Sweet Dreams: A Sugar Rush Sweeter Treat

by Nina Lindsey

  The woman widened her eyes just as an elegant laugh sounded from nearby. They both turned to see Julia Bennett approaching, looking magnificent in a gold dress that skimmed her slender figure like water.

  “Semantics, indeed.” She eyed the older woman narrowly. “And really, Barb, you mustn’t be catty simply because Luke decided your daughter was far too desperate and clingy for his tastes. Or any man’s, I imagine. Is Cindy at home in front of the TV tonight, wearing sweatpants and eating ice cream?”

  The woman pressed her lips together tightly, then gave a little huff and walked away. Polly tried to deflect her vindictive pleasure—meanness had never made her feel good—but it was hard to deny the satisfaction of being on the winning side of a well-deserved cut.

  “Well.” Julia looked Polly over, as if assessing that her handiwork was still in place. “At least everyone is talking about you. Just don’t spill anything on your dress during dinner.”

  “I’m twenty-five, not five,” Polly muttered.

  Julia arched an eyebrow. “You’re twenty-five?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Not for me,” Julia replied. “It’s just that Luke’s women tend to be closer to his age. Shared interests and all.”

  “He didn’t seem to mind when we were dancing at the Codswallop Music Festival.”

  Julia blinked. “You took him to Codswallop?”

  “You know about Codswallop?”

  “My dear…” Julia’s lovely mouth curved into a smile as she leaned toward Polly and lowered her voice. “I lost my virginity at Codswallop.”

  She turned and walked away, her stride like that of a runway model. Vaguely impressed, Polly watched her go. She had the odd thought that her mother might have liked Julia Bennett. Or at least said something like, “There’s a woman with some stories to tell.”

  Polly shifted her gaze from Julia to Luke, who was standing with a cluster of people, his expression serious as he nodded at something another man said. The redhead was now so close her breasts pressed against his arm.

  Polly was suddenly glad she and Luke had come in separate cars. At least she could leave whenever she wanted. She even had a flash of envy toward Cindy, sitting at home with her TV, sweatpants, and ice cream.

  Maybe visiting the Impressionist exhibition would make her feel better. In the main galleries, the paintings glowed like lighted windows—water lilies, haystacks, railroads, cathedrals, boating parties.

  She stopped in front of a Manet painting called The Railway. A woman with long, red hair and a blue coat sat in front of an iron fence, the steam and smoke of the railroad billowing in the air.

  A little girl stood next to the woman, wearing a white dress tied with a shiny blue bow. The girl’s back was to the viewer, and she was gripping the fence as she looked at the passing trains. Like she wished she could climb aboard one of them and ride…somewhere.

  “Did you notice the puppy?”

  Polly turned at the sound of the male voice. Warren Stone approached her, handsome and regal in his tuxedo. Luke would probably look like his father one day—his dark hair streaked with silver, his strong features creased with lines that made him look distinguished rather than old.

  “The puppy?” she said.

  Warren stopped beside her and looked at the painting. He gestured to the sleeping puppy lying in the woman’s lap.

  “Sometimes it takes a second look to see it,” he remarked. “I’m sure there’s some deep symbolic meaning to it, but I just like the fact that it’s so cute.”

  She smiled. “Nothing wrong with cute.”

  He glanced at her. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look beautiful tonight.”

  “Thank you.” A glow of pleasure lit in her heart. “Does any woman ever mind hearing that she looks beautiful?”

  Warren chuckled. “No woman that I know. Are you having a good time?”

  “I’m enjoying the exhibit,” Polly said evasively. “I love museums. Whenever my mother and I traveled, she always made a point of visiting local museums. We used to talk about seeing the famous museums of the world one day.”

  “The big museums are impressive, no question,” Warren said. “But the smaller ones are sometimes more personal and memorable. There’s a little museum in Aix-en-Provence that used to be Cezanne’s atelier. Walk in and you almost expect to see him there, still painting.”

