Bad Boys Online

by Erin McCarthy

  He had never once deviated in his behavior since.

  Jared said nothing. Candy kept her eyes on the screen.

  "I guess I'll just type in that we met at work."

  "Fine."

  Her fingers trembled as she typed, and she blew her hair out of her eyes, ignoring the disappointment she felt. Dang, what did she expect? Jared to say his eyes had met hers over the length of the meeting room table and it had been fate?

  There was no doubt in her mind he could not even pinpoint the first time he had seen her.

  Jared was desperate. They hadn't even gotten to the hard questions yet and he was in danger of barking and drooling.

  The first time he had seen Candy was branded into his mind. He had walked into Stratford Marketing and had gone into the meeting room for an eight A.M. appointment with Harold.

  Candy had been there, wearing a cherry red turtleneck sweater that matched her lips. Her blond hair had been pulled back into a twist of some kind and she had on a knee-length white wool skirt and boots. He had felt as if he were staring at a life-sized peppermint, all white and shiny and sweet.

  The sight had stunned him, giving him a spontaneous and mortifying erection, and had left his brain and body sizzling like a pound of bacon.

  He'd gotten the hell out of that meeting room and thus had started the past eight weeks of dodging her like a bullet. She wouldn't kill him, but she'd send him back to the unemployment lines.

  "Next question." He crossed his leg, widely, to accommodate for the throb in his pants, and picked a nice spot on Harold's desk to study. There was a picture of a couple of pre-teen kids. Gangly. Little Harolds with hair.

  "We're cooking now," she said with a perky little smile. "We're already up to question four."

  Just what he did not need. She was acting cute. It had been better when she'd been talking about her family. That had at least made her seem real, a live human being with feelings and obviously someone he could not just tangle in Harold's office with and walk away with no regrets or recriminations. But when she did this… this bent-over, smiling thing, he forgot everything, including his own name.

  "What's the matter?" She sat down in the chair next to him, and pulled the laptop closer to the edge of the desk. "You're scowling and I haven't even read the question yet."

  He glanced at his watch. "It doesn't feel like we're accomplishing anything. I think we need to skip a few questions or something."

  With a little laugh, she let her fingers fall onto the back of his hand. Her fingers, for God's sake. On his skin. Touching him.

  "What's your hurry?"

  Now hold on. He turned in his chair, hoping the movement would knock her hand off his. It didn't.

  He didn't like that tone in her voice. That let's-see-where-this-goes laugh.

  "I thought we were in a hurry. You said you were before."

  "Did I?" Her fingers squeezed his hand, her thumb sliding down around his, rubbing back and forth. "If I did then I've changed my mind. Sometimes slow is better than fast, don't you think?"

  It was a struggle not to twitch. Or grab her and kiss the Southern smile out of her.

  "Slow isn't better with Internet speeds. Or when you're driving on the highway. Or waiting for a paycheck."

  Her head tilted. There was a gleam in her eye he just didn't trust.

  "But slow is better when you're savoring a good meal. Or taking a stroll by the lake. Or making love."

  Ah, hell. He'd been really, really afraid she would say something like that. Jared went perfectly still, concerned that any sort of movement, of any muscle in his body, might be misinterpreted as an invitation.

  He said slowly, carefully, neither smiling nor frowning, "But we aren't doing any of those things."

  Candy pulled her hand back. He was not reassured by the action since it was accompanied by her leaning way forward and undoing that loyal button on her jacket.

  Those wonderful full lips parted with a little moist sound and she said, "We're not doing any of them… yet."

  Jared swallowed. Hard. Instinct told him to ignore the comment, to change the subject, to spill a cup of coffee on Harold's computer and get out while he still could.

  That's not what he did, of course. He had to know. Just had to. "Are you interested in doing any of those things?"

  Candy had him. She had done it. She had gotten a reaction from Jared, and it was a very positive one, if the flare to his nostrils was any indication.

