Enjoy Your Stay Read online

  Other Books by Carmen Jenner

  Welcome to Sugartown

  For Ben

  The man with all the big ideas!

  Praise for Welcome to Sugartown

  “Very dramatic, very heart wrenching, very sexy, very intense, very violent, very scary at times. Very enjoyable!”

  - Ali @ Ginger-Read Reviews

  "5 Magnificent Stars! In this heart-pounding and addictive love story, Carmen Jenner will have you laughing, crying, and become so spellbound with these small town characters that you'll never want to leave. Who ever said small town living was boring has obviously never been to Sugartown."

  - Debbie @ Keep Calm & Read Romance

  “Well, spank my ass, that was flipping awesome! My world has been rocked by Carmen Jenner's debut book, WELCOME TO SUGARTOWN.”

  - Paula @ Romantic Book Affairs

  “Welcome to Sugartown will tear you to pieces but put you back together again with its humour and host of unforgettable characters.”

  - Jo-Anne @ Worlds of Wonderment

  “I don't think I'll ever see insignificant little towns in the same light again … danger, humour, tats, bikers, loads of pie eating (snigger), and enough chemistry to blow the roof off a science lab!”

  -Leanne Pearson, Author

  "Welcome to Sugartown, prepare to have your mind completely f*#&%ed over."

  - Jess of A is for Alpha B is for Books

  "Not only was it panty-meltingly hot, it had an incredible storyline with engaging, well-developed characters."

  - Christina of Love Between the Sheets

  "This book had everything from sugar coated sweetness, humor, sexual chemistry, friendly banter, angst, dirty talks, sexual innuendos, and a surprising twist of events that will totally keep you hooked till the very end."

  - Michelle of Give Me Books

  and a half

  "You HAVE to one click Welcome to Sugartown ... Not even kidding, right now I have a fierce lady boner for Carmen Jenner. I find this lady in the flesh and I'm gonna have to hump her leg or some s**t. (99% Probability of this occurring in public)."

  - Lola Stark, Author of Needle's Kiss Series

  and a half

  ONE OF these days, I’m going to kill Jackson Rowe. I sit and watch the cereal roll around in his mouth, and it dawns on me that he reminds me of a camel: big, stupid, but sort of fun to ride.

  Jackson catches me staring, and winks before slurping the remaining milk from the bowl. Maybe I’ll off him in the shower? But then he’d be naked, and I’d likely slip and fall on that gigantic penis of his, and well, while the pregnancy hormones would be completely okay with that, I’d still be well and truly fucked.

  “Whatcha doing today, Mamma?” he asks, dumping his bowl in the sink. God, I wish he’d stop calling me that. It’s weird. Weird, plus it kinda turns me on. Okay, so everything turns me on these days, but I’m blaming the demon-seed for that. It’s like as soon as Jackson Rowe—serial man-whore, and all-round bane of my existence—found out I was pregnant, he had to remind himself that I’m sullied goods by calling me Mamma in order to keep his hands off me. Well, screw you Mr I Can Still Get Laid Because I’m Not Growing A Life Form Inside Me. Screw you all the way to hell. Two can play at that game.

  “Hmm, nothing much. I thought I might just hang around home, wax my bikini line, and then try out my new vibrator.” Jackson’s eyes go wide, his shoulders stiffen, and the coffee cup slips through his fingers, clattering to the floor with a loud thwack. Rich, black coffee splatters over the wood. It smells so good that I have half a mind to get down on all fours and lap it up like a cat with spilled milk. For a moment he does nothing but stare and lick his lips, and then he fires into action, collecting the dishrag from the sink and mopping up the mess before carefully picking up the pieces of his favourite cup. I hide my snigger behind my peppermint tea. “What about you, Jackarse?”

  His eyes narrow at the use of my pet name. He hates it about as much as I do mine. “I’m gonna go get a haircut.” He pauses, because he knows that I know he slept with his slutty hairdresser, and for some reason he thinks I’m bitter about it. Holly Harris doesn’t do bitter. She does fifty different shades of pissed off, but she doesn’t do bitter.

