Nothing's Sweeter than Candy

by Lotchie Burton

  Candace stared blankly at the papers spread across her desk, her thoughts anchored in another place and time. Painful memories had been suppressed, but not forgotten. She knew what it was like to be in love. She’d been there, done that—twice. And twice her heart had been broken and handed back to her in pieces.

  At sixteen she’d been sweet, sensitive, and naïve, trusting her emotions and believing in the fantasy. She’d given away her heart and her virginity to another sixteen-year-old because of her faith in the fairy tale. She was in love, and love was reason enough to justify her decision. A week later, he was gone. He’d moved on to another girl and left her feeling so hurt, confused, and ashamed that it was hard to breathe. She hid her suffering behind fake smiles and forced laughter, and pretended to agree with others who insisted it was only a teenage crush. Time passed and life went on, and she’d gotten through it. But if it was “only a crush,” why did it still hurt at twenty-seven as bad as it had at sixteen?

  At twenty-three she’d deliberately pursued relationships with older men, blaming her earlier heartbreak on her immature partner. Age and experience would make all the difference in the world. Wouldn’t it? The second love of her life was a dream come true: handsome, sweet, attentive—and a liar. She wasn’t the only woman in his life, just one of many he wined, dined, and used for his selfish entertainment. There’d been plenty of warning signs, but she’d chosen to ignore them, stubbornly fighting to hold onto the dream. Eventually, she’d caught him in one too many lies and had to acknowledge another failure. And her belief in forever-after began to unravel.

  It didn’t matter that the circumstances were different; the pain was the same. She’d sat alone in the dark with the curtains drawn and her face stuffed in a pillow to soak up her tears and muffle the sobs. Then she crawled under the covers, closed her eyes, and wished she could die, just to make the hurt go away. She didn’t die. She endured and made a vow. Never, ever, again. That would be the last time she’d serve herself up on a platter, because she’d never survive heartbreak number three. Sure, it was true that time healed all wounds, but wounds deep enough left scars.

  After running away from love, she’d locked away her emotions and hardened her heart, turning toward men like Nash. It didn’t take a trained psychiatrist to figure out why. Men like that had no hidden agendas. They didn’t smile in your face and tell lies to get into your pants. They made sure she knew up front what they were after, and it was her choice whether or not to go along. They’d taught her two important facts of life: love was a game, and men didn’t mature with age—they simply got better at playing the game.

  There were no rules set in stone; you made them up as you went along. So, she made a few of her own. Rule number one: no expectations, no disappointments. Rule number two: never make a man responsible for her happiness. Subsequently, all her affairs were purely physical, regulated to booty calls and one-night stands. Emotional entanglements only got in the way. Guys operated just fine following this philosophy, so why couldn’t she?

  She was lucky; her mixed-race heritage made her a curiosity, an exotic oddity, something to “try for the first time,” so attracting men was easy. Attracting the wrong man was easier. She dated men from different professions and ethnic backgrounds because she’d always been fascinated by “different.” But in the end, it all boiled down to the same thing: it didn’t really matter what color a man’s skin was—lying, deceiving bastards came in every shade.

  Chapter 3

  “Hey man, it’s Brice. I’m just checking in to see what’s going on.”

  “Everything’s cool,” David said. “What’s up with you?”

  “It’s all good. I’m glad you made it back okay, but man, you know I’ve been waiting for the details on how things went down with you and Sarona. I’m anxious to hear how your game plan played out.”

  Brice Coleman and David Broussard had been friends since their college years. Now both in their mid-thirties, the two had recently become business partners in a software and communications security consulting service. They developed antivirus software for high-profile business corporations and made them aware of cybercrime vulnerabilities. They often hacked their way into the computer databases of potential clients, just to get their attention.

  Both were alike in a number of ways: same wealthy family background, same striking good looks and athletic build, and same interests in education and technology. Their only real differences had been in their taste in women, until recently.

  David usually went for the blonde-haired, blue-eyed model type, all looks, body, and no brains. His latest infatuation, Sarona Maxwell, was a complete departure from his usual sort: African-American, voluptuous, and intelligent. Unlike David, being attracted to women of color was nothing new for Brice. He’d had an affinity for brown skin in every shade, shape, and form since childhood.

  “Yeah, I know.” David laughed. “But I’m afraid you might be a little disappointed. Things didn’t go exactly as I imagined. Turns out I was no match for Ms. Sarona Maxwell. She beat me at my own game and took my ass down, hard. And I didn’t even put up a fight.”

  “What? Wait, am I hearing you right? Is this the same man who left here a week ago with every intention to seduce the woman who’s driving you crazy?”

  “Yeah, you heard right. And, no, I’m not the same man. David the Player no longer exists. My player’s card has expired, and I don’t plan on renewing it.”

  Brice chuckled at the memory of David’s scheme to seduce Sarona. The two of them traveled in the same business circles and attended the same conferences, but rarely interacted. According to David, Sarona was polite, friendly, and funny as hell, but she usually avoided him like the plague. Used to being the center of female attention, David was bothered and intrigued to the point of erotic fantasies, and his sex dreams almost drove him crazy. The more she dodged him, the more determined he was to have her. It was a classic case of “wanting what you can’t have.”

