Sugar and Sin Bundle

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  His signature beach cologne drifted towards her. She was becoming addicted to the scent. Victoria wanted to bathe in it—preferably with him in the tub. Okay, okay, what’s next? Oh, the color.

  “Then, if you could white wash the …” Her mouth remained opened as the words halted in midair. The camera still rolled on.

  Russ didn’t take off his shirt as much as he stripped it off exposing a six-pack to rival any man on the cover of Men’s Health. Tan, taut skin stretched tightly across his pecs. As a child Victoria had not only been fascinated by colors but by textures. Always touching and exploring. She was no different now.

  She gripped the worktable so she wouldn’t reach out to glide her fingers over his glistening skin. If Michelangelo could travel though time he’d cry for a fresh block of marble. Though she doubted even he could replicate the chiseled perfection of Russ’s body.

  She couldn’t remember what she was supposed to say next never mind her own name.

  “The wood?” Russ finished her line.

  She looked up. His eyes were alit with amusement and his smile knowing.

  Wood? She would NOT lower her gaze. No. No. No. “Yes, do you think you can handle that?”

  With his hand on the table, he leaned towards her. “I’m your handyman.”

  Oh, what she could do with that line, but despite having a half-naked man running loose on the set, Design Intervention was a family show. She was proud that she recovered nicely and they finished the scene. “Did the producers tell you to go shirtless too?”

  “Not specifically, but I did it all the time on my show back in Australia.”

  Victoria knew that. Seen the clips on You-Tube. But that didn’t prepare a girl for seeing it live. In person. Within arms’ reach. She should go back inside so he could start the project. No, she should run. But she stayed rooted to the spot.

  “Isn’t it a safety hazard?” She pointed to the power tools lining his workspace.

  “I’m more worried about heat stroke. It’s hot out here.” Russ wiped his brow.

  It certainly was. Victoria felt parched herself, but for an entirely different reason. She would offer him a glass of water, but she was afraid he’d only dump the contents over his amazing body. Or afraid he wouldn’t and she would do it for him. Her focus zeroed in on a garden hose ten feet away.

  She wasn’t sure if she would spray it on him for her viewing pleasure or douse herself, like throwing water on a dog in heat.

  “You know, I wouldn’t mind if you wore a bikini top.” He wore a lopsided grin.

  “Really? I never would have guessed.” She didn’t hold back on the sarcasm.

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Trying to make us into the Baywatch of designs shows?”

  “Not a bad idea.” Russ stroked his chin playfully. “Instead of rescuing lives, we rescue designs.”

  Giving his frame a sweeping glance, “You’d fit right in as the head lifeguard.”

  “And you—”

  “Don’t even try it.”

  “Are as beautiful as Pamela Anderson, but classier.”

  Victoria tried to tell herself it was the heat causing her face to redden.

  “And you got real boobs,” he added.

  Victoria burst out laughing and she would’ve preened with satisfaction, if it weren’t for the fact that he hated the paint colors for the walls. “How can you tell?”

  “For one, you don’t seem the type, and two,” his gaze lowered, “when you laugh they actually jiggle.”

  This made her laugh even harder and she unconsciously covered said breasts with her arms.

  Flirting with him fully clothed was risky enough, but with him half naked she’d felt herself softening towards him. Almost weak at the knees. Almost swooning.

  Victoria drew back and straightened her spine.

  “We need you for the next shoot,” said Stephen.

  “I, um, have to go paint.”

  “In those heels?” Picking up a power drill, he shook his head. “Now that’s a safety hazard.” Pointing to her shoes, Russ spun the drill, on then off.

  Another one of those sexy grins sent shivers down her spine and in between her thighs.

  Her gaze dropped down to his toned stomach, then speculated lower to just below his tool belt. He pressed the drill again. This time pointed up higher.

  She jolted and, embarrassed, turned away almost tripping over herself. She made a mental note to pick up an economy-sized pack of batteries on her way home.

