Sweet Escape (Sugar Rush #2) Page 12

  Evan leaned forward, his eyes glittering as he slid his hand around to cup the back of her neck. Warmth traveled down her spine. He was so close that she could see the flecks of silver in his irises.

  “Maybe I’ll tell you my secrets one day, Sahnehäubchen,” he said. “It’s up to you.”

  He eased away from her, his gaze still locked to hers, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. Faint dizziness swept through Hannah’s head. She wanted to drown in the deep blue of his eyes, to sink against him and feel his solid body pressing against hers. She wanted to strip off her clothes and invite him into her bed, into her body.

  Evan stood slowly. Hannah admired his broad shoulders, the expanse of his chest, his biceps hugged by his shirtsleeves. Her arousal intensified at the evidence of what she was denying herself. She swallowed hard and imagined unzipping his trousers, sliding her hand into his boxers or briefs and closing her fingers around that long, thick ridge of flesh…

  “Go to bed, Lockhart.” He curled a lock of her hair around his finger and gave it a gentle tug. “We need to be up early tomorrow.”

  He turned and left the room, closing the bedroom door behind him. Hannah stared after him, her body pulsing with unfulfilled need.

  She slowly pushed away from the table and went into the second bedroom. She paced to the windows and looked out at the star-sprinkled night. She pictured Evan taking off his shirt, unfastening his belt. His actions would be swift and fluid, edged with the economy of movement that was such a part of him.

  She shivered. An emotion curled inside her, something hollow and yearning. It was a moment before she could put a name to it. Knowing Evan was so close by and yet they were purposely distancing themselves from each other, Hannah was struck with loneliness.

  Chapter

  TWELVE

  “Swirl the wine in your glass,” the vintner said. “Swirl it.”

  Hannah sloshed the wine around in her glass, hoping that was the same as swirling. She enjoyed wine as much as the next person, but she’d never understood all the hype about terroir and tannins.

  “Now sniff,” Mr. Benson ordered. With his neatly trimmed white beard and bushy white hair, the vintner was perfectly suited to this sprawling stone villa with its acres of flourishing vineyards.

  Obediently all ten people crowded around the wooden table lowered their noses into their wineglasses and inhaled a series of sniffs that made it sound as if they all needed a tissue.

  “I sense a strong grassy flavor,” one woman remarked.

  “Mmm,” said another. “I’m getting mushrooms.”

  “I smell dampness and leather,” a man announced.

  “Now sip and savor,” Mr. Benson said.

  Hannah wasn’t sure she wanted to drink something that smelled like old leather, but she took a small mouthful.

  “You should taste hints of oak and blackberries,” the vintner said. “And perhaps a bit of raspberry as well.”

  The other wine-tasters murmured and nodded. Beside Hannah, Evan took another sip of the burgundy. She sipped again, attempting to pick out blackberries and oak. As she’d been told, she sucked the wine noisily through her teeth to aerate the flavors. She ignored Mr. Benson’s dictate to spit the wine into a bucket and swallowed it instead.

  Evan picked up the bottle and poured more into her glass. “Are you getting the blackberries?”

  What she was getting was a bit tipsy, but she didn’t bother telling him that. Instead she nodded.

  “Oak and raspberry, too. It’s like a wooden fruit basket in my mouth.”

  She took another sip of wine. Evan’s gaze went to her mouth as she pursed her lips and shifted them from side to side, then sucked the wine through her teeth. She swallowed the mouthful, enjoying the taste as it slid down her throat.

  “You’re supposed to spit,” Evan admonished.

  “I always swallow after I suck.” She shot him a sideways look.

  His eyes darkened. “Bad girl.”

  “Yes.”

  Evan breathed out a curse, turning his attention back to the bottles. Hannah grinned to herself, even as she told herself to be careful. Emboldened by the wine though she might be, she couldn’t lead him on after they’d come to an agreement about this being a platonic weekend. A rather weak agreement, truth be told, but an agreement nonetheless.

