Gimme Some Sugar

by Juliette Poe

  Gimme Some Sugar

  A Sex and Sweet Tea Novel

  SAWYER BENNETT WRITING AS

  Juliette Poe

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2019 by Juliette Poe

  EPUB Edition

  Published by Big Dog Books

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Find Juliette on the web!

  Website: juliettepoe.com

  Twitter: twitter.com/juliette_poe

  Facebook: facebook.com/AuthorJuliettePoe

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28: Epilogue

  Connect with Juliette

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Larkin

  “Deacon Locke.” I release his name softly into the air, let it roll off my tongue with contemplation, and decide I like his name a lot.

  Of course, he said people just call him “Locke,” and that’s cool too.

  Hot, actually.

  I fiddle with the garland I’d draped over the fireplace mantle a few hours ago. It looks perfect, yet I still fuss with it. Not because I’m a perfectionist, but because I’m loitering around the sitting room of Millie’s Bed and Breakfast, hoping to see Deacon Locke should he decide to leave his room upstairs.

  It could be considered stalking, I suppose, but my intentions aren’t nefarious. I just want another look at the man.

  The insanely gorgeous and mysterious man who has bad boy written all over his imposing stature.

  Never mind the fact he rides a Harley and looks like he stepped right off the set of Sons of Anarchy.

  Think Jax Teller and anyone would understand clearly. Gorgeous, longish blond hair with a neatly trimmed beard of a slightly darker blond hue.

  Forget about the fact he could probably chew me up and spit me out.

  Let’s hope my parents never find out about my attraction to him, because he’s clearly a wandering nomad of a man, which means he probably has a shady, dark past.

  Possibly prison.

  I wonder if he has prison tattoos?

  My eyes lift to the ornate silver mirror over the fireplace and I realize my expression is dreamy and thoughtful.

  God, I’m so weird.

  With a hard shake of my head to dispel such stupid thoughts—I mean, it’s ridiculous to be attracted to all of that—I pivot sharply on my heel with the intent of marching into the kitchen to occupy myself with the evening appetizers I set out for the guests for an informal “happy hour” here at Millie’s.

  I summarily dismiss any additional pining thoughts of the gorgeous guest up in room three. I refuse to believe Darby’s urgent whisper to me before she left with my brother, Colt, a few hours ago—that Deacon Locke came back to town just to see me.

  Preposterous, really.

  Weeks ago, I met the man briefly when he rolled through town in search of a place to stay. Millie’s wasn’t open at that point since my other brother, Lowe, and his wife, Mely, were refurbishing the place. I pointed him in the direction of Milner where there were a few motels in the slightly larger “small” town.

  When I watched him rumble out of town on that Harley, I never imagined he’d be back.

  Little did I imagine I’d also be a partner in Millie’s Bed and Breakfast at that time, as Lowe and Mely hadn’t yet approached me with their idea I join them in this new venture when I’d first met the dashing biker.

  But they did, and after a lot of thought, lists of pros and cons, and talking it through with my family, I made the decision to go for it. I was an entrepreneur at heart, and I already owned one successful business here in Whynot, North Carolina.

  So “why not” tackle another venture? Especially with the added security of working with my brother and his new wife.

  I move through the sitting room, which will soon be occupied with some of the guests who will wander in for some appetizers and wine. I’ve got a total of seven registered with two more coming in tomorrow. I’m a bit nervous as I’m on my own. Mely and Lowe kind of got drunk and married in Vegas, and now are on a legit honeymoon to St. Lucia for the next week.

  But I’ve totally got this in hand. I’m a thirty-year-old woman who runs a successful bakery in town named Sweet Cakes, which I built from the ground up with my own hard work and determination. I’ve got nothing to be nervous about.

  Except the sound of booted feet trotting down the wide staircase that leads from the main lobby to the second and third floors.

  I glance that way, consider jetting through the swinging door that leads into the kitchen to avoid my hot new biker guest, then have a weird moment of spine straightening. It’s weird because I’m inherently shy around men, but the temptation to get one more look at Deacon Locke is just too alluring to ignore.

  He rounds the landing, then I’m watching powerful legs clad in faded denim bound down the stairs two at a time. His gaze lands on me and I get a wolfish smile as he comes to a stop right in front of me.

  Tamping down the urge to bolt into the kitchen, I give him a welcoming smile as I tip my head to peer up at him. “Everything okay with your room, Mr. Locke? Anything I can get for you?”

  He’s got to be close to six-foot-five, which is way taller than my five-three, and I find the way he towers over me slightly exciting.

  I mean intimidating.

  “It’s just Locke,” he says in a rumbling voice of amusement. “Or Deacon. I’ll answer to either if you’re the one calling my name.”

  My face flames hot, my gaze immediately darting left, then right. He’s out and out flirting with me, and I have no clue how to respond.

