Sugar's Twice as Sweet: Sugar, Georgia: Book 1 Page 20

  Hell, she’d suffered from severe oxygen deprivation since the minute she found him this morning, standing on the front porch, latte in one hand, a cheese Danish in the other, and the sun cresting behind him.

  The man redefined “sexy contractor.” The faded college T-shirt clung to his impressive chest. And the hotter it got, the clingier the material became. Which was why four o’clock was Josephina’s new favorite time of day. It was when Brett shucked his shirt. And the tool belt he wore weighed down his jeans, giving her a prime view of chiseled abs and lean hips, and highlighting his yummy parts.

  And that wasn’t even the most tempting part. Nope. The more she saw Brett as a normal hot guy, the more the never-going-to-date-him rule seemed to blur, and the harder he became to resist.

  “I suck at relationships,” she rushed out, more for her than him. “I get so lost in the other person that Josephina goes MIA. I can’t do that again. Not now when people are counting on me. When I’m counting on me.”

  “It’s just a date, Joie. I’m not down on one knee.” He sounded so sincere her heart pounded as if he were.

  “Date implies the start of something, and you’re leaving.” And if I let you, you might take my heart with you when you go. “And I’m staying here, in Sugar.”

  With a single nod, Brett let her slide past him on the ladder. He wasn’t giving up, not by a long shot, she could see that in his eyes. But he was letting it go—for now.

  The last of the sun’s rays disappeared behind the hills and Josephina stood back to assess the damage. The air quality specialist was coming back out tomorrow. He had already come through earlier that morning, marking places that tested positive for mildew or mold.

  To cut down on costs, they’d agreed to let Josephina remove all of the wood and sheetrock where mildew and mold was detected. The result was that sheetrock, beams, and ripped wallpaper covered the first floor, her hands were scratched and irritated, and there was a fine layer of dust covering everything, including her and Boo. Oh, and the beautiful wainscoting, which was original to the house, was torn open in sections spanning the entire west side of the house.

  There was three times the amount of mold found than the original estimate, which meant three times the cost and three times the destruction. Fairchild House looked as sorry as Josephina felt. And she wasn’t sure, even with Brett donating his time, how far her budget would stretch.

  After paying Rooster for the hours spent on the roof, plus the cost of supplies, and now with spore-removal estimate 2.0, Josephina was quickly running out of cash. She needed a few more sets of hands, a phone call from the bank telling her they’d made a mistake, and a bath—since she was certain her hair was housing a small family of sparrows and she smelled like day-old Spam.

  Brett, however, looked completely intact and smelled like man. A big, bad-ass man who slung hammers for fun and could rip out an entire bathroom, including a claw-footed tub, without breaking a sweat or marring that beautiful rock-hard body with so much as a speck of dirt, making her feel a little inferior in the do-it-yourself department.

  Resting his hands at the nape of her neck, Brett ran his fingers up into her hairline, working out the kinks and bringing body ache to a whole other level. She tried to fight back a moan, losing when he stepped into her. His warm body pressed up against her back as his thumbs followed the line of her muscles, sliding under the straps of her tank top and making her entire body liquefy.

  “It’ll be all right, Tinker Bell. A few coats of paint and she’ll look good as new.”

  At that, Josephina couldn’t help but laugh. It would take a complete team from HGTV to put this house back together.

  “Okay, maybe a little more than paint, but trust me when I say this place will look beautiful when it’s finished. In fact, you’re going to be booked solid as soon as people see what you’ve done.” He sounded proud.

  Of her.

  Unable to resist, she let her head fall back against his chest. Borrowing some of his confidence, she studied the room and pictured it painted, accessorized, and full of customers. Paying customers. A smile touched her lips and she felt herself sigh.

  He slid one big hand around her waist and down her stomach, pulling her against him, her back flush with his front, all of his good parts easily recognizable and causing recognizable reactions in her own. Reactions that weren’t appropriate to have for a roommate slash employee, especially since they weren’t naked roommates.

