Unwrapped (Sugar & Spice #1)

Chapter 2

ZANE

I stalk away from her, my hands shoved in my pockets, trying to ignore the way my body is screaming at me to turn around. To go back. To push her up against that wall and show her exactly what I've been thinking about for the past decade.

But I can't.

She's Tessa Marlow. The girl who used to watch me in the halls with those big doe eyes. The one who made my cock hard in class just by existing. The one who was always too young, too pure, too everything for a guy like me.

The halls are dark and quiet, just like they are when I come in early or on the weekends. That’s how I like it. Quiet. Uncomplicated. Easy.

"Fuck," I mutter, yanking open the door to my private office and letting it slam behind me. I loosen my tie and pour myself three fingers of scotch, downing half of it in one swallow.

The burn does nothing to erase the image of her in that red dress. The way it hugged every curve, showing off the woman she's become. She's not that teenage girl anymore—she's all grown up and even more tempting than she was back then.

“Shit,” I groan, dropping down into my leather chair and closing my eyes, letting my mind wander back to the days when she haunted my every thought.

The numbers blur together as I lean against my Corvette, cigarette dangling from my lips. Another failing business, another stack of reports showing exactly why. Dad might think I'm worthless, but I can read a balance sheet better than half his accountants.

"Just sell the damn thing," I mutter into my phone, watching the snow drift down. "The longer you hold onto it, the more money you'll lose."

The business owner on the other end starts arguing, but I've already stopped listening. Because there she is – Tessa fucking Marlow, pressed against the library window, pretending to study while she watches me.

She thinks I don't notice. They all think that – that I'm too wrapped up in my own bullshit to see the whispers, the stares. But I notice everything. Especially her.

"Listen," I cut the guy off, "my lunch break's over. Call me when you're ready to take my advice."

I hang up, taking a long drag of my cigarette. Through the window, I can see her friend trying to get her attention. Probably talking about the winter formal or some other bullshit I couldn't care less about.

But Tessa's still watching me.

She shouldn't interest me. She's everything I hate about this place – the perfect cheerleader with her perfect life, floating through high school on popularity and pep rallies. The kind of girl who would never look twice at the screwup who got kicked out of four schools.

Except she does look. All the fucking time.

I've caught her staring in the hallways, in the cafeteria, at my brother's stupid parties. Always with those big blue eyes that seem to see right through my carefully constructed walls.

"Fuck this," I mutter, crushing my cigarette under my boot. I need to get out of here, away from the temptation to look back at her.

The bell rings as I'm heading to the parking lot. I round the corner and suddenly she's there, crashing into my chest like some kind of cosmic joke.

"Shit, sorry," I say, my hands moving to steady her before she falls. She's smaller than I expected, delicate almost, but there's strength in the way she carries herself.

"It's okay," she squeaks, and something in my chest tightens at the sound. "My fault."

I look down at her, and for a moment, I let myself really see her. Not just the cheerleader uniform or the perfect blonde ponytail, but her. The intelligence behind those eyes. The slight tremble in her lower lip. The way her breath catches when I touch her.

It would be so easy to keep holding her. To back her up against the lockers and find out if she tastes as sweet as she looks.

Danger flashes in my mind.

"You're Asher's friend, right?" I force myself to let go, step back. "The cheerleader?"

"Tessa," she says, and fuck if her breathless voice doesn't do things to me. "We've actually met before. At your house, when ? —"

"Right." I cut her off before she can remind me of that night – her in those tiny shorts, laughing at something my brother said while I watched from the shadows, wanting what I couldn't have. "Tell my brother I need those car keys back by six."

I walk away before I can do something stupid, like ask why she watches me. Like tell her I watch her too.

In my next class, I can't focus on anything except the lingering warmth of her body against mine. The way she fit perfectly in my hands. The soft catch in her breath when she said my name.

This is exactly why I keep my distance. Girls like Tessa Marlow are nothing but trouble. They make you want things you can't have, dream about futures that don't exist for guys like me.

My phone buzzes – another failing business owner wanting advice. Good. Numbers I can handle. Balance sheets don't make promises they can't keep. Profit margins don't look at you with eyes full of possibilities.

But as I stare at the spreadsheet, all I can think about is the way she whispered my name. How her whole body seemed to lean into my touch, like she wanted more.

