Swept Away

Dawn Atkins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To Cindi and Coco, for inviting me into this series.

Your boundless creativity and enthusiasm

made this story a pure joy to write!

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Tremendous thanks to Ann Videan

of Videan Unlimited for her

software marketing expertise and moral support

in the writing of this story.

Contents

Acknowledgment

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Prologue

CANDY CALDER TOOK a deep breath and blurted the news that upset her as much as it would disappoint her friends. “I can’t make the Malibu trip.”

“What? No!” Ellie Rockwell set down Candy’s order of café de Sade—the double-mocha espresso she’d created for Candy—so hard it slopped onto the polished oak bar.

“You’re kidding,” Sara Montgomery added in her soft Southern accent, her latte stalled mid-sip.

“I have to buckle down at work,” Candy said—as much to remind herself as to explain to her friends. “My reputation is at stake.”

“What’s wrong with your reputation?” Ellie asked. “You work hard and you play hard. That’s perfect for a software marketing genius.”

“I’m hardly a genius, Ellie, but thanks.”

Ellie shoved her pitch-black hair behind one ear and leaned forward, ready to fix this. Everyone who entered Dark Gothic Roast, the coffee bar that matched Ellie’s glam-goth style, got a blend of java, advice and whatever help Ellie could manage.

“This was your idea,” Sara said. “You said we needed a girl-getaway.” Her words made Candy grin. It hadn’t been easy to convince Sara she could afford a week away from her uncle’s title company where she served as his right arm, left arm and both legs.

“I know, but it can’t be helped. I got a bad test result.” Candy made a face.

“What kind of test?” Ellie said. “Pap smear? Mammogram? Get a second opinion before you panic, hon. They make mistakes—”

“A personality test, Ellie. SyncUp employees had to beta-test the Personality Quotient 2. I should have come out ‘works hard, plays hard,’ but the PQ2 says I’m ‘all play, all the time.’ When your brother sees that, my goose is cooked in the department.” Ellie’s brother Matt had just been appointed marketing vice president for SyncUp and was suddenly Candy’s boss.

“Matt knows you. And when you hear my news, you’ll change your mind. Listen, I got—”

“I’ll still pay my share,” Candy interrupted. Ellie had scored a screaming deal on a beach house through a customer who was a property manager.

“You have to come,” Ellie pressed, “because I got—”

“You’ll be fine without me, El. You’ll still have Sara and the festival.” The week-long event was in celebration of the second-season launch of Ellie’s favorite TV show, Sin on the Beach, which was the only reason Ellie would agree to leave her precious coffee bar in the hands of her assistant for so long.

“This is my last chance to impress Matt before he appoints the team leaders next week.” The department re-org was supposed to be hush-hush, but Candy had learned about it through Matt’s secretary, who was a friend. Matt would be assigning his staff to one of five product teams and choosing a leader for each. She intended to be one of them.

“That makes the trip perfect. Matt’s going to be—”

Candy grabbed Ellie’s arm. “Speak of the devil. Don’t look now.” Over Ellie’s shoulder, Candy watched Matt Rockwell stroll in, managing to look hot in boring khaki Dockers and a hopelessly wrinkled oxford shirt. His aviator glasses weren’t quite retro and his chestnut hair was too shaggy to be stylish, but the overall effect was just-rolled-out-of-bed sexy and it made her tight between the thighs.

The man’s rumpled kissability was partly the cause of the Thong Incident nine months ago at Matt’s first happy hour at SyncUp. Because of that, the man who now held her career in his hands had an all-wrong opinion of her.

She cringed for the thousandth time.

Matt caught sight of her, reddened, paused as if he wanted to make a break for it, then soldiered on.

When he was close enough, Candy said, “Hey, Matt.” Her own cheeks were idiotically on fire.

“How are you, Candy?” He nodded soberly.

“Fine. Just fine. You?”

“Fine.” He cleared his throat, looked at her, breathed.

She breathed back, feeling her friends’ eyes boring in.

“See you up there.” Matt poked a thumb toward the ceiling, meaning the sixteenth floor, where the SyncUp office was. He looked at Ellie, then motioned down the counter, meaning he’d give his order to her assistant, so she could keep talking.

“He is so still into you,” Ellie whispered to Candy.

“He is so still mortified by me. And he has a girlfriend, remember?” He’d hooked up with Jane—a coolly sophisticated attorney Ellie dubbed the Ice Princess—shortly after the Incident. He’d probably run to the woman’s arms screaming “sanctuary.”

“Nuh-uh. She broke up with him last week. Which brings me to my point, if you’ll only let me—”

“Really?” Candy’s heart did a stupid hip-hop. “I mean…so? Managers get copies of the PQ2 for sure. When Matt sees my scores, I’m dead. I have to counteract that.”

“Do it in Malibu. That’s my point. Matt will be there. He got the use-it-or-lose-it speech on his unused vacation, so I nabbed him a condo for next week, too. Just down from our beach house, as a matter of fact.”

“Matt will be there? You nabbed him a…? Just down from…oh.” Her heart was still doing that weird frog-jump behind her ribs. “But how will that solve my PQ2 problem?” Transfixed by the idea of Matt on vacation with her at the beach, she couldn’t quite grasp Ellie’s point.

“Bring work with you. Show Matt how dedicated you are.” She gave Candy her patented Ellie’s-on-the-case wink. “Who knows what might happen after that?”

“No way, Ellie. That ship sailed on a sea of margaritas.” Candy wished she’d never let Ellie in on her thing for Matt. Now she simply would not let it go. The only good news was Ellie had sworn not to say a word to her brother about it.

Out of the corner of her eye, Candy saw Matt accept his coffee—Columbian and always black. Without even trying she’d memorized stupid details about the man.

“Tell her she can’t cancel, Sara,” Ellie said. “Who will help me pry your fingers off your laptop and get you onto a surfboard?” Back in the day Sara had been a beach babe.

“Come on. I’m not that bad,” Sara said.

Ellie and Candy spoke in unison. “Oh, yes you are.”

Sara groaned.

