Sugar and Spice

by Shandi Boyes

  When Izzy patiently waits for me to finish, I downplay my worry. This weekend isn’t just about Cormack and me, so I can’t saddle her with my unimportant issues. Instead, I attempt to shift the direction of our conversation. “Calling this residence a mansion would be an unjustified response. I’ve already gotten lost three times this morning.”

  She laughs, assuming I am being funny. I’m not. My long expedition last night wasn’t the only one I’ve had the past eighteen hours.

  “You won’t be laughing when you get lost and no one finds you for days.”

  Izzy shrugs, missing the heaviness of our conversation. It isn’t her fault. If you’re forever goofing around, you can’t expect people to suddenly take you seriously.

  I realize my assumptions are way off the mark when Izzy says, “I don’t understand the problem, Harlow. If you like him, and he likes you, why does it matter if he is rich?”

  “He isn’t just rich, Izzy.” He’s perfect. He’s my other half. He fucks pretty blondes on the marble counters of his fancy-schmancy kitchen. But since none of those things are appropriate for me to say, I settle on the seed of doubt Clara placed in my head. “He’s filthy rich, never needs to work a day in his life rich, and I own a bakery with books that spend more time in the red than in the black.”

  There, I said it. I’m not good enough for Cormack. That should keep Clara quiet for at least twenty seconds.

  "I don't belong here."

  Although my words echo Clara’s attitude more than my own, I’m beginning to wonder if they are true. I hate that society gets to pick who gets partnered with whom. It shouldn't be their choice. If I make Cormack happy, why can’t he be with me? A high society woman with a dazzling smile and fake boobs like Stephanie isn’t the right girl for him. I am. I’ve known this from the day he brought beautiful chaos into my life.

  “Harlow. . .” Izzy lowers her chin to seek my fleeting gaze. When she gets it, she says, “I saw you with Cormack yesterday, before the limo and the private jet. You really like him, so don’t judge him on his wealth. Judge him on the man he is, that same man you greeted with jubilation yesterday.”

  “I do really like him.” I love him, but is it that simple?

  Forever optimistic, Izzy says, “Then that's all that matters. Ignore everything else. ; it doesn’t matter. It is just static noise in the background. If you like someone, throw everything else aside and worry about it later.”

  I cover a sob with a cough. Her words mimic ones my dad always said. They were mature, straight to the point, but honest. Unlike Clara, she’s not looking at me as a baker and Cormack as a billionaire; she only sees “us.”

  My lips tug high when part of Cormack’s plea to cherish me yesterday filters through my mind. “Because you’re not a this, Harlow. We’re not a this. We’re an us.”

  Us.

  He sees me, not my lack of title or business smarts. Just me. God—why didn’t I see this sooner?

  As my daddy always said, “Society is going to judge you anyway, so do whatever you want to do.” That is precisely what I am going to do from now on, and I hope Izzy will too.

  With a lighter heart and clearer mind, I thrust out my hand in offering to Izzy. She eyes me curiously before accepting it.

  “Hi pot; I’m kettle. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, calling Izzy out for her double standards. She likes Isaac, but instead of throwing everything else aside as she suggested to me, she continually denies her feelings.

  If I had any doubt on our sisterhood, I don’t anymore. Izzy dives across the bed puts any misgivings to rest. The air in my lungs leaves in a brutal grunt when she attacks my ribs with her torturous hands. I’m equally mortified and ecstatic. I hate being tickled, but I’ve never seen this side of Izzy before. Perhaps the advice she gave resonated for her as well, and she now feels as free from the burden as I do?

  The ear-shrieking giggles ripping from my mouth transfer to Izzy’s when I return her childish assault. She wails and kicks when I dig my fingers into her stomach and her ribs. Her laughter is hearty and belly-crunching. Such a beautiful thing to hear after the tumultuous few hours I’ve had.

  Our juvenile party for two only ends when the entrance door of Izzy’s room opens with a creak. The pulse in Izzy’s neck thrums when Isaac strolls into the room like he owns the place. The excited curl of her lips matches the expression that crosses my face every time my body senses Cormack’s closeness. That has been a minimum of five times a day the past month.

