Sugar's Twice as Sweet: Sugar, Georgia: Book 1

by Marina Adair

  She jumped up and swung, her makeshift sledgehammer failing to make contact with the wall. Her arms were burning and her back screamed, but she had to finish this before she’d take a break.

  Josephina took another swing, finally admitting that she wasn’t tall enough. So she jumped.

  “Damn it all to hell.” Swinging in midair wasn’t giving her enough leverage to break through the sheetrock. Plus there was a framed photo hanging on the kitchen wall of Letty and her poker buddies, grinning down on her as if amused.

  Stomping into the kitchen, past the ladder and a tempting pitcher of sweet tea, Josephina grabbed a napkin, then a chair. Placing the napkin over the photo and the chair directly under the still-square arch, she climbed up and went to work. She would beat that wall until it was the perfect arch, then soak in a nice bath while sipping her sweet tea and locating the chapter on framing. Followed closely by the chapter on drywalling and finishing.

  “Afternoon, neighbor.”

  The sexy greeting came from nowhere. Josephina spun around, sending the chair teetering on its legs. Her arms flailed as she tried to regain her footing. But she was too far from any sound wall. The chair’s legs went left, hers went right, and then she was sailing through the air in the camel pose, a position she had been working to achieve in yoga for three years and suddenly mastered midair while plowing into Brett.

  His chest slammed into her cheek, her knee clocking him between the legs. He gasped as they tangled, stumbling back a few feet before crashing to the floor.

  Josephina lay on hardwood, her body sprawled across his, her right eye twitching erratically, when a pair of capable hands ran down her body to settle on her ass. And squeeze.

  She smacked Brett on the chest but didn’t move. After two weeks of looking at Rooster’s belly, followed by six days of only Boo and the opossum family for company, Brett was a welcomed sight. Boo, on the other hand, felt the need to bare his teeth and growl.

  “What?” Brett asked Boo, who merely snarled in his teal track suit and collar. “Just checking to make sure the lady’s all right.” His blue eyes met Josephina’s, and she might have involuntarily moaned.

  “I’m fine. And you’ve only checked my butt.”

  “I know.” Another squeeze. “You took a pretty hard fall.”

  She shoved off his chest and stood.

  Brett got to his feet in one fluid motion and turned around, showing her his butt. It looked spectacular in worn denim that was faded in all the right spots. “Mind checking mine, then?”

  Josephina stuck her hands behind her back to keep from taking him up on his offer. “What are you doing here?”

  Now that his mistress was off the enemy, Boo pranced over to the front door and sat, as if telling their guest it was time to hit the road. Brett ignored Boo and inspected the piles of broken sheetrock, the sketches and magazine tearouts she had taped to the china hutch—and the big unfinished hole in the wall.

  “I guess I could ask you the same thing.”

  Embarrassment hit hard. She was aware of how ridiculous she must look. Standing in the middle of a ground zero wearing cutoffs and an old college tank with a pink bandana tied around her head.

  “Making a walk-through from the dining room to the kitchen. Letty wanted it to have rounded edges with scalloped molding.” Josephina nodded toward the hanging sketch that Letty had sent her years ago. “But it’s looking more square than arch-shaped.”

  “Ah, sugar, say it ain’t so.” He spoke as if actually in pain while he looked at the hole in the wall, then back at the golf club. The one Josephina was using as a sledgehammer. “With a driver?”

  She picked up the golf club and swung it at the wall, taking out a good-sized chunk of plaster and sheetrock. “Who knew how handy these things were?”

  She pulled back and, midswing, stopped. Her eyes slid closed as the bitter and earthy aroma teased her nose.

  “Ohmigod. Is that…” Sniff. Sniff. “French roast?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Glad I set it down in the entryway before coming in here.”

  She walked right past him, dragging the club as she went. “I haven’t had fresh-brewed coffee since my car started disappearing.”

  He turned and looked out the window. She followed his gaze and rushed out the front door. “You found my car!”