Meanwhile, Candy caught sight of Matt heading for the door. At the last second, he glanced back, straight at her, as though he’d felt her stare.

She wiggled her fingers like a moony girl, disgusted with herself. Matt nodded, a funny expression on his face. Was he picturing her in her thong? The thought made her face flame so hot she bet she could stop traffic.

She returned her attention to her friends, fighting for focus. Now where was she? Oh, yeah. “You think I can work at the beach?” A working vacation was so not her. And at the beach of all places. That would be downright torture.

“Work hard, play hard. That’s your philosophy, right?” Ellie said. “Prove it. Do both.”

Could she? She wanted to believe she could. When she’d joked in the break room about how wrong her PQ2 results were, she’d been mortified to notice that no one laughed along. They agreed with the test! And that hurt. It reminded her how her high-achieving family treated her—like a lost soul, a child whom no one took seriously. She hated that. She was determined this promotion would make her family see her through new eyes.

“You’ll be away from the office, alone together. Just you and Matt and all that…work.” Ellie waggled her brows.

Despite Ellie’s ulterior motive, the idea had merit. Away from SyncUp, she and Matt could connect. Professionally, of course. She was better face-to-face anyway. And she had that proposal she’d been working up that she could show him.

She looked into her friends’ hopeful faces. How could she let them down? Ellie needed me-time and Sara needed a break from indentured servitude. Someone had to make sure they got it. And what did Candy need?

Matt’s respect. And maybe more confidence in her own abilities. Maybe this was just the way to get it.

“Okay,” she said finally. “I’m back in.”

“Whew!” Sara lifted her latte in a toast. “Here’s to a week of fun, sun and men in Speedos.”

“And work,” Candy added. “Fun, sun, men in Speedos and work.” The word was a sour note in the song of the moment, but at least she’d be with her friends.

“I have a good feeling about this trip,” Ellie said. “I think it will change our lives.”

Candy had a feeling, too. A funny, nervous one that had to do with seeing Matt in swim trunks. She made a mental note to keep her feet on the ground and her underwear covered.

1

“HOW DID YOU EVER TALK me into this?” Candy asked Ellie as they crossed the last few yards to Matt’s beach house. “Mixing work and play is like chasing a tequila shot with a piña colada—guaranteed puke-fest.”

“Trust me,” Ellie said. “It’ll be fine.”

“And this thing weighs a ton.” She shifted the antique laptop she’d borrowed from the SyncUp IT department to her other shoulder and wiggled her toes in her sandals to relieve the irritation of grinding sand. The beach was meant for bare feet, not shoes, for God’s sake.

“You should have swiped Sara’s computer so she’d have no excuse not to be in a bikini this minute,” Ellie said.

“I can’t believe she sneaked that little printer into her bag.”

“Fighting your nature is not easy,” Ellie said.

“No kidding.” That was as clear to Candy as the Malibu sky overhead, where no cloud troubled the bright blue expanse. Her whole body ached to toss this computer onto the nearest porch, grab a tiki drink and frolic in the foam.

“This will work,” Ellie said again, squeezing Candy’s upper arm. “I know it will.”

Candy blinked against the sunlight glancing off the sparkling water. It was all so tempting—the gently swooshing waves, the kids shrieking as they dashed into the water, the spectacular hunks jogging by—tan and muscular and ready to play.

But this was no time for Candy’s inner girl-gone-wild to lift her pale face to the sun. She had a mission, dammit, and her future at SyncUp hung in the balance.

On the other hand, she’d worn her yellow bikini beneath the white capris and white blouse she’d knotted at her waist, and her straw beach bag held a towel, sunscreen and flip-flops—just in case she squeezed in some beach time. She was prepared to seize whatever pleasure she could out of this trip.

She fished her cell phone out of the tight pocket of her capris to be sure it was on loud ring. Sara was due to fake a work call after they reached Matt’s place.

A big dog wearing a red bandanna galloped up and snuffled Candy’s hand, then back-stepped away, inviting her to toss something—her phone?

“Wish I could, Bucko,” she said, “but I need it.”

With a little yelp, the dog galloped off in search of someone who understood what the beach was for. Candy sighed. Maybe later she’d catch up with the cheerful guy. For now, she stood at the bottom of Matt’s stairs.

“Ready to dazzle my brother with your work ethic?” Ellie asked.

Candy rubbed the top of her nose. “Yep. All raw from the grindstone.”

“Showtime, then.” Ellie started upward.

Candy grabbed her arm. “No ad-libbing, now. No hints, no winks, no nudges. Matt and I will never be a notch on your matchmaker’s belt.”

“Whatever you say.” Ellie’s cheerful concession was too easy, Candy knew, vowing to watch her friend closely.

Ellie bounded up the stairs and Candy followed, her heart pounding as loudly in her ears as Ellie’s knock.

When Matt opened the door, Candy’s heart took a header into her stomach. The way it had before that mortifying kiss gone wrong, when she’d landed on her back—legs in the air, tiger thong on display, dignity out the window.

“Hello,” Matt said to Ellie, then caught sight of her. “And Candy?” His eyes grabbed her, a piercing blue, even through his glasses. When Matt looked at her, he really looked. As though she were a tangled computer code he must decipher or die.

Read me, baby, she wanted to say. Read me all night long.

His intense focus appealed to her. Also, his calm restraint, beneath which he was probably hotter than hot. Like the mild-mannered alter ego of the all-powerful man of steel.

Steel…hmm. The thought of his steeliest part made her insides melt like a frozen daiquiri in the sun.

Stop that. Work, not play.

“In the flesh,” she said. Flesh? Did you have to say flesh? She rushed on. “When Ellie told me you’d be here, I was relieved someone would understand how to work on vacation.” She patted the laptop. Something tinkled and dropped inside the bag. Nothing vital, she hoped.

“You’re working? On vacation?” The emphasis on you’re wounded her, but Matt blinked. He didn’t seem to have intended to insult her. She knew him to be a straightforward guy who stuck to the facts. He wasn’t into the nuances of diplomacy.

“I practically had to drag her here,” Ellie said. “She wanted to cancel because of her project.”

