Sweet Escape (Sugar Rush #2) Read online

  “If you’re hungry…” Evan gestured to a paper bag resting on the console.

  Hannah opened it to reveal an array of Sugar Rush candy—Chocolate Crunchies, Fruit Bon-Bons, Honeybee Toffee, Cocoa Nibblers, Jelly Rolls. She picked up a grape-flavored Sparkle Pop.

  “Is this the surprise lollipop you were telling me about?” she asked.

  “It’s a burst of hot flavor, baby.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Try it.”

  Hannah shook her head, unthrilled at the idea of candy exploding unexpectedly in her mouth. “Not a fan, sorry.”

  He frowned. “Don’t think I’m giving up.”

  “I’d be disappointed if you did.”

  Just like she’d have been disappointed if he hadn’t pursued her after the auction, much as she’d tried to convince herself she hadn’t wanted him to.

  “Polly really likes these.” She opened the box of toffee and ate one of the little squares. “And the Cocoa Nibblers.”

  It occurred to her that Sugar Rush candy had been part of her and Polly’s childhoods—in fact, part of the childhoods of almost everyone she knew. Fruit Bon-Bons showed up in birthday party goodie bags, a package of Chocolate Crunchies was a treat on the beach, and friends shared multi-colored Licorice Twisters during recess. Halloween was a windfall of Sugar Rush treats, especially the once-a-year Ghostly Gumdrops, Voodoo Corn, and chocolate witches.

  Unexpectedly and despite her distaste for candy, Hannah liked the idea that she’d had a connection to Evan for years, even if it was just through his family’s company.

  They continued driving north. Music drifted from the media player as they passed through San Jose and Fremont toward Napa County. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windshield. She appreciated that Evan didn’t find it necessary to talk all the time—one of the reasons she preferred traveling alone was that she was never forced to make conversation when she didn’t want to. But with him, compatible silence felt both comfortable and natural.

  She was reminded of traditional coupling practices that historically took place in some Native American cultures. According to folklore, before a couple was engaged, they would spend time together in silence to see if they were comfortable with each other naturally and without awkwardness.

  Hannah certainly felt that way about Evan. She cast him the occasional glance as they drove, taking in the stretch of his muscular thigh beneath the denim of his jeans, the loose grip of his long fingers on the steering wheel, occasionally tapping in time to the music, the watch band curled around his strong wrist.

  He had an understated, quiet masculinity that was all the more powerful because of his complete self-possession—there was nothing leashed or forcibly restrained in him, nothing that could break loose without warning. Nothing he couldn’t control.

  She looked out the side window. Evan was also different from the men she usually gravitated toward—the youthful college boy backpacking through Europe for the summer, the wandering hippie on a pilgrimage to various ashrams and temples, the dedicated traveler who, like her, was happy to spend a couple of weeks together before parting with vague promises to “keep in touch.”

  Those men were pleasant, unassuming, and never inspired this intense mixture of desire, warmth, and unease that billowed inside Hannah every time she looked at Evan. He might exude self-control, but the feelings he evoked in her were edged with raw wildness—and that fact alone was enough to scare her senseless.

  But she could ignore that since she and Evan had agreed this trip would be platonic.

  And if you think that’s going to be an easy agreement to keep, Hannah Lockhart, I’ve got a bridge in Moscow to sell you.

  “So where are we staying?” she asked, realizing she knew nothing about the actual sleeping accommodations.

  “A historic inn in the heart of Napa,” Evan said. “Private cottage with two bedrooms.”

  “Did you choose it as part of your date package?” she asked.

  “No. My aunt and her staff put together the date packages and matched them to each bachelor.”

  “Why did she match you with Napa Valley?”

  He shrugged, though a faint tension tightened his mouth. “Guess she thought I was suited to the low-key weekend.”

  Hannah remembered his brother Adam had had the Walk on the Wild Side motorcycle package, and his other brother Tyler had been auctioned with the Fall For Me skydiving date.

