Sprinkles on Top (A Sugar Springs Novel)

by Kim Law

  Janet made a face at him. “He’s a prickly one sometimes,” she murmured. Then she looked at Holly. “Make him show you the car.”

  He planned to show her the car. He wanted to see her face when she saw it.

  “You still have one of them?” Holly glanced at Zack.

  “Yep.” He opened his door and stepped out. She would just have to wait to find out more. “Which piece of luggage do you need for tonight, Mom?”

  “All of them.”

  Zack stared in through the back window at his mother. “Really? You brought three bags. Couldn’t you put everything you needed for one night in only one of them?”

  She shook her head and unlatched her seat belt. “My toiletries are in the small one, my shoes for tomorrow in the Vera Wang, and my clothes in the garment bag.”

  He forced himself not to grit his teeth. He should have known. His father had grumbled about this exact habit of his mother’s every time they’d gone on a trip. She always overpacked. And she did it in her own unique way. Zack used to think it was funny.

  When his dad had been the one toting all the luggage.

  Knowing she was heading to Sugar Springs for two weeks, his mother had packed up half of her closet. And now he got to drag it all inside. Twice. He shook his head and opened her door.

  A woman never knew what she’d want to wear, she always said. Better to be safe than sorry.

  Right.

  Except his mother always wore the same color. How hard could it be to get “just the right look” when every outfit looked alike?

  Love overshadowed his irritation as he stepped to the back of the car. He was glad she was still healthy enough to go with him. He wouldn’t complain.

  Plus, it would do no good if he did.

  He grabbed Holly’s and his bags from their shopping trip, as well as his mother’s luggage, and slammed the door. When he picked everything up at the same time, he caught Holly watching him. She was wearing her impressed face.

  He liked her impressed face.

  “Lead the way, ladies.”

  They led, and he couldn’t help but follow. And watch Holly’s ass as he did.

  They may have cleared the air between them and agreed that they shouldn’t have kissed—but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to do it again.

  Holly stood in the room Zack’s mother had called the Display Room and took in everything around her. She’d expected priceless art.

  She found popsicle stick art and lopsided pottery.

  The popsicle art had lost a few sticks over the years, with dried glue leaving dark stains where it once had been held together.

  From the looks of things, Janet Winston had kept every single thing her son had ever created for her. And then probably some he hadn’t.

  Her gaze fell on a crude crayon drawing of a stick figure with two large swoops hanging off its chest. The unsteadiness of the marks implied it had been done by a young child. Probably one who was just discovering that girls were different from boys. Janet had put it under glass in an eight-by-ten frame.

  Footsteps sounded behind her. Zack had come into the room.

  Her body woke up as he neared. “Your mom get settled in her room?” she asked.

  It hadn’t taken long after they’d come in for his mother to declare that she thought she’d turn in early. Holly suspected it had been merely a ploy to leave the two of them alone, but she wasn’t about to complain. She liked being alone with Zack.

  “She’s in her room,” he said. “Let’s just hope she stays.”

  He stopped beside her and she looked over at him. Her mouth had watered at the sight of him hefting all that luggage earlier, and now she couldn’t help but wonder how many more muscles were hiding under his clothes that she couldn’t see.

  Her gaze flitted down over his chest and she swallowed. Probably a lot.

  This trip had not been a wise move.

  Though it had pointed out one thing. He was way out of her league. There was nothing like driving up to a mansion of a house to make that clear.

  “I see you’ve found my artwork,” he said drily as he stared at the framed piece she’d been looking at. “Clearly I was a young Picasso.”

  She chuckled. “It is impressive,” she confirmed. She tilted her head as she studied the blue stick figure in front of them. “Are those actually what they look like?”

  “Good grief,” he muttered. He stepped away from her. “Quit looking at it. I still can’t believe she put that in here. She found it in my backpack in first grade, and no matter how much I begged, she wouldn’t take it down.”

  “So you didn’t draw it for her, then?”

  One eyebrow lifted on his forehead and she laughed out loud. He joined her with a smile.

  “Poor Zackie,” she murmured.

  “Oh, stop it.” He groaned and scrubbed his hand down over his face. “My mother is a priceless piece of art all on her own. I can’t believe she called me that all day.”

  He moved around the room now, taking in the different “art” sitting around. “This is the kind of stuff I was talking about before,” he said. “She devoted a whole room to me in the house. What kid wouldn’t feel special about that?”

  Holly nodded. It would be impressive.

  “Yet the one time I convinced a kid to come over, he took one look at this room and I became a laughingstock.”

  “Kids can be cruel.”

  “Yeah. They can be. I wanted to hate this room after that, but I knew that it was special. I was special. Who could hate something that made them feel that way?”

  Exactly. It was clear his mother loved him dearly.

  Holly felt bad thinking about him in elementary school, all the kids picking on him. She’d seen pictures of a younger Zack earlier in the day, and yeah, he’d been a little nerdy with his glasses and perfectly styled hair. And his sweater vests. But throw in kids talking about this room? Poor Zackie. He hadn’t stood a chance.