Like maybe she sees past the bad boy exterior to something worth wanting.

"You're fucked," I mutter to myself, shoving my phone away. Because she's seventeen and innocent and everything I'm not.

Because wanting her is dangerous.

Because for the first time in my life, I'm not sure I'm strong enough to keep my distance.

I light another cigarette, trying to burn away the memory of her body against mine. But it's no use. Tessa Marlow has gotten under my skin, and I'm starting to think she's been there a lot longer than I want to admit.

God help us both.

The memory fades as I stare out my office window, the Chicago skyline a stark contrast to those high school parking lot days. Ten years, and she still has the same effect on me. Still makes me want things I have no business wanting.

The door opens behind me. "You're brooding again."

"I don't brood." I don't turn around. Asher knows me too well – he'll see right through my bullshit.

"Right." He drops into one of my leather chairs. "Just like you weren't just thinking about Tessa Marlow."

Now I do turn, fixing him with a glare. "Don't start."

"Come on, Zane. I saw the way you looked at her tonight. The way you've always looked at her."

"I don't look at her any way." I loosen my already loose tie, needing more air. "She's an annoyance."

"She's more than that and you know it." He leans forward, suddenly serious. "You've wanted her since high school."

"Ancient history."

"Is it?" He raises an eyebrow. "Because the tension between you two out there,” he shakes his head with a whistle, “could sense it from across the room.”

I pour us both a scotch, buying time. "What do you want, Ash?"

He accepts the glass, but his expression stays serious. "I want my brother to be happy for once in his fucking life. To stop punishing himself for things that happened a decade ago."

"I'm fine."

"You're alone." He takes a sip. "And don't give me that bullshit about preferring it that way. We both know that's not true."

I sink into my chair, suddenly exhausted. "What about you and her friend?” I give him a knowing look, “Ivy Calloway.”

His face softens at her name, and I know I've successfully diverted his attention. "That obvious, huh?"

"Only to someone who knows you." I study him over my glass. “You’re clearly still obsessed."

"Yeah." He runs a hand through his hair – a nervous tell we both inherited from our father. "There's just something about her, you know? She's brilliant and driven, but there's this softness too. This way she has of making everyone around her feel... seen."

"Sounds like true love.” My sarcastic tone is obvious, my distrust of her not so much.

"Maybe." He grins. "I'm helping with their bakery, did you know that? The business plan is solid. They've really thought it through."

I think of Tessa's fierce defense of their venture earlier. "Yeah, I got that impression."

"You should see Ivy when she talks about it. Her whole face lights up." He shakes his head, like he just said some super human thing. "I've never met anyone like her."

"Just be careful," I warn. "Mixing business and pleasure?—"

"Is exactly what you should be doing with Tessa."

I set my glass down harder than necessary. "We're not talking about me."

"Aren't we?" He leans back, studying me. "You pushed her away back then because she was too young. What's your excuse now?"

"She deserves better than me." The words slip out before I can stop them.

"That's not your decision to make." He stands, draining his glass. "She's not that teenage girl anymore, Zane. And you're not the same angry kid you were back then."

"Some things don't change."

"But people do." He heads for the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "You know what I think? I think you're not afraid she deserves better. I think you're afraid she'll actually want you – the real you. And then you'll have to stop hiding behind those walls you've built."

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with thoughts I've spent years trying to bury. Memories of blonde hair and bright smiles. Of watching her from a distance, wanting what I couldn't have.

But Asher's right – she's not that girl anymore. She's a woman now, successful and confident and sexy as hell. A woman who stood up to me tonight, who pushed back against my walls like they were made of paper.

A woman who still looks at me like she sees something worth wanting.

I reach for the scotch again, but stop myself. Liquid courage isn't what I need right now. What I need is to figure out how to keep my distance when everything in me is screaming to pull her closer.

Because if I'm honest with myself – really honest – I'm not worried she deserves better than me.

I'm terrified she'll realize I'm exactly what she's been looking for all along.

And then what the fuck am I supposed to do with these walls I've built?

I have no idea how long I’ve been wallowing on my couch once I manage to make it home from the party, but my phone buzzes in my pocket—bringing me back to reality. I’m tempted to ignore it. It’s probably Asher, wanting to dissect the party, to talk about investors and deals. But when I pull it out, there's a notification from an unknown number:

Unknown

Just wanted to make sure you got home okay. The snow's getting pretty bad out there. - T

I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen. How the hell did she get my number? Asher, probably. He's always sticking his nose where it doesn't belong.

