Nothing.” She waved airily and tried to start walking again. But he held her back and turned her to face him.

  Definitely more than nothing. “It’s something. And it’s not the first time either. You reacted oddly when we were joking about Ellie marrying me.” On the surface, there was no commonality between the two events, no pattern. But they hadn’t been random. Come to think of it, she’d looked at him oddly at the table too, when Jake brought their beers. Did she think—?

  “Do you think I have a drinking problem?”

  “No.”

  Thank God. “What then?”

  “I’m actually more worried about the drugs.”

  Rémi’s head started to spin. The woman had lost her mind. “The drug problem on the rez? What does that have to do with tonight?”

  “No.” She shook her head and would have fallen over if he hadn’t caught her arm. “I meant your drug problem.”

  What the fuck? “I don’t have a drug problem.”

  She snorted. “Don’t lie. Isn’t admitting you have a problem the first of the twelve steps?”

  As a defense against his rising blood pressure, he inhaled deeply and peered into her light brown eyes. “You’re drunk and I’m not. So who has the problem?”

  Her lids lowered and her lips turned down into a pout. Goodbye Barbie Cop, hello sex kitten. He was pretty sure she’d be pissed if she knew how she looked. “Rémi, I know this is hard for you. But you know why Narcotics Anonymous recommends you stay away from alcohol: it lowers your inhi… inhibish—” She pressed a hand to her mouth as though wondering why the word wasn’t coming out right.

  He raised a brow. “Inhibitions?”

  She scrunched up her face, so impossibly cute. Then she beamed. “Yes! That’s it. Anyways, that”—she waved her hand—“what you said, can lead to a relapse.” Tilting her head up, she patted his chest. “I’m just watching out for you.”

  He leaned his forehead against hers and breathed her in. How could someone so smart get it so wrong? “Why do you think I’m a drug addict?”

  “You told me so yourself.” Seeing his confusion, she continued. “In the car when we were watching Corey’s house. I asked you if your grandfather helped you kick a drug habit, and you told me he’d saved your life. But as a drug and alcohol counselor, you know there’s no such thing as a recovered addict. You need to stay away from temptation.”

  Rémi sighed. Wasn’t that the truth? Alyssa was more temptation than he could handle. Even when she was grossly mischaracterizing him. “Listen, sweetheart. I dabbled in drugs when I was a teenager, like a lot of kids do. Grandfather saved me by removing me from a bad environment. Without him, I probably would’ve followed in my mother’s footsteps. I was certainly headed in that direction. But I swear to you, I’m not now, nor have I ever been, addicted to drugs or alcohol. I’ve never been addicted to anything.”

  Except you. Yeah. He couldn’t seem to get enough of Sergeant Alyssa Morgan.

  As soon as Rémi stopped the car in the parking lot of her motel, Alyssa went for the door handle. The fresh night air would do her head some good. The light from the overhead streetlamp failed to reach her side of the vehicle, leaving her to fumble around in the darkness. Her hand came up empty. She tried again. Where was the freaking handle? Had the Fusion morphed into some sort of weird Picasso abstract where nothing was where it was supposed to be?

  Finally, her fingers closed around a lever. She tried to pry it back, even slammed her shoulder against the door, but still it wouldn’t budge. Blowing a puff of air to get the hair out of her eyes, she leaned back on the headrest and turned to Rémi. “Something’s wrong with the door.”

  He rubbed a hand across his mouth as he got out of the car and came around to her side, but she saw his grin. The big jerk was laughing at her. Of course, she deserved it for getting hammered. He opened the door and extended his hand to help her out. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

  Good plan. She’d never make it up the stairs alone without skinning a knee or two. And while he played white knight she’d have another excuse to touch him. With that in mind, she stepped out of the car. And into his arms.

