Sweet as Candy (Close to Home Book 3)

by Karla Doyle

  A hundred-watt smile flashed across her face. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a less authentic version that paled by comparison.

  He glanced over his shoulder, following her sightline when she abandoned his gaze. A fifty-something man stood behind him. A prospective customer, possibly hers. Not while Jake was here.

  “I’m ready when you are. Same room as last time?” Jake asked, drawing her attention.

  “If that works for you.”

  “As long as you’re in it with me, I’m golden.” A little play on her words from their conversation—or rather, confrontation—in the chip aisle. The legit smile on her face told him she hadn’t missed the reference. He stepped forward, settling his hand on the small of her back as she led him to the last massage room on the left. Once inside, he locked the door.

  That’s as far as she let things go before facing him down and drilling him with a glare. “Just who the hell do you think you are?” A rhetorical question, obviously, because she threw her hand up the second he opened his mouth to answer. “You can’t come around here flashing a badge while asking for me. You’ll get me fired.”

  “Your boss wasn’t around.”

  “You think she won’t hear about the commotion you caused? Those girls out there aren’t my buddies. They’re my coworkers, sometimes my rivals. If one of them decides they want to bump me out of my Monday-to-Friday daytime slot, all it’ll take is one enlightening conversation with the owner.”

  He’d come here hoping for a fresh start, not to piss her off and push her further away. “Tell me how I can fix things. If it’s legal, I’ll do it.”

  “Okay.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’ll take three things.”

  “Name them.”

  “Fifty bucks each for the girls out there, as a show of good faith.”

  A hundred and fifty bucks down the drain. Shit. “No problem. Next.”

  “I want your name and badge number.”

  He pulled a card from his wallet and offered it up between two fingers. “I’ll give you my personal cell number too, since I know you want it but you’re too shy to ask.”

  He doubted she could roll her eyes any harder if she tried. And it was goddamn adorable.

  “What’s the last thing?” he asked.

  “When you leave today, don’t come back.”

  “Deal,” he said, nodding.

  “Really? Just like that?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her arms fell to her sides, palms up. “Then why not just walk out the door now, why bother agreeing to my other conditions?”

  “Because it’s what you want.”

  “And that matters why?”

  A question he wasn’t prepared to answer truthfully. Not yet. He stepped closer, awareness winging its way through him as he placed his card in her palm and folded her fingers over it. “I want you to believe me when I tell you I’m not a giant asshole.”

  She looked at the card, then at his face. “Same question, round two. Why do you care what I think of you?”

  “I want to get to know you better. And vice versa.”

  Stepping clear of him, she peeled her loose sweatshirt up, over her head and tossed it aside. She toed off a pair of canvas slip-ons and kicked them away. The pants went down and off next, leaving her in a pale-pink bra and panties. Nothing fancy, but still killer-fucking-sexy.

  “Here’s how we get to know each other. Eighty dollars for thirty minutes, one-twenty for a full hour. Fifty more if you want to know everything about me.”

  Good thing he’d come prepared. “Done.” He pulled out his wallet and withdrew one-hundred-thirty dollars, which he pressed to her palm. “You’re mine for the next half hour. And I want everything.”

  She turned and patted the massage table, slaying him with a view of her ass in a thong. “Better get started so you don’t run out of time.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and glanced down at his groin. “Unless you’re one of those quick-to-the-finish-line guys?”

  Not by a longshot, but he’d teach her that lesson another day. “My thirty minutes, my way, right?”

  “No bareback anything. No kissing. Hands only on my body, not your mouth. Absolutely no physical harm. Understood?”

  “Absolutely.” He scooped her clothes from the floor and tossed them onto the massage table. “Get dressed.”

  She gaped at him as he picked up a leather club chair and repositioned it to face the wall, then sat on the floor in front of it.

  “Chop, chop,” he said, making a circular motion with one hand. “I’m not paying you to stand there in your underwear.” He reached forward and patted the shiny leather. “Get dressed and get over here.”

  She wiggled into the black pants, smoothing the stretchy fabric over her thighs. “If ripping my clothes off is part of your scene, you’ll have to reimburse me. And not be cheap about it.”

  “Got it.”

  Her pretty face disappeared from view as she pulled the sweatshirt over her head. The roomy top fell into place effortlessly, the bottom band hugging her hips the way he would if he were holding her while burying his face between her legs. Crazy as it was, watching her put her clothes on was as sexy as watching her take them off.

  “Happy now?” she asked, plunking onto the chair in front of him.

  “So you do care.”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but neither action hid the bud of a smile on her lips. “I don’t understand you.”

  “If I had a dollar for every woman who’s said those words to me,” he winked, “I’d have enough to pay you for more than half an hour.”

  Her smile bloomed. A soft laugh too, as she leaned forward to give his shoulder a friendly swat.

  His reflexes kicked in as he caught her delicate wrist with his fingers. He drew her hand to his mouth and placed a kiss just above her knuckles. “I should’ve done that the first time we met.”

  Her lips parted and closed. “I don’t know what you want.”

  “And that’s a problem?”

  “Yes. I always know what men want. It’s my job to determine your motivation and goals. As quickly as possible.”

