Sweet Dreams (A Sugar Rush Novel) (9 page)

His commitment to Sugar Rush was just one reason his relationships with women had expiration dates. And when they overstayed their welcome . . . well, he wasn’t such a dick that he’d throw them out, but they went away with a nice severance package.

Of course, none of those possessive, materialistic women were like the artless girl who’d drunkenly smashed her mouth against his and begged him to fuck her.

The image flashed like fire in his brain. Polly’s voice echoed in his ears again. “
I really want to have sex with a man who knows what to do . . . if you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will . . .”

Luke suppressed a rush of jealous anger, reminding himself of his polite brotherly plan with her. He crossed the room and opened the door pointedly, stepping aside to indicate that he was more than ready for his aunt to leave.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said. “I will have a date for the sole purpose of keeping your seating chart intact. Now go. I’ll call you later.”

“Hah.” Julia gave him a haughty sneer and swept across the room. “You say that to all the girls.”

“But for you, I mean it.”

She flipped him off and walked out, slamming the door behind her.

Luke returned to his desk. He let Aunt Julia get away with a great deal because she’d stepped in after his mother died and helped their family. And despite her steamroller approach to his dating life, Julia had never pressured him to get married. She wanted him to date the right women and attend charity events to continue restoring the family reputation in the public eye, but she wasn’t marriage-minded.

That was more than Luke could say for his father, who believed fifty-year marriages were still an attainable goal. But his father and mother were the only people he knew who would have reached that goal . . . if Rebecca Stone hadn’t died.

He pushed the memory aside as his phone buzzed. He picked it up.

“Turn on the news,” Evan said. “We’ve got trouble.”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT,” MIA
squealed, zipping Polly into a black sheath dress. “I mean, you horked all over the guy!”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Polly said dryly.

“As if you could forget.”

“True.”

“And still he asked you out and sent you both flowers and candy.”

Also true
. Polly glanced at the bouquet of two dozen perfect red roses interspersed with Swirl Pops, Rock ‘n’ Roll candy sticks, Rainbow lollipops, and several boxes of Nibblers and Honeybee Toffee. It would have been a delightful gift no matter what, but the fact that it included her favorite candies made her feel especially warm inside.

Even so, her head was still spinning from the kaleidoscope she’d just fallen through—the one that had taken her from a basement with a green shag carpet to the back corridor of the Troll’s House to a dinner invitation from the hot, insanely wealthy CEO of a major candy company.

“Hair, perfect.” Mia walked around Polly, looking her over assessingly. “Makeup, perfect. Dress, awesome. Shows off your boobs to excellent advantage. Wear the two-inch pumps, though. The three-inch ones are sexier, but if you trip and twist your ankle, the whole effect will be ruined. And I’m sorry to say, my dear, but you can’t afford to ruin another effect.”

“Tell me about it.” Polly smoothed the dress over her hips. “You’re sure this dress isn’t too short?”

“Pols, it comes halfway down your thighs.” Mia fluffed Polly’s hair around her shoulders. “God, you are such an old lady sometimes.”

And she was so tired of being an old lady at twenty-three years of age.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Still the same Polly Lockhart, just all dressed up and beautified. Except that
this
Polly Lockhart was about to have dinner with the astonishingly handsome, if arrogant, CEO and heir of The Sugar Rush Candy Company.

Panic fluttered in her belly, and she stumbled back.

Mia grabbed her arm. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s . . . um, he’s really rich.”

“I know, right?” Mia patted her shoulder and went over to examine the bouquet of flowers and candy. “You can order lobster and champagne without blinking an eye. Heck, he probably had the lobster flown in from the Arctic Circle. Can I have this?”

She held up a box of multi-flavored Licorice Twirls.

“Go ahead.” Polly studied her reflection again and yanked at her skirt. “I don’t know anything about rich people.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Her friend groaned. “What happened to
we are the world
? It’s dinner, Polly. Rich people eat like the rest of us, just better food. Enjoy it. Or if you don’t want to, I’ll go in your place.”

“No!”

“See? You really do want to go.” Mia smiled with satisfaction as she opened the candy box. “So have
fun
. Kiss him again, but this time please be sober. Maybe do more. In fact,
definitely
do more.”

“He’s totally out of my league.”

“Oh no, girlfriend.” Mia shook her head so hard her long blond hair whipped around her shoulders. “We don’t do that shit. No man, not even Mr. Richie Rich Hottie Pants, is
out
of your league. If anything, he should be lining up to play on your field. Though I would suggest you do a bit of mowing before he goes up to bat.”

Polly laughed. “What do you know about my landscape?”

“Pols, I’ve known you since we were ten.” Mia wagged a purple Licorice Twirl at her. “You didn’t let me pluck your eyebrows until we were in college, and when I told you about the Brazilian wax, you gave me a lecture about the anthropological history of hair removal.”

“Well, I was taking a women’s studies class at the time.”

