Gimme Some Sugar Read online

  “That’s because this is serious comfort food.” Her eyes crinkled in happiness as he poured her a glass of milk. “I have to admit it. You nailed the food experience.”

  “With a PB and J?”

  She popped the last edge of the crust into her mouth, nodding with a grin. “Oh, yeah. It was just what I wanted—simple, feel-good food. Perfect for today, actually.”

  Something about her words broke through the tough surface layers of Jackson’s consciousness, shooting past the red flags and warning signs to tickle his brain. How good he felt, just standing there in the kitchen watching her eat, should’ve made him wary. Hell, if she’d been any other woman, he’d have cut and run weeks ago. But there was something about her, so easy and pure, that made wanting to be near her a foregone conclusion.

  And for once in his life, Jackson didn’t want to fight it.

  “There’s not much by way of dessert,” he apologized, watching her brush the crumbs from her hands. The scar on her finger flashed in an angry, white-hot line, and Jackson reached out instinctively to capture her hand in his.

  “Oh, that’s okay, I don’t . . .” Carly stopped, eyes shuttering closed as he stroked her palm with both of his thumbs. Her hands were so small, yet so sturdy and real, and a rush of hot lust swirled around in his belly as she curled her fingers into his.

  “I don’t want dessert.” Her voice was a honeyed murmur, one that drove into Jackson’s bones and blood, filling him completely with something he couldn’t name.

  “What do you want?” He rounded the meager expanse of countertop that separated them without letting go of her hand. The smooth skin of her palm, the roughened calluses on her fingertips, her short, unpolished nails, all of it reached low into his gut and turned him on from the inside out.

  “I want you.” Carly stared at him, unblinking. Honest. Real.

  He didn’t think twice.

  Their mouths joined with equal hunger, both seeking and finding all at once. Jackson cupped the back of her neck, threading his fingers in the dark fall of her hair to free the knot over his hands. He parted her knees with his body, releasing her from the kiss for just a breath.

  “You can have me later. I’m taking you first.”

  The crush of her chest against his was wicked and hot, and he gripped her hips hard with both palms to pull her to the edge of the bar stool. He came within inches of losing his cool when she wrapped her legs around his waist, the friction of her jeans and everything that lay beneath bringing his hard-on to that fine line between intense pleasure and throbbing pain.

  “Jackson.” Carly’s voice was thick with desire, daring him not to stop, and he considered ripping every stitch of her clothing off right there in the kitchen. The perfect components of their perfect day, the way he felt so easy and good around her, how maddeningly sexy she was just sitting there, all of it came together in one fine point of powerful need.

  In a blur of movement, their bodies entwined, Carly’s arms clinging to his shoulders, Jackson palming her curvy ass to lift her from the chair. He made his way to the darkened shadows of his bedroom in urgent strides, but as soon as he crossed the threshold with Carly in his arms, time spiraled out and slowed down. Something unfolded from deep within his chest, and he fought the urge to undress her as fast as possible, willing himself to slow down instead.

  If he was going to take her, he needed to do it right.

  “Close your eyes.” Jackson’s voice was husky, almost a growl. He itched to touch her, to slide his tongue across the hollow of her collarbone, dig deep into the heat between her thighs, but instead he tamped his urgency down to lay her carefully on his rumpled bed. Carly’s eyes, wide and glittery in the moonlight spilling in through the cracked-open blinds, found his.

  “What?”

  Jackson braced himself on his forearms, suspended right over the crescent of her ear. “Close your eyes, Carly.”

  Surprise flooded through him, followed by a quick pulse of greedy want as Carly’s eyes drifted closed. He slanted his lips over hers for another lingering taste before dipping into the skin on her neck, that soft spot behind her ear that made her arch up off the bed, the angle of her jaw. Jackson sampled and tasted, taking his time in some places, moving emphatically in others. Her shirt, the lace-edged bra beneath it, her jeans—he removed all of it as he dove into her like a feast, teasing her heavy breasts with his tongue and the backs of his fingers, caressing the silky skin of her inner thigh, stopping everywhere in between.