  Not that Evan was making it easy on either one of them the way he kept touching her. At first, she’d thought it was accidental brushes of his body against hers, but when she’d felt his hand on her ass as she’d climbed into the hot-air balloon, she’d realized he was deliberately touching her.

  And she’d let him. Because Evan’s touches were like fireflies, inciting bursts of heat in her blood. His hand on her back. His bare forearm grazing hers. The quick stroke of his fingers against her wrist.

  And him. Even if he wasn’t touching her, Hannah felt his presence with every fiber of her being. She caught herself staring at him multiple times throughout the day—the length of his muscular legs beneath his cargo shorts, the sheer breadth of his chest and shoulders in his short-sleeved shirt. The hollow of his throat. Every time she got close to him, she caught a whiff of his delicious scent of maleness and spice.

  She’d never felt so… dizzy around a man before. She’d also never had such a good time. Yes, the whole day was a romantic cliché with the soaring over the valley in a hot-air balloon, bike ride through country lanes, hillside picnic lunch, and wine-tasting in a historic villa, but being with Evan was anything but cliché. In fact, it was the opposite.

  It was unique. One of a kind. Special.

  Hannah set her wineglass down. A few drops had spilled down the side of the glass, forming a shape that looked vaguely like a heart. Clearly Evan’s cotton-candy heart was having an influence on her. She picked up her camera and adjusted the lens before taking several pictures of the wine heart.

  After the tasting concluded, Evan purchased several bottles and stowed them in the back of his SUV before he drove to downtown Napa. They visited shops, art galleries, and a historical museum. As Hannah stopped to take pictures, Evan disappeared into a bakery and emerged with a frosting-loaded cupcake.

  “You really live the whole Sugar Rush philosophy, don’t you?” Hannah asked.

  “It’s chocolate.” Evan wiggled his finger, coated with a dollop of chocolate cream, under her nose. “What kind of crazy woman doesn’t like chocolate?”

  “I don’t hate it,” she said. “It’s what makes mole sauce so good, right? I think the Mayans were on to something with their hot chocolate and chili mixture. Then the Europeans had to add milk and sugar to it.”

  Evan narrowed his eyes at her. He stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked off the chocolate. “You’re messing with me, Lockhart.”

  “I am not. It’s a scientific fact that some people have less interest in sweet things. I’m one of them. I’m just not that into it.”

  Evan scooped another dollop of chocolate frosting off the cupcake. The way he kept doing that made Hannah a little tingly inside. She took the cupcake from him and scraped off a bit of frosting with her finger, then brought it to her mouth, as if she were about to eat it.

  Just as Evan’s expression turned smug, she extended her finger to him in invitation. He blinked, his gaze going from her face to the chocolate offering.

  He grasped her wrist. Hannah’s heart thumped. His fingers pressed against the pulse beating wildly just beneath her skin. She parted her lips to draw in a breath as he slowly and deliberately pulled her hand toward his mouth.

  And then his tongue flickered out to lick the chocolate from her finger in a movement so sensual and warm that Hannah bit her lip to stifle a moan. Her breathing increased. Her nipples tightened, a current of heat sliding right down to her sex. Evan licked all the chocolate from her finger and lifted his head, his eyes gleaming with blue fire.

  His grip tightened on her wrist. Without breaking his gaze from hers, he tugged her closer, so that a mere inch separate
d their bodies. Heat radiated from him, sinking into her skin.

  Her body thrummed with the hot anticipation of feeling his chocolate-laced mouth press against hers. She ached to delve her fingers into his thick hair, to feel her breasts crushing against his hard chest. She wanted to part her lips, taste every inch of him, and sink into the swirl of heat and lust she hadn’t felt in—

  “Hmm.” Evan’s mouth was so temptingly close to hers that he only needed to lean forward to initiate the kiss. “We’d better get back to the hotel.”

  Yes. Yes, they definitely had to get back to the hotel straight away because stripping naked right here on the street would be a very bad idea.

  Evan drew away from her, turning his attention to his watch. “We have the dinner train ride at six, so if we want to change, we should head back now.”

  Hannah blinked. The world came slowly back into focus. Evan released her wrist and stepped away from her.

