Sweet Dreams (A Sugar Rush Novel) Read Free Page B

leading to the restrooms. After using the toilet, she washed her hands and checked her reflection in the mirror. Aside from being flushed and tipsy, she looked the same as always—curly brown hair falling past her shoulders, ordinary features, nice but nothing fabulous.
    At least this time she was free of Cheetos dust and grape-soda stains. But even with Mia’s makeup artistry and clothing choices, she still looked like Polly Lockhart.
    Not that that was a bad thing. She liked being Polly Lockhart. She just wished she was a more courageous, self-confident version of herself. A girl who was better at navigating the world alone. A girl who didn’t find it necessary to hide with a basement-dwelling lump because she was too scared to put herself out there.
    Polly started back to the bar, reminding herself that she was no longer in a relationship with Brian and, therefore, she was no longer hiding.
    A broad, male body was blocking the narrow corridor leading back to the bar. One look—actually, one leap of her silly heart—and she knew it was Mr. Hottie. His back was to her, and he had a cell phone pressed to his ear.
    “ . . . yeah, he should have told me but he didn’t,” he was saying, his voice tense.
    Polly stopped. Since she had no idea how long he planned to chat, she reached up and tapped on his shoulder. It was like poking her finger against stone.
    He turned with a frown, the phone still at his ear. He looked at her, the crease between his eyebrows easing.
    “Excuse me,” she mouthed, gesturing toward the bar.
    “I’ll call you back,” he said into the phone. He ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket, his gaze rather unnervingly on her.
    “Hello, Peach,” he said. “I wondered where you’d run off to.”
    Peach? Well, that made her feel all warm and tingly in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol she’d consumed.
    Still, Polly scowled at him. A cute endearment wasn’t going to make her fall at his feet. Another shot would probably do it, but Mr. Hottie’s charm wouldn’t.
    “Peach, huh?” she said. “What about baby ?”
    A smile tugged at his mouth.
    “Happy birthday, baby,” he murmured, his deep voice like a rush of heat over her skin.
    Polly tried, and failed, to steel herself against his charm.
    “What happened to the redhead?” she asked.
    “What redhead?”
    “The one who had her boobs on you fifteen minutes ago.”
    “I don’t remember any redhead,” he said. “I only remember you.”
    Hottie charm definitely overpowering steel . . .
    He reached out to flick his finger against Polly’s lower lip.
    A bolt of electricity shot through her. She looked at him in surprise as he held up his finger to show her the pink sprinkle he’d captured from her lip.
    “Sprinkle,” he said.
    Polly flushed. How had she missed that in the mirror? She dashed a hand across her mouth and stepped backward, catching the heel of her shoe on an uneven floorboard. She gasped, feeling herself tilt horrifyingly off-balance. The floor swayed beneath her, and she caught a glimpse of Mr. Hottie’s very expensive-looking leather shoes.
    “Whoa, Peach.” He grabbed her waist and hauled her upright. “Careful.”
    Polly leaned back against the wall, heat blooming inside her at the sensation of being so close to him, his hands warm and strong on her waist. She could smell him again too, that potent combination of sex and masculinity that sparked a heavy pulsing in her lower body.
    “You smell amazing,” he murmured, his voice deep and smoky. “Like a ripe peach.”
    She was ripe, all right. So ripe she was about to fall off the vine. And she wished to heaven she was a peach. Then maybe Mr. Hottie would lick her, bite her, eat her . . .
    Oh, lord.
    She tilted her head to look up at him. His eyes glittered in the dim light. Though Polly’s brain was foggy, one sharp, clear thought shone through.
    She wanted this man to kiss her. She wanted to feel the pressure of his lips, his body pressed