  Jackson’s clearly not getting the response he wants from that little dig, though. News flash, Jackarse: it’s no damn secret you’re a giant slut. Dave, the publican, even named a damn drink after him: The Jackson Rowe Special, opening more legs than a spreader bar since 1987.

  A slow smile creeps across his face, and he breaks out into a grin bigger than the bloody Cheshire cat. “And then I thought maybe I’d mow the lawn.”

  Crap. Mowing the lawn means Jackson sweaty, and sans shirt. My insides tighten with longing. My cheeks turn pink.

  Bastard.

  The screech of my chair sliding against the floorboards sets my teeth on edge as I stand up, and take my cup to the sink. Of course, Jackson, being the douche-knuckle he is, doesn’t move over any, and so my shoulder brushes his arm as I stand rinsing the breakfast dishes. “Well, don’t strain anything.”

  “You either.” He winks at me, and then strides his overconfident, yet incredibly sexy arse from the room. I collapse against the cupboards beside the sink, squeezing my thighs together to relieve some of the tension.

  God, if he wasn’t such a pain in the arse I’d crash-tackle him to the ground, and ride that sexy bum through the floor.

  Several hours later, I’m sitting on the loveseat and staring at that perfect arse as he pushes the mower around the yard. I sip ice-cold lemonade from a freezer mug, wincing as the condensation rolls down over my white knuckled grip and drips onto my bare thighs. He moves closer, heading towards the veranda and smiling with that stupid goofy grin. God, I probably look like hell; I certainly feel it. What the fuck is he so damned happy about?

  He shuts off the mower and bounces up the steps towards me. “Aww, you brought me a drink?”

  “Ha! Not on your life, mister. This is the only thing I’ve held down since breakfast, and you’re not getting a single drop of it.”

  “Come on, Hols, you don’t want me to taste it?”

  “You sound like Elijah. Don’t you want me to taste your pie? Yuck! One more night of enduring those two, and I’m gonna fling that door open and hurl up my guts on the both of them.”

  “Mmm, sexy.”

  “It might save us from having to replaster. I swear to God if I have to hear him nailing her against the wall for another night, I’m going to choke someone. Probably you, because you’ll be the only person close enough for me to waddle my way over to.”

  “Holly, you come and see me in the middle of the night to choke anything but my cock with your fist, and Ana won’t be the only one screaming.”

  “Shut up, you pig.” I say and hold the frozen mug tight to my chest. The cold makes my nipples come poking out through my singlet to say hello. Jackson’s gaze immediately lowers, and he wets his lips before making out like he’s not some giant A-hole staring at my boobs. “I thought you were going to get that unruly mop cut?”

  “I am, just wanted to do it once the lovebirds got back, that’s all.”

  “So you weren’t hanging around hoping to catch a Holly Harris peep show, then?”

  “Ha! More like making sure your skinny arse doesn’t fall over and break something trying to get back up again.”

  “I don’t need a freaking babysitter, Jack. I’m pregnant, not an invalid.”

  “Don’t get all pissy with me, young whippy-snippy. I’m not the one who can’t keep herself upright for a good portion of the day. Now, hand over that drink.” He holds his hand out, as though I’m actually going to give it to him. As if. “It’s bloody sweltering out here.”

 
; “No! Get your own.”

  “Give me the drink, Holly.”

  “No.”

  “Alright. I didn’t wanna have to do this, but you’re leaving me no choice.” Jackson stands up and walks towards me. His mouth is set in one of those smarmy grins that makes me feel stabby. He sidles right up beside me, leans in close and whispers, “Last chance.”

  And yeah, I should totally just hand over the lemonade, but a part of me really, really wants to see what he does next. I glare defiantly, and shake my head. Jack smiles, and then reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I’m completely thrown by the tenderness of the gesture, so I don’t react the way I should when he grasps my head with both hands and leans in closer.

  I lick my lips.

