Susan Phillips - Ain’t She Sweet?

“Uhm…”

Sugar Beth waited for Winnie to grab her purse and take off after Ryan. Instead, she picked up the pot of white tulips and floated toward the stairs, a dreamy smile on her face.

Sugar Beth shook her head as she disappeared. “That woman is playing some serious hard-to-get.”

“Come into the kitchen,” Colin said. “I’ll make you a cup of hot chocolate.”

“There’s not enough chocolate in the world to satisfy me tonight.” She followed him anyway.

“Do you need a drink that badly?”

She thought about it as he opened the refrigerator. “No. I’m just tired. And frustrated.”

“Nobility’s a bitch.” He gave the milk a suspicious sniff before he poured it into a saucepan, then extracted an ancient tin of cocoa from the cupboard. “Were you truly an alcoholic or is this another of your exaggerations?”

“Let’s just say I looked forward to getting drunk a little too much. The day I ordered my first club soda was the day I started liking myself.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Right before I met Emmett. Until then, drinking was the way I coped with crisis.”

“Now you do it with sugar.”

“And grease. Don’t forget the grease.”

He adjusted the burner, then turned to inspect her, and the lazy sweep of his jade eyes made her skin prickle. “Are you wearing anything underneath that jersey?”

“Sure.”

He lifted an inquiring brow.

She told herself not to be a smart-ass, but she was born to be bad. “Tallulah’s White Gardenia.”

She should have known better than to toy with a master. Those lips curved in a thin smile, and his visual inspection continued, lazier than ever. It sent little shock waves skidding through her. While he was enjoying himself, she deliberately turned away to locate the mugs and sugar bowl. She hadn’t been entirely truthful about the White Gardenia. She also wore a pair of blue bikini panties with questionable elastic.

Colin divided his attention between the saucepan of milk and her legs. The tension grew with the silence in the kitchen, but she seemed to be the only one bothered by it. Why didn’t he just go away? Even knowing Winnie was upstairs didn’t make her feel safe, and by the time he’d poured the hot chocolate, she was ready to jump out of her skin. She nearly did when he finally spoke.

“Everyone in town is talking about how you saved Winnie’s life last night.”

“More like I tripped her when she got to the door, then dragged her outside so everybody’d think I’d saved her.”

He smiled and lifted his mug in a toast. “Well done.”

“You’ve been hanging out with me way too long.”

“Interesting that Winnie never mentioned it to me.”

“Too devious. She’s storing up more ammunition against me.”

“That would explain it, then.” He pulled his cell from his pocket. She frowned as he punched in a number. He waited, listened. She heard the muted beep of an answering machine. “Ryan, Colin here. Winnie’s staying with Sugar Beth tonight, but she left her car at my place. I’ll talk with you tomorrow.”

As he hung up, Sugar Beth frowned at him. “You’re going to tell him I set him up, aren’t you?”

“Tempting, but I believe I’ll let Winnie do that.” Once again, he took in the sweep of her legs.

“Stop it.”

“You’re determined, then, to dump me?”

“Absolutely.” She heard a queer little catch in her voice.

He took a step closer. “I hope it goes without saying that I wouldn’t think of trying to press you to change your mind.” Another step. “British rules of fair play and all that.”

“Colin…”

“Of course, I am an American now.” He slid his hands along her arms, leaving a trail of sensation in their wake. “And we Yanks are an aggressive lot.”

“Oh, Colin…” She didn’t get a chance to say more because he was kissing her again, and she was letting him, kissing him back, taking his tongue and giving him hers in return. He used his knee to separate her thighs, cupped her under her shirt.

“God, Sugar Beth,” he murmured against her lips. “You feel so good.”

The warmth of his hand penetrated her skin through her panties. She was overcome with a need for him that made her weak. That was weak. She simply couldn’t do this any longer. “No.” She pushed him away. “I won’t let you turn me into some kind of sexual challenge. I meant it, Colin. I’m not an obstacle for you to conquer just to prove you can.”

His eyes grew hooded and the lips that, only seconds earlier, had been soft, tightened. “Is that what you think of me, then?”

She rubbed her arm, tunneled a hand through her hair, slowly shook her head. “No. You’re aggressive, but you’re not a predator. You don’t mean to hurt me.”

“Exactly. Why should I go to the bother when you’re doing such a good job of it by yourself? I can only hope you’ll be in a better mood when we get together in the morning.”

“The morning?”

“I promised to help you search the depot and the carriage house. Surely you haven’t forgotten. Shall we say ten o’clock?”

Spending the morning with him was the king of bad ideas, but she needed his help. And no matter what he had in mind, she wouldn’t let him bulldoze her with any more kisses. “All right,” she said. “Ten o’clock.”

Gigi didn’t usually like church too much. Sometimes the sermons were okay-Pastor Mayfair was pretty cool, and Sunday school had been sort of interesting today-but she wasn’t too crazy about the Bible, in general, which had way too many depressing parts and, in her opinion, should be R-rated for violence. This morning, though, she didn’t even mind John the Baptist getting his head chopped off because her mom had slipped into the pew next to her right before the worship service began.

Gigi wished she could think of a way to change places, so her mom was in the middle, next to her dad. Still, they’d looked at each other across her and smiled, although Gigi couldn’t tell if they were real smiles or just-being-polite-for-the-sake-of-the-child smiles. As the sermon went on, she fought the urge to lean against her mother’s shoulder and close her eyes like she used to when she was a little girl.