  By the time he got over his surprise and gripped her waist to steady her, she’d already wound her arms around his neck. She pressed her body against his while he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply as if he enjoyed the smell of her shampoo. Returning the favor, she snuggled into the curve of his neck to breathe in his after-shave. The woody scent reminded her of forests. She could easily picture him running through dense foliage wearing nothing but a teeny-tiny loincloth. The fragrance, the warmth of his skin, and the image in her mind made her insides sizzle.

  With his foot, Rémi slammed the door shut. His hands slid off her hips to cup her butt and he forced her to step backwards. When the coolness of the car touched her legs, he lifted her up and sat her down on the hood. Desire clouded his beautiful eyes and flushed his cheeks. He watched her for a moment, searching her face. “Do you know what you’re doing, sweetheart?”

  “Turning you on?”

  Rémi laughed. “No question about that.” He spread her knees wider and sank deeper into the cradle of her thighs, letting her feel his erection. So big, so hard. She wanted him. Above her, under her, any way he wanted.

  As she stared at his mouth, the need to taste him consumed her. “Good, because I’ll have to shoot you if you don’t kiss me right now.” Without looking away, she moistened her lips with a slow swipe of her tongue. Her back arched and she scraped her aching nipples against the hard muscles of his chest.

  Whatever restraint he’d been exercising gave way. His fingers plowing into her hair, he gripped her head and, at last, brought his mouth to hers. His lips were even softer, fuller than they’d appeared. Taking her time, she nibbled and savored them. When he opened his mouth, she slipped her tongue inside, snaking it around his.

  Pulling back, he whispered, his voice husky, “You taste so fucking good. Like fruit and red wine.” Then with a groan, he sealed their mouths, stroking, caressing her with his tongue. God, she couldn’t wait to for him to apply his oral talents to other parts of her body.

  Needing to explore more of him, she slid her hands down his back, massaging the ropes of muscle and sinew. When she reached the waistband of his jeans, her hands slipped inside. His ass was just like the rest of him, lean and hard as a rock. As she sucked harder on his tongue, she squeezed his butt cheeks and jerked his hips closer so she could feel more of him.

  Suddenly, he snapped his head up and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Had she done something he didn’t like? She tried to recapture his mouth, but he stopped her. “What’s wrong?”

  With his hands framing her face, he forced her to meet his gaze. “We need to take this inside, sweetheart. Unless you want an audience.” He angled his head to the right and the sound of snickering finally penetrated her muddled brain.

  A middle-aged couple sat on one of the porch benches a short distance away, enjoying the warm night and a cold beer. “Don’t stop on our account, honey,” the woman called, her voice amused. And aroused.

  A shudder wracked her body. She’d done that once before—to save her life. And she’d learned a valuable lesson: she’d rather die. “No, never again.” She hopped off the hood of the car and dragged Rémi to the stairs. In her haste, she stumbled on the first step. He swung h
er into his arms, ignoring her squeals and protests to put her the hell down, and carried her up the rest of the way.

  Inside her room, he set her down on the couch. When he tried to straighten, she tightened her hold on his neck and, using her weight, pulled him down on top of her. It was time to thank her white knight properly.

  She knew it was wrong, knew she shouldn’t mix work and pleasure. Again. But now, more than ever, she needed the comfort of Rémi’s body, needed to feel his warmth surrounding her, his strength protecting her. People saw only what she let them see: the tough take-no-prisoners cop. But deep inside, that’s not who she truly was. It was who she’d had to become. It was the cost of her revenge.

  Tonight, she wanted to let all of that go, give herself to Rémi and show him her soft side—the way that she could lose herself in her lover’s pleasure.

  Just as she was gearing up to give him the night of his life, he slid off her and knelt on the floor. His breathing ragged, he said, “I’ll make us some coffee.”

  Coffee? Now? “You don’t want to…?” She trailed off, gesturing between her body and his.

  His teeth flashed brightly against his reddened lips. “Not tonight.”

  “No?” What kind of guy turned down a woman who so obviously wanted to have sex? “You don’t want me?”