  My chest is practically heaving with excitement, breath coming too fast, too soon. Jack’s gaze dips to my cleavage, his lips part, his tongue darting out in an imitation of mine—and then he rubs his whole sweaty head all over my face, and down my torso. I’m covered in Jackson sweat—and so help me God, it smells so good I wanna lick it off his skin, and then my own, but mostly just his.

  “You did not just do that!” I push him away, and act like I’m not chomping at the bit to have his big, sweaty body smother me from head to toe. What I wouldn’t give for a Jackson-Rowe shaped blow-up doll right now. And I know what you’re thinking: why use a doll when you could have the real thing, but this is Jackson-freaking-Rowe, people. The real thing pisses me off just as much as he turns me on, which is every other second of the day. “You’re disgusting.”

  “You shoulda given me a taste, Hols.”

  “You had a taste, two years ago. You went scurrying back to Tenterfield, and I never heard from you again.”

  Okay, so maybe I do bitter after all … when the occasion calls for it.

  His brows shoot skyward for a second, and then he covers his surprise by smirking and running his hands through his sweaty hair. Sweaty hair that I desperately wanna tug on as I shove his face between my legs.

  Goddamn hormones.

  “Huh.”

  “Huh, what?”

  “Well, this is the first time you’ve brought up the two of us fucking in months. You’ve been avoiding all talk of sex with me.”

  “No I haven’t.”

  “Yes, you have.”

  “Have not.”

  He moves closer, close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his body, and smell the sweetness of sweat and sunshine on his skin. “You wanna do it again, don’t you?”

  “Oh my God, would you give it a rest, please? We had sex, like, two times.”

  “Hols, we might have had sex on two separate occasions, but I remember filling up that perfect pussy of yours way more than twice.”

  “Really?” I frown, and pretend like my vagina isn’t about to combust with that little reminder. “Huh. Mustn’t have been very memorable.”

  “Ah, you’re breaking my heart, baby.” he mocks, rubbing the centre of his sweaty chest. His long fingers graze one perfect nipple, and my eyes follow it closely. Too closely. A fact Jackarse is well aware of. “We both know you’re gaggin’ for it again, sweetheart, and it’s only a matter of time before you cave.”

  “The only thing I’m gagging for is a hot shower, after you’ve marked me with your scent. I can practically feel the cooties multiplying, and seeking out orifices to invade.”

  “Oh, I remember your orifices well.”

  I shake my head. “You are all kinds of wrong.”

  “And you’re all kinds of turned-on right now.” He winks, and walks backwards down the stairs. “Enjoy your shower, sweetheart.”

  I mean it. One of these days, I really will kill Jackson Rowe.

  I PULL into the drive behind Cade’s bike, and swipe a hand over my neck to rid any excess hair left over from my cut. The forty minutes in the Sugar Cuts Salon had to be one of the weirdest experiences of my life. My hairdresser, Chantal, is pretty spectacular looking: blonde, gorgeous, fake tits—but hey, I had no complaints—with legs that went on for days, and yeah, I tapped that once when I first moved to town, but she has a kid, and waking up to a six year-old staring at my Johnson the following morning as it’s erecting a monument beneath the sheets was enough to let me know I shouldn’t go there again. Ever.

  Chantal likes to flirt. She’s also a nosey bitch when it comes to my sex life, but the mention of Holly had her jabbing so hard at my head with her scissors, I was afraid I’d leave sporting a new piercing. And, yeah, okay. I’m not an idiot. I saw the way my reflection lit up when I started talking about her. I don’t know why the fuck my face contorts into some fucking retarded Brady-Bunch grin at the mention of that troublemaking little shit’s name, but it does.

  Holly always was a little spitfire in the sack. Even when she’d had no experience and therefore no idea what she was doing, the girl fucked like she was out to win gold for Australia. I’d thought about her a few times over the years—when I jacked off, when I saw another crazy-arse ranga going postal on somebody, and, weirdly, when I proposed to my one-and-only ex-girlfriend. Yeah, how’s that for fucked up? Hey, Chelcie, just let me jam this expensive rock on your finger while I think of fingering another girl.