  Chapter 10

  Russ measured and cut most of the boards necessary for the entertainment center. Needing a break he stopped the saw and wiped his brow. Giving into his curiosity, he covertly snuck over to the living room window to spy on Victoria.

  Who was merrily painting away, her crimson mini skirt riding up each time she reached higher with the roller. Perhaps it was a trick of the heels she wore but her legs appeared shapely and long. He couldn’t hear any sound since the windows were closed, but her lips were bowed as if she were whistling.

  With no one behind the cameras, he was surprised to see her still pitching in. He assumed she would paint a few strokes for show then let the grips finish it. Maybe she wasn’t a diva after all. Though Russ never saw a woman painting with spiked heels on. Yesterday she had run like an Olympic athlete in them. She probably knew how use them as a lethal weapon and he had a feeling she would die with the stilettos on like a cowboy and his boots. He wondered if she left them on during sex. Russ hoped so. He mind flashed a scene of him deep inside her as the points dug into his thighs.

  Her petite feet had to hurt. Perhaps at the end of day he could offer a foot rub. He’d slip off the strap and massage the ache away. Little moans would escape her throat.

  What color were her toenails? Juicy cherry red like her manicure? Like her lips?

  He imagined slowly kneading his way up her shapely calves, then her tender thighs, up until he reached her panties where her moans turned needy and desperate. Until she had an ache of a different kind. An ache to match his own.

  Startled by a knock on the window, Russ dragged his mind out of the gutter. Henry, one of the grips, faced Russ, pointing to an unaware Victoria who stood behind him, then waved his hand like it was on fire and mouthed the word ‘hot.’

  Russ couldn’t disagree, not after the foot fantasy that scorched his brain, but neither did he want to look like a Peeping Tom. He motioned for Henry to send Victoria outside.

  Before he could think up a reason why he needed to see her, she was outside asking, “What’s up?”

  I am. But Russ knew he couldn’t answer with the truth. What’s up, is something a woman should never ask a man.

  “Russ?”

  “Have you ever worked with the power tools?” Good save.

  “Only with disastrous results.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Really?”

  “I sort of broke a window.”

  “Sort of?” questioned Stephen who appeared out of nowhere. “The board went flying off the table and crashed through a patio door. Cost the show fifteen hundred bucks to replace it and put us behind a day.”

  Russ laughed.

  “I warned you it was a bad idea,” defended Victoria.

  “Hah, more like you did it on purpose so you didn’t have to do it again.”

  “That hurts,” she pouted.

  Ava drove up, honking the horn, waving her hand out the window. Victoria’s face brightened with a smile to light up the whole set. As she ran over to the car, Russ hoped one day, no, one night, she’d give a smile that was just for him.

  “I brought goodies!”

  The crew gathered around as Ava doled out what appeared to be cupcakes. Unsure of his place, he hung back, and was surprised to see Victoria approach him.

  “Hey, don’t you what one?”

  Yellow cake in a fancy paper cup with fluffy pink icing plopped on top tempted him. He wondered how many calories the treat contained and how many grams of fa
t. Russ didn’t get six pack abs from eating junk food. Which reminded him at some point he’d have get his workouts in. Otherwise his shirt would be staying on and he’d get fired from his moonlighting job.

  “No, thanks.” He patted his stomach. “I’m watching my figure.” The musical sound of her laugh lifted his heart.

  “So are all the ladies across the street.”

  Hmmm, did he detect a trace of jealousy in her voice? “And the lady right in front of me is too.”

  He laughed at the exasperated expression on her face, but she didn’t deny she’d been checking out his physique either.

  “Last chance. They were made famous on Sex and the City.”

  He shook his head. “That explains why it looks like a cupcake made for girls.”

  “Sugar and spice and everything nice.” Victoria waved it under his nose.

  The scent of vanilla hit him hard. “Are you talking about the cupcake or you?”

  “Me? No Sugar. Maybe some spice but nothing nice.”

