Sweet, Sweet Disaster: An AMBW Romance (Sweet Treats Book 2)

by Nia Arthurs

  The dancers went wild.

  Carrie listened to the lyrics with a growing scowl.

  “Wine yuh waist.

  Grind pan me.

  Nobody need fu know you wid me.

  Not mi wife or pickni…”

  Nobody had to know, huh? Maybe the artist should get his behind cheated on and see if he felt like singing about it then.

  The resounding roar of approval from all over the club told her that no one else was feeling as annoyed as she. Did nobody have a problem with the message behind the song? Was she just being sensitive?

  Carrie drained her bottle and gestured to the bartender.

  He slid another one over. Her second. How far would she go tonight? Work started at three in the afternoon. She had all day tomorrow to nurse a hangover.

  Carrie popped the cap and tipped it to her lips just as someone crashed into the neighboring seat. A knee jostled hers. The beer sloshed over the rim of the bottle and splashed on her chest, right above her breasts.

  A hand reached out and wiped the mess away. Brown knuckles caressed her bust like it had any business being there. She swatted the offending hand away

  “What the hell are you doing?” Carrie glanced up, expecting to find a sleaze staring back at her, and big surprise, her eyes connected with a dirt bag in a suit.

  She could smell the weed on him. His black hair was shaved low with enough markings to rival the arrow on Aang from The Last Airbender. His skin was a rich brown and a well-groomed moustache surrounded his thick lips.

  “I didn’t mean to offend,” he said, his words slurred and slow. “I just couldn’t resist walking over and keeping you company. Someone as beautiful as you shouldn’t be alone in a place like this.”

  “I like being alone so you can move along.”

  “Then at least let me buy you a drink to apologize.” He swayed forward as if he didn’t speak English and hadn’t understood a word of her rejection. “What’s your name, honey?”

  She scoffed. “What’s yours?”

  The name’s Bo.”

  “Short for Bozo?”

  His eyebrows crinkled. “What?”

  “Forget it.” Carrie rolled her eyes. “You’re too stupid to understand.”

  Bozo winked at her. “That mouth of yours will get you in trouble someday, honey. But I don’t mind. You can call me anything you want tonight.”

  She looked at him with thinly veiled disgust. Beyond the fact he’d felt up her breasts, his clingy presence made her feel suffocated.

  Carrie debated putting him in his place but decided not to make a scene. It wasn’t worth it.

  Disappointment slammed her in the gut.

  Just like that, her drown-all-my-sorrows-in-liquor plan went bust. She’d been so excited to enjoy some solitude. Thanks to Bozo over here, she’d have to call it a night.

  Carrie swung her legs over the bar stool and planted them on the ground. Bozo clamped his fingers around her arm and yanked her back. She yelped as his grip shot waves of pain over her body. Her heels skittered over the floor and she crashed into Bozo’s chest.

  The scent of alcohol and weed on his shirt was almost overpowering. She gagged in her mouth, stiffening with fury as his hot breath hit her ear.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he whispered.

  “Let me go!” Carrie tried to whip around and free herself, but Bozo draped his mammoth arms over her shoulders, chaining her to him.

  Panic spiked her pulse.

  Is this actually happening?

  “I’d let her go if I were you,” someone growled.

  Carrie looked up and found a tall Asian man glaring at them. He had short black hair scooped away from his forehead, tan skin and eyes that were collapsed into two burning slits. He looked like Jin Goo from Descendants of the Sun.

  A very pissed off Jin Goo.

  She wanted to slink away in fear. And she was pretty sure the guy had stepped in to rescue her.

  “Who are you?” Bozo spit.

  Jin Goo’s lookalike stared pointedly at where Bozo held her. Though she hadn’t thought it possible, his eyes narrowed even more.

  Bozo trembled in fear.

  When his grip on her slackened, she shoved him away and took three giant steps to the right. Her heart thumped like crazy and if she weren’t so taken aback by someone actually coming to her rescue, she would have slapped Bozo for his impudence.

