Page 20 of Sugar Rush (Sugar Bowl 2)

"Yeah, I'll be there," I say in a low voice as I turn toward his office door. "You?"

"You know I will be. Not about to pass up that amazing food and liquor," he says with a laugh as he walks out from behind his desk and follows me to the door.

"Will you be bringing Sela?" JT asks, trying to sound casual. "Because if not, we could go out after the party. Paint the town red or something."

Yeah, fucker. That won't ever happen.

"I'd love to, man," I say sincerely as I open the door before turning slightly to look at him. "But I already invited Sela to the party and I can't just back out on her now. I know I need to slow things down, but I need to get through the holidays. We've made quite a few plans together."

"I get it," JT says amiably, and claps me on my shoulder. He squeezes once and releases. "But after that, Beck, you should probably cool it a bit with her. You don't want to lose focus on the business, and besides...do you really want to be tied down?"

I know I should play along with him, but I can't help a tiny burst of rage over his words. He doesn't know Sela at all. Clearly doesn't have my best interests at heart, because any sane person who saw their friend having the potential for happiness would be seeking instead to encourage it rather than destroy it.

"I said I'd slow it down," I grit out while trying to keep a smile plastered to my face. "But I'm not giving her up. And I'm not averse to being tied down...not with the right woman."

"But is Sela really that woman, is all I'm saying, Beck. She's a Sugar Baby. If you want to get tied down, Christ, get my mom to set you up with someone from our circle or something. But she's from Belle Haven, dude. Practically the ghetto."

I have to force myself not to let my hands curl into fists. I have to swallow my anger and smooth out my facial features. I have to hold back the heat in my eyes.

Keep your eyes on the prize, Beck.

Sela's the prize.

"Look, JT," I say slowly, and am pleased to hear my voice is bordering on unaffected. "I hear what you're saying and I'll be careful with her. Right now I'm having fun with a sexy woman. I don't have any designs on getting hitched to her or anything, and I don't forget she's a Sugar Baby. But I'm not done with her yet, okay?"

Not done by a long shot.

JT studies me, considering my words. Finally, he nods with a full smile. "Yeah, sure. I get it, and you're a smart guy. But just know I'm here if you want to talk about her or anything. I'll always have your best interests at heart."

The lie rolls smoothly off my tongue. I give him a playful punch in the chest and tell him, "I've always got your best interests at heart too, buddy. Anything you need, I'm there for you."

"So this is how the other half lives," I whisper to Beck, bumping my shoulder against his as we walk up to the ginormous Pacific Heights mansion owned by his parents, Beckett and Helen North.

"I believe they're called the one percent, not the other half," he says dryly.

"Well, color me impressed," I say softly as I take in the four-story white house with a portico porch held up by massive stone columns.

"The house was built in 1901 in the neoclassical architectural style known as Beaux Arts," Beck says as he sweeps a hand toward his childhood home, "which is epitomized by the flat roof, carved embellishments such as those mascarons above each window, and the numerous and richly detailed balustrades, pilasters, and acroteria that abound."

I stop abruptly and turn to face him with my mouth hanging open.

He grins at me and says, "This house was completely renovated when my parents purchased it before I was even born. What makes it so impressive is how it sits on this hill providing a full and unobstructed 180-degree view of the Golden Gate Bridge, Angel Island, and the San Francisco Bay. You don't even want me to get into the fine appointments inside the house once we go in."

Shaking my head in amusement, I say, "You sound almost proud of this house. You know, the way you just rattled on about the architecture and stuff."

Beck's hand curls around my neck and he pulls me in for a quick kiss. Chuckling, he says, "Nah. Not proud of it at all. I've just heard my mom say those same exact words about a million times as she brags about her house to anyone who will listen, and I picked up a few things."

"That makes sense," I say with a smile as I turn to look at the front decorated with wreaths on every window trimmed in red velvet bows and strategically placed floodlights to light up the facade.

"So you understand the game plan, right?" he asks in a serious voice, almost as if he were a coach and I was his star player.

"Yes," I say with a nod of my head. "Quick in and out. We hunt down your parents for introductions, they can sneer down at me for a few moments, and then you ask to talk to your dad in private. I'll sample all the expensive food, ogle the fancy dresses, and drink a glass of champagne, because...well, I love champagne. You finish up with your dad, come grab me, and we jet out of there before anyone can stop us."

"Then we go home and celebrate Christmas Eve together," he adds.

"Preferably naked," I say with an impish grin.

"In front of the fireplace."

"With whipped cream."

"And toys...we must play with toys," he says with a laugh, and I can't help but join in. It's funny, because we've both got dirty minds, but it's not funny in the respect that we're both deadly serious about what we just laid out. We now have a date with a fireplace, whipped cream, and sex toys for our Christmas Eve.

"Come on," Beck says as he takes my hand and starts toward the front porch. "Let's get this over and done with."

I follow him up, my heels clicking on the stone steps. Tonight I'm wearing the same dress I wore the night of The Sugar Bowl mixer where JT tried to drug that girl. Beck offered to buy me a new one for tonight's party, but I couldn't see doing that when this one would work. Plus, I knew I looked damn good in it and Beck would appreciate it.

I'm surprised when Beck rings the doorbell of his own childhood home and patiently waits until the massive black iron door done in a scroll pattern and inset with beveled glass is swung open by a butler.

Or a servant.

Or, I don't know what he is, but he's wearing a black tuxedo and makes a slight bow toward Beck. "Good evening, Mr. North. It's lovely to see you."

"Evening, Percy," Beck says to the man, who I'm thinking might actually be a butler. He's older with silvered hair at the temples and has an overt familiarity with Beck in the way that he looks at him right now with a warm smile.

"And whom do you have with you tonight?" Percy asks as he turns my way, hands clasped in front of his stomach and his head tilted at me in curiosity.

"This is Sela Halstead," Beck says, and then adds, "my girlfriend."

Percy's head jerks slightly in surprise and he turns to Beck with a devilish grin. "Well, isn't this a very nice surprise."

Putting his arm around me so he can pull me in closer, Beck presses a kiss to my temple before telling Percy, "She is very nice, I assure you. And not bad to look at, right?"

Percy gives Beck a chastising look and clucks his tongue before turning to me with an apologetic smile. "My apologies for young Beck's impertinence, so let me be the first to say, I'm glad he's found a lovely lady such as yourself."

I blush, hopefully prettily, and I definitely know in this moment he's been around Beck for a good chunk of his life. I'm betting if his parents were as absent as Beck has indicated, maybe Percy was a bit of a father figure to him. I'll have to ask him that later.

"I'll take your coats, and your parents are in the music room the last I saw them," Percy says in what I now recognize as a faint British accent. Shit, they must have imported their butler for maximum effect. "They've been awaiting your arrival."

"We'll head there now," Beck says as we both slip our coats off and hand them over. Beck then takes me by the elbow and starts to lead me past Percy. But then he cranes his head and says to the butler, "Oh, and Percy? You've got a stain on your shirt there. Mother will

have a cow if she sees it."

Beck points a finger at Percy's chest and then chuckles when Percy's head snaps downward to look at the offending stain. Of course, his shirt is pristine white, and once he realizes this, his gaze swings up and narrows at Beck.

Beck merely laughs and says, "Gotcha."

I can't help the tiny giggle that pops out as I watch Percy's lips tip up in amusement even as he tries to glare Beck down. I give the older man a tiny wave goodbye and he gives me a warm smile.

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