  No wonder I am struggling. Last night was our first night apart in weeks. Even when I was grumpy from cramps clearing out my uterus with blunt spoons, Cormack stayed by my side. He fed me chocolate cake and kept me well-stocked on pain medication. My god, am I an idiot? How could I have ever considered Clara’s claims? Most men hibernate during the dreaded red week. Cormack didn't. He faced the issue head-on. Seeing the way he cared for me when I wanted to kill every man ever born is one of the reasons I fell for him so fast.

  Jesus—I need to make this right.

  Since Izzy is so wrapped up in mentally undressing Isaac, I save my farewell for another time. I slip out of her room without notice, my focus on one man and one man only.

  When I reach the end of the hall, I stop to gather my bearings. My compass goes askew when the hairs on my nape prickle. I take in an excited breath, trusting my body’s instincts. Cormack is close. I can feel it.

  I'm about to push off my feet when the most glorious visual captures my attention. Cormack is rounding the corner. The suit he was wearing yesterday moves fluidly with his body as he strides down the hall looking like he is in a hurry. He also looks tired.

  I can tell the exact moment he feels my inconspicuous gawp. His steps stop as his chest swells.

  As his hand falls from the back of his neck, his eyes rocket to mine. “Harlow. . .” He sounds utterly relieved, like he can’t believe I am standing before him.

  "Hi," I greet, my enthusiastic welcome more of a moan than a word.

  I’m running for him before I even register my legs are moving. His steps are as fast as mine. Our bodies crash with brutality halfway down the hall. Limbs go in all directions, tongues sweep, and the knot in my stomach fully unravels. I knew the instant I was wrapped up in his embrace all the negativity would leave.

  “I missed you so much,” I murmur against his mouth, not the least bit ashamed. I am acting on impulses, but I can trust them. They’ve never once steered me wrong.

  As his tongue spears my mouth, Cormack guides my legs around his hips. He savors my mouth in wild, untamed licks as his hips rocket forward. We're going for it like teenagers, but the vigor in the air keeps my worry at bay. Maybe if Clara sees our connection firsthand, she won't be so quick to judge?

  After kissing me senseless, Cormack reluctantly withdraws from my embrace. The painting he has pinned me to is as askew as his tie, and the vibrant strokes of the prolific painting are as red as his lips. My god, he is a handsome man. Wild, untamed, yet refined at the same time. I love the man he is around me. He seems free. Boundless. Mine.

  “Where were you? I’ve been searching for you for hours.” A stranger would misconstrue his tone as angry. I’m not a stranger. He is straight-up panicked.

  “I was in the kitchen.” My voice is as husky as his, my heart rate just as high.

  He smiles a boyish grin that makes me extra giddy. “The kitchen?” Although he is technically asking a question, he continues talking as if he didn’t. “Why didn’t I start my search there?”

  I shrug, acting coy. My demure composure doesn’t even last two seconds. The brush of Cormack’s fingers down my cheeks switches the heat on my cheeks from bashful to needy. He smiles against my lips when I reacquaint them with his.

  “I’ve gone without your mouth on mine for over twelve hours—that is a record for us, one I never want to break.”

  “Sounds like a brilliant plan to me.” A glint in his eyes sends pleasurable shockwaves through my body. “Besides, I�
�ve got plenty of other things to fulfill.”

  “Things like Stephanie?” I’m not proud of myself that I’ve let jealousy get the better of me, but my words whipped off my tongue before I could stop them.

  “Stephanie?” Cormack looks genuinely confused.

  I nod. “A pretty blonde with dazzling green eyes.” I wait for recognition to dawn on him. It never comes. “She’s a friend of Clara’s. . . and supposedly yours.” His brows are pinched, his face deadpanned. “You’ve had dinner with her previously.” I don’t know why I’m continuing to prompt him. He is clearly confused.