“What project?” He gave Candy another shot of his blue zingers.

“I’m working on something for Ledger Lite.” The accounting software was one of SyncUp’s bread-and-butter products. Version 2.0 was set for beta testing and she’d had a great idea she hoped would impress him. “Would you consider taking a look at what I’ve got?”

His eyes dipped to her breasts, then up, as if she’d invited him to peek at her attributes. Heat rushed through her, but she rattled breathlessly onward. “I wouldn’t bother you, but it’s crucial before the beta launches, so I thought why not?”

Clunk. Woof!

She turned to see that the beach dog had dropped a red Frisbee at her feet and now quivered with excitement, expecting her to throw it.

“Your dog?” Matt asked with a wry half-smile.

“No, but we’ve met.” The dog recognized her as a kindred spirit, no doubt. She bent for the Frisbee, but “Flight of the Bumblebee” played from her pocket, so she held up a finger to signify business before pleasure and dug for her cell.

The dog moaned in an agony of disappointment.

Her pocket was so tight that when she got the phone out, it slipped to the porch. The retriever grabbed it and bounded away.

Crap. Candy set the computer on the porch, kicked off her sandals and dashed after the dog. Matt had already headed off. So much for her professional impression.

Seconds later, they were playing keep-away with the nimble canine, feinting and lunging and missing, until Candy finally jumped onto its furry middle and held the dog still so Matt could pry the phone from its jaws.

After Candy let him go, the dog jumped up and down, eager for another toss of the expensive chew toy.

Matt helped Candy up. The warmth of his hand zinged through her, the way it had when he’d boosted her to her feet after the thong flash. He wiped the phone with the bottom of his oxford shirt, giving her a drool-worthy glimpse of a muscular belly. Hmm. Earnest, gallant and buff.

He handed her the cleaned-up phone. “Great tackle.”

“Great teamwork,” she said, pressing home her point about her work skills.

The dog whined piteously for attention.

“Easy, boy.” Matt patted him, then crouched to read the tag dangling from the middle of the dog’s bandanna. “Looks like your name is Radar, huh?” He scrubbed the top of the dog’s head with his knuckles.

Candy lowered herself to pet the dog, too, meeting Matt’s eyes over its back. She felt trapped in his gaze even after Radar lost interest in them and galloped off.

Matt leaned closer, fingers outstretched. She had the crazy thought that he wanted to kiss her again, which couldn’t be true. But electricity blew through her all the same, making her feel swoony and weak.

Mid-reach, Matt’s fingers stilled. “You have some, uh, sand.” He brushed his own cheek to show her where.

“Oh. Right.” She smoothed away the grains. That night, she’d mistaken Matt’s swipe at a dab of prickly-pear margarita for a smooch attempt. No wonder she’d gotten confused, what with all the heat crackling between them. Except maybe that had been the big black speaker on the stand beside them, which Matt dislodged when Candy moved in to make the kiss easier.

He caught the speaker, but missed Candy, who toppled off her platform sandals into thong-baring infamy.

“You got it,” Matt said now, smiling. She imagined tugging off his glasses, then stripping to the skin to go at it like sex-starved beach trash.

Bad, bad Candy. She sighed, smiled and stood to call Sara back, praying dog drool hadn’t gummed her phone’s works.

Sara answered immediately. “What happened?”

“My phone got away from me,” she said, shooting a smile at Matt. “Sorry.”

“Okay, so…I’m your colleague calling with the stats you needed. Seventy-five percent, three point two, two to one ratio…blah, blah, et cetera, et cetera.”

With Matt staring at her it was tough to fake a business tone, but Candy did her best. “Thanks much. I’ll grab that e-mail ASAP. Great.” She clicked off and slid the phone into her pocket. “Some numbers I need. Can I download e-mail inside your place? Maybe show you my ideas while I’m at it?”

“I guess. Sure.” He looked baffled by the suggestion, but he headed toward the porch, where Ellie beamed down at them. You look so cute together.

“We’re going to work now,” Candy said, telling Ellie with her eyes it was time to scoot.

“Sure. I’ll just check Matt’s supplies and then you can get to it.”

“My sister, the mother hen,” Matt said, sounding affectionately exasperated. He winked at Candy and it went right through her like sexy lightning. Oh, she was weak.

“I have food,” he called to Ellie, following her inside, where she flung open cupboards and yanked open the fridge, clucking like the hen Matt had compared her to.

“HoHos, Cheetos, Dr. Pepper and beer? You call that food?”

“Sounds good to me,” Candy said with a shrug. More than once she and Matt had vied for the last sack of Cheetos or package of HoHos in the SyncUp snack machines. They shared junk food preferences if nothing else.

“Did you remember sunscreen?” Ellie asked, hands on hips. When Matt shrugged, she sighed. “I’ll pick up some. Along with some healthy food.”

“I can feed myself, Ellie.” He paused. “There’s no point arguing, is there?”

“Not really, no.”

“Do what you must then.” He sighed, but he was smiling. Obviously, Matt had plenty of experience with his sister’s nurturing ways. Candy liked the rapport between them.

Setting her ancient laptop beside Matt’s razor-thin model already open to e-mail, Candy noticed the neat spread of folders beside it, proving that Matt was a master at working vacations. He was already at it and they’d all barely arrived.

“But what about entertaining yourself?” Ellie said. “You’re not going to sit here all week at the computer. You work too hard. Both of you. Especially you, Candy.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire. But Candy loved Ellie for overacting on her behalf.

Ellie snatched a flyer from behind a magnet on the refrigerator and carried it to where Candy and Matt stood at the table. “Look at all these Sin on the Beach festival events.” She handed Matt the flyer and lowered her voice. “No moping now. There are other fish in the sea.” She was obviously referring to the breakup with Ice Princess Jane.

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” Matt said. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Then I guess my work here is done.” Ellie gave a pointed look at Candy, then hip-swayed to the door. Because Matt had moved to the kitchen, Candy was able to shoot her a quick thumbs-up as she left.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he called from the open refrigerator. “A beer?”

“Water is fine, since I’m working and all.” Was that overkill? Maybe. She sighed.