  He chuckled and the sound sent a rush of moisture between her thighs. “I want you more than you know. But not tonight, not like this.” Leaning forward, he kissed the tip of her nose, then stood up.

  Aroused and frustrated, she watched as he prepared the coffee and poured two cups, adding sugar and milk substitute. She should be grateful. A lesser man would have taken full advantage of what she’d offered. But Rémi? He made her coffee. The man was too good for her. If she did her job, she’d end up running his heart through a grinder. Just like she’d done with Justin’s. The thought did more to sober her up than any amount of caffeine or sugar would.

  Rémi handed her a cup and sat down beside her. She cradled it in her hands, blowing on the steaming liquid. “I’m sorry.”

  “About what?”

  What wasn’t she sorry about? “Everything.” She sighed heavily and took a sip of coffee. “I hardly ever drink. For obvious reasons. I can’t believe I made such a fool of myself in front of your friends.”

  He set his mug down on the coffee table and shifted so they faced each other. “You’ve been working hard, getting used to a new job and starting up the task force, and after today… you just needed to unwind a little.”

  “I’m more than a little unwound.”

  As though he heard the disappointment in her voice, he drew his brows together and rested his hand on her knee. “Sangria has a way of sneaking up on a person. And if you’re tired, it hits like a tornado.”

  “But your friends—”

  “—really liked you.”

  “They did? Good, because I felt the same.”

  His hand moved up to her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear, his fingers brushing the sensitive curve. A shiver trickled from her ear to her core. She’d had him pegged right when they first met: the man was a sex god. But he was also so much more than that.

  He dropped his hand and smiled sheepishly. “I should go.”

  A shudder started at her neck and raced down to her toes, making her body shake. “Please. Could you stay for a little while longer? Just until I fall asleep?”

  His smile fell and he rose to retrieve a blanket from the bed. After placing a pillow beneath her head and covering her, he sat on the floor beside the couch. “Don’t worry about this pig business. We’ll find out who’s responsible.”

  God, she hoped so. Her stomach cramped, the sweet Sangria turning sour. What if her past was coming back to haunt her? Even in prison, the former president of the Vipers, Jack Lalonde, aka The Ripper, still had a lot of pull. Rémi and the others from the reserve could be in danger. Like Andy, they could be killed in the crossfire. She twisted the mug in her hands, unable to meet his sympathetic gaze. “I thought I was done with people wanting me dead. It’s why I took this job.”

  “Has this kind of thing happened to you before?”

  “Dead animals on my bed? No. Guns to my head? Yes.” More times than she could stand to recall. Life with the Vipers had been hell on Earth. A constant reminder of her mortality.

  His eyes opened wide. “Were you held hostage?”

  She laughed, and even to her own ears the sound was brittle, like a bone cracking. “I wish. No, the Vipers took me into their family and practically adopted me.”

  “The Vipers? Don’t they control drug distribution throughout most of Montréal?”

  “That’s them.”

  “How did you ever get inside a biker gang?”

  She set down the mug, held out her hand, and smacked her lips like she was chewing a big wad of gum. “How the hell are ya, chief? I’m Lucky Lacy and if you buy me a beer, I’ll tell ya why.”

  “You were undercover.” A statement, not a question.

  She smiled. “I was good at it too.” Her smile fell as images of her time at the Vipers’ bunker came back in a rush. Things had been going smoothly until that horrible day when she’d been forced to prove her loyalty. If she could pinpoint the beginning of her downward spiral, that would be it. Turning away from the concern in Rémi’s gaze, she focused on the blank wall behind him. “Then I fucked up. I got my guy, but it cost me plenty. Anyways, I decided it was time for a change. Time to see if I was still a good cop.”

  “You had doubts?”

  Every day since then. And the doubts kept building up. Gauthier had it right, she was impulsive. Dangerous even. When her goal was in sight, her ethics became situational, people became collateral damage. “Sometimes when you’re undercover, you have to do things you wouldn’t normally do. But you aren’t yourself, you’re a character. And you play the role to the hilt because your life depends on it.”