  A burst of music came from the great hall. Warren extended his hand to the door.

  “Care to dance?” he asked. “I’d like to be able to brag that I danced with the most beautiful woman at the ball.”

  Amused and flattered, Polly took his proffered arm as they walked back out to the great hall.

  “My sister-in-law tells me you’ve been dating Luke for several weeks now,” Warren said. “Thank you for getting him away from work.”

  “I don’t know that I’ve done that too much,” she admitted. “But he’s been a great help with getting my bakery back on track.”

  “Yes, I heard him talking about it. You’ll likely have some new customers tomorrow.”

  That would be good, even though Polly still didn’t like the idea that all the posh guests here thought of her as Luke’s little bakery girl “project.”

  She let Warren lead her onto the floor and was happy to discover that he was an excellent dancer who easily compensated for her lack of experience. He led well, didn’t mind when she stepped on his toes, and guided her in time with the music.

  After Polly danced three songs with Warren, Evan Stone appeared at her side and guided her into a waltz. She had never danced a waltz in her life, but with him it was easy. Apparently rhythm and grace ran in the Stone genes as powerfully as handsomeness did.

  “How’s the redecorating going?” Evan asked. “Are Pendergrass and Peabody asking you to shell out for Italian marble?”

  “No, but Hannah and Eleanor almost had a throwdown over these crystal wall sconces Eleanor was pushing for. Hannah said they looked like they belonged in a bordello.”

  Amusement lit Evan’s blue eyes. “And what did Hannah want instead?”

  “Moroccan-inspired lanterns.”

  “I don’t need to ask who won the battle.”

  “Hannah has literally climbed mountains in the Himalayas. Eleanor isn’t much of a challenge for her in comparison. The lanterns are arriving early next week.”

  Evan smiled. “So is Hannah planning to help finish the remodeling?”

  “I don’t know.” Polly bit her lip, unease rising to her chest. “I hope so. But she’s never been one for staying in town longer than a couple of weeks. So I expect she’ll take off again as soon as she can.”

  Something flashed in Evan’s expression that looked remarkably like disappointment. Polly’s curiosity sparked. She hadn’t noticed anything going on between Evan and her sister, but then she hadn’t been looking.

  She wouldn’t, however, be surprised if Evan was interested in Hannah—men had always been attracted to both Hannah’s beauty and the wild restlessness that was such an intrinsic part of her. The bigger question was if Hannah was attracted to Evan in return. And if so…?

  Before Polly could probe for more information, Evan spun her again. She let go of his hand and twirled in two circles. She reached the edge of the dance floor and suddenly bumped against a hard male body.

  She turned, her heart leaping at the sight of Luke standing behind her, his expression a mixture of frustration and relief.

  “There you are,” he said. “I couldn’t find you.”

  The distress Polly had experienced earlier in the evening returned, underscored by a longing for the happiness she’d felt when she’d first seen Luke waiting for her on the museum steps. But now, the sight of him only intensified her sense that she didn’t belong here, even all dolled up in her designer gown.

  “I thought you’d forgotten about me.” She couldn’t keep the cool note from her voice. “You were gone for over an hour.”

  “I know.” A scowl
creased his forehead. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get away.”

  “Or did you not want to get away from important company business?”

  Luke frowned, his gaze shifting as Evan came to a stop beside them.

  “Hope you don’t mind me borrowing your date for a while,” he told Luke. “If you leave a woman like Polly alone, she won’t stay alone for long.”

  Luke glowered at his brother. “I’ll take it from here, man.”

  “Sure.” Evan turned to her with a smile. “Thank you, Polly. I enjoyed dancing with you.”

  “Go,” Luke growled.

  Evan held up his hands in surrender and strolled back across the dance floor, pausing to speak to Gabrielle, the woman who’d made the “designer apron” remark.

  Polly sighed. She might have appreciated Evan’s pointed comments to his brother if a weight weren’t pressing down on her heart. Luke moved closer, his gaze on hers.