She’d even put on a totally lame Bloomingdale’s skirt and blouse because she wanted to make her mother happy. She still hadn’t figured out what she was going to wear to school next week, but she’d started thinking about giving up her Goth stuff. Yesterday Sugar Beth had told her it was an excellent eighth-grade look, but the way she’d said it had sort of made Gigi feel like she was only copying everybody else instead of being an individual.

Last night she’d gone to the Spanish club dinner with Gwen and Jenny, but her parents were so wrapped up in their own problems they still hadn’t asked her about it. Mostly, she was glad they’d stopped poking their noses in her business, but it’d be nice if they showed a little interest. Especially her mom. Gigi was starting to realize that maybe her mom wasn’t as perfect as she’d thought. And what she’d gone through in high school was a lot worse than anything Gigi was going through.

After the service, her parents hung around for a while to talk to their friends, but they didn’t talk much to each other. When they finally began walking to the parking lot, Gigi hung back on purpose.

“Thank you for the tulips,” she heard her mother say.

Her dad had given her mother flowers?

“When I saw them, they made me think of you,” he said.

Way to go, Dad.

“Really? Why?”

Uh-oh. He was going to say something dumb.

“Because they’re beautiful. Like you.”

She was going to hurl. Right here in the parking lot.

But her mother wasn’t as critical, and she looked like she was blushing. Her dad took advantage and moved right in. “Would you like to have dinner tonight at the Inn? Maybe around seven? If you don’t have other plans.”

Gigi forgot to breathe.

Her mother took a moment to reply. “The Inn would be nice.”

Yes!

“It’ll be just the two of us, is that all right? Gigi has a project due.”

In two weeks.

“Oh. Yes. All right.”

“If you want her to come along… maybe she could work on her project this afternoon.”

Gigi prayed her mother wouldn’t be a dope.

“No, that’s all right.”

Way to go, Mom!

Her dad held the door of the Benz open, and her mother slid in. Gigi wished she’d come home with them, but her dad didn’t try to talk her into it. He just smiled, shut the door after her, and waved.

As they rode home in his car, Gigi thought about what had happened, and the more she thought, the more worried she got. Finally, she turned down the radio. “Ask her about the store?”

“What?”

“When you go out tonight, ask her about the store. She likes to talk about it. Not about how much money it’s not making, either. Ask her how she decides what she’s going to put in the window, and how she knows what to buy. Stuff like that. Stuff that shows you’re interested.”

“All right,” he said slowly.

“And whatever she’s wearing, don’t ask her if it’s new. You always do that. She’ll put on something she’s worn a million times, and you’ll say, is that new?”

“I don’t do that.”

“You do it all the time.”

“Anything else?” he said, starting to sound sarcastic.

“She likes to talk about books. And tell her she looks beautiful again. She really liked that. And maybe you should say she has nice teeth.”

“You say that about a horse, not a woman.”

“I’d like it if a boy told me I had nice teeth.”

“All right. I’ll compliment her teeth. Are you done yet?”

“Don’t ask her about Sugar Beth, Dad. They still have issues.”

“Believe me, I won’t.”

She knew he was curious about what had happened yesterday morning, and she thought about telling him she knew about all the stuff in high school, but it was too embarrassing.

They got ready to turn into Mockingbird Lane just as Colin’s Lexus passed them in the opposite direction. Gigi waved. “Hey, Sugar Beth’s going somewhere with Colin.”

“And may God have mercy on his soul.”

“Richard, I could hit you!” she declared.

The smile grew, allowing her a glimpse of excellent white teeth. “I don’t think you could, my dear.”

GEORGETTE HEYER, The Corinthian

Sugar Beth looked like a diet Pepsi ad, one of those TV commercials shot at a gas station in the desert. As she sauntered toward his car in her pipe-stem jeans, bare midriff top, and straw cowboy hat, she led with her hips, a gorgeous genetic freak of a woman, too tall, too thin, too leggy. Her straight blond hair floated in slow motion at her shoulders. Her arms swung in graceful arcs at her sides, and a denim jacket dangled from her fingertips. Long before they’d reached the depot, he’d started to sweat.

“You’re quiet this morning.”

“Not a bloody thing to say.” He slammed the car into park, climbed out, and stalked across the crumbling asphalt toward the door, where-since she had the key-he had to stand cooling his heels while he watched the whole thing all over again. The careless, undulating walk, leggy grace, lithesome tilt. Her stretchy top rode up as she hit the steps; the waistband of her jeans dipped and played peekaboo with her navel. By the time she opened the lock, he’d been swept up in a conflagration of lust. “Let me do that!”

“Jeez, what’s eating you?”

Since every reply that sprang to mind was salacious, he ignored the question. Instead, he slapped a pair of work gloves into her hands and pointed toward the rear of the depot. “We’re going to do this systematically, starting in the back.”

“Whatever you say.”

When she’d arrived in Parrish, she’d looked worn out, but she didn’t look that way now. Her complexion had regained its glow, her hair its bounce. He wanted to believe his lovemaking had revitalized her, that he’d filled her with a magic elixir that had restored her bloom. He could almost hear her scoff at the notion. The lies you men tell yourselves.

“Are you gonna stand there all day, Your Grace, or could you help me move this crate?”

“Damn it, Sugar Beth, I’m concentrating!”

“On what? You’ve been staring at that wall for five minutes. Either tear the son of a bitch down or come over here and help me.”

“You curse far too much.”

“ ‘Son of a bitch’ isn’t a curse. It’s a figure of speech.”

Colin had been sullen all morning, but since he understood buildings and construction, Sugar Beth couldn’t let him off the hook. She needed him to find what had eluded her, and if they came up empty today, then she needed his sarcasm to console her.