Sultry Escapes: Waking Up to You

6

OLIVER SPENT THE next day wishing he hadn’t consumed so much wine the night before, and steering clear of Candace.

He took care of the wine with some aspirin.

Her decision to visit her grandfather for almost the entire day took care of Candace.

That was good. He wasn’t ready to run into her again. Not when every time he closed his eyes, he saw her beautiful face, suffused with pleasure, so wanton and gorgeous, he knew she would haunt his dreams forever.

Sometimes, doing the right thing just sucked.

He had thought it was the right thing at the time. Unfortunately, right now, he couldn’t remember the reason why.

He’d tried to work out the frustration, spending the day laboring in the storehouse, which still held a number of antique vats. Buddy was hoping to restore and use them. Having tasted the amazing wines aged in antique wood last night, he had to agree that they were worth salvaging. And fortunately, the work was hard enough that he was able to put Candace, and the amazing moments they’d shared on that couch, out of his thoughts. At least, for the most part.

Finally, though, when he glanced at his watch and saw it was after six, he knew he had to call it quits. She would probably be heading back to the estate soon. He intended to go down to the rehab center to visit Buddy. Hopefully, their cars would pass in the night and they wouldn’t run into each other, there or here. He just couldn’t take another evening of sexual tension with the woman. Not when he knew how sweet she tasted, and how those feminine cries of pleasure sounded when she came apart in his arms. Not when he was dying to slam his cock into her and forget the rest of the world even existed.

As he toweled his hair dry and eyed his jaw in the mirror, he realized he ought to shave. Not because he intended to rub his face on someone sinfully soft and wanted to prepare, but because he was beginning to look a little scruffy. Buddy had made a point of mentioning it yesterday.

“It’s not about that soft skin,” he told his reflection. “Not about that stomach. Not about those breasts.” God, had he been dying to end the kiss if only so he could look down at the perfect breasts he’d held in his hands. He swallowed, seeing the condensation he left on the mirror as he breathed ever harder. “It’s not about wanting to bury your face between her thighs and see if she tastes as good as she feels.”

Somehow, though, as he finished shaving and stared at his smooth-cheeked reflection, he knew he was fooling himself.

No, he didn’t deserve her. No, he had no business taking up with her. But oh, hell, yes, did he ever want her.

Yesterday, when she’d walked up those stairs, giving him a glimpse of heaven between two limbs, it had taken every ounce of his strength not to follow her. He’d pictured it, a flash of erotic images storming through his brain. He’d seen himself pounding up after her, three steps at a time. Stopping her before she got to the top. Guiding her down onto her knees. Gently pushing her forward until she was on all fours and he could take his place a few steps below. He’d instinctively known how perfect it would be to position her sweet, wet sex above him, to bury his face in it, lick into her until she bucked and cried, then to drive into her before she’d even stopped screaming over the multiple orgasms he’d give her.

Oliver closed his eyes, willing the images to leave his head. But they wouldn’t. They were imprinted there, the vision so real it was almost memory.

Then came the images from last night. He could still taste her lips, still feel the softness of her skin, still remember how it had felt to slide a finger into that slick, tight channel and play with that pearly little clit until she whimpered.

He groaned, reached down and found his cock hard and erect.

“Damn it, Candace,” he muttered, grabbing himself, squeezing, pumping. His hand was in no way as good—wet, hot—as she would be, but it was all he had. All he would allow himself.

It didn’t take long. No longer than it had taken the previous night when he’d gone to bed and let himself replay the moments he’d spent with her on the couch. He came in a hot gush, spewing his essence over his hand, knowing he’d give a year off his life if he could do it in her instead.

“But you can’t,” he told himself, feeling even more sexually frustrated than he had before his second jacking-off session of the past twenty-four hours.

His hand just didn’t cut it. He wanted her hand. Her body. Her mouth. More than he’d ever wanted anything.

He tried to forget his sexual needs as he drove down to the rehab center. He definitely tried to disguise his desire as he visited with Buddy and gauged how the elderly man was doing with his new hip. Fortunately, he’d been right about guessing Candace wouldn’t be there. She’d apparently stayed until dinnertime, leaving shortly before he’d arrived, so he wouldn’t have to pretend he hadn’t spent the past twenty hours fucking her senseless in his mind. Hopefully he would get home late, find her rental car in the driveway, see all the lights were out and go to bed, having managed one more day of resisting her.

To make sure of that, he intended to go out for a bite to eat and maybe have a few beers at a local watering hole before heading back. He’d even picked the place.

After they’d spent a half hour talking about the amazing find in the wine cellar, Buddy said something that made him wonder if fate was conspiring to bring him and Candace together.

“You ought to see if you can catch up with Candace at Wilhelm’s. I told her they have the best burgers in town and she said she was going to stop there for dinner.”

