The Sugar Rush Boxed Set: Books 1-5 Page 2

  So she and Mia had ended up at the Troll’s House, a dive bar with a rough wood floor, flashing jukebox, neon beer signs, and several pool tables. It was loud, crowded, lots of beer, and nothing fancy. Exactly the kind of place Polly could start to come out of her shell.

  Maybe.

  “I told you I’d be on the prowl,” Mia said unapologetically, scanning the room with her sharp gaze. “And though I was hoping for a Wall Street executive, I can see the appeal of a blue-collar dude.”

  Polly turned to take the birthday cake shot from the bar.

  Live your life. Take risks. Embrace change. Be happy, for God’s sake.

  Her mother’s voice again. The sharp stab of pain Polly had felt at her loss had recently dulled to a soft, perpetual ache around her heart. She’d miss her mother forever, but more and more, Jessie’s incessantly positive, you-only-live-once, Polly-I-love-you-but-if-you-don’t-move-on-and-be-happy-I-will-come-back-to-haunt-you attitude, was easing Polly’s grief.

  She licked up another rainbow sprinkle. The alcohol hummed pleasantly in her blood, giving her much-needed courage. Though Polly had faced a lot of challenges head on, she’d never been confident, much less experienced, in the Men category.

  Brian aside, she just hadn’t been around men that much, especially after her father died when she was nine. Her mother, determined to start a new life, moved out of the Twelve Oaks commune in Santa Cruz where they’d lived all of Polly’s life.

  Jessie had taken Polly and Hannah to Rainsville, a small farming town south of San Francisco, and opened up the Wild Child Bakery with their father’s life insurance money.

  Women had always worked at the Wild Child Bakery, and Jessie had been active in feminist groups and women’s writer workshops. She had boyfriends every now and then, but they never stuck around. And Polly hadn’t had much chance to form her own relationships before her mother got sick.

  “They’re like a foreign species,” Polly muttered to Mia, gesturing toward a group of men crowded around the tables. Even with his comic book obsession and geekiness—or perhaps because of them—at least Brian had been safe. “I feel like I’m studying them for research purposes.”

  “As long as it’s sexual research, you’re good to go,” Mia replied. “I guarantee that great sex will give you the boost you need.”

  Though the thought of great sex made Polly a little nervous, it was past time that she finally got her groove on.

  “I’m ready,” she said with a firm nod. “I want to experience everything I’ve been missing, and especially to—” she dropped her voice to a whisper “—get laid.”

  If she was going to do this, she was going full-force, like turning an egg beater on high speed to get the job done.

  “Good girl.” Mia gave a nod of satisfaction. “Let’s get started.”

  She spun around on the stool again to face the crowded room.

  “What you need first,” she continued, “is practice. Look at that guy. Serious, panty-melting hottie alert.”

  She nodded toward a tall, dark-haired man in his mid-thirties who was playing pool. Polly blinked and focused on him.

  Oh, wow. Hottie, indeed. How was it possible she hadn’t noticed him before now? He was wearing gray trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms. A striped, silk tie was knotted loosely around his neck, and the collar of his shirt was unbuttoned, displaying a tempting V of tanned skin.

  As he leaned over to position a shot, Polly let her gaze travel over the slope of his muscular shoulders and back, down to his very fine ass. She had never been much of a gawker, but this man gave a girl plenty to gawk at.

  Then he glanced over his shoulder. Right at Polly.

  Their gazes collided with a force that almost knocked her off the barstool. She grabbed the edge of the bar, her heartbeat going from normal to crazy-wild in two seconds flat. The air sizzled with a current of electricity that arced right between them, setting her nerves alight and pooling heat in her core. Her sex actually throbbed, as if he were parting her legs and gliding his fingers right up north to—

  He broke their eye contact and returned his attention to the pool table.

  Whoa. What the hell just happened?

  He shot. And missed.

  “Hmm,” Mia said. “Maybe you should go console him.”

  “What?”