  I mean… why flirt with someone like me? My hand involuntarily comes up to tug at the short wisps of hair at my neck. I’d cut all my long hair off a few weeks ago, just feeling the need for a change of some sort. I’m regretting it now because I think it makes the few extra pounds I bear settle into my round cheeks for some reason, which are so hot right now, they’re pulsing like a beacon.

  And then, a suspicious thought strikes me. He knows damn good and well he’s way out of my league, so the only reason he’s flirting with me must be to get his own jollies with the shy, chubby girl who blushes when the hot guy pays attention to her.

  I snap my head up, glaring at him while my spine stiffens. Lifting my chin, I say quite primly, “I’ll stick with Mr. Locke. Now, is there anything I can do for you?”

  This amuses him even more if the sparkle in his eyes and his curved mouth is any indication. He pats his stomach, whic
h is barely concealed under a form-fitting black thermal tee shirt. “I’m starting to get hungry. Need to figure out where to scrounge up some dinner. Maybe you can help me out.”

  I blink in surprise. “You just ate lunch a few hours ago.”

  After he checked in, he said he was hungry. Like a stalker, I’d watched him walk down the block to Central Cafe, where he stayed for forty minutes before he left. He then meandered around town square, before moseying back to Millie’s where he’s been holed up in his room ever since.

  “I’m a big man, darlin’,” he drawls, patting his stomach again. “And when I’m hungry, I eat.”

  “Well, if you can wait an hour, I’ll have some appetizers and wine to serve in the sitting room.” I jerk my head in that direction. “And then, Central Cafe has their fried chicken special tonight. Clementine’s is good, but no jeans allowed. Or you can head over to Chesty’s, which is my grandpap’s bar. He has pizza, burgers, and such.”

  “I went by there earlier today,” Deacon says with a fond smile. “I take it your grandpa was in the Marine Corps?”

  Another blink of surprise. “He was. Since you know what Chesty’s means, I take it you served in the Corps too?”

  “That I did,” he says, but he doesn’t elaborate.

  We stare at each other a moment. When he doesn’t say anything else, I nod to the sitting room. “Feel free to go relax a bit. I’ll start getting the appetizers ready, then put it out a little early for you. How’s that?”

  “Sounds great,” he replies.

  I give him a short smile before turning to the kitchen. As I’m pushing open the swinging door, I feel his presence at my back. I glance over my shoulder to find him following me.

  As soon as we’re both in the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him, I pivot and put my hands on my hips. “You can’t be back here.”

  “Why not?” he asks. “I can help get stuff ready.”

  “No,” I exclaim, totally affronted. “You’re a guest. You can’t do that.”

  “Who says?”

  “Well… um… I do,” I stammer.

  “Are you the boss?”

  “Yes.” I’m starting to feel confused and off kilter, his confident and domineering tone making me doubt my own Southern manners and sensibilities regarding customer service.

  “Then you have the power to let me back here to help you,” he says as if it’s the most common-sense thing in the world.

  “But—” I say, not really knowing why I want to argue with him, but I do.

  “What’s your name?” he asks, and I blink again.

  “My what?”

  “Your name?” he repeats.

  “Larkin,” I reply automatically.

  “That totally matches,” he says with a confident nod before moving over to the refrigerator. It’s a commercial-grade sub-zero Mely bought, and I’m a little in love with it. He opens it up and sticks his head inside, seemingly forgetting I’m here.

  “Um… excuse me?” I ask tentatively as I inch across the kitchen toward him. “But what matches?”

  Deacon turns from the fridge, then closes the door. “Your name to you,” he says and then boldly runs his gaze up and down me. “Your beautiful name matches the rest of you.”

  This so stuns me I can’t even think to argue with him. Instead, I mutter, “My last name is Mancinkus.”

  Deacon grimaces, then gives me a sympathetic smile. “Yeah… not a very sexy last name. Good thing the whole package you have going on overshadows that.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur, feeling more than a little perplexed. “I think.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Deacon

  “So what’s your deal?” I ask Larkin as I watch her making tiny, triangular-shaped sandwiches. I’d already learned by watching her pull bowls from the fridge that she was doing three varieties—pimento, ham salad, and herbed cream cheese with cucumbers—all homemade, of course.

  “My deal?” she asks without glancing up from her task. She’d relegated me to a bar stool on the other side of a butcher block island where she was slathering soft white bread with one of the three fillings before removing the crusts and cutting them into triangles.

  “Yeah… your deal,” I say as I watch her hands work. She’s practiced and confident when it comes to food. “Like you told me you owned the bakery across the town square, but here you are running a bed and breakfast? And you’re shy, but you got sass, which intrigues me. And I don’t see a wedding ring on your hand, but that could be because you don’t want it getting coated in ham salad, so I need to know if you’re married while you’re filling me in on ‘your deal’.”