  "I'm interested in one or two. How about you?"

  He nodded. "A walk by the lake sounds nice."

  She sat straight up. Was he serious? "It's March and forty degrees outside! One strong wind and we would be coated in icy lake water."

  "It was your idea. And I wasn't aware we were talking about doing any of those things together."

  His posture didn't change and his expression was the same neutral gaze, unblinking and in control. It took all she had not to just get up and crawl out of Harold's office in humiliation. But if she was any judge of men, which given her ex-husband was questionable at best, there was lust brewing in Jared's eyes.

  Way in the back, but there nonetheless. Plus the nostril flare.

  It was enough to keep her in her seat. "Well, I certainly wouldn't want to do any of those things alone. Would you?"

  Candy smiled at him and shrugged out of her jacket, struggling with the sleeves. She ended up wiggling back and forth tugging on the jacket, trying to keep her blouse sleeve in place, until Jared took hold of both sleeves and stripped her of the jacket before she could even take a breath.

  "Thanks."

  "You're welcome. And I don't like to… eat alone either."

  Have mercy. Having spent the last two years wondering why she couldn't get the least bit aroused, Candy now had her answer. She had been waiting for Jared. And all he needed to do was breathe and she found herself with damp panties.

  "Question four." Her voice shattered on a mouselike squeak and Candy cleared her throat. "Where do you most like your partner to touch you?"

  Candy leaned forward and looked closer at the screen. Was that really what it said or had her personal thoughts done a wishful Freudian voice-over?

  Jared said, "What the hell kind of question is that?"

  One on the couples' guide to harmony, apparently. Candy had read the question right.

  "Harold can't possibly expect us to answer that. And we've never even touched each other, so it's completely invalid."

  "Unless we just answer where we'd like, ah, someone to touch us." Candy shocked herself right out of the chair. She bounced up and paced around the backside of her chair, hiding behind Jared.

  Of all the tacky, inappropriate, over-the-top things to say. He was going to give her a quarter to go buy a clue. He wasn't interested, and throwing herself at him was just embarrassing them both.

  She knew it. It was coming. Where was a whale's mouth to dive into when you needed one?

  Jared swiveled around to face her and said, "Well, that's easy enough for a man to answer. I think we all want to be touched in the same place. And I'm not talking about our feet."

  She was sure he wasn't.

  Before she could think of a response that didn't make her sound like a priss or a total slut, but a nice "I'm interested" in-between, Jared spoke again.

  His hand was slung over the back of the chair, and his shirt strained across his muscular chest. "So, if someone was going to touch me, that's where I would want it to be."

  Candy forced herself to stop pacing. "Why don't you type that in on the assessment then?"

  Jared let out a laugh. It was the first time she had ever heard him amused enough to laugh. It was a deep rich sound that washed over her and sent her goosepimply.

  "I'll do that." He grabbed the laptop and typed with both hands, fast and efficiently. "What should I put for your answer? Where would you want to be touched, Candy?"

  Everywhere. Times three.

  "Weeell." She drawled the word out, hop
ing time would give her courage. She knew what she wanted, it was just a matter of saying it out loud.

  Squeezing her fists shut tight, Candy tossed back her hair and went for broke. "My breasts."

  Jared wasn't looking at her, but she saw his fingers pause over the keyboard. His voice was low, persuasive. "Would you say specifically your nipples, or all of your breasts, Candy? And touched with hands, or with a tongue? I want to be as accurate as possible you know, for the counseling."

  Candy gripped the back of the chair to prevent falling down in a dead faint. Lord, the man was sexy even on the back of his head. "Both. Everything."

  The fingers resumed. "Got it."

  Then Jared scrolled down the screen. "Let's see about question five."

  Candy had never been a drinker, but she felt the sudden need for a splash of bourbon. Or a barrel of bourbon. She had started this, aided by Harold's ridiculous intimacy quest, and she needed to see it through. Her crotch demanded it.