  Brett joined her on the porch, iced coffees in hand, and sat on the top step. Extending her coffee, he patted the boards next to him. “It was having a sleepover with mine.”

  Josephina rolled her eyes, but took the caffeinated gift and sat. Inhaling deeply, she took her first sip. “Mmmm…this tastes so good.”

  She licked her lips and found Brett staring at her mouth. He was even sexier than she remembered. The wide, strong shoulders, those big blue eyes, and that just-rolled-out-of-bed hair. He was luscious.

  He tugged on one of her braids. “If it makes you feel better, my grandma and her thugs called off the feud.”

  “Then why did I wake up to a bathtub full of bullfrogs this morning?”

  Brett grimaced. “Yeah, sorry about that. The truce flag was raised just a couple hours ago.”

  Josephina hugged her legs to her chest and rested her cheek on her bent knees. “Why are you really here?”

  “Thought you could use a handyman. One with more than a bag of clubs for tools.”

  With a heavy sigh she leaned into Brett, resting her head against his shoulder. Tenderness washed through her when he dropped his head on top of hers. They sat like that, in comfortable silence, staring out over the lake and sharing space. The air was warm, and aside from the water gently lapping at the dock, the lake was surprisingly calm. No wind. No clouds. Just stillness. And a strong shoulder to lean on.

  Usually she had the need to entertain when people were around, but with Brett she felt she could just be.

  * * *

  How long they sat there, Brett didn’t know. It was as if the rest of the world went away. No scandal, no impending interview, not a single celebrity favor. Joie seemed to make everything fade into the background. Here, at Fairchild House, with her soft body leaning into his, only the two of them existed.

  Until a cold and moist nose wedged itself between them, digging its way into Brett’s side. Small little needle teeth sank into his hip. Brett elbowed the dog with all the force of a gentle breeze and the thing let out a sorry-ass yelp as if Brett had backed over him with his pickup.

  “Oh, Boo,” Joie cried, easing away from him to pick up the dog, who sent Brett a shit-eating grin and then snuggled into Joie’s glorious breasts. “Are you okay?”

  Brett had built houses with his bare hands, could last eight seconds in the pen, and had made enough money in professional sports to buy a small country. There was no way a five-pound ball of fur was going to one-up him.

  “I bet he got his paw stuck in one of these loose boards. Didn’t you, boy?” Brett scooped up the rat and dropped him inside the house, making sure to secure the screen door.

  Boo lunged at him. His nose slammed against the screen and he bared his teeth. Brett bared his back.

  “He should be safe now,” he said, glancing inside to assess the damage.

  The piles of sheetrock and debris weren’t going to be a problem, but getting the rest of that wallpaper down was going to be a pain in the ass. The entryway ceiling was at least thirty feet up.

  From what he could tell, she’d had the roof and plumbing fixed. The wood on the porch and dock still needed to be replaced. Large water spots covered the ceiling, continuing down parts of the west wall and giving him reason for worry. A few of the light fixtures needed to be refurbished and, based on the lack of light, the electrical was still shoddy.

  She needed that loan. No amount of do-it-yourself was going to make up for the lack of funding. But maybe a heavy-hitter endorsement could make up for her lack of credit with the bank.

  Joie was leaning into the railing, staring out at the lake. He took a second to appreciate the way the denim rode up, exp
osing more of those amazing legs and pulling the fabric taut across her perfect ass.

  “I heard about the loan.” No point in dancing around it. Even if his grandma hadn’t told him, all it took was five minutes on the Internet. Between Hattie’s blog and the Sugar Sentinel, there wasn’t a person in Georgia who didn’t know that Fairchild House was in dire straits with no chance of funding.

  “Going back home isn’t an option.”

  “Because of Rat Bastard?” he asked, joining her at the rail.

  “Because my father would take it as a white flag that I was giving up.”

  “You could always ask him for a loan.”

  Her body stiffened for a moment before she took another sip. “I have to do this myself. Letty said magic comes from the journey, and this is my journey. Taking money from people who expect me to fail would be worse than failing.”