  “Outside, when you said, ‘never again,’ were you referring to something that happened when you were undercover?”

  Pressing her lips together, she nodded. “The lines get blurred. Right is wrong and wrong is right. And you end up hurting people.”

  People like Justin, who’d come to her rescue. He’d saved her life by having sex with her in front of the Vipers leadership. But she’d left part of herself on the table that day: a part she hoped wasn’t dead.

  He trudged up three flights of dirty stairs to their small apartment. His stomach growled. Other than an old Pop-Tart, there hadn’t been much to eat this morning. At least it had been strawberry, his favorite. As he passed Mrs. Simard’s door, the spicy smell of spaghetti sauce filled the hall. His mouth watered. Maybe Mom went to the store today. He hoped. But not too hard. It hurt less that way.

  Because Mom didn’t like it when he barged in, he knocked on the door. Shifting from foot to foot—he really had to pee—he waited. Then he tried again, banging with his fists. He stopped and pressed his ear to the door. Not a sound. Maybe she was asleep? Sometimes she got really tired and slept for days. He tried real hard not to get scared when that happened.

  “Mom! Let me in. I gotta pee real bad.”

  A door down the hall opened. In the dim light, he couldn’t make out which one. His heart pounded in his chest as he pressed himself against the wall. Please don’t let it be old man Jenkins. The man hated him. Well, not just him—all kids. He was gonna get it bad. Unless he went back outside and hid behind the dumpster for an hour or so. Last time, Jenkins had followed him all the way to the park and smacked him on the back of the head. When he’d fallen down, the big kids hanging out smoking cigarettes had laughed.

  Just as he was about to launch himself down the stairs, Mrs. Simard stepped into the light streaming from her open door. “Are you locked out, Rémi?”

  “I guess so.”

  She nodded and indicated her apartment. “Why don’t you come sit with me for a bit?” He was tempted. The smell of her spaghetti sauce was twisting his insides. �
��Are you worried about your mom?” she asked when he made no move to join her.

  “Nah, she’s probably just at the store.”

  She nodded again. “I’m sure that’s it.”

  Still he resisted. If his mom came home and couldn’t find him, she’d go nuts.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked. “I’m making spaghetti. Do you want some?”

  His tummy gurgled and his mouth filled with spit. All he could do was nod and follow her into the apartment. She closed the door and moved off to the small kitchen. He froze. Everything in the two apartments was exactly the same, except hers was so different. This is how a home was supposed to look. Clean and bright. With real furniture in the living room, not just a couple lawn chairs and a box for a coffee table.

  “Rémi?” Mrs. Simard rested a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get some food into you.” She nudged him toward a table just big enough for two. As he sat on the wooden chair, he gaped at the pale pink tablecloth and the place settings she laid out. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even seen a tablecloth. Heck, they didn’t even own a table. Any eating usually took place sitting on the floor in front of the old black and white TV they’d found in a pile of junk a couple years ago.

  “So, how about some spaghetti?”

  The closest he’d ever come to homemade pasta was ravioli out of a can. He wanted some so badly, he could already taste it. But then he rubbed the cloth between his fingers and shook his head. “Better not.”

  “Not something you like?”

  Was she kidding? Anything that smelled so good had to taste wonderful. “I love spaghetti, but… what if I spill some?”

  She laughed and ruffled his hair. “Then I’ll wash the tablecloth.”

  His mother had been happy like that once. She’d laughed and ruffled his hair. She’d sung songs and played with him. But that was all BEFORE.

  Mrs. Simard set a huge plate of spaghetti smothered in a thick red sauce in front of him. He did a double take and leaned in closer. She’d actually made it with meat and vegetables. He was practically drooling. From the shows he’d seen on television, he knew he was supposed to wait for her before he started eating. So, he sat on his hands and cemented his jaw shut.