She couldn’t help thinking how great it would be to just kick back in this cozy bungalow with a beer and Matt and those blue-sky eyes of his. But that was the old Candy. The new one had a vital task to achieve.

She shifted her laptop and it knocked one of Matt’s files to the floor, fanning paper across the white tiles.

The first doc she retrieved was a PQ2 report with Matt’s name on a label at the top. Also attached to it was a pink Post-It note in the bold script of their CEO, Scott Bayer. See me re: changes!

Matt arrived with her glass of water and his beer.

She handed him the report form. “You took the PQ2?”

“Scott required all the managers to take it.”

“What changes is he talking about? In the test?”

Matt gave a humorless laugh. “No. In the managers. He wants us to address the weaknesses the test revealed.”

“What weaknesses could you possibly have?” she teased.

“Exactly.” He grinned his great half smile. “According to the PQ2, I’m low on sociability.” He sat next to her. “Do I strike you as antisocial, Candy?” He looked at her so directly her heart tightened in her chest. “Be honest.”

“You don’t chit-chat. You’re pretty direct. I’d say you’re more nonsocial than actually antisocial.”

“Nonsocial. Yeah. I like that. I guess I don’t get the function of small talk. Make your point and move on. Why waste time?”

“But informal talk eases tension, makes people feel comfortable—safe to take risks. A little back-and-forth about the weekend, the Suns game or the nephew’s bar mitzvah greases the wheel of ideas, gets people psyched to tackle tough issues.”

He paused, pondering her words, she could tell. She’d never dug up a rationale for what seemed so obvious to her.

“I suppose that makes sense,” Matt mused. “The proximate issue is that Scott expects me to score some clients at the convention. It’s next month, so I’ve got to get better at backslapping and schmoozing right away.”

“Sounds like fun.”

He smiled. “To you, sure.” He gave her that look that made her wiring crackle. “But I’m not you.”

No, wait. The crackling was coming from her borrowed laptop, which was grinding to life with agonizing slowness and enough noise that Candy expected some of Ellie’s espresso to drip out.

“For what it’s worth, the PQ2 got me wrong, too,” Candy said.

“How so?”

“It made me seem like I don’t take work seriously.”

“You? No! How could that be?” His eyes twinkled at her. “Maybe because of the time you brought in all those cans of Silly String and made a mess in the lab?”

“Everyone was getting cranky. We needed a break. And it cleaned up easy.”

“Or how about when you spiked the Halloween punch?”

“Come on. It was a party. I warned Valerie first.”

“She was pregnant, right?” He nodded. “Your costume was…interesting.”

She’d dressed as a zombie hooker, which would have been fine, except she’d only convinced a few people to dress up, so she sort of stood out.

“Happy workers are productive workers, Matt. There are studies that show the benefits of morale building and—”

“As I recall, three people went home too drunk to work, someone tossed their pumpkin cookies into a trash can and everyone else but Val slept away the afternoon over their keyboards.”

He was smiling, but light glanced off his lenses and she couldn’t tell if he was amused or making fun of her. The Halloween party had been early in Matt’s time at SyncUp. If she’d known that six months later he’d be her boss, she might have been more careful about how she behaved around him.

“As I recall, you laughed a lot. Plus, you won the one-on-one wastepaper basketball tournament the next month.”

“Your idea, too, correct?”

“We’d put in two sixty-hour weeks on the Payroll Plus revision. We needed a break.” She’d come up with the idea of a modified basketball game using office chairs with trash cans on file cabinets for baskets and wadded printouts as the balls.

“That was fun,” he mused.

“And afterward, we were refreshed for more work. Work hard, play hard, that’s my philosophy.” She hoped he’d buy that. It sounded like a bluff. That’s how her family would see it, considering her history. She’d been erratic in college, uncertain in the work world and switched jobs a lot. Her parents, on the other hand, had built a business from scratch and her brothers had bee-lined from law school to successful law practices without an eye-blink of doubt. The four of them thought her a flake and the idea seared her with hot shame.

“I see.” Matt seemed to be fighting a grin.

“The point is the PQ2 got me wrong.” She spoke too fiercely. “It mischaracterized you, too, remember?”

He didn’t respond and she was afraid she’d sounded too defensive.

“Anyway, I want to show you what I’m thinking on Ledger Lite.” She put her finger on the touch pad, except at that instant the machine ominously ceased grinding. The screen was white—half built.

“Damn!” She banged the side of the laptop. “The tech guys said this unit was a workhorse.”

“Let me take a look.” Matt turned the computer toward him, swamping her with the scent of lime and warm man. He clicked keys, then rebooted with three nimble-looking, knowing-seeming fingers.

She couldn’t help imagining what they might do to her private touch pad. She shifted away from him, bumping the computer cord. There was a crackle and the screen went dead black.

“Ah. May be a short in the transformer,” Matt said. He unplugged the cord assembly and carried it to the kitchen.

Now what? She hadn’t printed out anything since the spreadsheets were huge and the artwork mock-up looked better on screen. If her computer was dead, so was her plan.

IT WASN’T AS THOUGH HE could actually fix the damn cord, but Matt needed to escape Candy Calder. She smelled as sweet as her name and inhaling near her made it impossible to hold a thought that didn’t have sex in it.

He pawed through the drawers looking for a Phillips screwdriver, but had to settle for a paring knife, which he twisted into the tiny bolts on the transformer box.

This predicament had Ellie’s fingerprints all over it. She must have figured that Candy would cheer him up after Jane.

The odd thing was that the breakup hadn’t been as hard on him as he’d expected. Maybe he was numb or still in shock, but he’d felt mostly relief, which didn’t seem like the proper response to the end of a nine-month relationship.

Either way, he had no business hanging with Candy Calder and her mischievous eyes the same violet as the SyncUp logo. Or those puffy lips of hers. He’d watched her wrap them around a margarita glass that night after his first week at SyncUp and wanted—no, craved—a taste. Then he’d fumbled the kiss and knocked her on her ass.