  “We can’t win everything.”

  “Says the four-time Masters champion.”

  “I thought you didn’t have time to read up on me.” She blushed. God, he loved that blush.

  “I read about how, because of you, the Memaw’s groom-a-thon made three times their projected goal, putting the Medical Center that much closer to getting their children’s ward.”

  Now it was his turn to blush.

  “It gave me an idea,” Joie said, her fingers brushing his knuckles, so absently that Brett didn’t think she was aware that she was touching him. His body manned up all the same. “I could host some kind of event here, like Mrs. Wilkes did. Only with food instead of livestock. An evening of wine and friends.”

  “I’d come.”

  “As long as you were only a guest,” she clarified, and he felt something in his chest turn over. “I could invite all my friends from New York, the town, a big everyone-get-to-know-each-other and see the new-and-improved Fairchild House. I’m not Brett McGraw, Golf God, but I have a pretty impressive black book.”

  He smiled. “I bet you do.”

  “I don’t want to be the person who loses Letty’s house. When I was little we would spend hours talking about renovating the place and making it new again. She told me this place was magical, healed the spirit.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “Yes.” She smiled and everything seemed to brighten. “This was the only place I felt free as a kid. I want to share what I found here, and I have to make it happen on my own. Prove to myself that I can stand on my feet.”

  “You don’t need to prove anything, Joie.”

  “I don’t?” she whispered.

  “No.”

  For her this wasn’t about a broken heart or bruised pride. Rebuilding the inn was about finishing her aunt’s dream and finding one of her own. Some might claim she was being unrealistic about the odds of success, but not him. He admired her for turning down her parents’ money.

  “But you do need a contractor. And I know just the guy.”

  “I don’t have any money, Brett.”

  “That’s not a problem, sugar. You couldn’t afford me anyway.” He waggled a brow. “But I’m willing to work it out in trade.”

  Instead of walking away, as he expected, she placed her hands on his chest in invitation. “Oh, yeah?”

  The heat from her touch shot through his body. It would be so easy to take what she was offering. Brett almost did, until she slid her hands down to intertwine with his. He watched the way she unconsciously knotted their fingers, her thumb brushing over his knuckles before tightening her grip. His eyes flew to hers, locking, and everything inside him softened.

  Shit. Shit shit shit.

  Glory was right. He didn’t just want sex with Josephina. Okay, he wanted sex and he wanted her, but he also wanted more. He wanted to feel like that guy who’d helped a crying girl out of the old oak tree. He wanted her to kiss him because she thought he was decent and a good guy.

  Besides his family and Glory, Brett didn’t have a lot of experience with relationships. Oh, he had sponsors and fans and the people of Sugar and women—lots of women—but ever since the fire he had avoided relationships, purposely seeking out women who, like himself, weren’t interested in anything other than sex without strings. Because no strings meant he didn’t have to put his heart on the line. Not that his heart was on the line now, but there was definitely something more at risk than a few nights of fun.

  Which was why he lifted her hand to gently kiss her fingers and found himself saying, “Not that kind of trade. Unless you’re ready to go on a date; then we can talk.”

  She released a frustrated sigh and pulled her hand back.

  “As for my fees, I’m willing to work every day after I get done with my campers and full days on the weekends. In return I get a dinner that isn’t fried and a room to keep my things.”

  “As in move in?”

  He’d been talking about a place to leave his tools, but now that she brought it up it sounded like a great idea. She might not be willing to agree to a date—yet—but when the evenings came and there wasn’t much to do but watch the sun go down, he’d finally get that dinner. And maybe she’d start to see him for who he really was.

  “You are in the hospitality business, are you not?”

  She nodded, looking confused and adorably annoyed. Right where he wanted her.

  “Now isn’t that auspicious. You need a handyman who’s willing to work cheap. I’m looking for a place I can actually sleep and dinner conversation that doesn’t have anything to do with fundraisers. It’s a win-win.”