  “Did you want one of the other ones?” she asked.

  “No, I couldn’t do them anyway.”

  He hadn’t been into roller coasters at the boardwalk either. Maybe he just wasn’t an adrenaline junkie.

  “What about your other brothers?” she asked. “The ones who weren’t at the auction?”

  “Carson is out of town, otherwise he’d have been there. Spencer isn’t the type to let himself be auctioned off.”

  “What about your sister?”

  “She’s up at Stanford.”

  “Is she going to work for Sugar Rush when she graduates?”

  “I don’t know. My parents never had expectations that we’d all work for Sugar Rush, though sometimes it seemed inevitable. For me, at least.”

  “Why for you?”

  “I didn’t have as many choices.” Evan pulled into a gas station. “I’ll get us some water.”

  He got out of the car and walked to the convenience store. A breeze threaded through his thick hair and flattened his shirt over his broad chest.

  Hannah remembered his remark about needing to prove himself at Sugar Rush. How could anyone, especially his family, think he was somehow lacking? Evan exuded capability, assurance, and confidence. Heck, if he’d said he was running for president, Hannah would have asked about his stance on foreign policy.

  But she knew better than most that family dynamics were weird and complicated. So for whatever reason, and intentionally or not, Evan’s family had set him on a narrow path with narrow expectations. And out of love, loyalty, responsibility, or all three, Evan had stayed on that path.

  She couldn’t be the one to help him break free of it—not when she was fighting her own restraints—but she hoped being with her helped him forget about it for awhile.

  He returned to the car with two bottles of water and continued driving. Soon he navigated off the main highway, and the landscape shifted to scenic rolling hills and lush vineyards.

  Perched on at least two-dozen acres of land, the luxurious Mediterranean-style Castillo resort overlooked the sprawling beauty of the valley. Luxurious rooms opened onto stone terraces, sweeping staircases led to a crystalline swimming pool surrounded by white cabanas, and employees glided about with quiet deference.

  A touch of anxiety wound through Hannah as they walked into the pristine, hushed reception area. She was not accustomed to high-end hotels or travel, but thankfully Evan handled everything with the ease of a man who’d grown up with wealth and luxury.

  “Please take advantage of our all-inclusive spa facilities.” The receptionist extended a creamy sheet of paper with a list of available services. “I especially recommend the Himalayan salt stone massage and the grapeseed crush exfoliation. We also have lovely spa packages for couples, if you’d like to indulge together.”

  “Oh, we like to indulge together,” Evan deadpanned, shooting Hannah a mischievous look that made her smile.

  She turned to pick up her bag just as a bellhop swooped past to take it from her.

  “Allow me, miss. I’ll show you to your private maison.”

  They followed him to the courtyard, then along a pathway lit by glowing little lanterns. Hannah tried not to be captivated by the place—she’d always taken pride in being suited to low-budget travel and roughing it—but this was straight out of a fairytale.

  Nestled in a grove of olive trees, the maison boasted smooth hardwood floors and ceilings, warm earth tones, a full kitchen, wood-burning fireplace, and French doors leading out to a private terrace. Overhead fans circulated the breeze, and the windo
ws all displayed an incredible view of the valley.

  Hannah stepped on to the terrace, her chest tightening at the panoramic sight, the evening sky blooming with fluffy red-gold clouds. She’d always been so convinced that landscapes were prettier, more majestic, and better elsewhere in the world. But this had been right in her backyard all along. It made her wonder what else she’d missed because she had only wanted to look forward, not around.

  She wandered through the rest of the cottage. French doors led from one of the bedrooms to an enclosed terrace displaying a huge sculptural bathtub. A high wall on one side held a rainforest showerhead.

  Between the his-and-her spa treatments and outdoor bathing arena, this place was clearly meant to bring the sexy. Too bad it was wasted on her and Evan. Not that she was disappointed about that. Not much.