  “You taste incredible,” he murmured, laving the rim of her belly button with attention. Carly squeezed her eyes tight, her hair splayed over the stark white pillowcase like ink spreading through calm water. Jackson stared at her, memorizing her face, the subtle notes of her skin, her willingness. All of it.

  “You’re killing me,” she whimpered softly, cresting upward as he slipped his eager hands beneath her hips. A streak of want rode through him, edgy and sharp, and he nudged her knees apart to thrust against the cradle of her hips with his own.

  “The feeling is mutual.” The barrier of his jeans and the cotton, hip-hugging panties she wore made him want to tear both garments to shreds. Carly returned the thrust in equal, excruciating rhythm, eyes flying open to look at him with a tenacious smile curving over her mouth.

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  Just like that, Jackson’s resolve disappeared. Pushed by the need to feel Carly’s skin, hot and soft under the hard strain of his chest, his hips—Christ, all of him—he undressed in a fast tangle of cotton and denim, assisted by Carly’s eager hands.

  “Jackson, I’ve been dying to feel you inside me. Please.” She dug her fingers into his shoulders with an unexpected bite. He slid the panties from her hips in one smooth draw, exposing her tawny skin, and took a condom from the nightstand drawer before returning to the bed. He knew he should wait, should tease her to the edge with his hands, push her over the line with his mouth, but he couldn’t. The raw desire to be inside of her was so overwhelming, it wouldn’t be ignored.

  Jackson wanted her right now!

  As if she could read his mind, Carly reached down to where he knelt in the open arc of her hips, stroking his cock with flawless pressure.

  “You’re driving me . . . crazy, you know.” He bit out each word, nearly losing his mind with each slide.

  “Really?” She slipped the condom from his fingers with her free hand, her ministrations becoming more purposeful with the other. “Tell me again.”

  Confusion cut a jagged line through his lust-fogged brain. “What?”

  Carly propped herself up on her palms, eyes glittering. She widened her knees around his body, inviting him in. “I like it when you talk to me, too. So tell me again. Tell me I’m driving you crazy. Tell me whatever you want.”

  “I just want you.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth before Jackson was inside her, plunging deep into her body, seeking her very core. They fell back against the pillows, every sinuous movement making him want the next one all the more. He whispered in Carly’s ear, listening to her breathy sighs and sharper, rough-edged cries as she rocked beneath him in slow, deliberate response. With each arch of her hips, his words became more gravelly, pushing past his vocal cords on husky breath.

  She rose up to meet him, faster and harder, and Jackson took her mercilessly to the edge and pushed her straight over. Only when Carly had gasped out his name and clasped her knees around his hips with a liquid shudder did he let go, following her into a pleasure that swallowed him whole.

  They lay together, still, nestled in a skein of bed sheets and shed clothing and complete, sated bliss. Half-afraid he might crush her with his body weight, Jackson moved to Carly’s side and drew her in tight to his body. The other half just wanted to hold her close and not move until absolutely necessary.

  “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Her sleepy murmur was a confection, sweet and perfect and somehow just right for the moment, and Jackson c
huckled into the wild spill of her curls as she nestled against the curve of his shoulder.

  “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  The intense release, the hushed shadows, the unabashed beauty of Carly’s face as she looked up at him—all of it came together and settled into his brain like it belonged there. The whole thing should’ve sent him into panic mode, but he was too sedate, too happy with Carly in his arms, to even think about letting her go.

  “I guess we’re even, then.” She nipped his ear and settled back in the niche of his body with a contented sigh.

  It doesn’t have to be serious. It could be just like this.

  Jackson let the suggestion weave its way through his mind, spreading out over the rest of him as they lay together in the quiet. A lazy smile twitched at his mouth, and he tipped her chin up to place a soft kiss on her lips.

  Just like this.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Special de-liv-e-reeeeeeeeee.”

