Taming Sugar

by Rebecca Grace Allen

  He brushed past her, obviously expecting her to obediently trot in after him as he went to the table. She would’ve refused just for spite, stood back and taken her time, but she was too curious. She followed behind him and sat in the chair he’d pulled out for her.

  “I had a chef for many years,” he explained. “But it was more for lack of time to prepare a meal than anything else. I do actually enjoy cooking.”

  “This was when you lived in the city?” she asked. Finn nodded as he sat down next to her. “When you said you were from Brooklyn, I imagined the scary parts of town.”

  He placed a napkin on his lap and smiled. It was a different smile. A careful, practiced one that showed no mirth. “Nope. Brownstone in Park Slope.”

  Damn. That area was not cheap. “Why’d you leave?”

  He sighed and picked up his fork and knife, cutting his food in a way that showed a genteel upbringing.

  “I was in politics. Everyone in my family was. My father was a city councilman, worked his way up to speaker of the council. He was busy all the time but loved his job. He loved helping people, and I wanted to follow in his footsteps.”

  Roxy certainly knew what it was like to have a father you were trying to emulate, although hers had been more focused on success than helping people.

  She kept that bit to herself.

  “I went to G.W.,” he continued. “Majored in international affairs, came home and started running for local office. But the more I got into politics, the more I started chasing things that had nothing to do with helping people. Fame. Money. Power. Hired a cook. Got an expensive car. Even started dating exclusively to find a trophy wife to elevate my status.”

  Another rush of jealousy swirled nauseously in her gut. “Was that what Ricky meant today? About you having lots of women?”

  She left out the part of the question she wanted to ask—Do you still?

  Hunter chuckled. “Perhaps. Some habits die hard. Why? Jealous?”

  She snorted. “No.”

  The look on his face made it clear he knew she was lying. Roxy cut another bite of her dinner.

  “I started thinking bigger,” Hunter continued. “Had the idea of getting into state politics, got my sights on making it to congressman.” His face went ashen and his chewing slowed. “Then my father died.”

  Grief punched through Roxy’s chest and lodged there. Suddenly she was back at her father’s funeral, standing with Gio and Rog in the rain at a cemetery in Connecticut as she stared at her parents’ gravestones and accepting the bone-chilling reality of being an orphan.

  She stuffed those feelings back in the vault she kept them in.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Hunter shook his head and glanced out the window—not as if he were dismissing her, but as if he couldn’t bear the memory.

  “He was a good man, my father. Always tried to do the right thing. And I was turning into the opposite of him. So I left my job, my house, the city, and bought a place up here.”

  Roxy wanted to comfort him, but had no clue how. Maybe if he looked at her, they’d share the same kind of connection they’d had earlier. But he didn’t, so she stayed silent until he focused on her again.

  “All right, sugar,” he said, back to cavalier once again, his apparent sorrow a thing of the past. “Your turn. What’s your story?”

  Her stomach clenched. Sharing her emotions was about as appealing as cooking. Her father’s words echoed in her head. Never show your cards, Roxy. Never let your guard down. But Hunter had given her a glimpse into his life. She supposed she owed him a bit of the same.

  “My father was Russell Cavanaugh.”

  Suddenly serious, he studied her for a beat. “Really,” he said. “The Russell Cavanaugh?

  Roxy nodded. She didn’t have to explain more than that. If he’d been in New York City politics, he’d have known who her father was.

  “I was already living here when he passed, but I heard about it,” he said. “The guy knew his way around investments.”

  “He was a good businessman. And a good father.” Roxy felt like she was tacking on the last part. She believed it, would defend it with a vengeance, but saying it out loud like that made her wonder if she was kidding herself. “He did the best he could raising me on his own.”

  Hunter cocked his head to the side. “On his own?”

  Roxy swallowed. Checked the lock on that vault and made sure it was solid. “My mom was killed by a drunk driver when I was three.”

  “Jesus,” he breathed.