  “You planning to keep the display going forever?” she asked now.

  When he just looked at her, she added, “It’s your house. Yet it’s still here.”

  He actually blushed. It was cute the way his ears turned pink. “My mother loves it. It’ll be here as long as she’s around.”

  And there went another piece of her heart.

  Damn the man for being so sweet.

  “So how many women have you brought here?” she asked. She needed to remember who he was. What kind of women he dated. “Wowed them with your great skills?”

  He shoved his hands in his trousers. He’d dressed up today, same as her. Trousers and his light-gray pullover. His hair had lost a bit of its style, though. It looked as if he’d run his hands through it several times.

  “One,” he finally said.

  She lifted her gaze to his. That was not what she’d been expecting to hear. “You don’t bring them over on a daily basis to impress?”

  His head angled with attitude. “I don’t see women on a daily basis,” he pointed out. “I work too damned hard for that.”

  “Weekly then?” She teased.

  He grinned like the little boy he once had been. “I do see women on a weekly basis,” he admitted. “Usually.”

  Jealousy was a nasty thing. It came with a sharp, jabby point.

  She kept the smile on her face. “So you don’t bring them here to show off your big house?” She waved her arm through the room. “Or your very own gallery?”

  He shook his head and an odd expression passed over his face. “They’re more the impressed-with-a-penthouse type.”

  Ah, yes. They would be.

  “And ten years ago?” she asked. “I take it she wasn’t the impressed-with-a-penthouse type? What happened then?”

  “I didn’t have my penthouse then. Come on.” He held out his hand to her.
“Enough talking. Let me show you the rest of the house.”

  So she took his hand and they left the room.

  And he didn’t explain ten years ago.

  They wandered through room after room. Each one larger than the last, and each making her think of her little log cabin more. She felt like a fish out of water here. She only hoped she didn’t come across that way.

  It would break her heart if he looked at her as the shop owners in Chicago had.

  Like she didn’t belong.

  They stopped in the enormous kitchen, and she took in the stainless steel stove with the six-burner top. It stood in the middle of the room and had a copper hood hanging over it. She got all tingly just thinking about standing there cooking on that monster.

  “I sure would like to cook your mother pancakes on this thing tomorrow morning.”

  When he didn’t reply, she glanced over at him. He was watching her.

  “Does your mother not like pancakes?” she asked.

  “She likes pancakes.”

  Holly nodded. “Okay, then how does she eat them? Is she as boring as you?”

  His dark eyes burned on hers. She suspected he was fighting the urge to give her his scary look, so she smiled, giving him her best charm. He rolled his eyes. But he also smiled.

  “She would be in heaven if you cooked her your happy pancakes,” he finally admitted.

  The charm disappeared and pure joy filled Holly’s face. “Really? You’d let me cook those for her?”

  “I suspect I couldn’t stop you if I wanted to. But I want mine plain.”

  She made a face at him. “Just when I think you’re loosening up, you go and ruin it.”

  She headed to the cabinets and started opening and closing doors. Each one held dishes, appliances, or nothing. Then she opened the refrigerator.

  And then she remembered.

  No one actually lived there.

  “You have zero food in the house,” she accused.

  “Keeps the bugs out.”

  She sighed before holding out her hand. “Give me my keys. I’ll run to the store and get what I need.”

  He shook his head and once again reached for her hand. “I have a better idea.”

  “But I need to go to the store.”

  “I’ll take you to the store. I want to show you something first.”

  “Oh.”

  She hurried to keep up with his long strides as he pulled her along beside him. They left through the back door of the kitchen and headed across the yard.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  He nodded toward the farthest garage.

  “Oh,” she said again, only this time she drew the word out into two syllables. His mother had mentioned there was still a car here. Energy pumped through her at the thought that Zack intended to show it to her.

  “You’re going to show me the car, aren’t you? What kind is it?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she added, “How old is it?”

  Still no answer.

  “What color? I’ll bet it’s blue. Or maybe white? Oh . . . how about cream?”

  He just eyed her.

  She grew quiet with a sigh, then focused on his hand still wrapped around hers. It was large and warm. And it totally engulfed her fingers. She’d been trying not to think of how many times he’d grabbed her hand today.

  It had felt good.

  Even though she couldn’t let it mean anything.

  “Will you let me drive it?” she asked. She made her voice as sweet as she was capable of.

  Zack grunted and lengthened his strides.

  Then they were at the door of the garage, and he took out his keys. A different look came over him as he slid the key into the lock. One she hadn’t seen before.

  It was a mix of anticipation and pure joy. Darkness had fallen while they’d been in the house, but a motion sensor light had flickered to life as they’d approached the garage. He looked at her now, and she caught a glint of excitement deep in his eyes.

  Whatever was in this garage, Zack loved.

  The door opened and he flipped on the lights. She stepped in beside him. And then she stopped.

