Sweet Dreams (A Sugar Rush Novel) (21 page)

Mia swung her gaze to him. “You did not just say that.”

“I believe I did.”

“Are you from the South?” Polly asked, though she hadn’t detected an accent.

Mia gave her a pointed look. “Pols, he just named your new creation.”

Polly grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down the word
Declare
, then crossed it out and changed it to
Declair
.

As she looked at the word, she realized it was the first time she’d ever created an original recipe on her own. Her mother had been a master of recipe creation, unafraid of mixing and matching ingredients to come up with the perfect confection. And Polly had always been a willing taste-tester, but she’d left the actual inventing up to her mother.

Until now.

Before she forgot all the ingredients and proportions, she scribbled down the recipe, then returned to the office and pulled up the website for The Art of French Pastry class. She’d sent in her mother’s éclair recipe with her application, and though she still didn’t think much of her chances of acceptance—it would be like winning the golden ticket for Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory—she also wasn’t very happy about the idea of passing her mother’s recipe off as her own.

Dear M. Lacroix
(not that Himself would be reading this, but what the heck . . . )

Enclosed please find my original recipe for a hybrid pastry known as The Declair, a cross between a doughnut and an éclair. I would like to add the Declair to my application, as submitted earlier, to fulfill the original recipe requirement.

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,

Polly Lockhart

She hit the send button and returned to the kitchen to make up another batch of Declairs.

AFTER THEIR PASTRY ASSESSMENT, THE
Knight Security special ops force returned over the next few days to purchase Declairs during their off-duty hours. Their appreciation for the pastry seemed to spread the word among their friends and family, as several people came in specifically to ask for it, often buying muffins and croissants as well.

Polly was both surprised and pleased by the small but increasing profits at the end of the day, and she emailed the total sales to Luke to keep him apprised. But if she had thought the hot consummation of their relationship—not to mention his texting her during a board meeting—would have turned him into a fluffy, low-density marshmallow, she was proven sorely wrong. When it came to the business of Wild Child, CEO Stone was as demanding a taskmaster as ever.

For the rest of the week, he came to the bakery every day. In between making his own calls and responding to emails, he sat with her in the office and instructed her on how to use a new accounting program, where she needed to cut expenses, and how to calculate business ratios. He advised her on tax preparation, her leasing contract, health insurance, and employee management.

Polly absorbed so much information that she might soon be qualified to run Microsoft with all she was learning. She completed the somewhat painful task of choosing which products to take off sale and which to keep, negotiated with suppliers, and changed the pricing list. Luke contacted a financial services company on her behalf, and the manager agreed to give Polly a small business loan, which she could use for remodeling the interior.

Gavin Knight and his security guys also returned to install the security system at both Wild Child and Polly’s apartment. She always had plenty of Declairs waiting for them, and by the time they were finished with the installation, she was pretty sure not even Houdini himself would be able to break in.

Gavin spent an inordinate amount of time explaining the system, assuring her she was connected to a twenty-four-hour manned control center, inputting passwords and security codes, and using terms like
biometric access
and
encrypted communication paths.

Despite the fact that Polly thought it was all a bit of overkill, there was no question she felt more at ease both at the bakery and at home. And knowing she would pay Luke back for the cost, she plunged even more determinedly into shoring up the bakery’s business plan.

The following Saturday, after Polly dressed in a Mia-approved, drinks-and-dancing outfit consisting of a blue stretchy top (“makes your boobs look spectacular”) and a short, pleated skirt (“flirty and cute”), she and Luke drove to the Snowflake Club, which was housed in a somewhat run-down building on the other side of town.

A sense of misgiving rushed through Polly as they went into the jam-packed room that was vibrating with ear-splitting music and noise. She didn’t remember it being quite this crowded and loud. But now that they were here, finally on a real live date, she couldn’t falter.

“Isn’t this great?” she yelled, squeezing into a chair between the wall and a table which Luke had miraculously discovered was unoccupied. “It’s one of the hippest joints on the alternative music scene!”

Luke responded, but Polly only knew that because she saw his mouth move. Since she couldn’t hear what he said, she smiled and nodded.

He folded his body into the chair beside her. His gaze moved over the crowd, which was packed wall-to-wall with sweaty, T-shirt-clad college students bopping and jumping in time to the beat of the Riders playing on stage.

Mia had been right about the Snowflake Club skewing too young for Luke. In his tailored white shirt and gray wool trousers, he looked like a professor or chaperone rather than a guy out to have a good time.

He spoke again, though she couldn’t hear him over the noise.

“Excuse me?” she shouted, leaning closer to indicate he should speak into her ear.

“I’ll get us some drinks!”

“Great!”

He patted her knee beneath the table, eased out of the chair, and started making his way toward the narrow bar, which was five tipsy college kids deep and seven across. Luke didn’t stand much of a chance of coming back with a drink, but Polly appreciated him for trying.

She settled her elbows on the table, wincing as something greasy and sticky clung to her bare arms. She dug in her purse for a tissue and tried to scrub the tabletop. Had the Snowflake Club always smelled so richly of body odor or had the Riders brought out the “too much wrath for a bath” crowd?