  Chelc and I didn’t last long after that, and no, I know what you’re thinking, it wasn’t because I couldn’t get Holly out of my head. I mean, I hadn’t seen the girl in years. Not since mum and I had visited Uncle Bob, and Holly—then eighteen—had stolen me away from the party, and allowed me to bend her over the back of Bob’s Harley.

  Chelcie and I just hadn’t been right for one another. She wanted a family, and that was something I wasn’t ready for. I loved her, but at some point I realised I didn’t love her enough to hold on to what we had, only enough to let her go.

  Walking inside, I hear that it hasn’t taken my little cousin and her boyfriend long to fall back into their usual routine. In other words, fucking each other’s brains out all over the house. Those two have to be high on Viagra or some shit, because that much sex is just not natural. And I’m a man who likes a lot of sex.

  Are they making up for lost time?

  Fuck, no! They’ve made up for lost time, and then some.

  I pick up a pair of lacy knickers that I hope to Christ belong to Holly and not my baby cousin, and toss them towards the bin. Someone else can pick up that shit, because family or not, that’s just nasty. Then I grab the carton of juice from the fridge, and walk into the lounge room.

  Holly’s passed out on the couch. She looks so peaceful when she’s sleeping, nothing like the mouthy little shit who loves to torment my every waking minute. I carefully lift her outstretched legs and slide myself onto the seat, placing her tan calves gently down on my lap. Fuck I love these short shorts she wears. I hope the dude that invented these died happy, surrounded by beautiful women with half their arses hanging out.

  Holly moans and whispers my name, and for a half a second there I think she’s actually talking to me, but then she slips her hand between her legs. Her lips part, and she lets out a keening little cry. And my dick’s harder than it’s been in months. I squeeze my crotch in an effort to relieve the raging hard-on I’m sporting, because I’m about thirty seconds away from throwing her over the sofa and banging her so hard and fast she’ll be walking funny for a week. I shift my arse on the couch in an attempt to stop my balls being sucked up into my chest cavity. Holly startles, and shoots me a dirty look for my troubles.

  “There are two other chairs here, arse-face,” she mumbles, and closes her eyes. She’s right. There’s Elijah’s chair, which I’ll never sit in again after the Fingergate incident on movie night, and the new recliner, which I never sit in because I’m pretty sure they’ve both come all over that, too.

  “Yeah, but I just like being close to you.” I wink, and then, because I’m a complete and utter fucking tool who can’t help himself, I say, “Did you just have a sex dream about me?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Jackarse, these pr
egnancy hormones are making my head all screwy, and giving me nightmares.”

  I roll my eyes, and drain the rest of the juice from the carton. “Call it what you want, sweetheart, but you most definitely said my name. And then you moaned, and your hands slipped inside your pants. I think you were definitely having a sex dream about me.”

  “If you don’t shut the fuck up right now, all you’ll ever have again are dreams, because that beloved appendage of yours might mysteriously wind up in some other part of your anatomy.”

  “Yeah, they don’t really bend that way. It’s the same thing as trying to suck yourself off. It’s a physical impossibility; trust me, I’ve tried.”

  “Of course you have.” She sighs, and flicks at my hair. “Nice haircut, by the way.”

  “Yeah, Chantal really knows what she’s doing.”

  “The fake-titted floosy strikes again, huh? Did she do you in her chair?”

  “You really want me to answer that?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  A loud moan comes from the bedroom, and Holly covers her ears.

  I groan, and say, “I thought the point of a dirty weekend away was to fuck yourselves stupid, and then you’d be too tired to fuck anymore when you came home?”

  I’m beginning to think life for these two is just one big porno.

  “Ha! This from the man who had sex with a different woman every night his first three months in Sugartown.”

  “Shut it, darlin’, or I’ll make you my next conquest.”

  “Been there,” she makes a lazy hand gesture that encompasses all of me, “done all of that.”

  “Not all of it, sweetheart.” I smack her foot and laugh.

  “Jackson Rowe, you held out on me?”

  “Oh, I got moves that’d rock your world, baby.”

  “Well, right now could you move your arse off, and let me go back to sleep, please?”

  “You eaten anything today?”