  Bozo rose to his feet, staring Jin Goo down. “I asked you a question.”

  Jin Goo ignored him and looked at her instead. “Babe, you okay?”

  Her eyes bugged. Babe?

  The endearment seemed to throw Bozo off-guard too. He stopped mid-stride and swung his head around to take her in. “Boyfriend?”

  She blinked and slowly nodded.

  Bozo started to laugh, so loud and abrasive, it drew the attention of all nearby.

  Carrie’s lips curled up in a sneer. She stalked over to her knight-in-black-and-white-sneakers and threw her arms around his waist. Jin Goo didn’t miss a beat and drew her closer to his side.

  “Babe,” Carrie crooned, “would you beat him up for me?”

  “For you?” He took her chin and tipped it up. She got a good look at those eyes—now widened to their full range—and lost her breath. He smiled, a roguish sort of grin that told her he was enjoying this little game. “Anything.”

  “You two?” Bozo scoffed. “There’s no way you’re together.”

  Carrie scoffed. First of all, that was racist.

  Second, she was done with Bozo and his dumb conversation. Their onlookers were growing by the minute. This was becoming a spectacle and the longer Bozo got his moment to shine, the more his ego grew.

  Carrie glanced up at her rescuer’s handsome face.

  He blinked lazily at her as if unperturbed by the audience. “Should I really teach him a lesson?”

  “I’ve got a better idea.” Carrie dug her fingers into his collar and tugged. “Let’s make out.”

  Chapter 2

  Benson stared at the little thing in the tiny black dress, almost certain he’d heard wrong.

  Let’s make out.

  Did she seriously just say that?

  He glanced over and noticed her dark fists twined into his shirt. She had one trim eyebrow hiked, awaiting his response. There was no mistaking it. This woman was serious.

  At least she was waiting for his consent.

  He eyed her, gaze drawn to her lips. Full. Light pink on the top. Brown on the bottom. Glossy.

  It was an extremely sexy mouth.

  Who was he kidding? Everything about her was sexy. The minute she’d strutted into the club tonight every guy in the room had taken note. Even now, they were staring enviously, wishing they could exchange places, wishing they were with her.

  Not that he was ‘with’ her. All he’d intended was stop her from getting harassed. Benson didn’t tolerate the mistreatment of women. Not in his bar. And definitely not in front of him.

  But things hadn’t gone exactly to plan. And now he had a dark chocolate minx clinging to his shirtfront and rising on the tips of her heels trying to bridge the gap between them.

  “Psst, what’s the holdup?” And then she froze, her lips an inch away from his, her breath softly skirting over his mouth. Horror tightened her expression. “Wait, do you have a girlfriend? Oh my gosh!” Dark fingers slipped away. “I’m so sor—”

  Benson smothered her mouth with his. The collision set off an explosion in his head. His heart bucked with excitement.

  She tasted of something both sweet and spicy. Ginger—that’s what it was. He clasped the back of her neck and tilted his head to deepen the kiss. She accepted him enthusiastically, pulling him closer and flitting her tongue inside his mouth.

  Sirens shattered in his mind. He wrapped his large arm around her waist and plastered himself against her to prolong a kiss that should have ended three seconds ago.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard gasps and murm
urs. The fact that people were watching them had gotten increasingly less important with every stroke of her lips.

  But the point had been made.

  Let her go, Benson.

  He pried back the fingers that had been digging into her waist. One by one they came away like peeling paint, stubborn and unwilling.

  They separated.

  Her parted lips demanded his attention but he forced his gaze to her eyes. They sparkled, as if his kiss had made her come alive.

  Benson was taken aback by the mischief in the expression. She was a wild one. Fire probably followed her everywhere she went.

  Despite his rising interest, those flames made him wary. He’d been burned one time to many.

  Stuffing his desire down, he pointed to the door. “Let’s go, babe.”

