Sweet as Sugar, Hot as Spice

by Kimberly Raye

  Finally, he rolled onto his back next to her and Eve managed to breathe again. Unfortunately, the supply of oxygen helped calm her frantic thoughts, and all too soon reality hit her.

  Ugh. Not only had she violated her No More Meaningless Sex rule, but she’d had bad meaningless sex.

  A half hour later, Eve listened to the steady sound of Linc’s breathing and inched her way to the edge of the bed. Her feet touched the rug a breathless moment later. The old T-shirt she’d slept in the previous night sat in a heap in a nearby corner and she snatched it up. She slid the soft cotton over her naked body. It didn’t quite cover her bottom, but she didn’t care. It was dark and she was desperate. Snatching up the cordless phone that sat on her dresser, she tiptoed to the window, eased the glass up, and crawled out onto the fire escape for some privacy.

  While her apartment wasn’t small, it certainly wasn’t large, and she was terribly afraid her voice would carry. Not to mention, if Killer heard her up and around, the dog was sure to abandon the closet and come after her. And bark. Eve didn’t want to wake Linc, because then she would have to face him and she couldn’t do that right now. She couldn’t even face herself.

  Forget the whole meaningless sex thing. It was even worse. She, Eve Farrel, an expert when it came to sex, had faked an orgasm.

  The darkness outside her apartment swallowed her up. There were no buildings directly behind hers. Just a great view of the Hollywood Hills and a spray of twinkling lights, for which she paid through the nose despite the small size of her place.

  Her hands trembled around the cordless phone as anxiety rushed through her. Of all the terrible things she’d done in her lifetime, this had to be the worst. A total violation of her sense of self, not to mention a grave injustice to her partner.

  Even if he didn’t know it.

  She turned and peered back through the window. Her gaze shot to the bed where he lay sprawled on his back, the sheet pulled over his lap. He had his arms folded under the pillow, cradling his head. His biceps bulged, his chest rising and falling to a steady rhythm. Carefully, Eve slid the window closed and moved away to sit Indian-style on the metal scaffolding.

  “I think I just made a huge mistake,” Eve blurted out when Skye’s groggy voice sounded on the other end.

  “Eve?”

  “The worst mistake of my life.”

  “You’re damned straight you did. You married a stranger, for heaven’s sake!”

  “That’s not the— Wait a second, how do you know?”

  “I’m on the other line with Mom. She’s really freaked. Hold on.” The line clicked. In a few seconds, she clicked back. “I told her it was an emergency for Clint. You’ve done some crazy things, but this takes the cake. How could you—”

  “Would you just listen?” Eve cut in. “I’m having a major crisis here. I can’t believe it. I faked it.”

  “You faked what?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” Skye’s tone quickly changed as she realized the severity of Eve’s problem. “Was he really that bad?”

  “No and yes.” Eve pulled her knees to her chest and tugged the T-shirt down around her folded legs.

  “I’m not following you.”

  “He wasn’t bad leading up to the sex, but once we started, it was totally downhill.” Eve felt an inkling of guilt as she said the words. Then again, this was a major crisis. The lowest point of her life. If a girl couldn’t turn to her own flesh and blood in a time of need, who could she turn to? That’s what sisters were for. Besides, Skye was her most loyal ally. The only person other than Xandra that Eve could trust to keep such personal information in the strictest confidence.

  “Clint,” came Skye’s muffled voice. “Wake up, honey. She did it. She didn’t just marry him. She slept with him.”

  Okay, so the whole marriage thing had obviously loosened Skye’s lips.

  “You’re not going to tell anyone else, are you?” Eve asked after listening to more of Skye’s whispering.

  “Who? Me? Of course not.” A few moments of silence ticked by, and Skye’s conscience obviously got the best of her. “Just Clint, but the buck stops there. I swear.”

  “He’s Linc’s boss.”

  “So?”

  “So nobody wants their boss to know what a dud they are in the sack. Not to mention, you absolutely cannot tell him that I faked it.”

