Sugar and Spice

by Shandi Boyes

  His nostrils flare in rhythm with the thrusts of his pelvis. For every hungry gulp of air he demands they take, the harder he pumps into me. As I match his grinds thrust for thrust, we moan in sync. It is a beautiful lyrical ballad, unlike any love song I've ever heard. It is perfect—nearly as flawless as our exchange.

  I’ve never had a thirst like this—unquenchable and ravenous. I want to watch Cormack unravel beneath me. I want to steal the last breath of air from his lungs as he shouts my name. But more than anything, I want to blow his mind so spellbindingly, he’ll never have another thought that doesn’t include me.

  That is unforgiving. The thoughts I am having about a man I've only known for weeks is unforgivable, but they are as honest as they come. I want this man so badly, I'm willing to give up anything or anyone to have him. If that makes me as dependent as a drug addict seeking their next hit, so be it.

  I am done pretending I am someone I’m not.

  I am done having society tell me who I can and cannot associate with.

  I am done holding back my orgasm for a second longer.

  Chapter Twenty

  Cormack

  Have you ever had the feeling you are being watched? I'm dealing with that bizarre sensation right now. There is just a slight variation. I'm in my bedroom; my eyes are closed, and the person responsible for my lagging sleep schedule the past seven weeks is resting on my chest. I'd suspect the envious glance was coming from Harlow, but since this conspicuous gawp is filled with hilarity, I'll shelf my opinion and crack open my eyes.

  With my schedule returning to its gruesome 3 AM awakening, the effort is mammoth. The past week has been unreal. There isn’t a simpler, more laidback word I could use to describe it, but it is the most honest. Considering how our date last week started, the ending was one I never anticipated. I’ll be honest. I was a little worried the sparks would diminish a little once I bedded Harlow. I couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  The sparks didn't just detonate; they grew exponentially. It was a blistering night we've recreated as often as possible the past seven. Even though Harlow's loft is small, that hasn't hindered us testing out every stable surface. I'm exhausted—utterly fucking delirious—but this past week is what dreams are made of.

  Once my eyes finally follow the prompts of my brain, I find the cause for the amused stare. My younger brother Colby is sitting on a wingback chair in the corner of my bedroom. His elbows are balanced on his knees, and his icy blue gaze is locked on me. The grin on his face reveals his shock that I am with company, but the cheeky glint in his eyes exposes he plans to milk it for all it’s worth.

  Colby is a mischief maker. He is the second youngest of our family and the rowdiest. But for the most part, his heart is in the right place. Being seven years younger than me means he skipped our father’s antics, which was more my choice than Colby’s. I didn’t want to burden him with the guilt I have.

  Being the sole heir to a six billion dollar company sounds excellent in theory, but reality is different. Thousands of livelihoods are affected by decisions I make every day. One wrong move could be catastrophic. That is a lot of weight for one man to carry, but it is a burden I don't bear when I am with Harlow. She frees me from the obligation by reminding me that I am only twenty-eight. I've barely lived, so I have plenty of time to work out my kinks in the corporate world.

  Unfortunately, I don’t have the same leeway when it comes to family. Colby was only ten when our mom was diagnosed with early onset dementia, eleven when I was charged with rape, and sixteen when our father passed. He has been through a lot in his short nearly twenty-two years, but he is always smiling. I could learn a thing or two from him.

  Amused by my attempt to disentangle myself from Harlow, Colby's throaty laugh bounces around my room. It is much easier to do since my bed is three times the size of the one we've been sharing the past week, but it is still a challenge. With Harlow's bakery gaining back two-thirds of the clients my company stole from it, our nights are typically spent in her loft. We only returned to my home last night because Renee insisted she had everything covered for tomorrow. Harlow was hesitant to accept her offer, but my promise to cook swayed her opinion. I’m no master chef, but the way Harlow’s face lights up every time I offer to cook for her makes it seem as if I am. Clearly, food holds a special place in her heart.