I should ignore it. That would be the smart thing to do—maintain the distance, keep the walls up. But something makes me type out a response:

Zane

I'm fine. How did you get this number?

Her reply comes almost immediately.

Tessa

Your brother might have slipped it to me. Don't be mad at him—I can be very persuasive when I want to be.

I can almost hear her voice, that teasing lilt she gets when she's being playful. Despite myself, I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I glance at the clock.

Zane

I'm sure you can be. But that doesn't mean you should be texting me at midnight.

Three dots appear, disappear, appear again. Finally her reply appears.

Tessa

You're right. I'll leave you alone. But just so you know, Ivy and I will be at the the bakery at 7am tomorrow if you're interested in the best cinnamon rolls in the city. No pressure though.

I run a hand over my face, feeling that familiar tug of war inside me. Part of me wants to shut this down now, before it goes any further. But another part—a part I've been ignoring for too long—wants to see where this might lead.

Zane

I'll think about it.

It's not much, but it's more than I would have given anyone else. And judging by her response—a simple smiley face—she knows it too.

I toss my phone onto the coffee table, leaning back against the couch with a sigh. The snow is falling harder now, blanketing the city in white, making everything look softer, more forgiving. Maybe she's right. Maybe I don't have to keep everyone at a distance.

The thought settles in the back of my mind, stubborn and insistent. For the first time in years, I feel like there might be something worth changing for. And that terrifies me more than anything.

Because letting people in means being vulnerable. It means risking disappointment, heartbreak, loss. All the things I've spent the last decade building walls against. But watching Tessa tonight, seeing the way she moves through life with such openness, such hope... it makes me wonder if maybe I've been doing it wrong all this time.

Maybe the real risk isn't in letting people in. Maybe it's in keeping them out.

I get up, walking back to the window. The city stretches out below me, a maze of lights and shadows, and somewhere out there is a bakery that opens at 7 AM. Somewhere out there is a woman who looks at me and sees something worth saving.

My phone buzzes again, but I don't check it.

Instead, I pour one last drink, raising it to my reflection in the window. "Here's to taking chances," I murmur, and for once, the silence in my apartment doesn't feel so hollow.

Maybe it's the bourbon, or maybe it's just the lingering effect of seeing her again after all these years, but as I head to bed, I feel something I haven't felt in a long time: hope.

And even though part of me is still screaming that this is a mistake, that I should stick to what I know—numbers, deals, safe distances—I can't help but think about tomorrow morning. About cinnamon rolls and coffee and the possibility of something more.

Something real.

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Dashing Mr. Snow

“Maybe we can be a little naughty. You want to be naughty for me, right?”

The last thing I expected to get for Christmas was being dumped by my boyfriend—after all, I’m always on Santa’s good list. But walking in on my naked boss and seeing his candy cane was an even BIGGER holiday surprise—one that has me headed straight for a lump of coal this year.

Alex Snow, the billionaire CEO of Snow Communications and the only living heir to his family's fortune, has a reputation for being intimidating.

Not in the " I'm an arrogant bosshole" kind of way, but more of a "I value my privacy above all else" kind of way.

So imagine his delight when I stumble into what I think is his home office with a contract in hand just as he emerges from the shower.

Only... it isn’t his office. It’s his bedroom, and the low-slung towel hanging off his hips slides down his muscular thighs, landing in a perfect pile at his ankles.

A Very Bossy Christmas

“Sweetheart, I know exactly how to handle you.”

Those eight little words whispered in my ear by my boss were my undoing.

And what we did after he said them, most definitely landed me on Santa’s naughty list.

If there’s one man who can suck all the joy out of Christmas—it’s my boss, Damon Wells.

I should have known when fifteen minutes into our first interview, he told me that nothing about me stood out from the fifty other applicants.

Yet somehow, I’m sitting shotgun in his fancy sports car on the way to my family’s house for the week.

Naughty or Nice

Dear Santa, I know I’m supposed to be nice, but this year, I need to be really naughty.

Oh, and I need a BIG favor—Carson Wells, in nothing but a big pretty bow under my Christmas tree.

Xoxo, Felicity