  “Bye, Bozo!” She wiggled her fingers at the drunk and sashayed with him to the exits. Benson released her as soon as the door crashed behind them.

  Moving to Buddy, the enormous bouncer that kept people in line, he whispered, “There’s a man in there that needs to be escorted out.”

  Buddy nodded swiftly and disappeared inside.

  Benson spun and found the woman eyeing him. The music from inside the club pulsed through the air, but it was faint, diluted, a faded back-track to the shimmering tension between them.

  He slipped his hands into his pockets to give them something to do. “Should I call a cab?”

  “No, I’m good.” She held up her keys. “I only got to enjoy one beer before Bozo showed up.”

  His lips quirked without his permission. “Is that his real name?”

  “Should be.” Her eyes flashed.

  “I asked for him to be removed so if you’d like to go back in…”

  “Nah.” She raked slender fingers through her long black hair. “I’m not in the mood for crowds anymore.” Gliding toward him, she stuck out a hand. “Carrie.”

  He shook her hand.

  She smiled, one that made her already gorgeous face ten times more appealing. “I figured since we’re dating now, we should at least know each other’s names.”

  “Oh.” He chuckled. “Sorry about that. I was thinking on the fly.”

  “No, that was genius.”

  He let her hand go, missing the warmth of it as she pulled her fingers back and her nails gently scraped the inside of his palm. “I’m Benson.”

  “Well, Benson,” Carrie leaned forward, twinkling eyes nearly blinding him, “you wanna get out of here?”

  His first instinct was to say yes.

  Remember, she’s fire, Benson. You’ve got scars all over your heart from women like her.

  She saw him hesitating and pulled back. “Unless you don’t want to.”

  “No, it’s not...” Benson’s eyes shot to the club. He had responsibilities.

  “Were you with friends?” Carrie followed the direction of his gaze.

  “Something like that.”

  “It’s fine then.” She turned.

  Benson watched her hand curl over the door handle. Watched her draw it back.

  He really shouldn’t.

  But he really wanted to.

  Screw it. Felix could handle on his own for one night. He quickly texted his assistant and ran to the exits to grab the door.

  Carrie startled and glanced over her shoulder. Her expression relaxed when she saw him and another heart-stopping grin crossed her face. “Change your mind?”

  He jutted his chin forward. “Lead the way.”

  “My car’s over there.” She pointed to a sleek blue ride that was probably nicer than his. “I hope you don’t mind if I drive. I want to have a getaway plan. You know,” she paused and smirked at him over the roof of the car, “in case you turn out to be a psychopath.”

  “I assure you, I’m no psychopath.”

  “Well, that’s what my gut is saying. Or else you wouldn’t be here right now.”

  Benson laughed. He’d bet that some people found her forthrightness rude or abrasive, but he thought it was refreshing.

  “So where are we going?” he asked after he’d climbed in and she started driving.

  “Somewhere quiet.”

  He nodded. This was, obviously, Carrie’s adventure and he was down to join her for one night.

  Benson glanced at her from the corner of his eye and wondered what she was trying to run away from. Most of the stunning women who visited his bar alone were there to complain about or recover from a bad relationship.

  Whether she was in one, had recently gotten out of one or was thinking of leaving, he didn’t know or care. But there was no way a woman as breathtaking as Carrie would be single without some sort of history.

  He wondered what her story was. Did she get cheated on? Scammed? His gaze perused the luxurious interior of her car. She looked like she had money.

  Or maybe this car belonged to her boyfriend? Maybe she didn’t have a ‘boyfriend’. Maybe she was a high profile escort who slept with powerful men for money.

  What is this? A novel?

  His imagination had always gotten him in trouble and here he was, letting it roam free again. He’d enjoy whatever the night brought and scribble his ideas on the computer later.

  “What are you thinking?” Carrie asked.

  Benson looked at her. “That you drive like my Halmoni.” He remembered that he wasn’t in Korea anymore and clarified. “I mean my grandmother.”

  “I know what Halmoni means.”

  “Do you?”