  “Player,” she muttered, still throbbing from the anticipation of hot contact.

  “Tease,” he murmured, though his eyes lingered on her mouth and heat crested his sharp cheekbones.

  She was still holding the cupcake in her other hand. She held it out to him.

  “You want this to satisfy your sweet tooth?” she asked.

  “Lockhart.” Evan flashed her a devastatingly sexy grin. “You are my sweet tooth.”

  *

  He was on the edge. Hell, he was halfway over it. Every time Hannah’s bare arm brushed against his, or he caught sight of her nape, his body jolted with awareness. And Christ in heaven, that little tank top she wore with the scooped neckline that revealed the barest hint of cleavage… he wanted to grab the stretchy material and yank it down along with her bra, exposing her breasts for the pleasure of his mouth and tongue.

  He wanted to see her naked breasts. Hell, he wanted to see her naked everything. He wanted to know the color of her nipples, the way her skin felt under his hands, the scent and taste of her sweet pussy…

  His cock twitched. He groaned inwardly.

  It was his own fucking fault for touching Hannah as much as he had. At first, he’d wanted to tease her a little, prove their chemistry was hot and electric, give her a hint of what she was missing with their no sex dictate.

  Instead he’d incited a raging fire in his own body, one he couldn’t smother. His blood simmered hot even as he sat on a bench, waiting for Hannah to finish taking pictures of the bridge connecting the train station to the boarding platform. Dozens of padlocks engraved with hearts and names were attached to the wire fence of the bridge, all left by lovers and tourists from around the world.

  Hannah was bending over, adjusting her camera to take pictures of a cluster of locks. She had a perfect ass. It rounded the fabric of her skirt and looked so squeezable and tempting that Evan wanted to grab her waist and pull her ass right up against his groin. Then he’d grind his cock against her, slide his hands up to cup her warm breasts and—

  Fuck.

  He rested his elbows on his knees and turned his attention to a row of ants marching across the dirt near his feet. Industrious little creatures.

  “Okay, I’m done.” Hannah’s hand settled on the back of his neck.

  Electricity jolted down his spine. He lifted his head, willing his erection to subside. “So am I.”

  In more ways than one.

  “Are you all right?” Hannah frowned, sliding her hand around to his forehead. “You feel a little warm. And you look flushed.”

  “I’m fine.” Just ready to yank your skirt up and drive into you so fast and hard the world spins.

  He stood and stepped away from her. Her touch would only make his inner fire burn hotter.

  “Not bad, huh?” He nodded toward the bridge. “You should choose one of the padlocks and speculate about the couple who left it there, like you did with your post about the Milvio Bridge.”

  “How did you know I did that?”

  “I read your blog.”

  Hannah looked at him with bafflement. “You read my blog?”

  “Not the whole thing. Not yet, anyway. But yeah, I started it. Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “It’s just…” Hannah shook her head. “I guess I didn’t think you’d go back and start to read it from the beginning.”

  “It’s like a book,” he said. “You have to read it from the beginning to know the whole story.”

  He wanted to know the whole story, all right. The whole story of Hannah Lockhart.

  She concentrated on putting her camera back in the case. A crease grooved her forehead, as if she were either confused or thinking hard.

  “Do you not want me to read it?” Evan asked.

  “No.” She glanced up. “I mean, yes. It’s fine if you read it. I guess I’m just surprised. I…” She hesitated, and then said, “I have some interest from a publisher to turn Lock Heart into a book.”

  “Really? That’s great, Hannah. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks, but it’s not a done deal yet. The editor didn’t like the manuscript I submitted. She said it has to be more than a compilation of travel blog posts. Apparently it has to be more personal or something. She didn’t even seem to know what was missing, but she wants me to find it. I’m supposed to come up with a new idea and resubmit the manuscript.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s already in your writing,” Evan said. “An editor wouldn’t be interested in a book deal if your blog doesn’t already have what she’s looking for.”

  She looked mildly surprised, as if she’d never considered that. “Well, you were right about Napa. The train trip suits my love traditions theme perfectly. When romantic couples come to Napa Valley, they take the Wine Train. Not that we’re a romantic couple,” she added hastily.