The woman threw him, made him act herky-jerky and stupid. And now she’d dragged an old computer here to show him her work? What was her angle? It couldn’t be the same as Ellie’s. No way would Candy allow Ellie to plot a hookup. After that goofed kiss, Candy thought him an oaf. Probably had had a good laugh with her SyncUp friends. And everyone at SyncUp loved Candy. The whole place rang with her laughter.

The husky honey of her voice warmed him straight through, made it hard to think about anything but her.

The PQ2 had nailed her and her playfulness, all right. It had nailed him, too, for that matter. He was nonsocial, as she’d said. He valued alone time, hated mindless chatter and worked hard. Maybe too hard, but he loved what he did, dammit, and what was wrong with spending time with what he loved?

Something was. Even Jane had gotten on his case. Supposedly that’s why she’d broken up with him. What had she called him? A workaholic with no capacity for relaxation. Then she’d gotten nasty. You wouldn’t know fun if it threw you a surprise party.

That was a case of the pot calling the kettle black, if he’d ever heard one. A commitment to their careers was something they shared. Hell, Jane routinely put in sixty-hour weeks at her law firm. He had no problem with that. They’d fit their relationship around their schedules just fine.

Fun had its place, but hard work and dedication were what had earned him the VP spot at a hot software firm. And now, to keep it, he’d have to learn to…chitchat. God.

He was an engineer first, a marketer second and nowhere in there an ass-kissing backslapper.

Ironic that he’d been discussing his problem with Candy, who was the most social person he knew.

The last screw emerged from the transformer box, so he tried separating the two halves. No use. There seemed to be an adhesive. He was prying it open with the knife blade when Candy approached.

“You getting it off?” she asked softly, inches away.

Her closeness and her words made him stab himself in the thumb. “Damn.” Blood oozed, so he pressed his index finger against the spot.

“You cut yourself?” Candy yanked his wrist up into the air.

“What are you doing?” he asked as calmly as he could with her breasts right…there, sticking out at him. So alert.

“Elevating the injury above your heart, of course.” She was so short she had to tilt her head up to talk to him. Her big eyes invited him to dive in and drown.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

She lowered his arm and leaned in to study the little nick, her perfumed hair tickling his chin, her fingers warm on his skin.

“Not even bleeding, see,” he said, backing away from the same heat he’d felt on Oaf Night. “Your computer’s dead, Candy.”

“How can I show you my work then?” She seemed truly upset. What was her game? “I know! Can I borrow your computer? Pick up what I’ve got on e-mail and get someone at the office to grab my desktop files?” She was moving closer to him again, digging in, making him dizzy. He wished to God it was loss of blood making it so hard to think, not the Candy Effect.

“Except then how can you work?” she said, frowning. “If I take your laptop?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, fighting for balance. “This is supposed to be my vacation. I should probably get out more, be more social…or whatever.” What the hell was he saying?

She studied him, her head tilted, figuring something out. He could practically hear the gears whirring. “I can help you, you know,” she said slowly, her honeyed voice melting his insides. “We can help each other.”

“We can?” How did her lips stay so red without lipstick? He remembered her muscular legs waving in the air that night. And she’d worn striped panties that disappeared completely between the cheeks of her—

“You loan me your computer and let me show you my ideas and I’ll teach you how to schmooze. How’s that?”

“I loan you my…? You show me…? I don’t see how…really…that’s possible.” He had no business spending time with a woman who could say the word schmooze and make him forget his own name.

“Come on. It’ll be fun, Matt.”

Matt. Yeah, that was his name. Now he remembered. He shook his head, attempting to clear it.

Woof!

Through the screen door, Matt saw the golden retriever they’d wrestled for Candy’s cell phone.

“Radar votes yes,” Candy said.

“Then how can I say no?” He was taking his cues from a dog now? Looking into Candy’s violet eyes, he had the feeling this wasn’t the last crazy thing he would do this week.

Not even close.

2

THIS COULD WORK, Candy thought, except for the fact that it meant spending more time with Matt than she’d intended. She’d have to keep her libido under control—say padlocked in a deep freeze at the bottom of the ocean?

Her sexual response to him got stronger with each moment they spent together. It was like standing in a candy store when you were on a diet—just plain torture.

She’d never been that big on sexual denial, either, and it would be tough enough to test her work-hard-play-hard philosophy as it was.

She was only human.

On the other hand, this plan was a chance to prove her worth to SyncUp and to correct Matt’s bad impression of her at the same time. He clearly had one, judging from his attitude about her Halloween party stunts. No doubt he’d heard about Jared, too.

After the Thong Incident, she’d concluded she had a thing for analytical types and gone out with a SyncUp engineer. Jared was cute and smart and funny, but there’d been no sparks. She’d kissed him good-night to be nice and the grateful bozo turned it into The Story of O around the company.

Rumor had it they’d done it on the roof. Yes, they’d been up there, but only to look at the altimeter Jared had built as part of a science education package he was coding.

With a reputation at SyncUp as a sex fiend, Candy had to nix any hints of that around Matt.

Radar whined for her to come play. He was as annoying as her sex drive around Matt. She could not be tempted by either one. Business first, pleasure second. And only if there was time.

She moved to Matt’s computer, ready to log in and gather what she could by e-mail. She would contact Freeda, the department’s secretary, about retrieving her desktop files.

Matt joined her at the table, standing over her. “So, uh, how do you see the other part working?”

She looked up from the keyboard. “What other part?”

“The social stuff? What do you propose?”

“You want to start there?” She could see he was concerned. “All right. Let’s make a plan.”

“A plan?”

“To turn you into Mr. Networking. Backslap Boy. Fun Guy. Whatever you want to call the new, more social you.” She grabbed her notepad and headed for the sofa, pausing to pick up the magenta festival flyer. “Let’s look at what’s here we can work with, huh?” She motioned him into the living room and dropped onto the blue canvas sofa.

He sat close enough to swamp her with lime and spice.

“So what interests you?” she asked, making a bullet point on the paper.

When he didn’t answer right away, she looked at him and found him staring at her mouth. “Uh…what? What interests me?” He cleared his throat, then shifted on the sofa.