  Sloane sing-songed her way across the cherry floorboards of the kitchen, depositing a UPS envelope on top of the pile of paperwork Carly had amassed on one end of the breakfast bar. God, she really needed to carve out space for a desk or something. Three weeks’ worth of extensive research, highly detailed garden plans, and contractor estimates took up a lot more space than she’d thought they would. She shuffled aside the latest copy of the project proposal in favor of the newest arrival.

  “Oooh, I’ve been waiting for this.” A flush of tingly excitement thrummed through Carly’s veins as she zipped the envelope open in a trail of fine cardboard dust. “It’s the final plan that Jackson and Catherine and I put together with Owen Brooks.”

  Carly had been shocked to discover that the owner of Brooks Farm and Nursery was only a few years older than she was. His passion for simple, organically grown produce had been clear from the minute she and Jackson had set foot on the farm, and Owen’s knowledge had gone a long way toward getting her proposal on solid ground. Solid enough that resort executives had told her to proceed with a detailed proposal after she’d pitched the basic idea.

  Solid enough that if she played it just right, she might actually get the funding.

  “Ah. Your boyfriend sure does do nice work.” Sloane peeked over Carly’s shoulder, sighing at the beautifully sketched details on the sheet in Carly’s hands. “These plans are gorgeous.”

  “Jackson’s not my boyfriend,” Carly argued without heat, tipping her head at the plans. “But yes. The garden is beautiful.”

  Sloane arched a brow and padded to the coffeepot, the rich aroma of just-brewed French roast teasing its way through the midmorning sunshine.

  “Please. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. It would be pretty disgusting if it weren’t so freaking cute.” She leaned over to top off Carly’s coffee before tucking the carafe back on its perch on the burner. “Face it, doll. You have surpassed gimme some sugar territory. Jackson Carter rocks your socks.”

  But Carly didn’t budge. “We’re friends. We have fantastic sex. We enjoy each other’s company. But that’s all that’s going on, Sloane.”

  A slide show of events from the night before flashed through her mind, and she tucked her naughty grin into her coffee cup. Fantastic was really quite the euphemism. The man could blow her mind with his bad intentions.

  And he had done just that for the last three weeks. A lot.

  “Mmm. You’ve slept in the same bed with Jackson almost every night for the better part of a month, and he’s pretty involved in this project you’re up to your eyeballs in. Not to go all Devil’s Advocate on you, but are you sure mixing work with pleasure is a good idea?” Sloane pushed her choppy black bangs from her face to peer at Carly over the counter, but Carly met her best friend’s knowing look with one of her own.

  “Have you looked at these plans? He’s incredible at what he does, and Luke’s contracting estimates for the labor are more than fair. Just because I’m sleeping with Jackson and we spend a lot of time together doesn’t mean things are going to get complicated.” Carly gathered the pages in front of her into a neat pile, tapping the edges on the breakfast bar with a sharp rap. The last thing she needed was to mess things up by getting serious.

  Sloane nodded, her expression turning wary. “Hey, speaking of complicated, your mother called yesterday afternoon.”

  Carly clenched her jaw, the muscles by her ear tightening to a twitch. “Yeah, she left a message on my cell while I was at work. It seems Travis is getting desperate.” Ugh, talk about something she’d rather not deal with at nine-thirty on a Friday morning. Okay, or ever.

  “Aww, is he cranky that the judge denied his request for counseling?” Sarcasm dripped from Sloane’s words, her Brooklyn accent hardening around the already rough edges.

  “Probably. But my lawyer’s handling all of it, including Travis’s temper tantrums and power plays. I’m just trying to get on with things.” In truth, between work, the garden proposal, and hanging out with Jackson, she’d barely had time to think about Travis. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a two-way street. At this rate, she’d never be rid of him.

  “So what’s with your mama calling, then?”

  Carly blew out a sigh. “My mother just happened to run into him at the Our Lady of Mercy Church social a couple of days ago.”

  Sloane made an unladylike noise without apology. “Are you kidding me? Travis is Satan’s hand puppet. What was he doing at church?”