  “I can’t be booked solid, not for another two years. By the time I finish with the dock and the main floor of the house I’ll be out of money. And by main floor I am excluding the kitchen.”

  That was the part that really got to her. She wouldn’t have enough money to do the kitchen until after her grand reopening. She had been counting on the money from that loan to get the three professional-grade ranges and stainless-steel counters that she had picked out. The only problem with her plan was in order to host the event the way she wanted to, she needed a place to cook in high volume, which she couldn’t do until she got the money from hosting the event.

  Not that it mattered. She still hadn’t come up with a marketable idea that would attract people. An impromptu poll revealed that half of her friends were conveniently booked for the three weekends she had been considering. The other half needed to check their schedules. Her mother begged her to join them in Spain. And even with the feud called off, the town hadn’t been as excited about the reopening of Fairchild House as she’d hoped.

  “It’ll get there,” Brett offered.

  “If I don’t lose the house first.”

  She turned to face him, but when he didn’t loosen his grip she found herself nose to chest with him. Taking full advantage of their position, he nuzzled her neck. She felt every single muscle in her body stand at attention only to melt into a puddle.

  “Brett.” It was meant to be a warning, but it came out more of a plea.

  With a soft groan that sounded like, “I know,” he pressed one last open-mouth kiss on the underside of her jaw, then lifted his head and stared directly into her eyes. “You won’t lose this house, Joie. That I am sure of.”

  She waited for him to put conditions to his bold statement. He didn’t. He was dead serious. The intensity in his face, the way his eyes stayed locked on hers. It was an expression she had seen before, but never as the recipient. Until now.

  That’s when Josephina knew she was in trouble. She’d promised herself she would keep it casual. But the way he held her, spoke to her, believed in her—the way her body responded—felt like a whole lot more. Something akin to strings.

  The last man she’d tied herself to made her feel protected and safe, only to sever their string so fast it left her world spinning out of control. She didn’t want to tempt fate again so soon, especially when Brett was turning out to be the kind of man who could steal a lot more than her identity.

  Chapter 15

  Brett looked around the dining room and smiled as he lowered the gift bag to the table. They’d been at it a week and already the room looked fantastic.

  Clear of a full Dumpster of demolition debris, the once mauve walls were now painted a sophisticated chocolate with light blue accents, giving the space an elegant and inviting warmth. Josephina must have been up with the sun, because she had also managed to sand down Letty’s old dining table and it looked ready to be finished.

  “How did your campers do today?” Josephina asked from the kitchen.

  Pulling out the chair, Brett took his seat, knowing that in about two seconds Joie was going to come walking through that arch, carrying loaded plates, sweet tea, and a million ideas of what project she wanted to tackle next. They had gotten into an easy habit. He was out of bed and at the driving range by dawn to ensure he got in his thousand hits before working with his campers. When lessons broke for the day, he hightailed it out of there so that he could spend lunch with Joie, catching each other up on their day before they started tearing down walls and install
ing toilets.

  Sometimes they would eat in the kitchen. Yesterday they had some kind of Thai chicken wrap while sitting down by the dock. Last night they’d eaten on the front porch, but today he wanted to eat in her newly remodeled room so she could enjoy the signs of her hard work starting to pay off.

  “I reheated last night’s chicken and made it into a sandwich. There’s more in there if you’re still hungry—” She stopped, tray in hand, eyebrows raised in question at the bright pink bag sitting at her seat.

  Her hair was tied in a messy knot on top of her head and her breasts pressed tight against the little top she wore. By the time he got to her faded, well-worn, hip-hugging cutoffs he was half-hard. It was almost enough to make him forget why he needed to hold out, make him wonder if sex without strings was such a bad thing.

  “What’s that?” she said, breaking the spell.

  “Something for you.” He patted the chair.

  “Really?”