  “For practice,” Mia explained. “You need to learn how to approach a hot guy and talk to him. You have a total opening since he’s standing there by himself waiting for his next turn. But if you don’t go now, that redhead in the corner booth is going to pounce on him. And she looks like a territorial bitch.”

  Polly swung her gaze to the busty redhead whose cleavage was about to pop out of her tank top. The redhead was staring at Mr. Hottie, poised on the edge of her seat as if she were waiting for an opportunity to make a move.

  “Go,” Mia hissed, grabbing Polly’s arm and hustling her off the stool. “I’m right here. If you start to panic, scratch your ear as a signal, and I’ll come rescue you.”

  Polly dug for courage, grabbed her shot from the bar, and approached Mr. Hottie. Thanks to Mia picking out her outfit tonight, she was wearing a black mini-skirt and white, stretchy shirt that gave her a nice hourglass shape without looking trashy. At least, that was what Mia had told her before they’d left for the Japanese restaurant.

  Polly stopped beside Mr. Hottie. Just the air around him seemed warmer and charged with energy. A tingle rained down her spine.

  He turned his head to look at her. God, he was gorgeous. Strong features shadowed with a delicious-looking dark scruff, black eyebrows arching over thick-lashed eyes, and a sensual mouth that was made for kissing and probably a lot of other dirty things Polly shouldn’t know about.

  And didn’t.

  Mr. Hottie surely did, though. He exuded self-confidence, control, and oodles of sexual experience. He could really teach her a thing or two. Or several dozen.

  Oh, yes. He was the man she needed and wanted—even though just getting close to him was nerve-racking.

  He was still looking at her. Again, her heartbeat jolted into gear, that throb of heat starting right between her legs. She struggled to pull in a breath, frantically trying to think of something to say.

  “Hi,” she managed.

  Amusement flashed in his dark eyes.

  “Hi,” he replied.

  “How…um, how are you?” Polly stammered.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” he said. “How are you?”

  “Peachy.”

  Oh, God. Peachy?

  Polly looked desperately at Mia, who was watching from the bar. Mia gave her a nod of encouragement and a discreet thumbs-up. Obviously she had no idea what a ninny Polly was turning out to be.

  “Peachy,” Mr. Hottie drawled, his beautiful mouth now joining in the amusement with a slight smile. “Good to know.”

  His voice was like melted dark chocolate. Maybe if Polly just kept her mouth shut, he would forget she was there and she could just stare at him in awe. She’d thought men like him were a myth—the sexy, utterly masculine, controlling kind who made a girl want to drop her panties on the spot.

  Mr. Hottie was no myth, though. He was all too real. She could even smell him—a tantalizing combination of soap, scotch, and some purely male scent that must have been testosterone or pheromones or something.

  Whatever it was, it was making Polly all hot and damp between her legs. And strongly wishing she could drop her panties.

  He nodded toward the shotglass still in her hand. “You like it sweet and strong.”

  “What?” She looked down at the frothy, creamy shot, the glass rim laced with rainbow sprinkles.

  “That’s a lot of sugar,” he said.

  “It’s a birthday cake shot.”

  “A what?”

  “Cream, cake-flavored vodka, and chocolate.” Polly held up the glass. “Birthday cake shot.”

  “It’s your birthday?”

&nbsp
; She nodded. “I’m twenty-five.”

  “Twenty-five, huh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Still a baby.”

  A baby? She frowned, rankled at the idea that this hot, sexy man didn’t see her as a woman.

  “Your go, man.” The other guy moved back from the pool table.

  Mr. Hottie chalked his cue and stepped forward to take his shot. Polly backed away to give him room. He pocketed the yellow ball. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the redhead and her boobs slither out of the corner booth and start toward him, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

  Before Polly could even think of what to do next, the redhead had sidled up to Mr. Hottie and put her hand on his arm. She leaned in to speak close to his ear. Though Polly couldn’t hear what she said, she was pretty sure it wasn’t “Hi, how are you?”

  Disappointment stabbed her. She had no idea how to compete with a woman like that, who wore her blatant sexuality like armor.

  She turned and shuffled back to Mia, feeling like a whipped dog.

  “What?” Mia darted a glance at Mr. Hottie. “What happened?”