  He’d left town with the intention to use his charm, good looks, and every tactic in the player’s handbook to seduce her and fulfill his fantasies. Brice had questioned his judgment on executing his plan away from home, and with such a short time constraint. It had seemed simpler to work his magic here, in Atlanta. But David argued that if Sarona had the home field advantage, she’d also have a million ways to avoid him. At a conference in a hotel on the west coast, hundreds of miles away for a week, there were only so many places she could go to get away from him. No matter how far she ran, she’d always have to come back. And if that didn’t work, well, he could use the excuse of a contract proposal to contact her through her company.

  But it seemed David’s plan had gone just a bit awry.

  “That is freaking unbelievable. And scary,” Brice choked out. “I mean, I knew you had it bad, but I had no idea it was that bad. I thought you were just obsessing and needed to get laid. The plan was to get her in bed and out of your system. What the hell happened?”

  “I don’t know. You’re right. I was obsessing, and I did need to get laid. Once the ball started rolling, though, things took off and got away from me. As I tried to seduce her, everything got turned around, and in the end … well, in the end, I was the one who was seduced. I think I’m in love, man.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I’m floored. I guess I should be happy for you, but God, I hope it’s not contagious. I’m in no hurry to get tangled up and tied down by some woman. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “Damn, I can’t believe it. You, of all people.”

  “I know. I can’t believe it either, but I guess it had to happen sooner or later. And for all your blustering denial, don’t be surprised when it creeps up on you and bites you in the ass. But don’t worry, I’ll be the first to hand you a beer, slap you on the back, and say I told you so. I’ll welcome you into the brotherhood of the fallen with open arms.”

  “Screw that. I’m telling you right now—I don’t want any part of your �
��brotherhood.’ Unlike you, my man, there’s no way in hell I’m going down without a fight. Anyway, I also called to tell you I’ve scheduled an appointment for next week at Peterson, Powell, and Lambert. Our sales department made the pitch a few days ago, but the IT director wanted a personal interview with one of the partners, so I’m going in to close the deal. But by all rights, we both know it should be you, since it was your idea to approach the company in the first place. It was your, what did you call it, ‘backup plan,’ right?”

  “Yeah, well, even though I no longer need a fallback plan, that contract is still good for business. I’ll have a lot of explaining to do once Sarona finds out about that little gem of an idea. By the way, I’ll be leaving the business in your capable hands once again because I’m taking off for another couple of weeks. I’ll check out your report when I get back, but right now, all I care about is spending time getting up close and personal with my woman.”

  “All right man, no problem,” Brice said. “Enjoy your trip.”

  Brice disconnected his call in a state of shock. David’s news had totally blown him away. His friend had fallen. Hard. The whole idea was surreal and unbelievable, and it had him worried. Where would David’s departure from bachelorhood leave him? What was he supposed to do now, without his wingman? The two of them had made a great team: handsome, eligible, and on the prowl, enjoying the spoils of female conquest. They looked out for each other and steered likely prospects in the other’s direction. Neither had seen the advantage in settling for one woman when there were so many as yet untapped resources. Now with David suddenly out of the picture, he’d be on his own, flying solo.

  Brice had grown up the son of a U.S. diplomat. His father had once held appointments in countries all over the world, and at a young age Brice had been exposed to many different cultures. As a boy, he’d been fascinated by the differences in the skin color and texture of darker children. When he grew into an adolescent and his hormones were running rampant, he found himself more attracted to females of other races than those of his own. It wasn’t something he could explain. It was simply something he felt, strongly and internally. His free-spirited parents never questioned the friends he brought home or the girls he preferred to date. They didn’t try to influence him one way or the other, allowing him to find his own way.

  His fascination followed him into adulthood, and he began dating Latina and African American women exclusively. He was drawn to strong, beautiful, exotic women, and he liked the in-your-face attitude, fire, and spice he encountered from women with diverse cultural backgrounds. A strong-willed man, he needed a woman who could handle and counterbalance his sometimes-domineering nature. But even though he was a take-charge kind of guy, his mother had raised him to respect women. Her love and strength had molded him, and she would kick his ass big time if he ever said or did anything disrespectful toward a woman.

  Brice was a multifaceted man with many interests. He loved music, computers, and, of course, women, approaching each of these interests with purpose and intensity. The musician in him was a perfectionist, constantly in search of those elusive musical notes that would bring his songs to perfection. The man in him strove for erotic encounters that had the same depth of feeling and flow as good music. His carnal appetites were voracious, but kept under strict control. He rarely allowed his passionate nature to surface. Exposure to his deepest desires would probably frighten your average romance-seeking, immersed-in-fantasy, vanilla-sex-loving female away.

  He knew what women saw when they looked at him: handsome, successful … and a meal ticket. He was a free ride to the good life. He didn’t begrudge them for wanting to use him to advance their social status. It was only natural. So what if he had to give up a few trinkets and an expensive meal or two. When it was all said and done, they both got what they wanted out of the deal and moved on. He didn’t hang around long enough to chance getting involved in anything serious. He’d let them use his body and his money, for a time, but he’d never be fool enough to give them his heart. That was off-limits for all the money-hungry, status-seeking, survival-of-the-fittest social climbers.