“Yes. What do you do for fun?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I read. E-mail loops. Blogs. Internet stuff. Some programming I’m working on for fun. I shoot some hoops.”

He’d thrown in the basketball to sound like a regular guy, she’d bet, instead of a work-obsessed nerd. He wasn’t a nerd. He was too handsome, too aware of other people. He was just serious, quiet and private. Locked in his own head. She found that strangely soothing. Maybe as a contrast with her own restless energy. It might be nice to share solitude with someone. Until she got bored. It would be like meditation. She’d tried it, but could only bear a few seconds of letting her thoughts float away before she had to go after them with a butterfly net and a notepad.

“In short, you work,” she said. “What you read are trade journals and e-zines, right? Your Internet loops and blogs are with marketing and software groups. Am I right?”

He shrugged. “Focus got me where I am, Candy. That’s what Scott’s forgetting with this whole changes-must-be-made bit. That’s my strength and I won’t undermine that.”

“We’ll just tweak your style a bit.” She made a twisting gesture. “You’ll barely feel a pinch.”

When he grinned, she realized it was a triumph to earn a smile from such a serious guy. This close, she noticed a sexy chip in one of his incisors—a hint there was a bad boy in there somewhere. She’d love to talk him out to play.

Another time. On another planet. In an alternate universe.

“I know what I’m doing,” she said, hoping she did. “Before you were a driven software engineer and marketing strategist, where did you get your kicks?”

He stared up at the ceiling. “Let’s see. In high school I was in a band—but what high school kid wasn’t?”

“What instrument?”

“Bass guitar.”

“How cool. I always had a thing for sexy bass players. Silent…moody…deep.”

He shook his head. “Did you ever consider we might be silent because we had nothing to say?”

“Don’t destroy my fantasy.” She covered her ears with her hands, pleased when he chuckled. “What kind of music did you play?”

“Ska, rhythm & blues. Top 40 hits for parties. We weren’t together that long.”

“Long enough to get laid, though?”

“There was that.” He winced with pretend guilt. She could see him with a guitar at his hips, moving to the music, flashing that chipped tooth at the girls who caught his eye. Desire shivered through her.

To hide her reaction, she held out the flyer so they could both see it. “Doesn’t look like they’ve got a battle of the bands going, so what other hobbies have you got?”

“Photography. I took a couple of classes.”

“Photography? Oh. Hang on…Yes! Here. The Hot Shot Photo Scavenger Hunt tomorrow night. It’s sponsored by a cell-phone company. Does your cell take pictures?”

“Sure.” He leaned toward her to dig into his back pocket for his phone, and for that fleeting moment, she was hyperaware of his body, his muscles, how he smelled, how easy it would be to lie back on the couch and take him with her.

Finally, he sat back, ending the sensory assault, flipped open the phone and handed it to her.

“This is the same model I have,” she said, managing to sound normal. She clicked into the photos he’d stored, curious about what he’d saved. “You saved pictures of computers?”

“I was checking out monitors,” he said.

She kept clicking and found shots of digital cameras…shelves in a computer store…sales displays. “Where are your friends? Your mom? Ellie, for God’s sake?”

“I have pictures of them. Just not on my phone.” He reached for the phone, but she held it away.

“I’m not finished looking.” He kept reaching while she playfully held back. His arm brushed her breasts, giving her a tingling rush.

He pulled away immediately. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” Matt had taken the blame for the Thong Incident, too, which had clearly been a two-person catastrophe.

She focused on the phone photos, fighting the waves she still felt. Then she hit the jackpot—a shot of Matt wearing Mickey Mouse ears. His dark hair curled messily from beneath the brim and he managed to look grave and sweet at the same time.

“This is so cute,” she said, showing it to him.

“God. Ellie,” Matt said. “One of her customers had just been to Disneyland. You know how Ellie gets.”

“I’m glad she took this. It’s proof you can loosen up.”

“So you think I’m uptight?” He seemed amused by the idea.

“Not uptight. Just restrained. Controlled.” Everything she wasn’t, but needed to learn how to be. Or at least how to appear to be when it counted.

Part of her rebelled at that. Take me as I am, dammit. Can’t you see I can be silly and brilliant?

But she knew that wasn’t easy to accept. She remembered when she’d told her family she’d left the ad agency to work for SyncUp. They looked at each other the same way. Not again.

They’d been polite and encouraging, but there was no mistaking their weariness. When will she grow up, figure it out, settle down?

They just didn’t get her. She had a plan and this promotion was key. She was building contacts, networking, getting experience. In five years or so, she would open up her own agency, maybe with a partner.

“You okay?” Matt had noticed her preoccupation.

“Sure. I’m fine.” She smiled, sorry she’d gotten distracted.

“So, you think all I have to do is slap Mickey Mouse ears on my head and people will buy SyncUp products from me?”

“Whatever works, Matt,” she said, smiling. “Actually, though, now that we’re talking about it, a camera is a great networking tool. Bring a camera to an event and everyone’s your friend. You have a good digital, I assume?”

“Not with me. I bought the new Canon EOS 350D, eight megapixel, an upgrade from the 300D. It’s got—”

“Forget the specs, Matt. Will it fit in your pocket?”

“I have a case for it.”

“The idea is to keep it with you at all times. When you’re at the convention, take photos and you have an excuse to exchange business cards so you can e-mail the snaps. Instant leads.”

He gazed at her, a smile tracing his lips. “You’re good.”

The words would have been a sexual come-on from any other guy. From Matt they were straight praise. She was chagrined to notice they aroused her anyway. She was tuned into him, hyperaware, probably from the long-ago crush, which seemed to be getting worse.

She stayed on task. “So, tomorrow night we’ll do this photo hunt.”

“What are we supposed to take pictures of?” He tugged the flyer closer. “Exactly what are ‘hot shots’?”

There were no specifics listed. “Sexy stuff, I’d guess. It’s the Sin on the Beach festival. Remember? Sights you’d see in a Girls Gone Wild commercial or, say, spring break in Florida. Anything goes.”

He seemed to chew that over, work it out like an equation to be solved for X. “So I’m supposed to talk women into taking off their clothes for me?”