  My lips quirk in surprise when I climb out of bed without the spasming ache I’ve had all week. I am only twenty-eight, but my back feels like it is eighty after a night on Harlow’s lumpy mattress. If it didn’t make me look like an insensitive ass, I’d spoil her with some new bedding. But since I still have a long way to go to fix my wrongs of the prior nine months, I’ll put up with her chiropractic nightmare bed.

  Colby gags when I snag a shirt off the floor to pull over my naked torso.

  “You’re lucky I’m wearing pants,” I grumble under my breath.

  If Harlow had her way, I'd never wear clothes again. The only reason I am clothed is because of Harlow's grumbling tummy. After I exhausted the last of her energy in a vigorous game of sheet twisting, I replenished it. Watching her consume apricot Danishes and fresh fruit as rigorously as she did my cock only minutes earlier was an equally enticing visual. Who knew eating could look so sexy?

  After pressing a kiss to Harlow’s temple, I make my way out of my room. Colby shadows me, his quietness more off-putting than his unexpected arrival. If there is something to be said, you can be assured Colby will say it. He doesn’t understand the word peace.

  I flick on the coffee machine before spinning around to face Colby. “What’s up?”

  If he were Clara, I'd head straight for my checkbook, but I know he isn't here for money. His adrenaline capitalist company grew to a seven-figure entity the past quarter, so he's well on his way to supporting himself as I hope all my siblings will eventually do. The satisfaction you feel when you earn something yourself can't be replicated by having it handed to you. Colby understands this. Cate is coming around. Clara is a work in progress. The odds aren't in my favor to convert Clara to the dark side, but I'm not a man who backs down when I want something. Harlow sleeping in my bed is living proof of that.

  “It’s Clara.”

  My jaw tightens. Colby, like me, will always be there for his sisters, but this is a first. He's never stepped up to the plate for Clara before because he has seen how many times she left me out there swinging with no catcher behind me. I will defend my siblings until the day I take my final breath, but it should be a joint effort. That is never the case with Clara.

  “What did she do now?”

  Colby stops picking at a bunch of grapes in a fruit bowl on the kitchen counter to lock his eyes with mine. The concern in them makes my gut twist. "She's called an emergency meeting with the Board. She's trying to banish you from the company."

  I take a step back, stunned. “Is she a fucking idiot? What does she think will happen to the Attwood fortune if a member of our family isn’t controlling our share?”

  The smirk on Colby’s face answers my questions. Clara isn’t ousting me because she believes I am doing a poor job chairing our family company. She wants to take over the reins. I’m tempted to concede defeat, but since my downfall doesn’t impact only me, I harness my response and seek a more suitable one.

  “What’s her basis for dismissal?”

  Colby’s eyes drift to my bedroom, increasing my anger tenfold.

  “Seriously? How does a relationship negatively impact my ability to run a company? If anything, it makes me more understanding of our employees.”

  Colby nods, agreeing with me. Over half of our board members have yearly placings on Forbes’ richest list. They don’t understand what an average worker goes through because, just like me, their fortunes were inherited. Harlow is the other side of the coin. She represents the hardworking Americans who keep this country running. Every decision I have made the past two months has been for the better because of her.

  “This i
s bullshit—”

  “This is Clara, Cormack. Nothing she does makes any sense.” Colby pops two grapes into his mouth before rounding the counter. His laidback aura doesn’t match the sneer of his words. “That’s why I’m here. I didn’t want you blindsided at our next meeting.”

  “She’s doing it at Mummo Koti?” My words are hissed with so much venom, they are almost growls.

  The Attwood conglomerate comes together every year at the mansion my grandfather built for my grandmother. Although the gathering centers around business, it is also to honor the man he was. It is kind of like a memorial minus the mourning part. We celebrate his life and the greatness he achieved. It is time to reflect and give our thanks for our family lineage. It is not the stomping ground for hostile takeovers and family bickering.

  My grandfather’s gift to his wife was eccentric and as over-the-top as they come, but Mummo Koti has been a cherished family keepsake the past sixty years. Just knowing Clara chose it as the location for her bid to succeed me not only pisses me off, it makes me determined to ensure it never happens.