  Eyes lit, face flushed, she set down the tray and took the seat right next to his. She scootched closer, their knees brushing under the table, and all he could think of was how she had wrapped that leg around his waist while those perfect tens were in his hands. Or how if he shoved the plates aside, he could lay her on the table, slide off her top, and lick every inch of her.

  “Open it.” He handed her the bag.

  Josephina placed it in front of her and daintily pulled out every scrap of tissue paper that Glory had put in there, folding them into little squares. Three sheets in, she gave up the pretense and crumpled the rest into a ball, tossing it to the floor and scaring the dog. Brett smiled. Partly at the dog, but mostly at how Joie tried so hard to hide her messy side.

  Peeking into the bag, her eyes went wide, before landing on his. “A tool belt?” She pulled out an extremely pink and frilly belt, filled with nails, gloves, and girl-sized tools.

  Despite the air-conditioning, which he had gotten working yesterday, Brett found himself sweating. Glory might have had a hand in wrapping it, but Brett had come up with the idea and picked it out himself. And now, what had seemed like a sweet gesture made him feel like a tool.

  “I love it.” She hugged it to her as she rose from the chair. She inched close enough that Brett could smell her shampoo and feel the heat of her skin through their clothes. It took every ounce of control he had not to pull her down on his lap and finish what they’d been skating around for weeks.

  She held the belt to her hips and swayed back and forth as if it were some kind of new dress.

  “Help me put it on.” She spun around, giving him the chance to appreciate how nicely her ass filled out those denim cutoffs.

  He buckled the back, letting his fingers linger for a moment before forcing himself to lean back in his chair. “You were always looking at mine. So I figured you would want one of you own.”

  Her eyes ran down his body and then she looked away. Taking in where the bottom of her belt hit, Brett smiled with the sudden realization that maybe it wasn’t the tool belt she was checking out after all. Her pink cheeks told him he was right.

  “Thank you.”

  She laid a hand on either shoulder and, leaning down, gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. A chaste brush, something friends would share, but it lit him up. Especially when she eased back, her head still ducked to look up at him.

  Damn, this was not helping.

  The angle was just right, and he could see straight down her top. Yellow lace and all. She’d straighten if she knew she was giving him a peepshow. And he’d take her to bed if she kissed him again, which from the look of things she was considering. So he kept his distance and enjoyed the view.

  “You’re welcome.” He took a deep breath. The present was a segue into talking about money. She was desperately underfunded and Brett had a surplus. The trick would be to get Josephina to agree to a personal loan without making her feel like he didn’t believe she could do it alone. “I found a place that sells those stoves you wanted for half the price in Atlanta. They even deliver.”

  “Half off is still too much,” she said, her fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck.

  “Not with a loan. We could—”

  With her hands busy, driving him slowly insane, she leaned forward, just an inch, and pressed her lips to his. Not kissing him, just silencing. “I don’t want to talk about money or loans right now.” Every word was underscored with a teasing brush of her lips. “I’m in a good mood. And I’m hungry.”

  Him, too. And not for what was on the table.

  She tried to move away, but he stopped her, his hands tightening around her hips. “Then we talk about it after lunch, Joie.”

  “Yes, sir.” She began to straighten at the same time he leaned forward to…what? He wasn’t sure. She had him so wound his whole body was humming. Especially when his movement brought that yellow lace a whole lot closer.

  He heard her breath catch, his own chest doing some sputtering. One glimpse at those glazed eyes and little smile that was all trouble—and he was screwed.

  “Joie, this is a bad idea,” he mumbled, even as he steered her sweet ass toward him until she was straddling his lap.

  “Sure doesn’t feel bad,” she whispered, shifting closer and driving a screwdriver into his hip, the hammer catching him between the legs.

  He grunted.

  “What?” her eyes crinkled in confusion.

  “Your tools pack a punch.”