“You’ll have no trouble.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Not at all. You’re a hot guy.” She shrugged.

“You think I’m hot?” He honed in on her.

“Absolutely.”

He shook his head, as if he thought she was being polite.

“I’m serious. You’re built. You’re good-looking.” She surveyed him. Sunlight flashed off his glasses. “You should ditch these, though.” She tugged them from his face, being playful, but was startled at how close his electric-blue eyes suddenly were. The moment was abruptly intimate, like being naked with someone for the first time, and she could hardly breathe.

“You have great eyes,” she said, lowering his glasses to her lap to hide the fact her fingers had started to shake.

“How am I supposed to see?”

“Get contacts.”

“Too much hassle. Little plastic floppy things.” He rubbed his fingers together, then shook them, as if to rid himself of the clingy objects. “I don’t know how you stand them.”

“How did you know I wear them?”

“They swim over your irises.”

“Oh. Well, then.” He’d watched her closely enough to catch that detail? Awareness tingled through her. “They’re a lot easier to use these days. You can wear them for a month, even at night. You really should try them.”

He just looked at her.

“Will you do it? Try contacts?”

“Maybe.” But he wouldn’t without a nudge, she could tell. Men just didn’t jump on stuff like that.

“Why don’t we get you some while we’re here? They’ll enhance your sociability.”

“You think?” His eyebrows dipped and his forehead crinkled, considering the idea.

“Sure. Glasses are barriers, creating distance between you and the other person. Without them you seem closer, warmer, more available.”

“Is that how you see me now? Closer? More available?”

Oh, yeah. She managed a simple nod. If he hadn’t made the question sound like a scientific inquiry, she would have attacked him right here on the couch.

They were alone, breathing in synch, inches apart, with Matt looking at her in the serious, steady way that always got to her. Attraction swelled like the waves surging onto the beach a few yards beyond his door.

She crossed her thighs against the ache she felt and strove for good sense. “While we’re at it, we should do something about your look.”

“My look?”

“You’re a hot software designer, Matt. You need an edge. A haircut, for one thing. And definitely new clothes.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” He looked down at his blue oxford shirt and khaki shorts. “They’re clean. They match.”

“For one thing, this is not beachwear.” She let her eyes travel down his body. “You need a tank top.” She eyed his arms, envisioning bared shoulders, fanned deltoids. “A Hawaiian shirt, maybe—” she kept looking down “—and some board shorts.” She realized she was staring at his zipper, so she jerked up her eyes and met his curious gaze.

Embarrassed, she babbled on. “New business clothes, too. What you wear is too traditional. We can do it at the mall here. It’ll be kind of a makeover.”

“A makeover? You mean one of those Queer Eye-Straight Guy deals? No way am I shoving up my sleeves or layering.” He held up his hands in a stop gesture.

“Nothing major. We’ll just give you some verve.”

“Verve? That’s way too gay.”

“Forget verve, then. Think of it as a software update. Matt, version 2.0.”

“I don’t know…”

“Sure you do. A new image is half the battle with Scott. We update your look, teach you to network and—poof—you’re the fabulous marketing VP Scott wants.”

“That’s pretty superficial, don’t you think?”

“Everything’s perception, Matt. We both know that. Shaping opinions, creating an image is part of our craft.”

“So, we’re marketing me to Scott?”

“Exactly.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It is. You said it yourself. I’m good.” Which is why you want me as a team leader. Hell, before the trip was over, he might just offer her the job. “So, are you with me?”

“I guess so.” He hesitated, then tried to smile. “You seem to know what you’re doing.”

“I promise you won’t be sorry,” she said softly, vowing to do her very best for him, to help him without pushing him too far out of his comfort range.

She slid his glasses back in place, grateful for the barrier between them, aware they were both holding their breath. She noticed the beauty mark high on his right cheek, the crinkles that fanned out from both eyes, hinting at the humor behind his seriousness.

“I’ll pull up the mall’s Web site and see about morning appointments. Sound good?”

“I guess I’m just grateful you’re not suggesting I get my teeth bonded.”

“You mean fix that chip? Oh, never. That’s proof you’ve got some bad boy in you.”

“Oh, I’m bad, all right. I write code without off-site backup and drink milk straight from the carton.”

She laughed. “I didn’t realize how funny you are.”

“You bring it out in me.” He hesitated, as if he’d said more than he’d intended. “In everyone, I mean.”

“Thanks,” she said, warmed by his words, by this admission that she’d affected him in a good way. Again she was imbued with the determination to help him, to do this right, to prove herself in this new way.

“So, back to the festival,” she said, staring down at the flyer, shy about her surge of pride. Aware, also, of Matt’s close gaze, the way he studied her. It was unnerving and reassuring at the same time.

“So, what else can we do? You say you played basketball, so let’s see what sports are going on. Ah, here we go. Beach volleyball. Starting in—” she looked at her watch “—half an hour. Let’s do that. We’ll meet some people, which will be good practice for you. After that, we can come back here and I’ll show you my stuff.”

“Beg your pardon?” His eyes dropped to her bikini, which peeked from the sides of her blouse.

“My marketing stuff, Matt.”

He turned bright red. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re human.” She pushed at his arm in a friendly way, but her fingers stayed a moment too long. Having such a polite guy unable to keep from staring at her chest was dead sexy.

“I’m not usually so rude. Around you…I don’t know. You’re so…lively.”

“Lively?” Was that code for her being blatantly sexual? A party girl, in other words? That thought was a cold stab. “I’m more than you think I am,” she said lightly, not wanting to reveal her hurt. She usually didn’t take such quick offense, but the whole PQ2 thing and the promotion pressure had thrown off her confidence.

“That’s true of most of us, isn’t it?”

“Sure. I guess.” Everyone got pigeonholed to some degree, but not everyone got padlocked in as she’d been by her family. And not everyone could lose credibility at work over their reputation, either. She’d had enough of false impressions and she needed her time with Matt to fix this for good.

“Do you want to change?” Matt asked.

“What’s wrong with how I am?” Had he seen her PQ2 already?