  My grandfather often said he would have never achieved what he did without having my grandmother at his side. She wasn’t from an affluent, well-to-do family, but she has the heart of a warrior and the brain of a genius. He didn’t make a single decision regarding the Attwood fortune without first gaining her opinion.

  Colby nods. “She said it needed to be done at Koti because too much damage could be inflicted by the next quarter.”

  “We forecasted a loss in stock. We knew this quarter was going to be tight. With the increase in goal, production costs increased. This isn’t a consequence of negative trading. It is business. Clara would understand this if she ever turned up to a meeting.”

  "I know," Colby confirms, his tone not as wrathful as mine, his jaw not as tight. "You don't have to explain anything to me, Bro. I spend half our meetings snoring, and I still get it. You've got your shit together. You know what's happening. I'm just the messenger."

  His reply cools my turbines. I am getting worked up at the wrong person. He came here to warn me of an impending tornado, but instead of thanking him, I’m throwing him into the eye of the storm.

  I lean my back on the kitchen counter, hoping a less aggressive stance will help him swallow my next question. “Do I have your vote?”

  Colby balks, clearly shocked. "Do you need to ask? Because if you do, I've fucked up as your little brother." The amount of time he has spent on the west coast the past year is heard in his tone.

  His decision to move across the country was more business than a personal choice, but it was brilliant all the same. There are more thrill seekers on that side of the nation, not to mention the countryside is ideal for bungee jumping, skydiving, and every other hair-raising activity his company offers.

  “Yes, Cormack, you have my vote, and Cate’s. Fuck—I’m fairly certain you have over half the Board, but I figured it best not to downplay Clara’s abilities. She’s ruthless when she needs to be.” If I hadn’t heard a snippet of pride in his voice, I’d request he take his disdain down a notch. Clara is a pain in my ass, but she is still our sister.

  Before I can thank him for his support, the tiny tap of feet trickles into my ears. The delicate sound already advises me who is interrupting us, but if it didn't, the quickening of my pulse is a reliable indication.

  “Good morning,” Harlow greets, her voice husky from just waking up.

  As she scrubs the sleep from her eyes, mine drink her in. Her hair is messy from the gymnastic routine we did beneath the sheets last night; her lips have a bee-stung look from our kisses, and the satin slip she is wearing showcases every magnificent curve of her fit body. I've spent more time with her than without the past week, and I still can't get enough.

  My eyes aren’t the only ones bugged with appreciation. Harlow’s are roaming over my body with as much eagerness. She absorbs my extended crotch, splayed thighs, and rapidly rising torso like she hasn’t done the same thing every morning the past week.

  Once her eyes have had their fill, which I'd guess would be a good two to three minutes, she raises them to my face. "How did you sleep. . .?" Her voice peaks at the exact moment she realizes we aren't alone. It isn't because she sensed another presence; it is Colby's amusement at our frozen position. We look like star-crossed lovers. Our needs are apparent, but neither of us are acting on them.

  After twisting her head to the side, a smile that will forever light my dreams spreads across Harlow’s face. “Oh my god! Colby, hi!”

  Assuming she has recognized him from one of his many commercials, Colby’s chest puffs high. The smug grin on his face triples when she curls her arms around his neck and hugs him tight. My fists ball when he pulls a face like he is creaming in his pants before returning her gesture.

  “Colby. . .” I growl in warning when his hands drop a few inches, stopping just shy of Harlow’s ass.

  “Come on, Bro. What do you take me for? She smells like you. I’m not that hard up.” Every word he speaks occurs with a rock of his hips.

  Harlow giggles rowdily when he humps her leg like a dog in heat, completely oblivious I am five seconds away from murdering him. “I knew you’d be a rascal,” she laughs.

  Unappreciative of their flirty banter, I growl unlike any I've ever delivered. It freezes Colby mid-hump and makes Harlow’s cheeks flush with a vibrant red hue. I thought I had a grasp on my jealousy the past week. Only now am I realizing the more I have Harlow, the higher my neurosis becomes.