  She eyed him warily.

  Brett put his hands up. “You can always say no, of course, and I can head back home. I’m sure you can handle it all yourself. I mean, you have that club.”

  With a heavy sigh, she said, “You do real work and bill me at the end of the project for your hours and I will add the total, minus the cost of room and board, to my mounting debt, which I will pay back…as soon as I can. And I really need to focus, so if this is going to work then I need you to promise: no parties, no women, no dates and no, underwear is not optional when sleeping.”

  “Does that mean it’s optional when we’re awake,” he teased, and she smacked him. He caught her hand and trapped it against his heart. “No going commando, got it. As for the not dating, I’m glad you’re ready to be exclusive.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  “No?” He feigned confusion. “Well then, you have my word, I promise to ask you out every day until you say yes.” He bent down, getting eye level, and when she was good and flushed, he kissed the tip of her very burned nose and said, “Now, where should I start?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You got a tool belt?”

  “In the truck.”

  “Then you’re hired. First job, figure out what’s wrong with my breaker box.” She stacked the boards in a pile and hauled them up. “Oh, and Brett, make sure you wear the belt.”

  * * *

  Three days later, Josephina shoved the last scrap of wallpaper into the trash bag and knew it was quitting time. Her arms were sore from scraping off glue, which was littering the wood floor, she had a big bruise on her forehead from running into Brett’s elbow—and sharing breakfast, lunch, and dinner with a man who made her motor hum only added to her aches.

  True to his word, he had asked her out every day. And every day it became harder to say no.

  Today had been the worst, she thought as she watched the play of Brett’s muscles while he supported a plank of rotted wood over his head. He was all rippled and gorgeous and flashing that orgasm-inducing smile. The one that curled up slightly at the corners, saying he’d caught her drooling. Again.

  “A simple yes is all it would take,” he said in that southern-boy way that made her heart warm. Along with some other, more pertinent, parts.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She stepped sideways, right into a bowl of nails, knocking them over. Then, blaming Brett for taking up too much damn space, she picked up the handsaw off the floor and
reached into her back pocket for a pair of gloves—coming up empty.

  “I’ve got an extra pair in my tool belt,” he said with humor in his voice as he jerked his chin toward his goodie bag, um, tool belt. “Right there in the center pocket. You see them?”

  Oh, she saw them all right. She also saw how incredibly amused he was.

  “Don’t move.” Eyeing him, she cautiously reached into the pocket, careful not to touch any of his tools. She grabbed the leather gloves and jerked her hand back.

  Doing her best to ignore his laughing, she crawled up to the fifth rung of the ladder and sawed away the remaining few inches of beam. Between the sexy smiles and “accidental” brushing of bodies, Brett kept her in a constant state of unbalance.

  “So to clarify, you’re saying you don’t want to go out with me,” he mused.

  “We’re roommates, Brett,” she sighed, sawing through the end of the beam and wondering why she kept repeating herself. “And we can be roommates with benefits. But dating roommates wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “Why is that?” he asked, lowering the beam to the floor. This time she was certain he was flexing his arms on purpose.

  “Because we’d go out, have a good time, come home, and have sex. Only instead of just amazing no-strings sex it would be complicated by all this other stuff, which would make things weird. Eventually I’d be short one contractor, miss my opening date, and wonder what happened.”

  Not wanting to look at him, she set the saw on the top of the ladder, ready to move to the next spot.

  “First off, I’m in this for the long haul, I gave you my word on that.”

  Josephina turned around to ask him if he was talking about the inn, but then she forgot how to speak. Brett blocked her descent, climbing up behind her to the second rung, which brought him eye level. He gripped her hips and backed her up against the ladder. “And, sugar, sex between us wouldn’t be amazing, it would be earth-shattering.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of.

  He sculpted his hands down her sides to her thighs, paying extra attention to her bottom on the trip back. She rested her hands on those biceps she’d been watching all week so she wouldn’t fall over as the air whooshed out of her lungs.