  She returned to the living room, where Evan was closing the front door behind the bellhop. He approached, and she took in the sight of his ruffled hair, his long, easy stride, the way he looked directly at her as if she were his destination.

  “This is amazing.” She spread out a hand ineffectually, trying to encompass everything.

  “It’s a nice place.” He reached for one of three bottles of wine that had been left beside a fruit and cheese platter on the wooden table in front of the fireplace.

  “Have you been here before?” Hannah asked.

  “A few times.”

  With a woman?

  He glanced at her, faint amusement rising to his eyes. She realized with a start she’d spoken that question aloud.

  “Sorry,” she said quickly. “Obviously it’s none of my business.”

  “I’ve stayed in rooms up at the main building,” he said. “Twice with a woman, the same one, not lovely Lucy Clements, and another time for a Sugar Rush conference.”

  He uncorked the Shiraz and poured two glasses before handing her one.

  “Speaking of Lucy Clements…” Hannah sank into a chair and sipped the wine, which probably cost a fortune. “I ran into her last week in Rainsville Park. But don’t worry, neither one of us got hurt.”

  Her attempt at a joke fell flat. Evan straightened, his mouth tightening.

  “And?” he asked.

  She hesitated, belatedly questioning the wisdom of bring up the unpleasant encounter. But she’d been enjoying the relaxed, easy way Evan was around her, and she didn’t want any unspoken negative history to come between them.

  “She was upset.” Hannah took another sip of wine. “Trying to justify her actions. She said she cheated after she found out you didn’t want to marry her.”

  “That’s a version of the truth,” Evan admitted, turning his gaze to the wineglass. “Our families go back about a decade. There was a time last year when my aunt was hounding me about dating. Lucy was… convenient. She knew from the start I wasn’t looking to get married, but she had a complex about me and thought she could change my mind. When I didn’t, she tried to make me jealous by fucking another guy. It didn’t work.”

  Hannah processed that. Lucy’s and Evan’s “versions of the truth” weren’t so very different—the difference was in their perspectives.

  “What kind of complex did she have?” she asked.

  “Not a good one.” He picked up his phone, his forehead creasing. “I’ll order us some dinner.”

  Hannah set her glass down. Lucy’s words echoed in her head. “There’s a reason they call him Heartbreaker.”

  How many broken hearts had Evan left in his wake? As much as she liked him, Hannah had to ensure her heart wasn’t one of them.

  “According to the date package, tomorrow we’re scheduled for a breathtaking hot-air balloon ride just after dawn,” Evan said, scrolling on his phone, “an art gallery tour, and wine-tasting at several renowned wineries. Then tomorrow night we have dinner reservations on a nineteenth-century restored train that will take us on a forty-mile journey through the spectacular scenery of Napa Valley.”

  He held up the phone. “According to the date brochure written by Aunt Julia.”

  Hannah shook her head slowly. “Is this normal for you? I mean, do you take women on dates like this all the time?”

  “Not all the time.”

  “You date a lot though, right? Based on what I saw at the auction, you’re quite a catch.”

  “Only with the right bait.” He winked at her.

  Hannah smiled, glad her mention of his ex-girlfriend hadn’t cast a pall on their evening.

  She excused herself to change into a nicer outfit, not that she had very many of them. She washed and slipped into a gray sundress, taking extra care with her hair and makeup. By the time she emerged, two resort assistants were setting up a linen-draped table on the terrace, along with tapered candles and a bouquet of creamy flowers.

  The multi-course dinner was exquisite and elegant. Oysters, steak, red wine. Thyme, lemon, the faint bitter taste of rosemary. Crispy pomme frites laced with tarragon herb butter. Haricot verts fresh off the vine.

  And Evan. Candlelight gleaming on his sharp-edged features, lighting a fire in the center of his blue eyes. His hands, big and capable, as he cut the steak and lifted the fork to his mouth. Swift, economical movements, no wasted energy.