  Evan stepped closer to her, curling a lock of her hair around his finger. “We can be.”

  She bit her lower lip. The edge of her teeth made little indentations in her lip. He wanted to stroke them away with a sweep of his tongue.

  “There’s a village in Brazil where men compete for women’s favors by bringing them gifts, like a basket of fish,” Hannah said.

  “Oh.”

  “It’s interesting to me how cultures all over the world have customs that are so similar. Even the bachelor auction is like a courtship ritual in Africa where men strut their stuff in front of a group of women, hoping to entice them.”

  “Do you want me to strut my stuff and give you a basket of fish? Because I will, if that’s what it takes.”

  She smiled. “You already did strut your stuff, and the flowers are more than sufficient. My point is that people everywhere often do the same things in their search for… companionship. It’s a universal human need.”

  “Yes, it is. So why do you fight it so hard?”

  Hannah didn’t respond. Frustration rose in Evan. It made no sense—this beautiful, warm, curious woman deserved to be loved and cherished. And though he wasn’t the man who could give her what she deserved, he hated that she was closing herself off to even the possibility.

  She turned her attention to the train on the other side of the platform. The evening light shone on her brown hair, which shifted around her bare shoulders. Her eyelashes were dusky feathers around her intense, blue-green eyes that had the ability to hold him under a spell.

  He took her camera from her. He peered through the lens and adjusted the focus, then snapped several pictures of her.

  “You don’t have a lot of pictures of yourself on your blog,” he said.

  “That’s because I’m always on the other side of the camera.”

  “Not this time. Smile for me.”

  She faced him again, giving him a smile that he wanted to wrap up with a bow. He lowered the camera. A shadow slanted across her bare shoulder, a union of dark and light in the shape of a heart.

  Chapter

  THIRTEEN

  It was too quiet. No traffic noise, no voices outside the window, no barking dogs, no sirens
in the distance.

  Restless, Hannah paced the elegant bedroom of the maison. She turned the TV on, scanned the channels, and turned it off again. She checked her phone. She wondered what Evan was doing. Was he sitting in the living room? Was he eating leftover dessert? Had he gone to bed?

  Pushing aside the curtains, she looked at the terrace, where the sculpted bathtub sat glowing marble-white in the darkness. She’d never taken a bath outside before. She went out to turn on the bathtub faucets, then returned to the bedroom.

  She stripped out of her clothes and put on a big, fluffy robe from the closet. After pinning up her hair, she selected lavender-scented bubble bath and lotion from the array of complimentary bottles in the bathroom. She walked out to the terrace, leaving the French doors open behind her.

  A breeze drifted on the air. The valley stretched out like a tapestry below, lit with garden lights and the hazy light of the moon. Aside from the faint rustling leaves and chirping crickets, silence covered the landscape.

  Hannah poured a generous amount of bubble bath into the water and tested the temperature. She slid out of the robe, the cool air prickling her skin with goose bumps before she stepped into the steamy hot depths.

  Oh God.

  A low groan escaped her as the water enveloped her in a rush of heat and scented bubbles. She sank lower, letting the water cover her all the way to her neck. Her bones melted. The tension of the past few months slipped away. She rested her head on the edge of the tub and looked up at the sky, the black night sprinkled with stars like sugar.

  Sugar.

  Her heart thumped. Evan. Eyes filled with blue fire. Wickedly beautiful mouth. Ridiculous penchant for desserts. Gorgeous body with hard muscles she ached to feel beneath her hands…

  She rested her hand on her thigh, rubbing it slowly beneath the water. A delicious tightness coiled in her lower body. She parted her legs and let her fingers slip into her cleft, her own touch filling her with a rush of heat. Her nipples tightened.

  She closed her eyes and eased her fingers deeper to splay around her clit. The fantasy bloomed with sudden force in her mind—no gentle, prolonged seduction, but a vivid image of her spread naked on a bed, her hands beneath her thighs as she opened herself for the smooth, slow entry of Evan’s cock…