  “Gracie’s did the catering, which may or may not have been coincidental.” The hairs on the back of Carly’s neck prickled. She hated being so cynical, but she wouldn’t put it past Travis to have orchestrated the whole thing to suit his purposes. He had to be getting desperate. “At any rate, my brother was there and he said Travis laid it on pretty thick with my mama before he intervened.”

  Sloane grinned and toasted Carly with her coffee mug. “I’d have paid to see Dominic tell Travis to take a hike. Good for him.”

  Carly shrugged. At one point, she might’ve cared about seeing Travis get his comeuppance, but right about now, that would take energy she just couldn’t spare. “At least the judge said we can move forward with the divorce. Although the whole my-stuff, his-stuff thing is proving to be every bit of the pain in the ass we thought it would be.”

  Sloane propped her elbows on the counter and dropped her chin to her hands, thoughtful. “You know, I’d have thought Travis would’ve dropped the Couples in the Kitchen thing by now. No offense, but it’s not like you guys were on the Food Network or anything. Why does he still want you to sign on for the show so badly, especially when you already told Winslow no way?”

  Carly rubbed a hand over her sternum, pushing her coffee mug aside. Talking about Travis was like instant heartburn. Or maybe that was heartache. At any rate, she’d had enough.

  “Who knows why Travis does anything. He’s probably just trying to unnerve me. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s not going to work.”

  Much. God, she just wanted the whole thing over with.

  But Sloane didn’t relent. “Still. Something about it doesn’t pass the smell test. Do you think maybe—”

  The electronic ring of the house phone bleated to life, interrupting Sloane and painting Carly with a fresh coat of dread. The caller ID confirmed her suspicions, but she knew from experience that putting off conversations with her mother only made things worse in the end.

  “Hey, Mama.” She cradled the receiver to her ear, smiling softly at Sloane’s sympathetic glance. Sloane waggled her fingers before heading down the hall to her room, giving Carly the space she was bound to need to get through the call.

  “What, you’re psychic now? You know it’s your mother calling by divine power or something?” Her mother’s voice needled over the phone line, and Carly silently wished her coffee had something stronger in it than milk.

  “Sloane and I have caller ID, Ma. It tells you who’s on the other end, remember?” Carly looped through the living room with barefooted purpose,
looking out into the sun-strewn yard as she paced by the windows along the back wall. Her mother still had a phone with a cord, for God’s sake. It figured that caller ID wouldn’t be in her repertoire, although Carly had told her mother about it a bunch of times.

  “Listen, I’m sorry I missed your call yesterday. I was at work.” Technically, Carly had just been shooting the breeze with Adrian about the plans for the garden, but she’d let the call go to voicemail anyway. Having an argument with her mother about her marital status—or impending lack thereof—just hadn’t been on her wish-list for the day.

  “Hmph. And how’s the restaurant? You still working all those crazy hours?” A tinge of genuine concern colored her mother’s question, and it softened both Carly’s mood and her response.

  “Not so much anymore, so you don’t have to worry. And the restaurant is great. I’m putting together a proposal for a really exciting project, actually. If resort management approves it, we’d get to build an on-site garden. Like Nonna’s, only a lot bigger.” The thrill Carly felt every time she thought of the garden coursed through her, and she grinned as she sank back into the couch cushions, unable to contain her happiness.

  “Nonna doesn’t have a garden.” The confusion in her mother’s voice was clear, and it startled the smile from Carly’s lips.

  “Not now. I meant the six-foot plot she had in Brooklyn before she moved to Manor House.” Carly sat up straight, pressing the phone to her ear a little tighter. “Mama? You remember the garden, right?”

  It had been seven years since her grandmother had left that apartment in favor of assisted living, but still. Nonna had loved that garden like she loved her kids, for God’s sake. They’d all spent time in the tiny courtyard space.

  “Of course I remember it, Carlotta,” her mother replied briskly.

  Something odd that she couldn’t place made its way to Carly’s chest, pressing against her bones with a subtle yet definite presence. Dominic had said she’d gotten forgetful lately. Much as Carly didn’t want to admit it, her mother was in her sixties. Becoming forgetful was part of getting-older territory.