  “I won’t tell him you faked it.”

  “Skye.”

  “Sorry. Listen, Clint doesn’t care if you faked it. Everybody fakes it at one time or another.” More whispering and Skye’s muffled voice carried over the line. “Everybody except me, honey. Believe me, I couldn’t fake it if I tried. Now”—her voice grew loud and distinct again as she turned her attention back to Eve—“I know you’re feeling down right now, but that’s no cause to panic or do anything stupid.”

  “I’ve never faked it.”

  “This is not a big deal.”

  “I suck.”

  “You do not suck.”

  “I’m a liar.”

  “You’re sensitive.”

  “You’re not making me feel better.”

  “Obviously, Linc just wasn’t all that skilled, otherwise, you never would have faked it.”

  “You think?”

  “Heck, yes. My little sister doesn’t fake orgasms unless she has a really good reason. Now, let’s go through the events leading up to the bad part.”

  “Okay.” Eve blinked back a swell of tears. Tears? She didn’t cry, especially over a sexual encounter. Then again, she was doing a lot of things she didn’t normally do in the short amount of time she’d been married to Linc Adams. She sniffled. “The kissing was good, but once the clothes came off . . .” Her mind flashed back to the stripping they’d done in her living room and her glimpse of him in nothing but his BVDs. “Okay, so there were a few hot moments while we were naked, too, but once we hit the sheets, that’s when everything went to hell.”

  “To hell, as in he lost his erection?”

  “No.”

  “Premature ejaculation?”

  “No.”

  “Eve, honey, I can’t say that I see the problem.”

  “He just got tense and then he didn’t move right.” Eve stared at the twinkling lights that dotted the Hollywood Hills. “It wasn’t deep enough or fast enough. Then again, it could have been too fast and too deep. I don’t know. It just wasn’t right.”

  “You two weren’t in sync. That happens sometimes.”

  “I know that, but it’s never been cause for me to fake it in the past.” A cool February breeze found its way under Eve’s T-shirt and she pulled at the hem. The metal of the fire escape felt cold against her bare bottom, yet it wasn’t enough to cool her flushed skin. She was still hot. Still needy.

  “Don’t beat yourself up,” Skye told her. “It happened, and there’s nothing you can do about it now. Maybe Linc has a mattress phobia that interfered with his concentration. You know, concentration is key for a lot of guys. You guys should just do it someplace else. . . . What am I saying?” she blurted out after a few seconds. “You shouldn’t do it anyplace else. You shouldn’t do it at all. You don’t know him and he doesn’t know you, and I can’t believe you actually married him.”

  “Just until November.” Eve tugged at the neckline of her T-shirt and spent the next several minutes giving Skye the lowdown on their arrangement.

  “I knew it,” Skye finally said. “You don’t love him.”

  “Who said anything about love?”

  “You’ve been living too close to Mom for too long. Love is everything.”

  “Maybe in a real marriage, but this is just for show. I don’t need love right now.”

  “Everybody needs love.”

  “You’ve definitely watched Casablanca one too many times.” Eve leaned back against the brick of the building and stretched her legs out, her feet dangling over the ledge.

  “I don’t watch movies. I read
. Since the doctor found out about the twins, he instructed me to take it easy, which translates into staying off my feet. So I’ve been reading a lot lately.”

  “101 Nights of Great Sex?”

  “A Knight in Shining Armor by Jude Devereaux. Clint’s grandma Willemina gave me an old box of romance novels. Her keepers. I’m right in the middle of Heaven, Texas by Susan Elizabeth Phillips. It’s so wonderful. He’s this football player and she’s this plain Jane and—”

  “I’m going to ignore all of this because I know you’re pregnant and not thinking clearly.” Eve blew out a deep breath. The sound faded into the surrounding city noise so typical of an L.A. night—the roar of cars on a nearby expressway, the occasional barking dog, the late-night news drifting from a neighbor’s apartment. Typical, all right. At the same time, it all seemed different. She was different. “Can we get back to the subject?” she asked Skye.