  The sun sank on the horizon—the same one Hannah had seen in dozens of other countries, and yet here its red-gold colors seemed somehow more vibrant, the sunset glow caressing Evan’s hair with the warmth of a lover’s touch.

  After dinner, she accepted his offered bit of crème brûlée, agreeing that it was indeed smooth and creamy even if it didn’t give her the same feeling of bliss that spread across his face. She didn’t tell him that watching him enjoy the dessert was better than eating it herself.

  “So where was crème brûlée invented?” she asked.

  He broke off a piece of the hardened caramel topping. “I think the recipe was first recorded in a French cookbook in the late seventeenth century. It was also known as burnt cream. There’s a Catalan dish that’s also similar.”

  “How do you know all that?”

  “In addition to liking obscure facts, I dated a historian a few years ago. She was writing a book about the history of royal cuisine. We talked a lot.”

  Hannah couldn’t help chuckling. “How dorky. And romantic. But mostly dorky.”

  “I strive to throw a little dorky into my hot romanticism.”

  “You succeed admirably. So why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

  “You sound like my aunt.”

  She winced. “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant… well, with your family and your good looks, not to mention your encyclopedic knowledge of pastry history, you have a lot going for you.”

  He shrugged, digging his spoon back into the dessert. “That’s part of the problem. Sometimes I can’t tell if a woman wants to be with me because of my family’s money or because of me. Which I realize is stupid because what a problem to have, right?”

  “Just because you have money doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be wary,” Hannah said. “Everyone has to protect his or her own heart.”

  A touch of bitterness flashed across Evan’s features.

  “Is that what you’ve done, Lockhart?” he asked. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

  “I’ve had my fair share. They just don’t stick around.”

  “Because they don’t want to or because you don’t want them to?”

  “Both.”

  “Why?”

  “Because even when they do, they don’t.” Hannah folded and unfolded a corner of her napkin. “They find someone else. They go back home. They want to go somewhere else. They…”

  Her voice trailed off. She was painfully aware she wasn’t just talking about men. It was her too. Maybe more her than them. She’d done the same thing with Polly and her mother—detached herself instead of trying to fit into their world.

  “I always seem to end up alone,” she said, “which is actually how I like it, so it all works out in the end.”

  �
��Or is that what you’ve been telling yourself?”

  Hannah frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “You don’t write about love because you don’t believe in it.” A perceptive glint appeared in his expression. “You can talk all you want about being a reporter who just dishes out the facts, but you write about love because you know it’s the one concept everyone in the world has the capacity to feel—at any time, anywhere, regardless of who they are or what else they believe. That’s the reason people in dozens of different countries have traditions celebrating love. Everyone knows how powerful it can be.”

  “Love isn’t the only thing we all feel. What about fear?”

  “People don’t want to be afraid. They do want to love.”

  “Why haven’t you been in love then, Heartbreaker?”

  “I’ve been in love. Best feeling in the world. And when it’s over, the worst.”

  “Exactly.”

  The air crackled with energy. Candle flames glowed in his eyes, but the fire came from inside him. In spite of his charm and his love for whipped cream, Evan Stone was a danger to Hannah’s self-control and maybe even her heart.

  “Why haven’t you stayed in love?” The question escaped her on a single breath.

  He broke eye contact, pushing his dessert plate aside. “I can give a woman a lot. But there are some promises I can’t make.”

  “Like the promise to stick around?”

  “Exactly.”

  That was all right. That was what she wanted.

  Wasn’t it?

  The light carved shadows on his strong features. A warmth that had been building all day slid through Hannah’s blood, hot and thick.

  “What are your secrets, Heartbreaker?” she asked.

  He smiled faintly. “How do you know I have any?”

  “Everyone does. History does. There are always secrets to discover when you travel.”

  “Like what?”

  “Stonehenge, Easter Island, the pyramids. There’s still so much we don’t know. We may never know.”

  “But some things we’ve always known.”