  “Slutty redhead happened,” Polly said morosely. She tilted her head back to down the birthday cake shot, appreciating the sweet burn of alcohol and hoping it would obliterate her disappointment. “Can we go now?”

  “Oh, Pols.” Mia sighed. “Don’t give up so easily. Look, check out that guy over there.”

  She nodded toward a younger, blond guy at the end of the bar. Polly supposed he was cute, but she couldn’t drum up any interest in trying again.

  “I promise, we’ll find a guy who can rock your world,” Mia said. “And your headboard.”

  The guy beside her, who was in possession of an impressive but fuzzy unibrow that crawled like a caterpillar over his eyes, leaned over and waggled his singular eyebrow at Polly.

  “I can help you with that, little lady,” he remarked.

  The fact that Polly was momentarily tempted was a measure of how much she’d had to drink, how desperate she was getting, and how bummed out she was over her failure with Mr. Hottie.

  “Dream on, dude,” Mia told Unibrow Guy, rolling her eyes.

  “I’m going to pee, then we can go home,” Polly muttered.

  She set her empty shotglass on the bar and maneuvered through the crowd leading to the restrooms. After using the toilet, she washed her hands and checked her reflection in the mirror. Aside from being flushed and tipsy, she looked the same as always—curly brown hair falling past her shoulders, ordinary features, nice but nothing fabulous.

  At least this time she was free of Cheetos dust and grape-soda stains. But even with Mia’s makeup artistry and clothing choices, she still looked like Polly Lockhart.

  Not that that was a bad thing. She liked being Polly Lockhart. She just wished she was a more courageous, self-confident version of herself. A girl who was better at navigating the world alone. A girl who didn’t find it necessary to hide with a basement-dwelling lump because she was too scared to put herself out there.

  Polly started back to the bar, reminding herself that she was no longer in a relationship with Brian and, therefore, she was no longer hiding.

  A broad, male body was blocking the narrow corridor leading back to the bar. One look—actually, one leap of her silly heart—and she knew it was Mr. Hottie. His back was to her, and he had a cell phone pressed to his ear.

  “…yeah, he should have told me but he didn’t,” he was saying, his voice tense.

  Polly stopped. Since she had no idea how long he planned to chat, she reached up and tapped on his shoulder. It was like poking her finger against stone.

  He turned with a frown, the phone still at his ear. He looked at her, the crease between his eyebrows easing.

  “Excuse me,” she mouthed, gesturing toward the bar.

  “I’ll call you back,” he said into the phone. He ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket, his gaze rather unnervingly on her.

  “Hello, Peach,” he said. “I wondered where you’d run off to.”

  Peach? Well, that made her feel all warm and tingly in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol she’d consumed.

  Still, Polly scowled at him. A cute endearment wasn’t going to make her fall at his feet. Another shot would probably do it, but Mr. Hottie’s charm wouldn’t.

  “Peach, huh?” she said. “What about baby?”

  A smile tugged at his mouth.

  “Happy birthday, baby,” he murmured, his deep voice like a rush of heat over her skin.

  Polly tried, and failed, to steel herself against his charm.

  “What happened to the redhead?” she asked.

  “What redhead?”

  “The one who had her boobs on you fifteen minutes ago.”

  “I don’t remember any redhead,” he said. “I only remember you.”

  Hottie charm definitely overpowering steel…

  He reached out to flick his finger against Polly’s lower lip.

  A bolt of electricity shot through her. She looked at him in surprise as he held up his finger to show her the pink sprinkle he’d captured from her lip.

  “Sprinkle,” he said.

  Polly flushed. How had she missed that in the mirror? She dashed a hand across her mouth and stepped backward, catching the heel of her shoe on an uneven floorboard. She gasped, feeling herself tilt horrifyingly off-balance. The floor swayed beneath her, and she caught a glimpse of Mr. Hottie’s very expensive-looking leather shoes.

  “Whoa, Peach.” He grabbed her waist and hauled her upright. “Careful.”