  “For what it’s worth,” he said, “I am sorry. I only meant to take fifteen minutes, but Rich Monroe has some issue with my brother Tyler, who’s kind of a fuck-up to begin with. I can’t have him causing problems when we’re on the verge of an acquisition. Hell. I can’t have him causing problems at all.”

  A pang of remorse hit her at the realization he’d been dealing with family difficulties. “Is Tyler here?”

  “Tyler doesn’t come to these things.” Luke shook his head, as if wanting to rid himself of thoughts of his brother. He extended his hand to her. “Look, I want to make it up to you, and I’m all yours for the rest of the night. Will you dance with me?”

  Polly wanted to. Of course she did. As much as she’d enjoyed dancing with Warren and Evan, she’d been dreaming of twirling around the dance floor in Luke’s arms, her feet barely touching the ground.

  But.

  “Actually, I…I think I should head home,” she said.

  “Home?” His forehead creased. “They haven’t even served dinner yet.”

  “I know, but it’s…well, I have to open Wild Child tomorrow morning, and I should get some sleep.”

  Luke studied her face, his frown deepening. “What’s going on?”

  She looked past his shoulder to avoid having to make eye contact. She didn’t want to hash things out with him right in the middle of such a glamorous event, but she couldn’t fake her way through the rest of the evening or get that happy feeling back again.

  “I really need to go,” she said.

  Luke closed his hand around her arm. “Come with me.”

  “Luke, I don’t want to do this here.”

  “Too bad, because I do.” His mouth tightened with irritation, his fingers digging into her arm.

  To avoid a scene, Polly gave in and let him lead her off the dance floor. All right, then. She’d been getting a few too many flights of fancy lately, and maybe it was time she was brought sharply back to earth where she belonged.

  Better now than later. If she kept going on this path and really fell for Luke, a reality hit reminding her of their differences would hurt even more.

  But she hadn’t fallen for him. Much.

  Luke cut a swathe through the crowd, leading her outside to the museum’s portico where the outside air cooled Polly’s heated skin. He turned to face her, his eyes dark with frustration.

  “Polly.” His tone was measured and controlled. “I’m so sorry for having left you, but I had no idea it would take as long as it did. And then I went through all the galleries looking for you because I couldn’t find you in the crowd near the bar, and you didn’t pick up when I called your cell, so—”

  “Luke.” She put her hand up to stop him. “It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?” He searched her face, a sudden anger rising to his expression. “Did someone say or do something to you? Who was it?”

  “No. Well, not really.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Polly moved away from him, hating that she was letting other people make her feel inferior.

  “Everyone I talked to brought up the fact that I own a floundering bakery,” she explained. “They said you told them about it. And my classes at Hartford.”

  “So?” Luke spread his hands out in bafflement. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “They weren’t telling me because they were impressed,” Polly said. “Just the opposite, in fact. Why is that the first thing you tell people when you talk about me?”

  “Because it’s the truth. Why wouldn’t I tell them?”

  “Because they’re used to seeing you with wealthy, glamorous women.” Polly turned to face him, her throat tight. “And because this isn’t the right place for you to bring a struggling bakery girl who’s playing dress up for one night. I mean, I know that’s who I am, but I was hoping to forget for a few hours. Like Cinderella. Which I realize is stupid.”

  Luke shook his head, his expression hardening. “Polly, if anyone in that room made you feel bad about who you are, then give me their names right now. I’ll have it out with them so fast they’ll regret ever having come here.”

  “I don’t want you to do that. It just made me remember how different we are.”

  “We are not different,” Luke snapped. He stalked toward her and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Yeah, we had different lives, but you and I are two peas in a fucking pod. You said it yourself. We both know what it’s like lose our mothers and to leave college for the sake of our families. We know how to take charge, to be responsible, to work our asses off to save our businesses. We’d both do anything for the people we love. Hell, we both like cherry vanilla Jelly Rolls the best. We’re the same, you and me. And if you think for one second I’m not going to brag about your accomplishments to everyone I meet, then you’ve got me all wrong.”