  “You think like a cop.”

  This time, her laugh was short and brittle. “I think like somebody who’s four credits short of a psychology degree and puts that academic knowledge to use daily, analyzing the men who pay her for sex acts.” She withdrew her hand and settled against the back of the chair. “I’m too tired to try figuring you out today. Tell me what you want and I’ll make sure you get your money’s worth.”

  “This. Getting to know you. That’s what I want.”

  She tilted her head to one side while glancing at his groin. “It’s not all you want.”

  “Already told you how that’s going to happen. In a bed, not on a massage table. Because you want to, not because it’s your job.”

  “I don’t date customers.”

  “Then we’re good to go, because I’m not paying you to touch me. Not today or any other day.”

  For a solid ten seconds, she simply stared at him. Eye-to-eye contact with no breaks or hesitation. Fearless and direct. Either she’d used her analytic skills on him after all, or she naturally possessed two of the characteristics he liked in a woman.

  “I’d offer you a penny for your thoughts, but I bet they’re worth a lot more.”

  The sigh that slipped from her lips softened her assertive edge without diminishing her sexiness. “You’re intriguing and attractive, but even if I was interested in seeing you on a personal level—which I’m not,” she wagged a finger at him, “you’re a cop and I’m a sex worker. Not exactly a compatible combination.”

  “When I look at you, I’m not thinking about either of our career choices.”

  Still holding his gaze, she leaned forward and trailed the glossy, pink nail of her index finger down his jawline and along his bottom lip. She smiled at the involuntary shiver that rippled through him, then sat back in the chair.


  “So tell me, Jake,” she said, dragging that same finger slowly up the inside of her thigh, all the way to top, where she stroked up and down over the luckiest two inches of spandex in the world. “What are you thinking about when you look at me?”

  “Currently, I’m thinking about baseball.”

  A lock of hair fell over her shoulder as she gently shook her head. “Is that what all guys think about when they’re trying not to think about sex?”

  “Can’t speak for all guys, but it’s usually my go-to distraction topic.” His admission won him a smile and a hit of laughter. “But I wasn’t thinking about baseball for that reason right now. I was wondering if you’re planning to take this sexy little demonstration from first base to second.” He leaned in, filling the space between her knees without touching her. “I’m happy to sit here and watch you play with yourself if the urge strikes, but that doesn’t make me a customer.”

  An angry-kitten-like rumble rose from her pursed lips as she withdrew her hand from between her legs. “What makes you think I won’t use your name and badge number to file a bogus complaint the second you walk out the door?”

  “You might. You might not. Guess I’ll find out.”

  “Ah, now I see. The possibility of getting caught excites you.”

  “Not the way you’re implying.”

  She considered him briefly, then sat forward, teasing the shell of his ear with her lips and warm breath. “Liar, liar, are your pants on fire? Your pupils are dilated and your hands are curled into balls at your sides. Stop trying to play the good guy and the next twenty-five minutes will be very exciting. Might as well collect what you paid for, Officer Campbell, because when I make that call to report you, I’m going to give a detailed account of the filthy things you made me do after flashing your badge.”

  Bullshit. He’d seen the fear in her eyes when she originally learned he was a cop. She wasn’t calling anything in, legit or otherwise. He could tell her as much. Probably should. But with her hair and lips tickling his skin, his good intentions nosedived into his lap, where her hand had just landed.

  “Filthy things, huh?”

  “Very. I’ll say you handcuffed my arms behind my back and ordered me to my knees so you could stuff your big, hot cock down my throat. I’ll say you bent me over the chair and put your nightstick in my mouth like a bridle so I wouldn’t make noise while you rode me hard from behind.”

  “Sexy story, but you need to change one detail.” He cupped her chin in one hand and forced her to meet his gaze. “I’d never muzzle you. I’d want to hear every gasp, moan and scream. I’d want to hear you panting my name when you came. And I would make you come, sweets. It wouldn’t be over until you did.”

  Candace

  Candace stared at him. Partly because his grip left her no choice, partly because she didn’t want to look away.

  Jake wasn’t the first client to tell her he wanted her to come. When customers wanted her to climax while they screwed, she obliged by offering up a fake orgasm guaranteed to make them feel like the reigning king of Vajayjay Land. Jake wasn’t the first client to talk dirty to her either.

  Something that was a first, though—her body’s reaction to a man’s words. Her skin didn’t have its usual crawly sensation, nor was she numb. She was tingling. All over. When she curled her fingers around the thick ridge inside his jeans, it wasn’t strictly for his benefit.

  “Want to know my favorite part of that story you told?” he asked.

  No acting required as she breathlessly whispered, “Yes.”

  “Knowing you imagined us doing those things.” With a wink, he shifted to his original position—back against the wall, body out of her reach. “Why didn’t you finish your degree?”

  She shook her head in an attempt to clear the lust-laden fog. Her previous academic endeavor couldn’t be what he really wanted to discuss. Not after the way he’d responded to her sexy-times story.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Your psychology degree,” he said. “I didn’t go to university, but four credits don’t seem like they’d take long to complete.”

