Sweet as Sin (18 page)

Her nails gouged into his chest as she balanced.

Livvy ground down, squeezing and stroking the thick length inside her. His fingers dug into her hips and an unruly cry pealed from his throat.

Livvy sucked in a scream, clenching and

exploding. His body shook and her name echoed in the storm’s howl. For one instant, he ceased to be, she stopped existing. It was only them, as one, together.

Chapter Eight

“You’re beautiful, Andrea, truly beautiful.” Livvy blinked several times to clear the shimmer from her eyes. Andrea stared at Livvy through the octagonal mirror, tears sparkling in her own eyes.

The waterfall of shining satin and beading created the picture-perfect princess-bride look Andrea had been striving for.

“Do you think Tow will like it?”

“Andy, you’re beautiful, he loves you and it’s on sale. He’ll love it.”

While Andrea made a deposit and scheduled a fitting, Livvy browsed through racks of white. Her hand fell on a sample veil with delicate scalloped edging. The pearl-encrusted combs sparkled with quiet elegance and she couldn’t resist slipping them into her hair. The blusher veil was not really her style but since it was attached, she smoothed it over her face. A bride stared back at her from the mirror. A surging in her chest made her breath catch. Like a child playing dress-up, the image captivated her.

“What are you doing?” Andrea’s voice made her jump and she ripped the headpiece off with a guilty laugh and burning face.

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“Just playing, I guess.” Her shaky fingers shoved the length of lace into the bag and Livvy refused to face her sister. It wasn’t until they had exited the ultra-posh salon and were walking to her car that she dared a peek.

Andrea stared at her, a stubborn thrust to her jaw. “Livvy, what’s going on with you and John?”

Now there’s the million-dollar question
. A deep sigh was hidden by the click of the automatic door locks opening. Livvy started the car and snapped the air conditioning to high before replying. “We’re taking things slow, I guess.”

“Slow?
Slow?
If you’re not at the Shack, you’re with him. You haven’t slept in your own bed since God was a child. That is not slow, Livvy.”

The snottiness in Andrea’s tone irritated her.

How could she explain to her sister something she didn’t understand herself? “I’ve been an adult for a long time now. If I want to sleep with someone, I will. You’re the one who told me to go for it.

Test drive the hotrod, you said.”

“Test drive, Livvy. Test drive. You’re looking to lease the sucker. You can’t be a soccer mom in a hotrod. Screw the car analogies. John’s not the marrying kind. He’s the love-’em-and-leave-’em type, a sexy bad boy. Even you said he wasn’t the type you take home to Mama, and now you’re playing with wedding veils.”

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The knot that jammed Livvy’s throat choked her until she forced it down with a hard gulp.

“Things are changing, Andrea. He’s different.”

“Bullshit. He’s getting a piece of ass and you’re giving him your heart.”

Livvy fixed her sister with the same look she used when Andrea would sneak cookies from the jar as a child. Every instinct in her body snarled in protective fury. “What’s with you? I thought you liked Murphy. Is this about him and Tow getting drunk? I seem to remember both of them in the back of Leo’s cruiser, not just Murphy.”

“I do like him. It’s just…” One hand rubbed her eyes. “Look, I never thought you two would get really involved. Not emotionally. I thought all you wanted was sex. I just don’t want to see you hurt, okay?”

“I’m not going to get hurt. And I love him.”

Chin raised, Livvy glared at her baby sister.

Andrea sighed. “Have you told him that yet?”

“No, not yet.” Softer than she meant, her words sounded timid.

“And of course he hasn’t said anything.”

Andrea’s tone was just shy of acidic and Livvy drew a calming breath.

“Some things but not what you mean.”

“Tell him, Livvy.” The challenge was clear. “If you’re so sure, tell him. But I bet anything that once you say it, he tucks tail and runs.”

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Livvy thrust the car into drive. “You’re wrong about him, Andy.”

“One of us is—and I really do hope it’s me.”

The numbers never changed. Livvy rubbed her eyes and racked her brain. The Sugar Shack operated in the black but that red line was too close for comfort. The first few years, capital had been better. She’d made double loan payments and bought a house. Then the economy tanked and things got leaner. The Shack was still profitable but not as much as Livvy wanted.