  “Alright. Sheesh. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Colby backs away from Harlow with his hands in the air. “You should bring her to Mummo Koti next month. It will do those stiffs some good to see you like this.”

  After dipping my chin, advising I already have the wheels in motion to take Harlow to Mummo Koti, his eyes drift to Harlow. “When Cormack’s gasoline tank runs out, come find the newer, more refined model.” He drags his hand down the front of his body, ensuring Harlow can’t mistake whom he is referring to.

  Harlow giggles, loving my jealousy when I tug her to my side like a caveman. My macho stance could only be more authentic if I threw her over my shoulder and stomped into my man-cave. Colby is just playing, but it doesn't diminish my jealousy. Probably doesn't help that Harlow encourages his defiance with a dainty wave of her fingers.

  I wait until I hear my front door latch catch before dropping my eyes to Harlow. Although we went to bed late, her face is void of any signs of tiredness. I guess 10 AM would seem like an extended sleep-in for her. The adoration in her eyes simmers my anger in an instant. I’ve seen this glint in her eyes several times the past week—only when I was standing directly in front of her.

  “How did you sleep?” I ask her, my voice swiftly converting from commander-in-chief to lust-crazed idiot. I demand respect at my job. I work it from Harlow.

  She twists around to face me, bombarding me with her sugary scent. “Really good. Although I wasn’t a fan of waking up alone.” The need in her voice shocks me. Harlow isn’t needy. She is as independent as they come, so I’m somewhat surprised.

  The reason for her grim demeanor comes to light when she mutters, "I had a wicked plan for this morning. Your unusual pre-noon awakening ruined it."

  I laugh. It only took a day for Harlow to discover my dislike of early rising.

  “What was your wicked plan?” Although I’ve taken this woman in every possible position you can imagine the past week, the yearning in my tone is as evident as the sun hanging in the sky.

  Harlow presses her lips to my mouth before breaking away from my side. “It was nothing major.”

  She's lying. Even if I hadn't assessed each of her facial features the past week, I still know this. The cheeky grin stretched across her adorable face is a sure-fire indication, let alone the way her eyes rake over my body during her short travel to the coffee pot.

  As my cock reminds me it is still early enough for a morning wood, I wrap my hand around H
arlow’s waist and draw her back. The throaty hum she releases when she feels my stiffened shaft makes my hungry tummy a forgotten memory. I am still starving—outright famished—but my hunger isn’t for food.

  “Do you remember the night we stayed up until 2 AM confessing our ultimate fantasies?”

  A husky moan answers my question instead of Harlow’s mouth.

  I drag her long locks to the left before dropping my lips to her ear. “What were the top items on your list?”

  “For my bakery to succeed,” she murmurs through a moan as her chin dips to give me unlimited access to her neck.

  Her confession isn't any more shocking hearing it the second time around. Her determination is one of the things I admire most about her, so why shouldn't her business be the top item on her wish list? Her wish for her bakery to succeed is also why I've failed to mention my company's plan to add her bakery to our list of assets.

  Every time my confession is on the tip of my tongue, Clara's warning keeps it at bay. That side of my business is now put to rest. It no longer negatively impacts Harlow’s life, and her bakery is quickly transforming back to what it once was, so why ruin our relationship with old news? I’m sure in a few weeks, she’ll find my failed attempts humorous, but until then, I’m going to keep my mouth shut about anything not associated with her utmost adoration and pleasure.

  “And? What was the other item on your list?”

  Harlow waits for me to place a peppering of kisses along the pulse in her throat before stammering, "To be fucked senseless in a kitchen."

  I growl, loving the crudeness of her reply. Harlow doesn’t sugarcoat anything unless she is responsible for its creation.

  “Did you have a particular kitchen in mind? Or will any old kitchen do?” My words are practically growled, my need to seek permission the only thing stopping me from granting her wish this very instant.

  I don’t need to see Harlow’s eyes to know they are bouncing around my kitchen. I can feel her excitement building deep in her core, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest is another indication.