  Polly stared at him, curling her hands into her skirt. “Brag? That’s what you were doing?”

  “Of course that’s what I was doing.” Luke tightened his grip on her, his dark eyes flaring. “Did you think I was putting you down?”

  “No, but it felt like they were.”

  “Well, fuck them.” He took a breath, visibly suppressing his anger. He flexed his hands on her shoulders. “Polly, whenever I talk about you, the first thing I do is tell people how smart and savvy you are, how you’ve worked so hard to save your mother’s bakery. Your bakery. I tell them you enrolled in classes for the sole purpose of improving the bakery, that Wild Child is more to you than just a business. It’s your heritage, your…”

  His voice trailed off. Polly’s throat was so tight she struggled to pull in a breath. Tears stung her eyes. Luke locked his gaze to hers, understanding dawning in his expression. He rested his palm against the side of her face.

  “Peach.” His voice was hoarse. “I’m so proud of you I could burst. That’s why I tell everyone about Wild Child and Hartford. And if those jerks are twisting that around and making you feel somehow less, then they can go to hell. Never be ashamed of who you are and all you’ve done. You’re amazing. I tell people that every single chance I get.”

  Polly’s heart rose like a multicolored balloon, breaking through the clouds that had gathered above it. She curled her hand around Luke’s wrist, not caring that her tears were probably ruining her artfully applied makeup.

  “Thank you so much,” she said. “I feel the exact same way about you. And I’m sorry I let other people affect us. Maybe I’m not as thick-skinned as I’d like to believe.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, enclosing her in a protective circle where everything steadied back into perfection.

  “Your sensitivity isn’t a flaw,” he said. “It’s just one of the things that makes you you. But if anyone makes you feel bad, I want you to tell me. I’ll do everything I can to make it right for you, but I need to know what the problem is. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Polly tightened her arms around his waist, breathed in his delicious scent, and thought surely there was no place in the world she would rather be than in Luke’s arms.

  Not even Par
is.

  Chapter 23

  Luke reluctantly disengaged himself from Polly when a burst of conversation and laughter flooded from the museum atrium. He wanted to go back to the gala for only one reason—to make sure every last person knew he wouldn’t stand for anyone making his girl feel inferior. By the time he was done, the guests would be wondering how they could have gotten it so wrong. Hell, they’d be groveling to gain Polly’s favor.

  But he didn’t want to be with anyone but her right now. Sure as hell didn’t want to talk to anyone else—about acquisitions, his reckless younger brother, or anything to do with Sugar Rush. All he wanted was Polly.

  His chest tightened. He’d seen it the instant he’d turned to face her on the front steps of the museum. The second he realized that the shining beauty walking toward him was his Peach.

  Because even though she looked a world away from the tousled girl who’d smashed her mouth against his at the Troll’s House, Polly hadn’t changed. All of her emotions still shone through those thick-lashed brown eyes. She still couldn’t hide what she was feeling.

  And when his gaze collided with hers…his heart had turned into a falcon—flying, swooping, and gliding over a blue sky.

  Love.

  It was there in her eyes, clear as glass, brilliant as a painting. No woman had ever looked at him with such blatantly pure emotion.

  It felt like he’d first seen her a lifetime ago, when in reality it had only been a couple of months. And yet she’d had filled him so completely, her presence so softening and soothing, that somehow without his even realizing it, she’d become part of him.

  “Luke?”

  Her soft voice broke into his thoughts. She was standing by the doors, the light glowing off her thick hair.

  “We should go back in,” she said.

  “Do you want to?”

  She hesitated. “We have to, don’t we?”

  “We don’t have to do anything.” Luke headed to the doors. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  He strode inside to collect Polly’s wrap and handbag. He found Julia and apologized for leaving, then escaped before she could rip him a new one. He returned to Polly and took her hand.