That balloon payment had been expected and planned for so, although it hurt, it wasn’t out of the blue. But no one had told her the entire country would be tightening their belts just when her mortgage increased. Her restaurant contracts were her bread. Walk-ins, party orders and the adult line of delicacies were her butter. They were all proven money-makers. She got bookings for several bachelorette parties and sorority bashes nearly every weekend. Still, they weren’t enough.

When Tow proposed, Andrea had been so

excited and that joy had spread. Livvy’d had no reservations about letting her stop paying rent to save for the wedding of her dreams. She’d always mother-henned Andrea, more so now that their real mother had passed. But losing that extra income had come at a very bad time. One

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professional-grade baker’s oven gave up the ghost, the bank payment came due and her health

insurance took a hike all the same week.

She’d tightened her belt so hard, the buckle whimpered. It helped but not enough. Her eyes focused on the computer screen. Bright green and mocking, the cursor blinked at her meager resource balance. It didn’t magically double. The projected outcome was dipping dangerously close to that thin line between being in the black and in the red. She needed another epiphany.

A headache bloomed and she reached for the Tylenol and John’s sketchpad. Somehow, his rendition of her just made her feel better. She carried the pad with her to the front to relieve Justine for her break. Each flip of the page brought a wider smile to her face. Damn, John had talent for finding the brightness buried in all those dark images. She could use a little of that optimism now.

The bells of the front door banged on the glass.

She pasted a welcoming smile on her face. “Hi, may I help you?”

A middle-aged woman with too-bright lipstick barreled to the counter. Behind her, a bored teenager in emo dress heaved a burdened sigh.

Livvy moved a crystal bowl of peppermints seconds before the woman’s huge Coach purse smacked down.

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“I’m Marnie Florici and this is my daughter, Meagan. I saw a drawing that author did that you’re putting on my niece’s cake. Ashley Bernstein? Meagan has a sweet sixteen party coming up Saturday and, well, as you can see, she is not the pink roses type. I thought maybe you could do something.”

Livvy’s jaw popped open. Saturday was

impossible. Not only was she booked solid for the next three weeks, her secondary chef was still on vacation. It would all fall to her.

“I don’t want a freakin’ party.” Meagan’s black lips barely moved but the disdain smacked the air.

Marnie whipped around and spat through

clenched teeth. “Your cheating-ass father is paying for it and you’re having a party that’ll make his wallet weep.”

A snort fanned long spiked bangs out from Meagan’s hidden eyes and she crossed her arms.

“Real adult, Mom.”

“Hey, I’m not the one boning my receptionist.”

Marnie kept talking. Slowly, the size and importance of this event sank into Livvy’s brain.

This was Marnie Florici, grande dame of three counties. Her family owned the biggest bank, three grocery stores and a slew of minor

businesses. This was primo walking advertisement all wrapped up in one middle-aged acidic package desperately in need of a root touch-up. If Livvy 200

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wowed them with this cake, word would spread and give her business a jumpstart.

“Too bad there are only male characters in those books.” Marnie raked her gaze over her not-quite-a-princess daughter. “I could see you as a little monster.”

Meagan brazenly raised her middle finger. “I liked the bat.”

“There is a female monster but not until the next book.” Livvy could have snatched the words out of the air the second they left her mouth.

Damn.
She fumbled, hoping to cover her blunder.

“I’m sure we can find something you like, Meagan.” Livvy motioned to the design books.

“Why don’t we start looking through that album and you can tell me what you like, okay?”

“She likes boys, skipping school and pissing me off.”

Meagan grinned, a twisted lift to her black-painted mouth. “I’m good at all three, too.”

Livvy let them argue and moved the sketchpad down the counter to make room for a few other design books. Meagan flipped through one book while her mother listed all the traits she inherited from her good-for-nothing father.

“Damn, Mom, this is all froufrou shit. Let’s just go.”

Livvy cringed. Emo, punk and Goth were not her forte. She doubted she could really even Inez Kelley

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discern the difference—all she knew was they all had a lot of black. But she needed this order. She racked her brain, desperate for an answer.