  She offered him another tight nod. That was the most open she could be. Only Gio knew the memories that still haunted her—being taught to play piano and sing by the late Yvette Cavanaugh, a Broadway veteran herself, hazy recollections of a mother Roxy barely remembered. Her father, sitting on the couch and clapping while Roxy twirled and put on a show for them. Getting into acting as a child in a desperate attempt to keep that memory alive.

  Chasing her father’s attention for the rest of her life, hoping for a connection she’d never been able to find. To the point that now, she couldn’t connect with anyone.

  The vault was cracking open, the emotions too raw, too close to the surface. So Roxy let out the one emotion that always came easiest for her.

  Sarcasm.

  “But hey, don’t feel too badly for me. After all, I don’t deserve too much sympathy for my hard knock life. Rich little orphan princess who doesn’t know how to treat people.”

  If Hunter recognized the quote from Annie, he didn’t say. “I don’t understand.”

  She huffed out a breath. “I got fired last week.”

  “Well, shit,” he said. “You said you lost a role. I assumed you meant in an audition.”

  “Nope. I had a lead but got dropped for being ‘impossible to work with.’.”

  A grin played on his lips. “I can’t imagine that.”

  Roxy narrowed her eyes at him. Not too much, though. That grin of his was damn cute.

  “Whatever. I’m good and everyone knows it. If that means I’m impossible, so be it. I’ve clawed my way to the top, and that doesn’t mean I can always be nice in the process. I only insult people when they test my patience.”

  “Patience, huh?”

  Roxy tapped her foot and rolled her eyes. Might as well tell him. “That’s why I’m here. Because I lost my temper at the show’s accompanist for playing in the wrong key, then at the guy playing opposite me for forgetting his lines when we were supposed to be off book already, and finally my director. For being a jerk.” She scrunched up her nose. Tried to hide the shame and anger heating her cheeks. “My friends Gio and Rog—they sent me here with a list of things to help me work on being more patient.”

  “And how’ve you been doing with that?”

  She snorted. “Well I’ve messed up my first attempt at cooking, lasted about two seconds in meditating, ditched reading after two chapters, and have avoided nature like the plague. So, how do you think?”

  Finn didn’t reply. He simply stared at her again until she grew slightly uneasy. Not uncomfortable—just aware that she was being observed from those pensive eyes of his, quiet and sharp like an owl or a hawk.

  “You’re an actress,” he finally said in a low, commanding tone. “I assume that means you know how to take directions?”

  “If they’re worth following,” Roxy said with a bit of bravado. Plus, she wasn’t sure he was talking about acting anymore. “Depends on who’s giving them.”

  “Right now? Me.”

  His eyes remained stern, but promises of pleasure sparkled in them. She inhaled a jagged breath, her nerves dissolving into pure hunger. There was that connection she’d been craving again, burning between them, something sharp and delicious she could feel from nothing more than eye contact.

  She wanted him looking at her like that in a dark room. Wanted it while she was naked beneath him, their bodies entwined and him driving into her until she was shaking and spent.

  “Alri
ght,” she said. “What are my instructions?”

  He pushed his chair back, stood and moved behind her. His warm palms settled on her skin, thumbs stroking lightly as he mapped out her neck, her collarbone. She arched into his touch, unable to keep in the soft moan that escaped her.

  “I have an errand to run,” he said. “While I’m gone, I want you to clean up the dishes, put on more of that ridiculously sexy red lipstick, get two glasses and meet me on the back patio. Can you do that?”

  She tingled with anticipation. It made her head buzz, the way he complimented her and told her what to do in the same breath. She nodded, but that apparently wasn’t enough.

  “I need an answer, Roxy,” he prompted. “Say yes.”

  Her breath caught again, then rushed out on a shuddery exhale. There was that something in his voice again, something that made her feel excited and safe at the same time.

  She wanted that something.

  “Yes.”

  He squeezed her shoulders. “Good girl. I’ll be back soon.”