  His bewilderment grows tenfold when I snarl, “I don’t know if she was dinner or dessert, but you fucked her in the service kitchen of Mummo Koti.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Now he’s following my interrogation, and he isn’t happy. “There is only one person I’ve fucked in a kitchen.” His tone dips at the expletive. “She wasn’t blonde, and she was neither dinner or dessert. She was breakfast.” If I hadn’t already suspected whom he is referring to, he adds on, “And she has five seconds to tell me who initiated these lies.”

  “Lies?”

  “Yes, Harlow. Lies,” Cormack replies without pause.

  I almost sigh in relief. His eyes are locked with mine, and they are the most honest they’ve been. He doesn’t even know who Stephanie is, much less got freaky with her. God—this makes me equally mad and thankful. I am grateful for Cormack’s honesty, but I’m angry I believed a single word Clara spoke. I’m also mad at myself. I’m not a judgmental person, yet I just let the leader of the pack make me one.

  Not anymore. I am done.

  “If I tell you who it was, will you consider some suggestions on ways you can handle it?”

  Cormack doesn’t look overly impressed that I am using this as a negotiation tool, but he still nods. He is so desperate to find out who is undermining our relationship, he will sacrifice anything to find out.

  “Okay. . .”

  The hungry grumble of his stomach stops my confession midsentence and makes me laugh. “How about we fill your tummy first, then we’ll work on a plan of attack?”

  Spotting his denial from a mile out, I quickly add on, “I made Bundt cakes. If you’re not quick, you may miss out.”

  After whining in a way that shouldn’t be sexy but totally is, he carries me through the halls I walked only forty-five minutes ago. The tension in his shoulders loosens with every stride he takes. It isn’t thoughts of his favorite treat weakening his resolve. It is the little butterfly kisses I’m awarding his lips.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Cormack

  “Just pull back on the throttle. It’s easy. You’ve got this.”

  I can't see Harlow's eyes, but I know they are wide. We've spent the last two hours on the sandy foreshore of Mummo Koti riding dirt bikes. My hair, face, and teeth are covered with salty sand, but my smile is the widest it’s ever been.

  The instant I spotted Harlow in the hallway this morning, disappointment smacked into me. I had wasted hours on a matter that shouldn’t have impacted our relationship, so I’m doing everything in my power to make up for the lost time today. Clara should be grateful for my dedication.

  I should have known she was the cause of Harlow’s worry. Her dislike of Harlow is as obvious as the sun hanging in the sky. I just can’t fathom why. She has nothing to gain by driving my relationship with Harlow into the ground. If anything, it will be more beneficial for her if we stay together. When I am with Harlow, nothing but cherishing her is on my mind. Not acquisitions. Not upcoming bids for my position. Nothing.

  I’m on the verge of giving up my position at Attwood Electric just to stop Clara’s campaign to ruin Harlow. The only reason I haven’t conceded defeat is because I still hold hope that one day Clara will see sense through the madness. It seems like a pipedream, but if Harlow has taught me anything, it is that greatness can occur when you least expect. My relationship with her is living proof of that.

  Although our first eighteen hours at Mummo Koti were wasted on outside influences, we’ve made up for lost time this morning. We ate breakfast together; we made love in the shower, and now I’m keeping a promise I made to Harlow weeks ago. I’m teaching her how to ride.

  Although I am riding like a bitch on the back, if it makes Harlow feel safe, I’m all for it. I’m still in control, just one step behind Harlow. That’s been the gist of our relationship from the get-go, so I don’t see it changing anytime soon.

  “Come on, Harlow. Grab the bull by the horns,” I encourage her, using her own words against her.

  “I don’t want us to die!” Harlow has to shout her words so they’ll be heard over the rumble of her motor. “I’m scared, Cormack.”

  My heart shudders my ribs. Those are three words I never expected to hear from her lips. They are also three words I hope to never hear again.

  Her pulse surges through her body when I curl my hand over hers on the handlebars. "I'll control the gears; you control the steering. Okay?"

  I wait for her to nod before slowly pulling back the throttle. She is so nervous, her shaking rattles her body more than the rumbling motor.