  He didn’t believe her. She would taste sweeter than Violet Crumbles, a chocolate covered honeycomb candy bar he devoured as a kid, and she’d feel all kinds of nice pressed up against him. If it weren’t for the crew milling about or the audience across the street he’d find out right now.

  “I wouldn’t be caught dead eating that frilly thing.”

  “Oh I see, not comfortable in your manhood.”

  “My manhood is just fine, thank you. Want to see?”

  “No, but I’m sure they do.” Victoria pointed across the street.

  The little minx. He strode away, frustrated and his stomach rumbling. The cupcake did look good, really good. But he’d be damned if he’d be caught eating one like some girly man. Besides men didn’t do cake, cup or otherwise. Real men liked pie. Big, hot slices of pie with mounds of whip cream. Mounds? Victoria’s breasts immediately came to mind. Oh, how he would feast on them if given the chance. A no-calorie treat to satisfy his hunger.

  He started the band saw to drown out the noise of the impromptu party. He looked over just in time to see Victoria’s tongue lapping up vanilla icing. He immediately regretted wearing tight jeans. They allowed no room for growth and right now his cock was big and hard and threatened to explode out of his pants like he was the Incredible Hulk on Viagra. Glutton for punishment that he was, he imagined her swirling her tongue up and down his cock until he gave her his own version of vanilla icing. Her tongue slid back in her mouth, her eyes closed in ecstasy. He turned away and grabbed a piece of plywood.

  Why couldn’t she just eat the bloody thing instead of making a production out it? There ought to be some kind of law—an obscenity law.

  He plopped the board loudly on the table, gliding it into position then pushed it forward to begin cutting. Only he looked up again to see her biting into the cake, the custard center threatening to spill onto her shirt, until her delicate finger caught it. She sucked on her finger in pleasure. He’d bet his bank account he could put the same look on her face by finding her creamy center. She turned his way and a look of horror came across her face as she waved frantically.

  Only then he felt the heat of the blade and pulled his hand away. Another second and he would’ve lost a couple of digits. In disgust he turned off the blade just in time for the hysterics to start.

  “Oh my God, are you okay?”

  “No worries.”

  “You almost cut your arm off!”

  Her dramatics had him gazing up to sky to pray for patience.

  “You have to be more careful.”

  With the prayer unanswered, he turned towards her and tightly said, “Maybe if you took your little tea party inside I wouldn’t be distracted.” He’d be just fine if cupcakes were banned from the set. And while he was at it, he’d outlaw those tight, short skirts she paraded around in.

  “Somebody’s cranky.” She offered her last bite up to Russ. “That’s what happens when you pass up cake.”

  Instead of reaching for it with his hand, his mouth swooped down and took it from her fingers, licking the tips with his tongue. He relished the gasp of surprise on her face more than the rush of the sugary treat. “If I’d known you were going to hand feed me, I wouldn’t have said no.”

  Chapter 11

  Wet and warm, Russ’s mouth sent skitters of pleasure up her arm. His gaze bore into hers, his eyes deepening into a pool of melted copper. Her teeth tugged at her lip so no sound could escape. If he could make her feel like a mewing sex kitten with a lick at her fingertips, then what would happen if he had full access to her body? Victoria wanted to get naked, rub cake all over herself, and find out. If the heat in his eyes was any indication, he was thinking the same thing.

  The air hit her fingers. Not a crumb left. “I usually don’t feed the animals.”

  Russ smiled. “No worries, I won’t bite the hand that feeds me.” He laid on the thick Aussie accent.

  “No, you slobber over it.” Even though he did no such thing, Victoria made a show of wiping off her hand on her skirt.

  “I may drool at the sight of you, but I don’t slobber.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “Would you like some ice tea to wash that down with?”

  Both Russ and Victoria turned their heads. Two elderly women, dressed in flowery housecoats, but with well-coifed hair, stood on the other side of the fence with a platter containing a pitcher of iced tea and one glass, which obviously wasn’t for her.

  Russ put on his best boyish smile. “Why ladies, you shouldn’t have.”