  Even though he was a typical man, trying to rack up as many points as he could before the game was over, he still had an old-fashioned streak in him. He was holding out for someone special—the one who made his stomach churn, his blood burn, and his heart damn near stop beating. Someone interested in experiencing sex and intimacy in new and exciting ways. And most important of all, she’d accept him “as is” and wouldn’t spend the rest of their lives trying to change him or turn him into something he could never be. Now that’s probably a fantasy. But if dreams could come true for someone like David, the ultimate playboy, then maybe there was hope for Brice yet.

  Chapter 4

  Brice was nearly thirty minutes early for his meeting. He’d learned early on that timing was everything, and he made it a point to always be at the right place at the right time. Today would prove to be no exception to his rule.

  At the end of the hall was an impressive mahogany wraparound desk occupied by a petite and attractive brunette. Glancing at the nameplate displayed on the desk, Brice smiled and introduced himself.

  “Good morning, Ms. Johnston. My name is Brice Coleman. I’m here for a ten o’clock appointment with Mr. Charles Chancellor.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Coleman,” she responded cheerfully. “I’ll let Mr. Chancellor’s secretary know you’re here.” He waited while she made the call.

  “Mr. Chancellor is currently in a meeting, which should be ending shortly. In the meantime, you’re welcome to have a seat.”

  “Sure. I can do that.”

  Eyeing a recent copy of Sports Illustrated, he picked it up and began riffling through the pages, occasionally glancing up at the clock on the wall.

  While absently turning pages, his ears picked up on a distant, distinct, and confident click of high heels tapping against the hard marble flooring. The sound grew louder as it came nearer, and a primal instinct as old as time instantly kicked into heightened awareness. Brice pretended to be engrossed in the magazine while anxiously awaiting the arrival of those as-yet-unseen heels. Timing was everything.

  At the exact moment the sound breezed past his chair, his eyes rose to catch sight of a stunning pair of long, café-latte-brown legs sashaying by. His gaze traveled up their length and came to rest on a gorgeous round bottom, covered by a short-fitted skirt that swayed slowly from side to side in perfect sync with some erotic, unheard melody.

  With his interest piqued, he quickly forgot the magazine in his hands. He covertly watched the woman’s purposeful, easy-flowing gait as she headed straight for the reception desk. Lucky for him, she stopped directly in front and afforded him an unobstructed view of her stunning backside. He had yet to see her face, but the view from behind was remarkable.

  Her figure was long and lithe, and her shapely bottom stood high and firm above toned, muscular legs. They looked as though they belonged to a dancer or an athlete—and strong enough to squeeze a man tight as they wrapped around his waist, holding on and pulling him in deep. His cock stirred and twitched unexpectedly. Her heels were at least four inches high and accentuated the curve of her hips, the dip of her back, and the width of her shoulders. A full, springy, spiraling, reddish-blonde mane of hair stood out and hung low, brushing her neck and shoulders. She wore a two-piece custom-tailored suit in a rich, dark plum. Brice held his breath and waited expectantly.

  “Good morning, Sylvia. How are you doing today?”

  When Brice heard the first musical strains of her voice—a sound of unadulterated fantasy laced with seduction and steeped in sex—his immediate response was purely physical. His balls crawled up into his groin as his shaft thickened and tightened.

  “Oh my goodness, Candace Brown! What a surprise. We haven’t seen you around here in a while.” Sylvia was obviously delighted to see her. “If you’re here to see Sarona, she’s not here. She’s out of town. Again.”

  “Ye
s, I know.” Candace laughed, and an electrical shock swept through Brice’s body and made his hair stand on end. Musical notes danced in his head, and a pageantry of colors pulsed and glowed behind his eyes. Other musicians had described this euphoric phenomenon, of sound taking the form of indescribable emotion and color. He’d never believed in such a thing, until now. And God, what a rush. The mention of Sarona’s name added to his excitement, and he wondered how well they knew one another.

  “Actually I’m here to pick up some forms she left behind for Dr. Jeffers. Sarona said she’d leave them with her secretary. Could you buzz her and let her know I’m here?”

  “Sure, but she’s not in her office right now. I saw her heading for the supply department about ten minutes ago. She’ll probably be back any minute. If you like, you can have a seat and wait.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Brice’s heart pounded, his groin throbbed, and the rest of him damn near melted in his seat as he waited anxiously to see the face behind the voice. When she turned, every intention of making a covert assessment deserted him. He was staring. He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help himself. She was stunning, with her lovely brown skin and tawny tresses that spiraled and curled about her face, neck, and shoulders. Her face was a perfect oval shape with high cheekbones, a button nose, and very full, very sensuous lips. Her eyes, large and catlike, were the color of light-brown honey and sparkled with tiny flecks of gold. Fringed with long lashes beneath perfectly arched brows, they twinkled with humor and intelligence.

  All at once, an inexplicable need welled up and rushed through him—an urge to plunge his hands into her hair, run his tongue over that gorgeous brown skin, and hear her melodious voice purr with pleasure.