  “Oh. Wow,” Holly whispered.

  She could do nothing but stare at the car. She didn’t have a clue what kind it was, but it was old, and gorgeous, and ohmygod sexy.

  “It’s a 1949 Buick Roadmaster Series 70 convertible coupe, royal maroon in color.”

  Zack turned to Holly. She was impressed.

  As he’d wanted her to be.

  “You still think my Mercedes is hot?” he added.

  She slowly shook her head. “Not like this.”

  He laughed. That’s what he’d expected. The car even turned him on.

  “How long have you had this?” she asked. She moved forward a few feet as if drawn to it under a spell.

  Ah, the big question.

  “Do you mean how long have I had it running? Or how long has it been sitting in this garage?”

  She whirled back around. “You didn’t restore it?”

  He nodded. Pride filled his chest, though he couldn’t take all the credit.

  Her eyes went hot, and she looked as if she might jump his bones right then and there.

  He knew it wasn’t directed at him so much as the car. It was a sexy-as-hell car. The long nose, curved lines, and sparkling chrome grill were enough on their own, but then there was the fact that it was a convertible. He’d left the top off when he’d taken it out the weekend before, and it sat gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

  Holly clearly had a thing for convertibles.

  And he had a thing for Holly.

  “Want to go for a ride?” he asked.

  Her eyes grew round. “Really?”

  He nodded. Oh, yeah. Really. He couldn’t wait to see her in it. “You need to get stuff from the grocery store, right?”

  She looked back at the car as if not believing he would let her in it, so he closed the distance between them.

  “There’s only one condition,” he spoke in a teasing whisper. He stood near to her now. Close enough to hear each breath she pulled in and out of her lungs. He rubbed a strand of her hair between his fingers. It was as silky as he remembered from when he’d slipped his hands behind her head the other day. When he’d kissed her.

  “What’s the condition?” She turned bright-green eyes up to his. She was breathing fast, as if he’d already kissed her senseless. Instead of just thinking about it.

  “You have to take down your hair.” He nudged his chin toward her hair. He didn’t like the boring clip holding it behind her neck.

  She gave him a questioning look.

  “If we’re riding with the top off of this baby, you’re letting your hair blow in the wind.”

  Her dimple was back. “Deal.”

  She stuck out her hand, and he took it. He did not pull her into him as he wanted to. He’d had the thought several times throughout the day to suggest that they go on a date. That she should forget the other men. But that wasn’t fair.

  Not for her.

  She was looking to settle down.

  He was just looking to keep her away from other men. And to get her naked.

  So he’d kept his desire to himself. And his lips off hers.

  It hadn’t been easy.

  They both climbed into the car, but before he started it he simply let her have her look. She was like a puppy checking out a new place. She ran a finger over each of the buttons and dials in front of her, and popped open the glove compartment to check inside. She leaned across the seat to make a quick sweep of his side of the dash.

  Then she turned, rising to her knees, and did a thorough check of the backseat. Her butt stuck in the air, and that, combined with her fingers sliding sensuously over the leathe
r, caused him to tighten below his belt.

  Watching Holly check out his car was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

  “You like it?” He grinned.

  She moaned. “Oh man, I could so have sex in this car.”

  Her eyes jerked to his and she slapped a hand over her mouth.

  “I didn’t mean . . .” she mumbled behind her hand.

  He laughed out loud. She looked almost sick at her words. He reached for her hand, leaning into her as he did, and pulled it away from her mouth.

  “I know what you meant.” He winked. He also closed the distance and planted a tiny—innocent—kiss against her lips. “I feel the same way,” he whispered.

  “Oh wow, Zack.” Her eyes were still burning with excitement as he pulled away, but he didn’t think it had anything to do with him.

  Suddenly he was jealous of his own car. Yes, the kiss had been tiny, but he’d thought she’d at least register it. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t even know he was in the car with her.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked. “And did you really restore it? How long did it take?”

  He started laughing again. He couldn’t maintain jealousy while she was so enthusiastic. And then it occurred to him that he’d laughed more in the last two weeks than he had in ten years.

  Hell, he’d laughed more in one day than he had in ten years.

  “My dad bought it when I was sixteen,” he explained. “He’d restored the DeSoto before I came along, and then the Chevy when I was a kid. I’d sit out here for hours and watch him. He’d let me hand him tools, but mostly we were just together. Then I turned sixteen,” he said, making a face with the words. Those had not been his best years.

  “What happened?” she asked. “Though I can guess. I remember Sean when he turned sixteen. Or fifteen, maybe. I did my best to steer clear of him.”

  “Right. I wasn’t the easiest to get along with, and since Dad was already in his sixties, I had less than no time for him. So he bought this beauty. It didn’t run, it was old and rusted, and I hated it on sight. Even worse, I wanted nothing to do with helping him restore it.”

  “How could you hate it?” Again, she ran her hand along the dash and he had fantasies of that hand being somewhere else. “It’s like a three-thousand-dollar pair of shoes.”