  She smiled as he pulled away. Roxy listened to the sound of his footsteps echoing down the stairs, the front door closing behind him and his engine starting up. When the rumbling noise of his truck faded, she moved quickly through the cabin, clearing the table and rinsing everything she’d used to prepare the meal. Once the dishes were done, she laid out two glasses and hurried to the bathroom.

  Her lipstick sat out on the counter, and a heady rush went through her as she reapplied it. She had no idea what to expect when Hunter returned, but she hoped this ridiculously sexy color would be all over him before the night was through.

  She tousled her locks a bit, making sure she looked opening night perfect, then grabbed the glasses and went outside. Her body tingling as she waited for Hunter’s return, Roxy sat in one of chairs out back, breathed in the cool, clean air and smiled. Night had begun to fall. An orchestra of crickets chirped happily, the sharp outlines of the trees making their own version of a skyline against a darkening sky.

  The rumble of Hunter’s truck was easy to catch in the otherwise quiet evening. Roxy waited eagerly until he reappeared beside her, holding a bottle of wine. A very expensive and rare bottle of wine, judging by the name and vintage on the label.

  “Was your quick errand to a winery?”

  He smirked. “No. This is from my own personal storage.”

  Whoa. She hadn’t imagined him to be a wine connoisseur, but Roxy was starting to think she’d imagined Hunter Finn all wrong.

  He produced a corkscrew from his pocket and uncorked the wine.

  “There’s a few things I’ve learned to appreciate since I moved here,” he said. “Things that don’t involve money or fame. Hard work. A beautiful sunset. A meal made from scratch.”

  He sat down in the chair next to hers and poured a single glass.

  “Some things get better the more you wait for them. Like wine.”

  Roxy rolled her eyes and picked up the empty glass, holding it out in his direction. He didn’t fill it.

  “I don’t need a lesson in wine from you,” she told him. She knew enough from the time she’d spent in her father’s bars.

  “Don’t you?” He nodded toward her glass. “Put that down.”

  She frowned, but did as she was told.

  “Now close your eyes.”

  Again, Roxy obeyed, willing to play his game. The chair beside her scraped over the patio, and then he was by her side, one hand brushing her face, knuckles skimming over her ear. A shiver coursed through her as he moved her hair to settle on her opposite shoulder. Then his hand was on the back of her neck, thumb solid at the base of her head.

  Her next inhalation brought the scent of wine into her nostrils. She didn’t dare open her eyes to check, but she guessed he was holding the glass in front of her.

  “What do you smell?” he asked. “Explain it.”

  His touch was making her too fuzzy-headed to think clearly, but Roxy tried anyway. “It’s a woodsy scent. Like the air out here, but with a fruit flavor. Cherry.”

  He didn’t tell her if she was right or wrong, but the scent vanished as he moved in closer and brushed his lips over her ear. “Do you want a taste?”

  Hot breath washed along her cheek. Roxy twisted in her seat. “Yes.”

  “Say please.”

  Roxy almost growled. Just like when he insulted her, being made to beg hit some previously untouched chord inside her. It pushed her deep into a place of obedience and held her there, a place that both repulsed and enticed her at the same time.

  She gritted out the word, “Please.”

  Hunter ran his lips along her earlobe, then down her neck, nipping gently. The rasp of his beard over her skin made her every nerve ending tingle and come alive. He was making her wait, torturing her, and she gripped the armrests of the seat.

  Returning to the shell of her ear, he whispered, “Say please, may I have a taste of wine, Sir?”

  Roxy froze. She knew what the word Sir meant. Men had asked her to call them that before, and she’d complied, even when saying it felt like nothing more than a memorized line. But this…this didn’t feel like acting. No, this felt real.

  Hunter pressed his thumb harder against her neck. “You haven’t spoken, and your body’s gone stiff, but you’re not frightened. You know how I know that?”

  She fought to find her sarcastic side. “Because you’re secretly psychic?”

  Hunter laughed. Tightened his hand a little more. It was a move just shy of threatening.

