Read Sugar's Twice as Sweet: Sugar, Georgia: Book 1 for Free Online

cry.
    “Hey, you okay?”
    Josephina’s eyes flew open and landed on the infuriating golf pro—oh, she knew exactly who Brett McGraw was. She’d thought he’d drop her off, she’d say thank you, and he’d leave. Unfortunately, he felt the need to see her safely inside.
    Only they weren’t inside. He was squatting in front of her, looking concerned, while she sat in the middle of Fairchild House’s crumbling walkway with her head jammed between her knees, breathing like a woman in labor.
    Okay, maybe she was breathing hard because she found herself eye level with his I-hit-a-thousand-golf-balls-a-day pecs and I-don’t-use-a-caddy abs. Even the scruff on his face added to the whole sexy cowboy image.
    “I don’t know,” she whispered, her eyes going back to what was supposed to be her do-over, just as it had been for her great-aunt when her fiancé died in a blaze of D-Day glory.
    One look at the dilapidated old boardinghouse and she saw not one sign of paradise.
    Instead, there sat waist-high mustard weed, an impressive collection of washing machines—no dryers—a rusted-out tractor and…was that an outhouse?
    Good God, what had she been thinking?
    She hadn’t , she admitted. She’d been caught up in the lemon meringue memories of a little girl that had never wilted—but the house certainly had. Transforming the peeling paint, ramshackle porch, and what appeared to be a small posse of opossums burrowing in the heating duct into a boutique inn specializing in five-star luxury, highly personalized elegance, and southern hospitality for the city dweller was far beyond her bank account’s capacity.
    “Jo?” He placed his hand on her back and—great, vibes. The kind that started in the belly and if nurtured would quickly move lower.
    She was homeless, carless, phoneless, fiancéless, and unwillingly attracted to a man who was too smooth, too pretty, and smelled like sex.
    Josephina Harrington didn’t do sex. Not anymore. Post-lingerie-landing debacle, she had decided to give up on the penis-carrying members of society indefinitely. Unless they wore a tool belt and knew something about indoor plumbing.
    “I’ll take that scowl as a, ‘Why yes, Brett. I’m just fine. Thanks for asking.’” Brett rose to his feet, extending a hand and a slow, sexy smile that had the ability to melt panties off women everywhere.
    “You know what?” Ignoring his hand, and that smile, she pushed to her feet, making her way up the porch to peer in the window. “I’m fine.”
    Fairchild House might be one strong breeze away from falling apart, but at least it wasn’t hiding anything. Josephina bounced on her toes, trying to get a better look inside. All she could see was sheet-covered furniture and cobwebs. Lots of cobwebs.
    “Really? ’Cuz you look a little pale.”
    “I’m fine,” she said reassuringly, wanting to punch him but settling on searching the front porch for the table with the key, which was where Letty hid it. If she found the key, Brett could leave and she could settle in for a good cry.
    “I have a headache.” She briefly eyed him. “Probably from the music. All that twang made my ears bleed.” She went around one side of the wraparound porch. No table. “Or maybe the cologne. It’s a bit strong.” The other side. Nope again. “Maybe a combo.” She stopped by the front door, Boo slamming into her ankle with a yip. “Where the hell is that key?”
    Josephina realized she was about to cry and spun to look out at the scenery. She needed a distraction, and an oak tree surrounded by rusty appliances seemed about as good as it was going to get. Her aunt Letty’s hollow promises somehow hurt worse than Wilson’s betrayal. Any hope of reconnecting with that something she’d lost faded about as quickly as the girl who’d snorted when she laughed, baked cookies in sneakers and pearls, and woke up every morning loving her life.
    She had been looking to renovate Fairchild House as a way of getting