  Victoria turned away, shaking her head. She didn’t need to see a shirtless, sweaty Russ gulping down a cold glass of iced tea. She really didn’t. Really.

  ***

  Victoria sighed, stepping back from the artwork she’d created for the focal point over the Johnson’s fireplace. The starburst pattern of various shades of yellows, oranges, and whites picked up the colors of the glass tile being set around the hearth. The piece would complement the same shape and size mirror that would eventually hang on the opposite wall.

  Ever since the show aired, her paying clients were asking for a Victoria original to be included in the design. Ava encouraged her to charge extra and she supposed she should, but deep down Victoria was afraid they’d laugh at her like her mother used to do. If it wasn’t for her grandmother’s trust fund to pay for college and for the set up costs for Victoria’s Divine Designs, she might have caved to her mother’s demands to be just like her—a socialite trophy wife who had no identity of her own. Victoria shuddered at a life of being her mother’s protégé. She liked her life just the way she created it.

  Satisfied, she dipped a small brush in black paint and signed the work with quick stroke.

  That done she decided to check on Russ’s progress with the build-out. She smiled at the thought of him. Oh, he was a bit arrogant and rough around the edges. So unlike the men her mother would have her marry. Compared to Russ, they were really boys, who were more interested in the family name then in her or her body. Russ, all man, was definitely interested in her body.

  And he didn’t equate her petite size with being stupid. If one more man patted the top of her head like she was a child she’d have a tantrum worthy of any three-year-old.

  Why not have a passionate one night stand with the down-under hunk? Would it really hurt the show if they hooked up once? Twice? Okay, three times at the most.

  Neil would be back soon, then Russ would be on his way and she’d have a nice hot memory to share with her vibrator.

  After coming down the stairs, she inspected the room before heading outside. The walls may be dry and the new mod lighting installed, but there was still so much to do. She ticked off a list in her head as the door closed behind her.

  Russ’s work area was void of activity and his tools stored away. The entertainment center stood finished except for the white wash paint. That had to get done tonight. She spotted the director by the van, emblazoned with the Design Interven
tion logo.

  “Stephen, where’s Russ?”

  “Oh, um. Washing up inside.”

  “But we’re not done yet.”

  “He has a thing.”

  “A thing?” A date thing? She quelled the green-eyed monster from sprouting horns.

  “He didn’t realize we’d run late.”

  And Russ thought she was a diva? At least she never abandoned the set, often working until midnight and sleeping over so the next day ran smoothly.

  Who did he think he was? Leaving early was unacceptable. Nothing to do with jealousy, not at all. This is what she got by being nice and offering him a cupcake to make him feel like he was part of the show. And she’d almost forgiven him for the rude comment on the paint color. She stormed back inside and down the hallway. The bathroom door was open. Russ was stooped over the sink, splashing water on his face. His shirt was disappointingly back on, but at least she wouldn’t be distracted by his chiseled, tan chest.

  “You may have gotten permission to leave from Stephen, but I’m—”

  Russ snapped a hand towel off the rack. “I don’t ask for anyone’s permission.”

  Victoria stood there dumbstruck, but not because he interrupted her or his gall to up and leave when there were projects to be completed. The intimacy of watching him dry the sexy stubble on his face left her too stupid to speak. His sandy brown eyes challenged her to a playful fight. But Victoria was in no mood for games. This was war.

  Her gaze narrowed. Taking a step in, he backed way with an amused smile on his face and hands up in mock surrender. “Making other people do YOUR work,” her finger jabbed at his hard chest, “while you go out with some girl you just met is—”

  She did not mean to let that slip. It made her sound jealous. His gaze heated and Victoria let the rest of the sentence die on her lips. Dropping her hand from his chest, it was her turn to retreat, but he didn’t let her get far. Russ threw the towel to the side and took her by the waist pulling her into his embrace. Her petite frame melded to his like the blending of two primary colors. Opposite one another, each beautiful, but when mixed together creating its own magnificent hue.