Free Sugar by Hope Tarr, Jenna Jameson Page A

She might already be moist at the sight of him— she was moist, but he didn’t need to know that.
    “You know, you don’t always have to be such a hard ass.” Before she registered what he was doing, he’d commandeered the grocery bags and started back up.
    Left with no choice, she followed. The elevator was a relic of a bygone era, a European-style lift barely big enough for two, originally installed for an earlier wheelchair-bound owner when the house was still a single family residence and not subdivided into apartments. Fortunately it was working today. They pulled back on the caged door, stepped inside, and rode up to the fifth floor in silence.
    Inside her place, he set the groceries on her counter. Thinking about what had gone down there last night, Sarah whisked inside the kitchen and began putting away the perishables.
    He waited for her to finish before starting in, “About last night—”
    Sarah shoved the bag of broccoli into the bin. “We fucked, end of story.” She slammed the refrigerator door and straightened.
    His blue eyes glinted. Sarah had the disconcerting sense that he wasn’t only mentally undressing her but seeing through to her soul. “It doesn’t have to be the end. There could be another chapter—or two.” One corner of his mouth kicked up.
    Thinking about how good it would feel to slap his smile away, she rested her fisted hands on her hips to keep him from seeing their shaking. “Really? And how do you figure that? You see, I know who you are or rather what you are?”
    For a few seconds, his handsome face registered shock. Recovering, he asked, “Yeah, what am I?”
    Jesus, did they really have to have this conversation? “A blue-blood, old money. Growing up, you probably spent every summer in the Hamptons.”
    He shrugged. “Most of ‘em, why? You got something against the beach?”
    She ignored him. “Oh, and a war hero, we can’t forget that.”
    The scoffing comment sent his face freezing. Obviously she’d struck a nerve, a major one. Even though the counter stood between them, instinct sent Sarah backing up.
    “You can cut the hero crap,” he hissed, his fierceness confirming she hadn’t only crossed a line but vaulted over it. “I did my job, I served my country to the best of my ability, and then I came home—in one piece. You want to talk to a real hero, go see my former teammate, Joe, at Walter Reed in DC. He doesn’t have legs anymore, but he’s learning to get around on prosthetics. Bionic stilts, he calls them. He kinda moves like R2D2, but on the bonus side, I guess he doesn’t have to worry about blisters.”
    The self-loathing lacing his tone took her aback. Yet again it hit her there might be more to Cole Canning than the privileged party boy she’d first met in the bodega. It wasn’t only his buddy, Joe, who’d been wounded. Cole’s big, beautiful body might be unscathed, but he obviously bore deep emotional scars.
    “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
    Sarah never had the chance to finish. “Save it, Sherlock.” Cole’s eyes burned into hers. “Because I know who—what—you are too. Or do you prefer I use your professional name . . . Sugar ?”

Chapter Four
    H e knew ! Panic seized Sarah. Had he outed her online? Last night she’d taken his phone, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have sent a Tweet or posted a status update on Facebook once he’d gotten it back that morning. New York entertainment reporters were pussies compared to LA paparazzi, but if they knew she was in the city, it wouldn’t take them long to track down her rental and stake out the building. For all she knew, someone was on it already.
    “You son-of-a-bitch.”
    Cole smiled. Obviously savoring having the upper hand, he picked up an apple from the counter and tore off a big bite. Mouth full, he went on, “I’m your biggest fan, or at least one of them. Last night I knew I’d seen you somewhere before, but I couldn’t place where. It was like we’d met, and