“I mean for the volleyball game?” He nodded at her outfit.

“Oh. Change my clothes. Sorry.” She laughed, feeling foolish. Lighten up. “We haven’t got time really. I’ll just get more comfortable.” She took off her blouse, since it would constrict her arms, then crouched into a block to test her pants. “Too tight,” she concluded and undid the zipper to step out of her capris.

Afterward, Matt seemed to have to drag his gaze up to her face. She’d just changed in front of him, after all. “Better?” he asked, swallowing over what must have been a dry throat.

“Sure,” she said, flattered that he seemed to have to struggle to stop staring at her. The bottom of her bikini wasn’t cut particularly high and the top barely showed the curve of her breasts, but Matt seemed utterly stunned.

“You’ll want to lose the shirt,” she said, nodding at him.

He took it off and tossed it to the couch.

Now it was her turn to stare. Definitely buff, with an attractive line of dark hair that began low on his chest and pointed toward glory.

“Candy? You okay?”

“Yeah. Just checking.” She pretended to consider his biceps. “You’ve got a faint tan line, but your olive skin means you’ll only need a kiss of sun.”

“You’re worried about my tan?”

“A spray-on touch-up wouldn’t hurt.”

“What?”

She grinned. “Kidding! Nothing extreme. Maybe just a chemical peel? Kidding,” she added before he could object.

“I have the feeling I’m going to regret this,” he said, but his eyes twinkled. “I look okay for the game?” He stood back so she could check him out.

Naked to the waist, he was awe-inspiring. Even wearing boring khaki shorts. “Lose the belt,” was all she said.

He whipped the leather smoothly from the loops, his eyes on her the entire time, and her body went electric. Don’t stop, she wanted to say. Take it all off.

“Shoes, too,” she breathed, kicking off her own sandals.

He did likewise and there they stood, inches apart, with next to no clothes between them. Her bikini seemed like tiny paper-thin triangles and Matt’s shorts a mere patch of khaki. They were so close to naked heaven.

Was he aroused? She dared a glance at his zipper, where she thought she detected a bulge. Oh. Her own sex ached madly.

This was wrong. She forced herself to move, bending to grab her clothes, then Matt’s shirt. She shoved them all, plus their shoes, into her straw bag.

“I’ll get my, uh, sunglasses,” Matt said, bolting away from her toward the hall. Thank God.

Candy hightailed it outside, where she felt better. She dug her toes into the warm sand, inhaled the salt smell, took in that white glow the air at the beach always had. Seagulls cried and spun overhead. Down the shore, children shrieked happily.

The breeze lifted her hair and she tilted her face to the sun for a moment of pleasure. She had work to do, of course, and an attraction to ignore, but she was at the beach and it was glorious.

She turned to find Matt watching her from his porch. Even in the old-school sunglasses, he looked hot. With a good cut, contacts and well-tailored clothes, women would fall all over themselves to get to him.

As he headed toward her, she wondered who would be next. Someone big on career like Ice Princess Jane, no doubt. Someone chic and cool, Blackberry at her fingertips, pricey merlots in her temp-controlled wine closet. Thinking of Ms. Next-in-Line cooled Candy’s hots for Matt, which was a very good thing.

When he reached her, she fished out sunscreen, put some on her hands and held out the tube to him.

While she applied the cream to her arms, he rubbed some briskly between his broad palms, then smeared it over his face and shoulders, leaving white streaks everywhere.

“You have to rub it in,” she said and smoothed the liquid into his nose and across his cheekbones, blocking her awareness of how close she was and how nice his skin felt.

“Turn around,” she said, thinking that would help. She was a glutton for punishment, she realized, surveying the muscular expanse of his back. With a sigh, she started in on the firm surface of Matt’s shoulders and upper back, enjoying the slide of his muscles, lingering longer than strictly necessary, her mind sluggish with pleasure.

Why can’t we sleep together again?

He’s your boss. You want him to promote you.

Oh, yeah. That. She was showing him how smart and balanced and hard-working she was. How dedicated and responsible. How—

“You about done there?” he asked, turning.

“Uh, sure. Just being thorough.”

“Shall I do you?” he asked, low and slow.

Not that he meant anything by the suggestive words, but they gave her thoughts. “That’d be great.” She handed him the tube, turning her back.

His fingers pressed into her skin as he rubbed slowly and carefully, even under her shoulder straps. He was so very thorough. As he kept working, she couldn’t help but think that one little tug and her top would drop and he’d have more to rub than he’d bargained for. Her knees turned to water.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I think you got it,” she said, turning to grab the tube from his hand.

He looked startled, still holding his hand out.

“We’ll be late,” she said, hurrying toward the water, hoping it would be chilly enough to shock her out of her sensual lethargy.

Matt caught up and they walked the edge of the surf, letting the waves brush their toes, then retreat in foamy whispers.

The water was full of swimmers and bodysurfers. Young boys on Boogie boards tumbled like acrobats into the surf, heedless of pain or danger.

The shore was crowded with sunbathers under colorful umbrellas, lying on towels, surrounded by ice chests and beach toys, tossing balls or Frisbees.

“I love the beach,” she said, determined to enjoy every moment of it she could.

“Me, too,” Matt said. “I’m glad Ellie got me out here.”

“She said you had to use up vacation time.”

“I did. I tend to get too focused.”

“It’s easy when you love your work,” she said, but she’d never had extra vacation to use up. She’d had to take a two-day advance to make a Tahoe trip with friends to a ski lodge.

“Actually, Candy, I’m glad you came over. I might have parked myself in front of my laptop and missed all this.” He gestured out at the sparkling line between sky and sea.

“I’m glad I could be what you need,” Candy said, the words far too intimate. Her traitorous heart fluttered in her chest.

You’re what I need, too.

For my career, she reminded herself firmly. They were helping each other. This was all about SyncUp and their working relationship. The nearly naked volleyball game, the makeover to come, the hours sitting thigh-to-thigh at Matt’s computer showing him her stuff.

Oh, dear.

She’d handle it like they did it in AA: One twinge at a time.

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