  “About how you tainted one of the most sacred forms of commitment between a man and a woman?”

  “Mom decided we should spend more time together.” Eve swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “Lunch. Every week.”

  “Okay, so marrying Linc might not be that bad an idea,” Skye agreed. “But sleeping with him is positively the worst, and not because he’s a dud. That’s bad enough. You still don’t know him, and while I have nothing against a one-night stand, you two aren’t strangers passing in the night. Two lost souls who’ve lost their way and found each other. A pair of hungry bodies desperate for companionship, however brief.”

  “You’ve really been reading too many romance novels.” Eve flexed her feet and marveled at the way her toes still tingled. The same way they’d tingled when Linc had been inside her. She shook her head. Tingling toes, but no orgasm. Go figure.

  “What’s happening to me?” Eve blurted out. “If I don’t orgasm, I don’t orgasm. I’m open and honest and I never put on a show just to make some man feel better about his performance.”

  “This isn’t just a man. It’s your husband.”

  “A stranger,” Eve reminded her. “You said so yourself.”

  “True, but you guys did tie the knot, and you are going to spend some time together. It’s not like you can kick him out and try again with someone else. So maybe it’s a good thing that you faked it. You wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings when you have to see him again.”

  “That’s true. I wouldn’t want to scar him for life, which would surely happen because he obviously thinks it was really incredible.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he’s sleeping. And snoring. And probably dreaming about all the ways he wants to do me.” She stiffened and gathered her control. “I’m an idiot.”

  “You’re not an idiot. But I do think you’ve bitten off more than you can chew with this marriage business. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  But Eve had all her bases covered. She knew exactly what she was doing—preserving her sanity and finishing a winning documentary—and what she wasn’t doing—having sex with Linc Adams again.

  One fake orgasm was plenty. She was cutting her losses and keeping things strictly platonic from here on out.

  At least, that’s what she intended to do just as soon as she climbed back inside.

  Eve said good-bye, punched the OFF button, and hauled herself to her feet. She tucked the phone under her arm, turned toward the window, and pushed at the pane. It didn’t so much as budge, and a wave of dread rolled over her.

  Not because she was locked out; she’d been locked out before. The glass was forever slipping when she climbed out on the fire escape to enjoy the sunset, which was why she kept a key hidden under a planter just to the left of the front door to her building.

  Click. Click. Click.

  The noise drew Eve’s gaze, and she glanced down to see a photographer hanging over the edge of the fence that surrounded the back of the building.

  Dread rolled through her, followed by a flutter of panic.

  Being locked out was no big deal for Eve Farrel. But being photographed minus her undies . . . Now that was a different story altogether.

  Chapter 5

  Linc barely made it back to the bed before he heard Eve’s fingertips on the window. He hit the sheets and went totally still, feigning sleep. He listened as she pushed at the glass, but she didn’t knock. Obviously, she didn’t realize he was wide awake. Or that he’d been the one to lock her out in the first place.

  He waited for her to knock. That was the whole point, after all. He didn’t want her to get away with sneaking out on him. Better that she should have to face him and explain why she’d felt the need to slip out of bed. Instead, he heard the groan of metal as she started descending the fire escape steps.

  He climbed out of bed and walked to the window in time to see the top of her head as she descended to the third floor. The metal kept groaning as she went lower. He turned to pull on his black tuxedo trousers. He had half a mind to go out front and help her with the reporters camped out on the front steps. Then again, his appearance would only compound the problem and, with the mood he was in, he was sure to say something he would regret. Besides, she had no business being outside in the first place.

  Did she go out to call a girlfriend? To brag?

  He wanted to think so, but something didn’t sit right in his gut. She’d been too stiff afterward. Too uptight.

  She was nervous, his ego whispered. She’d just had sex with a famous NASCAR driver.

  It made sense. He’d met women before who went all googly-eyed and freaky when they got close to him. One minute, they were panting to get into his pants and the next, starstruck.

