Read Online Sugar's Twice as Sweet: Sugar, Georgia: Book 1 by Marina Adair - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marina Adair
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was one of the strongest women I knew. Stood down my grandma a couple of times when I was a kid. My brothers and I used to think she was magic, a fairy guardian, she’d call herself. And I can see a lot of Ms. Letty in you, Tinker Bell.”
“Thank you.” Those two simple words didn’t even begin to explain what he’d just done for her, but it was all she could squeeze out past the tightness in her throat.
Leaning closer, he ran a finger down her wings and waggled his brows. “Did you know I have a thing for fairies?” She laughed. And it felt good. “Hand to God. It has something to do with those skimpy little petal dresses.”
She went up on her toes and kissed the cleft of his chin. “Why couldn’t you have been a hog farmer?”
The room fell silent. Brett searched her gaze for a long intense moment, his own reflective and uncertain.
To diffuse the sudden shift in mood and bring it somewhere closer to manageable, Josephina gave him a playful shove. Which did nothing, considering he was built like the side of a mountain. He was also slow to move away so she backed up and held open the door. He followed, Boo prancing excitedly at his departure.
“If you need anything—” He stopped at the top of the steps, the easygoing Brett securely back in place, and ran his eyes down the length of her body. “And I mean, anything . Call me.”
Irritated that she was all flustered, she opened her mouth to give a breezy, not-affected-in-the-slightest laugh. Instead, a giggly and semihusky, “Not gonna happen,” came out, followed by a mortifying snort.
“We’ll see.”
* * *
Brett rolled over, his skin squeaking against the sticky leather. He’d achieved exactly fifty-seven minutes of sleep, a kinked neck, and a bad case of bed head. Best night of sleep he’d had in three weeks.
Damn, this house was going to kill him. It was too big, too clean, hell, it even smelled like a new car. Hattie and Payton had spearheaded the decorating, making it a shrine to everything that’s wrong with the world. Every inch, including the guest room, was an infusion of Minnie Pearl and Paris Hilton—redneck chic. Which was why he’d decided to take up residence in Cal’s office—the only room Cal had a say in—even though cramming his over-six-foot body onto a toy-sized sofa was never a good idea.
Or maybe it was the fact that he’d accomplished jack shit since coming home to “lie low.” No matter what Cal called it, it still felt like hiding.
He looked around the office and took in just how far the McGraw brothers had come. Cream-colored walls, a comfortable sitting area composed of overstuffed leather furniture. It was a far cry from the three-room farmhouse he and his brothers had grown up in.
A gallery of photos hung above the mantel. In the center of the collection was a shot of their parents that Cal must have salvaged from the fire. His parents had been in love, all the way up until the moment they died, there was no doubt about that.
Brett found himself wondering what that felt like, to love someone so much that the rest of the bullshit didn’t matter. Not that he’d ever want that for himself.
Oh, he understood the desire for that kind of love. Saw it in his parents’ eyes growing up, watched how his dad’s entire world revolved around a little bit of a woman. His dad’s love went soul deep. That’s how it was for McGraw men, they went all in. So much so that Brett knew his daddy died because living without his wife would have been too hard.
Then watching Cal’s entire world crumble when his wife, Tawny, walked out was a harsh reminder for Brett to keep it simple and surface with people—especially women. If Cal hadn’t had Payton to focus on, Brett didn’t know how his brother would have bounced back.
Deciding a hot cup of coffee and a morning spent on the course was the only way he was going to clear his head, Brett pulled a pair of sweats out of a box and dragged them on. They were
“Thank you.” Those two simple words didn’t even begin to explain what he’d just done for her, but it was all she could squeeze out past the tightness in her throat.
Leaning closer, he ran a finger down her wings and waggled his brows. “Did you know I have a thing for fairies?” She laughed. And it felt good. “Hand to God. It has something to do with those skimpy little petal dresses.”
She went up on her toes and kissed the cleft of his chin. “Why couldn’t you have been a hog farmer?”
The room fell silent. Brett searched her gaze for a long intense moment, his own reflective and uncertain.
To diffuse the sudden shift in mood and bring it somewhere closer to manageable, Josephina gave him a playful shove. Which did nothing, considering he was built like the side of a mountain. He was also slow to move away so she backed up and held open the door. He followed, Boo prancing excitedly at his departure.
“If you need anything—” He stopped at the top of the steps, the easygoing Brett securely back in place, and ran his eyes down the length of her body. “And I mean, anything . Call me.”
Irritated that she was all flustered, she opened her mouth to give a breezy, not-affected-in-the-slightest laugh. Instead, a giggly and semihusky, “Not gonna happen,” came out, followed by a mortifying snort.
“We’ll see.”
* * *
Brett rolled over, his skin squeaking against the sticky leather. He’d achieved exactly fifty-seven minutes of sleep, a kinked neck, and a bad case of bed head. Best night of sleep he’d had in three weeks.
Damn, this house was going to kill him. It was too big, too clean, hell, it even smelled like a new car. Hattie and Payton had spearheaded the decorating, making it a shrine to everything that’s wrong with the world. Every inch, including the guest room, was an infusion of Minnie Pearl and Paris Hilton—redneck chic. Which was why he’d decided to take up residence in Cal’s office—the only room Cal had a say in—even though cramming his over-six-foot body onto a toy-sized sofa was never a good idea.
Or maybe it was the fact that he’d accomplished jack shit since coming home to “lie low.” No matter what Cal called it, it still felt like hiding.
He looked around the office and took in just how far the McGraw brothers had come. Cream-colored walls, a comfortable sitting area composed of overstuffed leather furniture. It was a far cry from the three-room farmhouse he and his brothers had grown up in.
A gallery of photos hung above the mantel. In the center of the collection was a shot of their parents that Cal must have salvaged from the fire. His parents had been in love, all the way up until the moment they died, there was no doubt about that.
Brett found himself wondering what that felt like, to love someone so much that the rest of the bullshit didn’t matter. Not that he’d ever want that for himself.
Oh, he understood the desire for that kind of love. Saw it in his parents’ eyes growing up, watched how his dad’s entire world revolved around a little bit of a woman. His dad’s love went soul deep. That’s how it was for McGraw men, they went all in. So much so that Brett knew his daddy died because living without his wife would have been too hard.
Then watching Cal’s entire world crumble when his wife, Tawny, walked out was a harsh reminder for Brett to keep it simple and surface with people—especially women. If Cal hadn’t had Payton to focus on, Brett didn’t know how his brother would have bounced back.
Deciding a hot cup of coffee and a morning spent on the course was the only way he was going to clear his head, Brett pulled a pair of sweats out of a box and dragged them on. They were
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