Sweet Dreams: A Sugar Rush Sweeter Treat Read online

“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 romantic research, you’re good to go,” Mia replied. “I guarantee that having some no-strings fun will give you the boost you need.”

  Though the thought of “fun” with a man 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.”

  “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 flirting. Look at that guy. Serious hottie alert.”

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

  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 rear. 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—

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

  Whoa. What the heck 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 territorial.”

  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 experience. He could really teach her a thing or two. Or several dozen.

  He was still looking at her. Again, her heartbeat jolted into gear. 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 kind who knew what they wanted and how to get it.

  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 warm and quivery.

  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?”

  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 he 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 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?”

  “Sexy 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.

  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 the bathroom 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 sho
ulders, 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, she 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.” 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.

  “You smell amazing,” he murmured, his voice deep and smoky. “Like you’re ripe for the picking.”

  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 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, and then she was 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 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. Now that she was going full force, she wasn’t about to stop. She tightened her grip on him, her back hitting the wall again as she urged him closer.

  “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 tongue 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 torso pressed fully against hers, her breasts crushed to his hard chest, his powerful thigh edging between hers…

  “Christ in heaven, you taste amazing,” he whispered, trailing his lips over her cheek and down to her neck. “So damned 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 driving one hand into his hair to increase the pressure of their kiss.

  He put his hands on the sides of her neck, lifting his head from hers again. Though his eyes were dark, 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 smoking hot. And, of course, a mister.” She reached out and rubbed her hands on his chest, marveling at how 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 wanted to have sex on a four-poster bed with feather pillows.”

  He shook his head and pushed away from the wall. “We’re not doing this.”

  “Don’t you want me?”

  He laughed. “Hell yeah, I want you. But not like this.”

  “Well, if it’s not you, I’m going after that blond guy,” Polly warned him. “Or that biker dude over by the jukebox. I just got out of a relationship with a boy who—trust me on this—was more interested in bidding for collectable comic books than being with me. And you’d better believe I’m going to make up for lost time. If it’s not with you, I’ll find someone else.”

  His brows drew together. “So now you’re on a mission to get laid?”

  She nodded as the lights dipped and swayed in front of her eyes.

  “I’m twenty-five,” she said, a stab of self-pity hitting her. “I really want to have some fun with a man who knows what to do, so I’d totally be into it. Especially if you have feather pillows.”

/>   He breathed out a curse, his eyes darkening. “Be careful what you’re asking, Peach.”

  “I know what I’m asking. And if you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will.”

  “Christ.” He clamped his hand around her arm. “I’m taking you to your home.”

  Polly didn’t want to go to her home. She wanted to go to his home. Just the thought of him spreading her out on his fluffy bed intensified her arousal.

  Oh my, she was so incredibly warm. Hot and dizzy. The alcohol and sugar churned thickly in her blood.

  “Kiss me again,” she pleaded.

  “You need water and sleep, not kissing,” he said, still holding on to her as she stumbled forward.

  “What I need is to—”

  She jerked to a halt and swayed. He stopped to look at her.

  Horrified, Polly stared at him. His handsome features went in and out of focus. She clamped a hand over her mouth. Then she bent double and threw up all over Mr. Hottie’s very expensive shoes.

  Chapter 3

  It goes on.

  Life, that is. Polly sighed. Even after the most embarrassing experience in the history of the world, life goes on.

  And hers did. She didn’t remember anything after horking up a bunch of birthday cake shots—well, she didn’t want to remember anything after that—but Mia apparently dove in to rescue her (“Too late,” Polly told her bitterly over the phone the next morning, to which Mia replied, “Well, you weren’t scratching your ear.”)

  Mia then reassured her that Mr. Hottie had been entirely solicitous and helpful in getting her to the car and that he’d appeared far more concerned about her than his ruined shoes.

  Polly suspected her friend told her that just to make her feel better, but it didn’t work. In no language anywhere in the world could find your happiness be defined as “get drunk on birthday cake shots and make an ass out of yourself with the hottest man you’ve ever seen.”

  With a groan, she tossed her cell phone on the nightstand and hauled herself out of bed, wincing as sunlight speared through her eyes. Her studio apartment over the bakery—which was old and decrepit, but came with low rent and a fantastic commute to work—was usually a place where she felt happy and peaceful. She’d painted the walls a warm blue, decorated them with posters and paintings of Paris, and furnished it with comfortable, shabby furniture and secondhand bookshelves.