  The thing is, Eve wasn’t the groupie type. Sure, he’d thought so when he’d first met her. With her hot body and skimpy clothes and do-anything attitude, she’d seemed like another one of those trophy girls who followed him around from track to track. And so he’d been his typical bad-boy self. She’d been totally turned off, however, enough to walk out on him, and he’d realized then that she wasn’t like the other women in his life.

  There was an air of self-confidence about her that had nothing to do with sex appeal and everything to do with self-respect.

  Linc walked into the living room and retrieved his pants. A wall-to-wall entertainment center that included a projection screen TV and DVD player filled the opposite side of the small room. A red velvet sofa and matching chair took up the rest of the space. Pillows in various animal prints covered the plush furniture and gave the room an exotic feel. The entire space screamed hot and wild and primitive.

  Exactly what he would have expected.

  At the same time, he couldn’t help but wonder about the white wicker basket that sat in the far corner looking extremely out of place. A pale blue quilt patterned with sailboats peeked over the edge.

  Sweet.

  As soon as the thought struck, he pushed it back out. There was nothing sweet about Eve Farrel. She was as hot as spice.

  He walked over to the glass entertainment center and the shelves that held her DVD collection. The top shelf held music CDs, everything from vintage Mötley Crüe and Guns N’ Roses, to Creed and Nickelback. The bottom held her movie collection. Or so he thought.

  After scanning the various titles—from Fantastic Foreplay to Bedtime and Bondage—he quickly realized that the DVDs were part of the How-to series, produced and directed by Sugar & Spice Sinema.

  He slid the Panting, Screaming, and After-Sex Dreaming DVD free from its case and read the content description: “Surefire signs to recognize a thoroughly satisfied lover.”

  Linc inserted the DVD into the player and punched the ON button. The screen filled, and he spent the next few minutes watching a man and a woman called Jack and Candace have incredible sex. But it wasn’t the sex that made Linc’s heart pound faster. It was Candace’s reaction to the sex, before, during, and after.

  “. . . A lover on the cusp of climax will have dilatated pupils, a telltale flush to the face,
trembling lips—particularly during penetration—and frantic fingers.”

  Mentally, Linc rushed back through the encounter with Eve. While she’d had flushed cheeks, all right, and grasping fingers—at least during the undressing phase—she hadn’t been the least bit frantic when he’d been inside her. No nails digging into his shoulders or his back. And she certainly hadn’t had dilated pupils. If anything, her eyes had been wider, which could only mean . . .

  Nah.

  “. . . orgasmic scream will be different for every female, but a common trait is the uncontrollable nature of it. It comes and goes with each thrust, the pitch often escalating. It can differ in range, as well, from a throaty moan to a high-pitched shriek . . .”

  He frowned as he remembered Eve’s loud chant of “Yes!”

  “. . . After sex, the muscles are spent and so the body lapses into a state of blissful lethargy . . .”

  Translation: no jumping up to dash out the window and talk on the phone.

  “Son of a bitch,” he growled.

  She’d faked it.

  Possibly.

  Probably.

  Linc was about to hit PLAY again to go over the specifics—just to be sure—when he heard a knock on the front door. He quickly pushed the EJECT button on the DVD player, retrieved the disk, and replaced it on the shelf before heading to the door.

  He opened the door to find Eve, a blanket wrapped around her waist. Two police officers flanked her.

  “Holy cannoli,” one of the officers blurted out. “It is him. You’re Linc Adams.” The man grabbed Linc’s hand and pumped for all he was worth. “He’s the NASCAR driver who just won the Daytona 500 yesterday,” he told the other officer.

  “Like I don’t know that,” Officer Number Two said. “Damn fine job you did. Damn fine.”

  “I thought you were a Mark Martin fan?” the first officer asked the second.

  “Ain’t no better driver out there than Shooter Adams. Blows all them barely legal rookies clean out of the water. This man’s got maturity to go with his talent.”