“Find a design.” Marnie was a woman with a vendetta. “There has to be something in there you can stomach.”

“Bitch.” A huff of pure teenage exasperation burst out. The plastic liners snapped with each page she thumbed and her sneer grew. Shoving one book aside, Meagan glanced at John’s

sketchpad and flipped it open. Her hand stopped.

“What’s this?”

Livvy floundered. “Uh…it’s just some

drawings a friend did. It’s not…” Trailing off, Livvy watched in wonder. An animated electricity enlivened Meagan’s frame. She stood straighter, a dimple appeared with her smile and the pages turned slowly.

Inspiration struck.

All that useless, creative filler suddenly exploded into ideas for a younger, more modern, more pop-cultured line. Excitement sped Livvy’s heart rate. She could do this. It was just classic pastry application with a funky twist. It was all in the design. Designs she had right before her eyes, saved from an undiscovered grave. John’s garbage could be her financial salvation.

Livvy grabbed on with both hands and took a leap.

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“It’s…our newest upcoming line. In fact, it’s so new, these are the originals, so I don’t have any color copies or pictures at the moment. You could be the first client, have something no one else has ever had.”

“What line?” Marnie asked, peering over her daughter’s shoulder.

“Well,” Livvy scrambled, her brain churning.

She looked at Meagan’s black lips. Her Adult Cravings line just got a brand-new, slightly sinister-looking baby sister. “Dark Cravings.”

“Did that writer who did Ashley’s drawing do these, too?”

“Yes.”

Livvy caught Marnie’s eyes and the older

woman cocked her head. She glanced down at the drawing of Livvy with wings. A knowing sneer twisted her lips. “So that’s how it is.”

Livvy refused to bite that fishing line and focused her attention on Meagan. A wink of light reflected off her nose ring. She studied each drawing, a snort sounding occasionally as she looked through the pages. She shoved the long bangs away from her black-rimmed eyes. “Oh, cool! I like this. Mom, look.”

Livvy glanced at the upside-down image. It was one of the few drawn in ink. An elongated casket with a sunroof, a set of organ pipes spitting flames and motorcycle wheels screamed defiance.

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Winged bats flew overhead while the coffin-driver laughed his skeletal head off, flipping the bony bird to the world. The license plate read BYT ME.

“If that’s what you want, I don’t care. Maybe it’ll remind your father he’s supposed to cover your car insurance, too.” Marnie snickered, brandishing her scorned-woman attitude like a sword. Livvy refrained from commenting that it was her daughter who would feel the cut.

“Why don’t we personalize it a bit?” Livvy smiled.

Meagan tapped her black-painted nails and nodded. Underneath the hair dye, the piercings and the eyeliner was a child caught between a bitter mother and a cheating father.

Livvy’s heart cringed. How well she knew that position. “Just let me run into the back and copy this. I’ll be right back.”

Livvy set them up with complimentary

cupcakes and darted into her office. Her hands shook with excitement dialing John’s house.

Through three rings, she tapped her foot. She hung up when voicemail clicked on and dialed his cell. Nothing.
Damn.
He’d said he was going to mow the lawn this afternoon. Just her luck to get an epiphany when he was playing Grass Master.

Opportunity was knocking at her door and she was damn well going to open it. John couldn’t mind. He’d drawn the picture for Ashley and 204

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hadn’t minded when she turned it into a cake design. He’d given her permission to use the clock cake as she saw fit, said he was going to throw it away. He
had
thrown this sketchpad away. She’d just go ahead this once and then talk to him about it.

One photocopy later, she and Meagan hunched over the page, adding short spiked hair and a bust line and turning the motorcycle wheels into bicycle tires. In the interest of pastry application, the bats were lost but Livvy suggested a bat-shaped bustier rather than the ragged tux John had drawn. Marnie rattled off guest lists and menus, all the while badmouthing her ex-husband. Livvy made notes, jotted down suggestions and sent sympathetic glances to Meagan.

Livvy tallied up the estimated price, educated-guessing at the time and effort, tacked on a percentage for a rush-job and named a painfully high price. Marnie smirked and made the cake larger.