  When we get up enough revs, I pull in the clutch lever. "See, the clutch works the same as in a car. You just operate it with your hand and foot."

  After another two gear changes, I lower our speed, spin around, and head back in the direction we just came. “When I pull in the lever, tap your foot down on the gears.”

  Harlow’s pulse triples, but she still nods her head. That’s not surprising. She is the strongest woman I know.

  It takes another four trips up and down the hardened sand before Harlow gains enough confidence to take over the reins. Her speed is as slow as a tortoise, but her change of gears is precise and without incident.

  "That's it; you're doing it!" Pride echoes in my tone. “Well done, Harlow. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

  I can’t see her face, but I know her smile is as big as mine.

  I’ve created an adrenaline junkie. Within twenty minutes of showing her the ropes, Harlow kicked me off the back of her bike. She wanted to race. I let her win the first three times. The last three weren’t by choice.

  “That was so much fun!” Harlow hooks her sand-smeared helmet under her arm as we climb the front stairs of Mummo Koti. “I’ll have to bring Ziggy with us next time. He’ll love it here.” She grimaces, mortified she extended herself a second invitation, much less added an additional guest.

  I tug her to my side, showing I love her suggestion. “I can fly him out for the rest of the weekend, if you want?”

  “You’d do that for me?” Her voice is too high with shock for my liking. I pledged that I’d cherish her. Shouldn’t that include her family as well? Harlow loves her brother. He makes her happy, which in turn, makes me happy. It will also give me the opportunity to meet the mischievous teen I’ve heard about many times the past two months.

  “Should I arrange something?”

  Harlow’s teeth graze her lower lip as she ponders a reply. Her deliberation only lasts approximately ten seconds, but it feels like a lifetime. I am expecting her to say “yes,” so you can imagine my surprise when she shakes her head.

  “I love Ziggy, but he’s a handful.” She scans my body in a long, dedicated sweep. “I’ve already got more than a handful I plan to take care of very thoroughly this weekend.”

  With a flirty wink, she enters the bustling foyer of Mummo Koti. Her strides are remarkably strong considering she has half the ocean in her hair and boots.

  Her steps taper when her disheveled appearance gains her the attention of a handful of people. I want to express that they are gawking at her in admiration as her smile is one that belongs in heaven, but unfortunately, that isn't the case. They don't see the heart of gold hiding behind her grubby face and tangled hair. They're too blinded by jealousy to see anything.

  They should be jealous. Harlow is more of a woman than any of the pretentious females gla
ring at her. She has style, grace, and sophistication; she just doesn’t need to flaunt it with money. She is perfect in every way, and her morals only add another dimension to her beauty.

  I gallop into the foyer, my boots as muddy as the sneers I’m doling out. Although more than half the people glaring at Harlow are votes I need on the ballots this afternoon, I refuse to sit back and watch someone belittle her. I love this woman, so you can be assured I’ll put her above anything—my position in my family company included.

  It doesn’t take me long to reach Harlow since her steps are weighed down by a heaviness she doesn’t deserve to have. After slapping her backside with enough force a loud crack breaks the uncomfortable silence surrounding her, I warn, “Last in the shower comes last.”

  Harlow's gasp is as vocal as another six guests. Basking in her rare visit to the land of silence, I issue her a flirty wink before pushing off my feet and sprinting toward my room. The tension in my stomach fades when Harlow's beautiful giggle sounds through my ears only seconds later. She is on my heels in an instant, her wish to beat me to the shower proving she failed to hear the deceit in my tone. I already planned to let her win, but in case I didn't, Harlow throws out an ankle, sending me stumbling to the ground.

  Even with my chin being used as a brake, my time on the ground is short. I’ve got worshipping to do. There is no time to waste.

  “Come with me?” I half-suggest, half-plead.

  I give Harlow’s lower lip a final tug with my teeth before raising my eyes to hers. Her beautiful naked body is stretched across the mattress, her face void of a single worry. Back-to-back orgasms are great relaxers. I’m the most laidback I’ve ever been.