  "I'm ready."

  "What is the difference between sex, love, and romance?" Jared snorted. "Oh, this one's easy."

  "Really?" Leaning against her chair Candy said, "So what's your answer?"

  Jared didn't even look up at her as he typed. "Sex you do, love you feel, and romance you say."

  Well he just had it all figured out. Candy protested, "That's not true. You can do love, too, by showing someone you love them with a gift or a thoughtful gesture. You can say you love someone. You can show romance with a candlelit dinner and you can feel romantic. Sex you most certainly can feel, and talking and romance are all involved in sex as well. They're all interconnected but very different."

  As anyone could see.

  Jared glanced at her with a pained expression. "You're right. I was wrong."

  His answer startled a laugh out of her. "What?"

  "Isn't that what you want me to say? We could argue, but I figure this just saves us time."

  "No, I don't want you to just agree with me. I want to hear your opinion. I want to discuss it, have an exchange of ideas, and possibly learn something new from your knowledge."

  He looked doubtful. "No woman has ever wanted to hear what I have to say. Not really."

  Candy looked down at him, taking in his gorgeous dark eyes and black hair. The way his cheekbones were so strong and sensual, narrowing down into a proud chin and thin lips. She had a sudden insight. Women probably treated Jared the way men treated her.

  Like an object. Like an arm ornament.

  The rush of understanding made her blurt out, "I want to hear what you have to say. Whether I agree or not."

  His eyes swept over her, and she stood still, defiant, daring him to shut her down. Let him frown at her now and she wouldn't mind so much.

  He didn't frown. He paused, pursed his lips together, then shook his head slightly. Finally he said, "I'll keep that in mind."

  It was enough for her.

  He added, "But we're sticking with my original answer because yours is too hard to type in."

  Candy laughed and leaned forward. She was edging closer to him, hoping to innocently glance at the screen over his shoulder. Which would force her to brush against him, of course.

  "Oh, look, there's a bonus section between questions five and six. It's a tip on keeping the romance alive." Jared shook his head. "Jesus, what the hell was Harold thinking? Didn't he even look at this thing?"

  "I doubt it." Candy put her hands on the back of his chair to steady herself and bent over his shoulder. If she turned to the right, their lips would be a smidgen apart. But for now, she looked straight at the screen.

  "What's the tip?"

  Jared turned. His breath hit her cheek. "Looking for some advice?"

  She shrugged and the movement caused her breasts to brush against his back and shoulder. "You never know. It could be something good."

  "It says you should massage your partner. Starting at the feet and working your way up, with special emphasis on erogenous zones."

  Candy thought about Jared's hand massaging up her legs, zeroing in on her inner thighs, and settling in for a long, hot haul.

  "They also suggest the use of edible massage oils, with flavors like chocolate and raspberry."

  Oh, Lord. The idea of him licking chocolate sauce off her nipple contributed to her increasingly damp panties problem. If she spent much more time with Jared she was going to have to start carrying a spare pair.

  Candy turned. Jared was watching her. His lips were close enough to touch. To lick. To kiss.

  She whispered, "It sounds sticky."

  The smell of coffee rushed over her as he breathed, a little harder and faster than was normal. Candy pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and tugged.

  He said, "It sounds delicious."

  "If you're hungry."

  "Oh, I'm hungry, Candy. It's lunchtime, you know." Jared's eyes dropped to her lips.

  He was going to kiss her, he was going to kiss her, he was going to… turn back to the computer.

  Dang it. Where was a jar of chocolate massage oil when she needed it?

  She was going to have to start carrying that around in her purse along with the spare panties.

  Chapter four

  Holy hell, he had almost kissed her. Had he learned nothing from Jessie and the clandestine copy room kiss? Work and sex didn't mix. Ever.

  Even when you were locked in a cozy room with the office babe and she was standing so close a gnat would have trouble squeezing between you.