  Wow. This wasn’t going at all the way she’d expected. That didn’t happen often, especially with men. “It’d take less than a year if I went back full-time.” One semester, actually. One measly semester.

  “Sounds like you’re planning to go back and finish it up.”

  “Wishing, not planning.”

  “Wishing is for things you can’t control. Winning the lottery, perfect weather while you’re on vacation, stuff like that. Everything else requires a plan. Planning plus action equals getting what you want.”

  “Are you a life coach when you’re off-duty?” For effect, she clutched the arm of the chair and sat up military straight. “Wait, don’t tell me—I’ve got it. I’ve been selected for special placement at one of your motivational workshops, and you’re here to personally rescue me from a life of nude body slides and covered blowjobs.”

  His snorted laugh highlighted his dimples. “No. To all of the above.”

  “Have to say, I’m a bit disappointed.”

  “That I’m not here to rescue you?”

  “That I won’t have the opportunity to heckle you from the audience,” she said, poking his leg with her toes.

  The guy had quick reflexes, capturing her foot before she had the opportunity to retreat. She loosened her grip on the arm of the chair and waited, but he didn’t pull her onto his lap. Instead, he used his thumb to rub circles on her arch. Very effectively.

  She sighed while sliding lower in her seat. A selfish move designed to give him better access, but definitely justified. The man had seriously talented hands.

  “I’m supposed to be massaging you,” she said. “Not the other way around.”

  “This is good.”

  “It’s better than good.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He smiled, leaned forward and collected her other foot, treating it to the same firm, rhythmic touch. “I’m not surprised your feet hurt. I’ve seen the shoes you wear with your work uniform.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The shorts, bikini top and heels are my everyday clothes and shoes.”

  “Bullshit.” His eyes twinkled when he laughed. “The stuff you’re wearing now is nothing like what you had on the first time I met you here. Neither were your clothes the day I ran into you at the store.”

  She abandoned her semi-sprawled position and sat straighter, withdrawing her feet from his lap and tucking them beneath the chair. Relaxing around him was a mistake. Accidentally and not so accidentally, she’d allowed him to see too much of her true identity.

  Being a cop didn’t make him trustworthy or safe. Treating her respectfully today didn’t erase the assholery he’d displayed toward Sara. Candace needed to remember that version of Jake Campbell. She needed to get her guard up and keep it there.

  “You don’t have a lot of time left in your half hour, handsome.” She slipped into her Candy persona, wiggling her fingers while nodding suggestively toward the massage table. “At least let me return the favor for a few minutes. I’ll even be a good girl and keep the action above the belt…if that’s truly what you want.”

  “Can’t do it.” He pushed up from the floor to stand in front of her. “As much as I’d love to have your hands on my body, it won’t happen here.”

  “Then it won’t happen,” she said, copying his body language. Standing before him, she removed his card from the pocket of her sweatshirt, tore it into quarters and let the pieces flutter to the floor. “Whether I touch you or not, you’re a customer. Nothing more.”

  “Today, maybe. But not indefinitely.” He scooped her hand into his and placed another kiss on her knuckles. “See you around, sweets.” With those words, he turned and left. Again.

  She gave him thirty seconds of lead time, then headed for the locker room, where she changed into the items he’d so cleverly referred to as her uniform. Now she felt like Candy instead of
Candace. If she’d taken the time to do this before going into the room with Jake, his charm would’ve bounced off, rather than snuck past her defenses. Too late to change what’d happened, but at least there wouldn’t be a next time. Not if he kept his promise.

  Candace adjusted her boobs, lifted her chin, then walked out of the locker room. Paris and Chyna were in the lounge area, immersed in superficial magazines and a trashy talk show on the wall-mounted TV. Time to find out if Jake was good for his word.

  “That guy I was just with,” she said, settling on one of the couches. “Did he happen to give you anything on his way out?”

  “Hell, yeah, girlfriend.” Paris plucked some folded cash from her bra. “Fifty bucks each. Whatever you did to him back there, do it again next time.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” she said. Because in addition to promising fifty dollars to each of Candace’s co-workers, he’d promised not to come back. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Paris shrugged. “Easy come, easy go, right?”

  “Right. And speaking of easy come…” Candace rose from the couch at the sight of one of her regulars approaching the reception desk. She thrust her boobs forward and tossed her hair over her shoulder, giving the man a better view of the merchandise.

  For the next half hour that’s what she’d be—merchandise. A warm body to fulfill a stranger’s physical needs. She knew what the man at the front desk wanted, how the encounter would play out, how it would end. Knowing what to expect was a good thing. Too bad Jake made the unexpected so intriguing.

  Chapter 5

  Candace

  Saturday mornings were Candace’s favorite time of the week. The beginning of two solid days with her little girl. No men, no persona, and this weekend—no interruptions.

  “Here you go.” She set a bowl of sliced strawberries and bananas on the table in front of Macy. “What would you like to do today?”

  “Play at Vincenzo’s house.”

  Not one of the answers Candace had expected. “I know you had lots of fun at Vincenzo’s birthday party last weekend, but that was a one-time thing. Until next year, anyway.” By which time, she hoped to have moved far away from this city and everyone in it, including Enzo Balducci and his family.