So she could avoid arriving home in time to see him? That was funny, considering she was dining at the very bar at which he’d intended to stop. Now, though, he figured drive-through fast food would do him just fine.

“I should probably get home and make an early night of it. I’m going to get back to work on the old vats tomorrow, see what else we can salvage.”

Buddy frowned. “I’d feel better if you swung by and checked on her. Tonight’s Monday. Adult softball league night.”

“So?”

“So we both know the teams all converge on Wilhelm’s for brewskis and wings after their games. It can get a little raucous. I’d hate to think of my girl having to fend off some guy who downs a little too much liquid courage.”

Oliver tensed at the very thought of it. No, he didn’t have any claim on her, and had told her he didn’t want any. But damned if he wanted another man making a move, welcomed by her or otherwise. That was probably pretty selfish, but, frankly, he didn’t give a shit.

Since he met her, Candace had been putting off some strong signals. Her body was dying for some action, she needed sex and she needed it badly. And last night, when they’d kissed and he’d stroked her into an orgasm, she had been like a cat in heat, so obviously ripe and ready that he had smelled her arousal—hence his drooling hunger to bury his face in her sex and eat her like a kid ate an icecream cone.

He’d be damned if any guy with less-pure motives and less self-control was going to take her up on what she was silently offering.

“Will you at least go by and check on her, make sure she’s okay?” Buddy prompted. He wore a slight frown, but Oliver saw the tiniest hint of a smile on his face, as well. The old man was matchmaking again. Under normal circumstances, that would have sent Oliver running in the other direction, away from the local pub where Candace might now be putting off those vibes he’d been picking up on since the night they’d met.

But because of those vibes, he just couldn’t.

“Okay, Buddy. I’ll go by and make sure she’s all right.”

And make sure she wasn’t entering into negotiations with any other guy for one tiny innocent little kiss. After giving her that orgasm, he’d left her high and dry last night. Over his dead body would any other man get her low and wet.

HER GRANDFATHER HAD been right. Wilhelm’s had great burgers. After Candace swallowed the last bite of hers, she wiped her mouth, reached for her tea and thought about dessert.

Not that she was still hungry. Honestly, the burger had been huge. She never ate like that, and could almost hear her arteries screaming in protest. But she was not ready to call for her check, get up, leave and drive back to Grandpa’s place. Not while it was only eight o’clock. Not when there was a good chance Oliver would be up, the lights on in his small cottage, tempting her to find some excuse to wander over to see him.

He’d avoided her all day today. As if his rejection last night and the finality of his goodbye hadn’t been enough, he’d made it a point to avoid coming outside at all until she’d left the house this morning.

He had the will of a monk. Or a eunuch. The flash of her cootchie as she’d walked up the stairs hadn’t elicited more than a frustrated groan from the man. She couldn’t deny she’d slammed the door to her room because he hadn’t stormed up after her, overtaken by lust. Then, last night after their wild, erotic kiss that had involved a whole lot more than lips and tongues, he’d still stuck to his terms and walked out on her.

She’d gone to bed full of need and hunger, dying to be filled. Thinking about it later, however, she forced herself to concede she’d been lucky. She’d already listed the million-and-one reasons why she couldn’t get involved with Oliver right now. A little wine and the offer of a kiss had made her forget them, but there was no harm done. He’d ended it, and she was glad.

Maybe if she told herself that often enough, she would begin to believe it. “This sucks,” she mumbled.

“What’s that sweetheart?” a voice asked.

She looked around to see a bunch of guys in dusty gym clothes and ball caps, who had just sat down in the booth directly behind hers. One of them was leaning over the back of his seat, invading her space, and her contemplation.

“Nothing, sorry,” she insisted, her tone polite but cool.

“Hey, we won our game, how about joining us for a celebration?” said another of the men.

Good grief. Did men really think single women eating alone in restaurants were just praying a table full of sweaty dudes would invite her to join their six-some? The guys looked harmless—stockbroker, businessman types, in matching gym shorts and shirts and pricey sneakers. She didn’t feel threatened. Nor, however, was she at all interested. “No, thanks.”

Before she had to elaborate, she heard a ringing from her purse. Coming from L.A., where people’s cell phones were connected to their heads by magnetic beams or something, she’d developed a loathing for anyone who yakked on one in public. Especially in a restaurant. But now, the excuse to cut short a conversation with some overly friendly jocks was most welcome.

When she saw the name on the caller ID, she was even more grateful. She’d talked to Tommy a few times since leaving home and he always managed to distract her from her troubles…usually by talking about his own.

His were always more interesting, anyway. Hmm, this sexy rock star or that studly NBA player? Decisions, decisions.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said, her voice louder than technically necessary, just to underscore the point with the on-the-make guys. One of them continued to hover over the back of her booth, so she upped the lovey-dovey factor. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Missed you, too, sugar lips,” Tommy said with a laugh. “Who’s listening? Grandpa? Biker gang? Jealous she-hag?”