  Especially not when you were discussing the titillating effects of chocolate sauce during a massage.

  And certainly not when the same office babe kept lobbing off personal remarks that made you feel as if she might actually listen to you if you spoke.

  Candy was revealing herself to be hiding as many layers as an onion. As Jared stared at the computer screen in front of him, he wondered how one woman could be intelligent, kind, funny, and so damn gorgeous all at the same time? If he wasn't careful, he might actually find himself tumbling into some serious like.

  If she could cook too, he was toast. Crispy burnt toast, without a job.

  "What's the next question?" she said.

  Shit, who cared? He had bigger problems here than Harold's dumb-ass counseling. Like the massive appendage throbbing in agony in his pants.

  He read the question anyway, painfully aware there was no relief in sight for his poor neglected dick. "Number six. Do you like the city or country better?"

  Knowing he should be grateful for the lack of reference to smearing food sauce on each other's bodies, he answered the question quickly. "City."

  As he typed, Candy said, "Country."

  Jared didn't risk a look in her direction, since she was still hovering over him. But he couldn't stop himself from saying, "A country girl, huh? I'm not surprised with that twang of yours."

  Candy stood up. "I do not have a twang. You can't even tell I'm from the South."

  Right. Candy had Southern Belle stamped on each and every curve of her body, and she would probably even moan in pleasure with a cute little accent. "You're not a 'Hee-Haw' episode, that's for sure, but there is no way you could pass for a native Chicagoan."

  He chanced a look over at her. Her hands were on her hips. "Are you insulting me?"

  "Not at all."

  She looked ready to argue, but he staved her off by reading the next question. "Number seven. What's your favorite way to spend an evening together?"

  Did that mean before they got naked, or after?

  Candy had relaxed back against his chair, her hip nestled snug against the side, the twang comment apparently forgotten. "Well, I would want a nice romantic dinner, at home. Good wine, some jazz playing in the background, and a video we could watch together. We would talk about our day, the movie, everything, and then, uh, proceed from there."

  It sounded very ordinary. It sounded like exactly what he wanted.

  The thought startled him. His relationships had never been particular
ly romantic. He didn't seem to inspire those feelings in women. Usually the only conversation involved their coaxing and pleading that he do things that he knew were bound to get him into deep shit. Like copy room kisses.

  At about seventeen he'd given up on expecting anything that resembled friendship with a woman. The only women he could ever claim to have had an honest-to-God conversation with were a former fifty-year-old coworker, and his friend Kim, whom he'd known since they were nine. He was guessing it wasn't a coincidence that Kim also happened to be a lesbian.

  Even his weekly chats on the phone with his mother involved more platitudes and discussion over his laundry and the weather than anything real.

  "What about you?" Candy asked him.

  He thought about lying, or saying something quelling, but instead he said, "The same. Only add a fireplace to it."

  The reward was a glorious smile that spread from one end of Candy's golden face to the other. "Really?"

  The pleasure that little word brought him had him shifting from discomfort, and it had nothing to do with his still-very-much-there erection. It was worse than he could ever have imagined.

  He had tumbled already.

  He actually liked her.

  Which meant he was so screwed.

  "Really," he confirmed, then rushed on. "So, question eight. Here we go. Why did you choose your current career?"

  Easy enough from his point of view. Because it paid reasonably well, he was good at it, and involved nothing gruesome, like slinging trash or probing body cavities.

  Candy shifted so that her opposite hip jutted out. "Well, it's sort of complicated. I had to pick a career that was equal parts men and women because if I was a woman in an all-male field, I wouldn't be taken seriously." She glanced at him. "The name, you know."

  The name, the hair, the legs, the accent. Just for starters.

  "Yet I can't work with all women either. Women seem to exclude me and aren't friendly. I've never been able to figure it out, but it seems like the harder I try, the more they pull back."

  Try jealousy. Candy would draw male attention no matter what she did, and women would react to that, he was sure. In the negative.