  Polly leaned back against the wall, heat blooming inside her at the sensation of being so close to him, his hands warm and strong on her waist. She could smell him again too, that potent combination of sex and masculinity that sparked a heavy pulsing in her lower body.

  “You smell amazing,” he murmured, his voice deep and smoky. “Like a ripe peach.”

  She was ripe, all right. So ripe she was about to fall off the vine. And she wished to heaven she was a peach. Then maybe Mr. Hottie would lick her, bite her, eat her…

  Oh, lord.

  She tilted her head to look up at him. His eyes glittered in the dim light. Though Polly’s brain was foggy, one sharp, clear thought shone through.

  She wanted this man to kiss her. She wanted to feel the pressure of his lips, his body pressed against hers. She wanted to know what it felt like to be kissed by a man who radiated sexual heat and energy, who smelled like all sorts of manly things like spice and musk, a man who would know exactly how to treat a woman…

  His gaze skimmed over her face and lingered on her lips. Her pulse sped up.

  Do it, do it! Kiss me.

  His hands loosened from her waist. He started to back away.

  Without thinking, Polly reached up, grabbed his collar, and yanked his head down to hers. Surprise flashed in his expression the instant before she kissed him.

  Or, attempted to kiss him. Because he’d started to move away at the exact same instant, she ended up smashing her lips against his chin. She sucked in a breath and pulled back, staring at his mouth. She took aim and went in for the kill.

  Yes!

  Her lips crashed against his, hot and damp. Omigod. She was totally kissing Mr. Hottie.

  Moreover, she was doing it with her mouth open, and holy God, his tongue swept across hers, and he tasted like salt and scotch, and shivers of pure lust rained through her body, and she wanted to keep kissing him forever and ever…

  Resistance suddenly coiled through him. His hands closed around her arms, and he pulled away.

  A murmur of protest escaped her. She tightened her grip on him, her back hitting the wall again as she forced him closer. He lifted his head. His mouth broke away from hers, his breath still hot on her lips.

  “Honey, I’m not going to…” he started.

  “Oh, kiss me some more,” Polly breathed, standing on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his. “Please…”

  Boldly, she flicked her to
ngue out to caress his lower lip. He groaned, bracing his hands on the wall behind her as he lowered his head again. Heat exploded through her. His kiss became deeper, more possessive, his arms caging her in and trapping her between the wall and his body.

  She gasped in shock at the sensation of his muscled body pressed fully against hers, her breasts crushed to his hard chest, his powerful thigh edging between hers…

  Oh God. Was that…?

  She whimpered, letting her head fall back as he plundered her mouth with his.

  “Christ in heaven, you taste amazing,” he whispered, trailing his lips over her cheek and down to her neck. “So fucking sweet…”

  Polly’s whole body was awash in feelings she’d never felt before, a richness like rum-laced buttercream flowing through her veins. She couldn’t believe she was doing this—her, Polly Lockhart, kissing an incredibly sexy man in the back corridor of a dive bar. And loving every minute of it.

  Not only did she respond to his kiss with hot fervor of her own, she moaned and wiggled her body against his, even parting her legs to let him get his thigh between them. Her nipples stiffened against her bra, and she rubbed them shamelessly against his chest, sending tingles of heat right to her core.

  Mr. Hottie put his hands on the sides of her neck, lifting his head from hers again. Though his eyes were dark with lust, that palpable restraint wound through him.

  “It’s okay, Mr. Hottie,” Polly bleated, unable to bear the thought of him stopping now, despite the fact that her head was starting to reel.

  He looked faintly amused. “What did you just call me?”

  “Mr. Hottie. You know, because you’re so damned smoking hot. And, of course, a mister.” She reached out and rubbed her hands on his chest, marveling at how freaking hard he was all over. “Wow. How often do you work out?”

  “Come on.” He grasped her wrist with one hand. “I’m taking you home.”

  “Oh, yay!” She managed to clap her hands despite his powerful grip. “To your house, right? I’ll bet you have a huge fluffy bed. Does it have four posts? Feather pillows? I’ve always dreamed of getting laid on a four-poster bed with feather pillows.”