“I’m guessing beer is the safest bet here.” Luke squeezed back into the chair beside her, depositing two glasses of watery-looking ale on the table.

“How did you manage to get these?” Polly yelled.

“All that football with my brothers must have paid off.”

“You played football a lot?”

“What?”

“Nothing!”

Luke sat back, reaching up to wipe a trickle of sweat off his temple. He reached into his pocket for his phone and started scrolling. Polly couldn’t blame him for being bored and restless—this clearly wasn’t his kind of place.

She started to suggest they leave when her cell phone vibrated. She took it out and glanced at the screen to find a text.

LUKE:
Are you a magician?

POLLY:
Uh . . . no. Why?

LUKE:
Because every time I look at you, everyone else disappears.

Pleasure fluttered through Polly, and she nudged him with her elbow. He continued typing on his phone without looking up.

LUKE:
Are you a parking ticket? Because you have fine written all over you.

POLLY:
Oh my god. Don’t tell me CEO Stone is really just a cheesy pick-up artist in disguise.

LUKE:
Okay, I won’t tell you that.

POLLY:
For the record, you don’t need pick-up lines with me.

LUKE:
For the record, you had me at “Hi.”

They both looked up at the same time, their gazes meeting with a current of hot tenderness. A slow grin spread across Luke’s face as he put his phone back into his pocket. He leaned over and brushed his lips across her cheek to her ear. His breath tickled her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Dance with me,” he said.

“Really?” Polly looked at the writhing mass of people. “You sure?”

Luke again maneuvered out of the chair as the dance crowd undulated wildly. He grabbed her hand and tugged her to her feet. She followed him through the crush of sweaty, damp bodies. Because he was so tall and broad-shouldered, people automatically moved aside to make room for him. Within seconds, they were in the middle of the floor, the hot air compressing around them.

This
had
been her idea. Polly started bumping around as best she could considering there were thrashing bodies closing in on her from all sides. The music pounded inside her head, hurting her ears, eyes, and even her nose.

But she couldn’t let Luke know that this craziness wasn’t exactly what she’d planned when she’d decided to take him out for a night of drinks and dancing at one of her friends’ favorite hotspots. Polly hadn’t been to the club in well over a year, but now that the universe had put Luke Stone right in front of her, she had to keep her promise to show him a good time.

“Woo hoo!” She swiveled her hips and turned in a circle, narrowly missing colliding with the girl to her right. “This place rocks!”

Luke put his hands out three times to stop other people from crashing into them. Polly spun around again just as a guy bumped her from behind, sending her stumbling forward.

Luke caught her around the waist, and for an instant the world receded as she remembered him catching her that night at the Troll’s House. Except this time, she was in full possession of her senses, and the solid strength of his body came right up against hers. He tightened his hands around her waist.

“Okay?” he shouted.

Polly nodded, a flush of embarrassment crawling up her neck. What was she thinking bringing CEO Stone to a club like this? He was a man accustomed to going to the opera or the theater, not a hole in the wall so crowded it was probably a fire hazard.

“Maybe we should go—” she began, but then he settled her hips against his and started to dance with her.

Polly drew in a breath, surprised and flustered by the sensation of his strong body moving to the noise that passed for music. The lead singer screeched something into the mic, and a piercing feedback rattled her ears.

The crowd surged and yelled. Luke’s grip tightened. Sweat dripped down her neck. She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. The fact that they were both getting hot and sticky intensified the throbbing sensation in her blood.

The world receded farther. Luke spread his hands over her rear, moving them in slow circles. Even past the noise, she heard his heavy heartbeat. And then it was just the two of them, their bodies sealed together and rocking slowly in a rhythm of their own making. He pressed his lips against her temple. She breathed in his scent of soap, shaving cream, and heat. A melty feeling swirled through her, like gooey butterscotch.

“Mosh pit!” someone yelled.

Luke lifted his head, his eyes crinkling with wry amusement. “A mosh pit might be a little too much fun for me.”

“Me too.” Polly slid her hand over his arm and curled her fingers around his as they made their way back to the table and squeezed into their chairs. She grabbed the beer, which was stale and flat, but still cold.

An agonized scream from the Riders caused the crowd to surge joyfully. Luke shot to his feet, getting in front of Polly as a boy started to stumble into their table. Next thing she knew, the boy was crashing into Luke, who then grabbed him to keep him from going down. The table tipped. The beer splashed all over both the floor and Luke’s shirtfront.

“Sorry, man!” the boy yelled.

Luke said something in response as he steadied the kid back on his feet. The boy ran off into the mosh pit again.

“Your shirt.” Polly fumbled for the tissues in her pocket and began wiping down Luke’s wet shirt. Greasy streaks appeared over the beer stains, and she realized she was trying to clean him up with the same tissues she’d used to scrub the gunk off the table.

“Oh no.” She grimaced at the realization that his very expensive shirt had been ruined. “I’m so sorry.”