  Larkin’s lips curl while she works, her cheeks turning slightly pink. That’s happened a dozen times since I’ve been around her, and I find it both charming and sexy that I can make her blush with something as innocent as trying to find out if she’s married.

  It’s essential information.

  I don’t mess around with married chicks.

  At all.

  And that’s not from any bad experience or anything, but merely a product of not being a moronic idiot.

  “I opened the bakery about six years ago,” Larkin says, and my gaze drifts from her hands to her face. “It let me have an outlet for my creativity with the baking, but I also wanted to own my own business.”

  “And the bed and breakfast? I think you told me one of your family members owned it.”

  Nodding, Larkin shoots me a brief glance before turning to her task. “My brother Lowe and his new wife, Mely. They approached me about coming on as a business partner since I was running a successful business already, then put me in charge of the food services here. They’re currently on their honeymoon, so I’ve got full run of the place for a little longer.”

  Well, damn. Not only beautiful but also intelligent.

  I’m more and more intrigued.

  “And your husband?” I ask with a grin.

  She gives me a slight smirk before replying. “None of your business.”

  Hmmm… not the answer I was looking for. “Well, if you’re married, your husband is a fool.”

  Larkin’s hands freeze, and her eyes snap to me. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because no man should ever let a woman like you out of the house without your wedding ring on so as to keep other men at bay.”

  Instead of finding any amount of attraction in my over-the-top flattery, she narrows her eyes. “A woman shouldn’t be defined by whether or not she’s married.”

  And there’s the sass I’m attracted to. Chuckling, I hold up my hands in surrender. “I agree. I’ll make a note not to offer lame flattery anymore. So, are you married?”

  Her smile is amused as she returns to the sandwiches, which she is now arranging on a tiered platter. I could seriously eat the entire lot myself. “I’m not married.”

  “Engaged?”

  “Nope.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Nope.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Nope.”

  I reach across and snag one of the tiny sandwiches, popping it in my mouth before she can even react fast enough to try to bat me away. Her hand swipes at the air, and I can’t help but moan over the taste of the mellow, melty pimento cheese in my mouth.

  “Holy Mother of God, that’s good,” I say with sincerity. I start to reach for another, and this time, she has no problem smacking me on the back of my hand which feels like a gnat landing on me she’s so tiny.

  “Keep out of there,” she admonishes sternly, and I slowly withdraw. “I have other guests to feed.”

  “I could totally overpower you,” I advise sagely. “Take all the sandwiches for myself.”

  “And you could find another place to stay tonight if you do that,” she replies with a challenging glint in her eye.

  “Fine,” I say, putting my forearms on the counter and leaning toward her. “I’ll leave your precious little sandwiches alone, but you have to agree to let me take
you out to dinner tonight.”

  She’s shooting me down with a shake of her head just a little too fast for my liking. “I can’t. I have to work.”

  “Here?” I ask.

  She nods. “I normally have a night-shift employee, but he’s got the night off. It’s his birthday.”

  “Tomorrow night then?” My tone is light and easy. It in no way lets on how disappointed I am that we can’t have dinner tonight.

  “That’s not good either,” she says as she covers the tiered platter with cellophane.

  That was way too quick and evasive sounding to my liking, and I become suspicious. “Why not?”

  Larkin refuses to look at me, fussing with the edges of the plastic wrap. “Just because.”

  “Because you’re seeing someone?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Because I’m too ugly?”

  She still won’t give me her eyes, but her snort is audible when she shakes her head in the negative.

  “Got to be a reason,” I say firmly, refusing to give up.

  “No, there doesn’t,” she murmurs, and I notice the tops of her ears are red. Cute, adorable, and delicate ears I bet would be a pleasure to kiss at some point. I love her short hair and how it exposes so much of her face and neck. She’s got a timeless sort of beauty that lets her rock that look.

  “Larkin.” Her name from my mouth gets her attention, and she finally raises her head. “I’m a stranger to you. You can afford to be honest. Just spill it.”

  She folds one arm across her stomach, raising the other hand to nibble on her thumbnail a moment. Her gaze slides to the swinging door, then back to me. Finally, she blows out a breath, which lifts those long bangs off her forehead for a moment before they flutter down.

  “Look… not going to lie, but yeah… your attention and flattery make a girl feel good, but if you want honesty… here it is. I can’t figure out what your angle is other than you’re trying to get me to sleep with you. I’m here to tell you, buddy, that’s not going to happen. Ever. So you can stop laying your charms on the chubby little small-town girl. I’m not falling for your mysterious persona or your hot biker charms. You and I both know you’re in a league far superior to me, but I’m not stupid enough to fall into your bed because of it.”