  “Korean drama fan here.” She waved a hand. “Plus both my friends are dating Korean guys. But that’s not the point.” She glared at him. “How dare you compare me to your grandma?”

  Amused, he looked ahead. “You both have lead foots.”

  “You’re just jealous because we have skills.”

  Benson laughed. “Right.”

  She smirked at him and then looked forward again. “We’re almost there.”

  Benson glanced through the window and saw the Caribbean Sea thrashing against jagged rocks. The water sent grey mist thumping against the sand. Carrie parked near the sand.

  He cleared his throat nervously. “Are you sure you’re not the psychopath? This looks like the perfect place to kill someone.”

  “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.” She sent him a devilish look and bent over. Benson averted his eyes from her exposed chest that dangled like ripe fruit in front of him and steadied his gaze on the view.

  The Caribbean Sea stretched out as far as the eye could see. Bright stars pierced through the velvet sky. The moon found its reflection in the stormy glass of the water.

  “Alright.” Carrie popped the door open.

  Benson saw her bare feet and frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “I know what I’m doing.” She winked and reached into the backseat, pulling out a large blanket. “In case we get cold,” she explained. In the blink of an eye, she’d climbed out and slammed the door behind her.

  Benson scrambled to follow her, keeping a close eye on the sand. As she’d promised, Carrie stepped lightly past the rocks embedded in the ground and led him to a point just above the beach.

  The outcropping jutted out like a small cave that feathered close to the rising tide. Carrie spread the blanket and sat down.

  He joined her, enjoying the salty sting of the air and the water that rushed their feet. This wasn’t the way he’d pictured his night going, but he was glad that he’d followed her.

  Carrie dragged her knees to her chest and tried to pull her skirt down to cover her legs. It did nothing to conserve her modesty, but she showed no signs of caring. “My parents lived in Ladyville for a while. I used to visit this beach often to collect seashells.”

  “When did you find this place?” he asked.

  “It was by accident. I got caught in the rain and I needed shelter.” She glanced to the ‘roof’ that curled over them, giving the illusion of privacy. “I stumbled here and it became my favorite spot ever since.�
��

  Benson nodded and dug his fingers into the sand.

  Carrie swerved to face him. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Is rescuing beautiful women from narcissists your part-time job or…?”

  “More like a hobby.” He was rewarded with a chuckle from Carrie. “I dabble in different businesses. The nightclub is one of them.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Wait… you own…?”

  He leaned forward and gently closed her jaw.

  “Wow. I wouldn’t have guessed. You don’t look like a bar owner.”

  “Well, how am I supposed to look?”

  She held a hand to her chin. “Prissy. Immature. Annoying.”

  Sounds like Stacie. He chuckled. “I apologize for the bar owner that scarred you, but I promise we’re not all alike.”

  “Yeah, you are,” she whispered. Her eyes went sober and Benson sensed the shift in the air. The playful, carefree Carrie was gone replaced with another side of her—one that looked broken and vulnerable.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, I—” She sucked in a deep breath. The wind pulled a section of her hair and threw it in front of her face. She flung it back with a trembling hand. “I broke up with my boyfriend today.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “His other girlfriend texted me a picture of them together in bed.” She laughed darkly. “Do you know that loser denied that it even after seeing proof? Gosh, I’m an idiot.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  She looked at him with glistening brown eyes.

  Benson decided to be share his own story. “I was born in Belize, but I went to Korea to study and stayed there until recently.”

  “Why’d you come back?”

  “My girlfriend cheated on me.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “With her professor. Funny, right?”

  “Piece of crap,” Carrie blurted. “I hope she gets hit by a truck.”

  Laughter tumbled out of him.

  Carrie smiled sheepishly.

  The laughter died. His gaze found her lips and lingered there. The air between them charged with tension, with promise. He realized that he wanted to taste her again. One more time.

  She blinked thick lashes, inviting him closer.

  Unable to resist, Benson leaned in and kissed her.