“Nothing of the sort. I’m at a pub, where I just finished dinner. It looks like it’s a popular hangout for the local athletes.”

“Any delicious athletes?”

“I honestly wouldn’t know.”

“Oh, come on, girlfriend, you losing your vision?”

Maybe for some things. She hadn’t really been able to see any man since meeting the only one she wanted.

“Maybe just my enthusiasm.”

Not to mention her opportunities.

“Any idea when you’re going to be able to leave there yet?”

“I suspect I’m going to be here until the day you need me to come back,” she admitted.

He grew serious. “Is your grandfather doing that badly?”

“No, he’s doing very well. But I want to be around to cheer him on during rehab—it’s tedious and painful. Plus I want to be at the house for him when he first comes home.”

“When will that be? Will it leave you enough time for a trip? Maybe you could go to Montreal? They speak French. Or hey, there are lots of hunky Spanish-speaking dudes in Mexico. Doesn’t Cancun sound awesome?”

“I don’t think so. But I won’t stay too long after he gets home. He’ll have home health aides come in, and Madison said she could fly in from back East to relieve me in ten days or so.”

“How is Mad, bad and dangerous to know?”

She chuckled. “Same old, same old. Ready to dive into her career playing hotshot reporter, fighting city hall, exposing corruption and never letting a man get the upper hand.”

“The Reid sisters—toughest girls of Blue Lake Elementary.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“How could I? You two both acted as my beards at one time or another in high school. I couldn’t have made it without you.”

“Aww, you’re such a romantic. How could we resist? You know Madison and I have both always been totally hot for you.”

The eyeballs were probably popping out of the heads of the guys behind her now. They were likely envisioning wild threesomes and naughty hook-ups. Huh. Other than the threesome part, she was right there with them. Two would be quite enough for the hook-up that had been on her mind all week.

“Ooh, kinky. Gonna be that kind of wife, huh?”

“Don’t push it,” she muttered under her breath.

She settled into the corner, feeling her tension drift away. Talking to Tommy was like talking to a therapist. But she didn’t want to talk to him about Oliver. Mainly because she knew her friend—he’d encourage her to jump the other man’s bones or live to regret it later.

She already knew she was going to regret it later. That didn’t mean she could do it now. First, because he wasn’t the bone-jumping type; he was the type you lost your heart, body and soul to and lived the rest of your days pining for.

He also wasn’t interested. Well, he was interested; he just wasn’t going to act on that interest. So she couldn’t, either.

“Sounds like you’re really not going to have much time for booty calling your way across North America, much less Europe.”

“No. I’m not.” She held her breath, wondering if there had been any change, if the urgency had died down. Not wanting him to think she was backing out on him, she didn’t ask.

Finally, he said, “Did you catch TMZ last night?”

“No, Grandpa only gets basic cable. Why?”

“Let’s just say it’s getting a little more uncomfortable down here. I guess me being seen around town without a woman—namely you—on my arm is making those engagement rumors die down. And others spike back up.”

Was he asking if he could announce their engagement? Oh, she hoped not. She wasn’t ready for that. She hadn’t even had a chance to explain it to her family, though she knew they would understand. Tommy had spent just about every summer in her backyard when they were kids. They knew who he was and loved him almost as much as she did. They wouldn’t necessarily approve, but they would understand she was marrying him out of loyalty, love and friendship. Still, she wanted to tell them herself before any stupid tabloid got hold of it.

“Why don’t you stay home more often then?”

“I’m in demand, hot stuff. Gotta see and be seen.”

God, she was not looking forward to being part of that. Except the red-carpet Oscar stuff. That should be an experience. Of course, it would be better if she were walking that carpet as a nominee, rather than the wife of one, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Considering she still hadn’t nailed down her next project—she’d done the sketches she was asked for and sent them in, but hadn’t heard anything yet—she doubted an Oscar nomination for best costume design would be coming her way very soon.

“Well, gotta go, babe. There’s a party with my name on it.”

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

Then, again because she sensed the guys in the next booth were listening, she added, “I love you.”

“You know, once you’re wearing my ring, guys won’t be hitting on you all the time.”

“That goes both ways.”

“Bite your tongue!”

“Bye, Tommy.”

“Bye. Love you, sugarplum.”

She disconnected the call, glanced at the time and realized it was now nine. Probably not late enough for Oliver to be in bed, but late enough that she’d look weird and pathetic showing up at his door and thus wouldn’t be tempted to find an excuse to knock on it. So she figured it was safe to call it a night.

She lifted her hand to call for the check, but before she could catch the young waitress’s eye, her vision was blocked by a big jean-and-T-shirt-clad body. A body she’d know anywhere.