  They both looked down at her tool belt and he groaned, but for a whole other reason this time. The hem of her shorts had all but crawled up her thighs, leaving little to the imagination, and making his pants even tighter.

  “So does yours.”

  “Seems to be a problem I’ve been having lately.” He unbuckled her tool belt slowly and placed it on the table. Gripping her ass, he pulled tighter, showing her just how dire that problem was becoming. “What are we going to do about that?”

  “I have some ideas on how to alleviate that particular problem,” she said softly, her tone doing crazy things to his heart.

  “So do I.” He ran a hand up her back to the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair, the other hand settling right below the dimples on her lower back. She dropped her head back and he leaned in—because why the hell not—and trailed kisses down her neck.

  God, she smelled good, like hot chick, sweet tea and—Holy, Christ—she shimmied farther down his thighs, bringing all of the parts that mattered into complete, mind-blowing contact. As if that wasn’t tempting enough, she nipped at his mouth, delivering a sexy little love bite while she rolled her hips right into him and—lucky guy that he was—she did it again.

  With a low growl, he took over, delivering one hell of a smoking-hot kiss. She must have agreed on the “smoking-hot” part because her hands fisted in his hair and she purred into his mouth. Ah, man, her mouth was a little slice of heaven.

  “I thought you wouldn’t sleep with me unless I agreed to go out with you?” Her legs came around his waist, locking behind the chair, encasing him between her thighs. It would be so easy to slip those shorts of hers off. He had a condom in his back pocket. A box of them in his bedroom. And a bulge in his pants that wasn’t going away any time soon.

  “I said no sex. And I meant it.” He really did, which was why he had to voice it, as a reminder.

  “But?”

  “But—” He cupped her knees and slowly slid his hands up her thighs. “I never said anything about making out.”

  “Are we talking a few putts around the tee?” She leaned back, resting her hands behind her on his knees. The position caused her thighs to widen and her hair to slide across his legs.

  Brett’s eyes dropped to take her in. She was dusted with sheetrock, flushed from the heat, and her breasts—a place he’d spent hours fantasizing about getting up close and personal with—pushed provocatively against her shirt. She was sexy and sweet and so damn primed he could feel her body hum with anticipation.

 
; Oh, there was no way he was going to put it in the hole, not without some kind of date first, but he sure as hell wasn’t stopping at the fairway either.

  “That depends on if we’re having dinner tonight.”

  “I already picked up some salmon at the store today. With wild rice.” Again with the hip roll.

  Two could play at that game.

  “I was thinking more of a nice steak in town.” His fingers worked their way beneath the scrap of cotton she called shorts so he could palm her ass. He felt her breath catch and—lucky guy indeed—his hands met silk. Sexy, skimpy, and just loose enough to slip his fingers under.

  “That sounds a lot like a date.” Her hands fell between them. One worked the button of his fly, while the other worked him, tracing the hard ridge of him through his denim and then making things interesting by cupping him and delivering a gentle squeezing—followed by a not-so-gentle one that had his body begging for release.

  “That feels a lot like we just made it to the green, sugar. So unless you want to putt this thing back and forth with no hope of making the shot, why don’t we agree to a casual dinner at the Gravy Train?” At this point he was desperate, and horny enough to settle for a single dance at the Saddle Rack.

  “I don’t even think I can wait until after lunch, let alone dinner.” She sat up, wiggling her hips until he could feel the heat of her cradling his hard-on.

  With a groan he pulled her to him, their bodies molding tight against each other, their mouths meshing over and over until her hands started fiddling with his belt buckle, and he wasn’t certain why they should wait. He knew more about her than any other woman he’d ever known.

  She was sweet, and funny, and liked cream in her hot tea. She had a thing for cheese Danish, despised condiments on design alone, and even though she curled up with him on the sofa at night to watch ESPN, she thought golf was boring. And she got him. Honest to God, got who he was at his core and never expected anything from him but honesty.