“Really.” Mia narrowed her eyes. “Are things at least neat down there?”

“Things are always
neat
down there, thank you. Why are you so interested anyway?”

“I’m just saying you need to be prepared,” Mia said. “And you need to stop overthinking this. Have a good time, okay? Live a little. These are delicious, by the way.”

She took another bite of the licorice and gave Polly a quick hug before heading out the door. Polly put on the two-inch pumps and looked at herself again in the mirror. She nodded firmly.

Despite their very different lives and his rather domineering attitude, she liked Luke Stone. He’d been nice to her when she was making a fool out of herself, and he’d been adamant about not taking advantage of her. Not to mention he hadn’t been fazed by the fact that she’d upchucked on his shoes.

And he’d actually worked in the Sugar Rush factory and knew how to do all the hands-on stuff, instead of just being ushered into an executive position. He was also clearly protective of his business and family. Fiercely so.

Really, what were the chances of Luke Stone and Polly Lockhart meeting at the Troll’s House? And then again at Sugar Rush?

Though Polly wasn’t convinced everything happened for a reason—
explain cancer, universe
—she had to admit that Luke Stone had come into her life right when she needed someone like him the most.

She wanted to do more than
live a little.
She wanted to live
a lot
. And if the universe was telling her to get started with Mr. Luke Stone, then Polly would damn well listen.

As she drove the bakery delivery van toward Indigo Bay, Polly thought it was a good thing Luke had insisted on driving to the restaurant. She’d had to sell her car after her mother died, and the van was her only means of transport—at least, for as long as it lasted.

The ancient VW sported a noisy, burping engine and a bright exterior decorated with the flower-patterned Wild Child Bakery logo and colorful peace signs and rainbows. Though Polly loved the lurching van, she couldn’t imagine pulling it up to the valet parking of some expensive restaurant. The valet would probably tell her that deliveries were around the back.

According to her phone’s GPS, Luke lived outside of town on what looked like an isolated stretch of land near the shoreline. After three wrong turns and a foray through another beach town, Polly finally found the winding road leading toward his house. The road came to an end at a large gate flanked by two brick posts. An intercom speaker sat in front of the left post.

She eased the van up beside the intercom. As she did so, a security camera on top of one of the towers swiveled in her direction. Her heartbeat increased. What was she getting herself into?

She pressed the button. A few seconds later, the gates slid open on huge rollers. She started forward again, a thousand second thoughts running through her mind. However “we are the world” she felt inside, it was very weird to rattle her old VW van up the long driveway to where spotlights illuminated the edifice of Luke Stone’s . . .

. . . ugly, ice-cube mansion.

Polly parked the van by the front porch and peered through the windshield at the house. Well, good thing it was isolated here on the cliff because she was pretty sure there were zoning laws against this sort of eyesore. It was a massive, blocky structure, all white concrete, steel, and glass walls everywhere.

She’d been expecting something more traditional, like an English-style brick building or a beachfront villa. Not a modern architect’s wet dream.

She grabbed her purse from the passenger seat and headed up the front steps. The door opened before she could ring the bell.

Luke stood in front of her, holding his cell phone to his ear. He looked deliciously rumpled in torn jeans and an old T-shirt, his jaw unshaven, and his hair messy as if he’d been running his hand through it. But he didn’t look like a man about to go on a date.

“Hold on a second,” he said into the phone, stepping aside to usher her in. “Polly, I’m sorry, but there’s a work thing I’m dealing with. Come in and make yourself at home.”

Polly stepped a bit cautiously inside, peering at all the glass and metal. The walls of windows must provide a great view during the day, but right now the curtains were drawn. The furniture was all leather and glass, and aside from some weird abstract paintings, everything was in shades of black, white, and gray.

Futuristic, egg-shaped lights hung from the ceilings, a glass staircase wound to the upper floors, and a stainless steel kitchen with white marble countertops and walls of black cabinets faced the sitting area. It was like walking into a cold, sterile space station.

Except . . .

Glass jars of Sugar Rush candy sat on the coffee-table and kitchen counters, the glossy Ribbon Twists, sugar-sprinkled Fruities, rainbow lollipops, and Choco-Drops creating little pockets of color against the black-and-white background.

Polly turned to Luke just as he was ending the call.

“So I guess I overdressed,” she said wryly.

“No.” He sighed and shook his head. “You look great. There’s just some stuff going on that I have to deal with . . . shit.”

His phone buzzed again. He looked at the caller ID and back to Polly.

“Go ahead.” She waved her hand to indicate she didn’t mind him taking the call.

“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Or the candy, of course.”

He walked away, the phone back at his ear. Polly caught the words “flooding” and “Venezuela.”

She took a few Choco-Drops and wandered around a bit as she ate the crispy, chocolaty balls. Aside from the candy, there was no evidence of personal items. Was there a secret room where Luke kept all his books and family pictures, maybe an old quilt and a big, cushy chair he sat in to watch TV?