  “No, sugar. But there’s another thing you didn’t know about a man like me. I didn’t only date for money. I dated for power, and not just in politics. More women than I can count have fallen to their knees for me. I assume you know what that means?”

  She swallowed. “I’m guessing that was what you were talking about when you said you got what you wanted.”

  “Pretty much.” His laugh sent another warm breath over her skin. Since when did warmth make her shiver?

  “Am I about to become another one of those kneeling women?”

  He found the juncture between her neck and shoulder with his teeth and bit down until she yelped. “If you’re good.”

  Roxy tried to recover, tried to find something crass to say, but her head was spinning too much, her thighs pushing together in an attempt to stifle the ache between them.

  “You pissed me off from the minute I met you,” he said. “But I haven’t stopped thinking about you since. No one has kneeled for me in ages, and it’s an itch I needed to scratch.” He licked over the spot he’d injured. “I think it’s an itch for you too, isn’t it?”

  She was panting now, body straining in the chair. “I think it might be.”

  “I think so too. So, let’s try this again.” The scent of wine drifted by her nose once more. “May I have. A taste. Of wine. Sir.”

  He said each word carefully, like a dialect coach. It was a test, though, and Roxy caught the word that had been missing.

  “May I have a taste of wine, Sir?” she asked. “Please.”

  He chuckled. “You may.”

  She wasn’t rewarded with the feeling of his glass against her lips. Instead all she felt was his hand moving from her neck to the back of her head, angling her face toward his.

  Then his mouth met hers, all lips and scruff and heat. Wine spilled into her mouth as he opened his in a kiss that was sweet and sex and decadence combined. Roxy swallowed the wine as he kissed her harder. Her stomach coiled and tightened with desire as he slid his tongue along hers, his kiss now nothing short of claiming, then eased back.

  “Look at me, sugar.”

  She did, and was immediately overcome with the sight of him, his eyes intense as they stared down at her, lips stained with wine and wet from their kiss.

  “That was your first lesson in patience. You did well. For the second, come to my house tomorrow night and behave just as you did here. If you’re willing, say yes.”

  Roxy had never been
so willing to learn patience in her life. “Yes, Sir.”

  Hunter smiled.

  Chapter Four

  The next evening, Roxy showed up at the address Hunter had given her at nine pm sharp. It turned out he didn’t live far from the cabin—just a couple of streets away.

  The fact that he was within walking distance had made her toss and turn all night the night before. She’d been agitated as fuck after he’d left, more keyed up than she’d ever been. She’d almost resorted to sneaking her hand beneath her panties and taking the edge off several times during the day today, but forced herself not to, busying herself instead with movies, easy-to-make meals, and getting ready. She wanted Hunter’s commanding and capable hands on her, not her own.

  And she had the feeling he was going to be a hell of a lot more than just capable.

  She couldn’t put into words how he’d made her feel last night. No one told Roxy what to do. She spent most of her life leading the pack, waiting for everyone else to catch up. Why she’d not only allowed Hunter’s commands, but craved them, was something she hadn’t been able to piece together yet.

  Stopping at the front walk to his house, Roxy looked down at her attire. She’d chosen her clothes carefully: sandals, black leggings and a long, white, flowy blouse. Rehearsal clothes, cute but chic. Comfortable enough for whatever he had planned. She knew enough about the possibility of what she was getting into to know she’d need to be flexible, to hold poses that hopefully her years of dance training had prepared her for. But to be honest, she hoped she wouldn’t be wearing any of it very long. She hoped they could skip through all that quickly, and get to the good stuff.

  She was buzzing with energy as she started up the path, but told herself to calm down. To not let him see how excited she was. She was still behind her walls, still heavily guarded, but was eager to once again feel his control, his mastery over her.

  It occurred to her, as she lifted her hand to the doorbell, that Hunter Finn might be the only man who’d ever been able to do that.

  The door opened a few moments later. Hunter was in a crisp white button down and dark washed jeans. Two days of dark stubble graced his chin and mouth, and goddamn, she wanted to touch it.