by Jo Leigh
He tossed off his shirt and threw himself across his bed to watch the ceiling fan swirl. Then he noticed the fan wasn’t on. It was the ceiling that was spinning.
He jammed his foot to the floor to still the wonky kaleidoscope overhead. He felt as though he’d been tossed on his head by a real tsunami.
It was not just the liquor. It was Candy, too. He kept thinking about how her body felt in his arms, how soft her lips were, how sweet she’d tasted.
He knew he should regret kissing her, but he only wanted more. He knew the address of Ellie’s beach house. What if he moseyed over there?
Bad idea. Even drunk, he knew that. They worked together. He was her boss. And if Ellie was there to see him arrive, he’d never live it down.
He couldn’t believe he’d consider such a desperate act, even drunk. On the other hand, Candy was something else. She made him think of the summer fireflies of his childhood that he’d chased with a jar to get a closer look at their magic.
Who could resist her?
Abruptly, he remembered that beach bum who’d danced with her. Carter had practically eaten her up with his eyes. Maybe that’s not where I want him to be equal, she’d said.
Maybe she was with him right now. She wasn’t the kind of girl who called it a night at 7:00.
The thought burned through him and he jumped out of bed, needing to occupy himself. He could get started on the new org chart, sketch out possible teams. He’d brought personnel thumbnails for that purpose.
Nah. His mind was too scattered. He’d go online, catch up on e-mail. He’d walked all the way to the kitchen before he remembered that Candy had his computer. Damn.
He channel surfed for a while, restless, legs jumping, skin itchy. An hour passed somehow and he found himself staring out the window at the ocean, swaying a little.
Hell, why not swim off the booze? A brisk dip would clear his head and tame his libido at the same time. He threw on his trunks, tucked his key in the mesh pocket and headed out.
The moonlit water was cool, but not brutal, and he took long, hard strokes parallel to the shore, swimming until his breath came in hard gasps. He rested in a dog paddle and checked out the horizon, squinting, since he was without his glasses. The moon created a streak of silver across the black, rolling water.
He noticed rhythmic splashes to his left and saw someone in a yellow bikini swimming straight out to sea.
Candy? She had that color suit-he’d stared at her in it all day-and the swimmer was plowing single-mindedly through the water, the way Candy took on the world.
He swam close enough to see that, sure enough, it was her. How far would she go? She was smart, but headstrong. She might exhaust herself before she realized it and not make it back. At that thought, everything in him gathered tight. If something happened to her…
He was about to go after her when she reversed course and swam his way, the water flashing silver with each stroke.
He found the reef and stood, waiting for her. When she was close enough, he called her name, which made her jerk her head out of the water and blink at him.
“Matt?” She flailed her arms, shifting into an upright dog paddle. “What are you doing here?”
“Swimming off the booze.”
A gentle wave rolled by, lifting first her, then him, sliding them closer.
“Is it working?” she asked, smiling at him.
“I hope so. What brought you out here?”
“I was restless,” she said, stepping onto the reef, closer to him, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she caught her breath. Her hair was sleek, her makeup gone, but she looked incredible to him.
He wanted her so much it stunned him. It was as though his desire had conjured her out of the sea, made it okay for them to be together, to do what they both felt like doing.
All the reasons why he couldn’t have her slid away on the waves. Every nerve was on fire for her, every muscle strained to touch her. It was as if he’d been sleepwalking through his life and now he was awake. Wide awake. For her.
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her mouth, salty from the sea.
Her body shook against him, her lips trembled and she broke away. “You’re still drunk, Matt.” She searched his face.
“Not so much now.” He pressed his mouth to her neck, felt her pulse wild against his lips. He returned to her mouth, heat and need flowing through him.
Candy stilled against him, filled, he was sure, with the doubts he’d let float away on the sea.
If she was serious about stopping, he’d respect that, but first he’d do his best to persuade her this was the right thing to do. Everything in him said it was.
Well, almost everything.
After a few seconds, he felt her let go, as if a cord had snapped inside, freeing her. She wrapped her legs and arms around him and kissed him back, offering her tongue, which he took, reveling in her moaning response.
The moment felt as primal as the waves that swelled and subsided around them, rocking them together with slow, inexorable power, pulling them into primal, instinctive acts, the way the moon tugged the tide.
Except Matt wanted civilization at the moment. “Let’s find a bed before we drown.”
Candy burst out laughing. He loved the husky sound and the way she put her whole body into it.
He lifted her up and she tucked her head under his chin, then he carried her to shore and across the sand, enjoying the weight of her against him, the way she clasped her fingers trustingly behind his neck. Desire beat time in his body, suspending all thought except how he would soon be inside her.
It seemed simultaneously to take forever and no time at all before he was unlocking his door. He moved with care over the slick entry tiles, relieved when his toes hit the carpet. He padded down the hall, paused to grab towels from the bathroom, then carried Candy to his bed.
The spread was soft, thank God, because he wasn’t taking time to peel it back. He ran the towel over her body, then his, sopping up some of the seawater, then kissed her face, her neck, unhooked her top and tossed it to the floor.
There were her round breasts, their tips knotted from the cold. He cupped their firm curves, perfect handfuls, butter-soft except for the nipples, which were smooth beads against his palm.
She leaned back, making her nipples poke out, tight and eager, welcoming his tongue, his lips, his teeth for a taste, a suck, a gentle bite.
He ran his tongue around one nipple, then the other, tasting salt and skin, feeling the tiny bumps swell and subside under his pushing tongue.
She stiffened, then collapsed into quick, helpless jerks of her hips. Her hips. Yeah. That reminded him of the rest of her, which he wanted naked, too, so he dragged her bikini bottoms down. His fingers scraped sand. He brushed the grit from her tender flesh, then studied her belly. Her pulse was a series of quivering blips under her pale skin. There was a light pink line above her pubic curls from the sun they’d gotten today.
He slid out of his trunks and Candy grasped his cock, her hand warm, making his vision fade.
She explored him with slow fingers, making him harder with each sure stroke, making him push against her palm.
He ran his hands along the curve of her hip and between her thighs, which she parted so he could stroke the swollen lips of her sex, then her clitoris, slowly bearing down until a shiver of pleasure rippled through her body and she moaned, her hand stopping on his cock, she was so caught up in what he was doing to her.
They weren’t speaking, only giving groans and gasps and cries of approval. This was so good. No way would he regret this.
He eased one finger into her wet velvet space.
She gasped, surprised, then bit her lip as if the pleasure were so great it almost hurt.
He moved on top of her and captured the lip she’d bit to lick it better, to taste her sweet mouth again, while his fingers explored her slick sex
, pushing in slowly, then pulling out again.
She made breathy mewling sounds, lying very still, as if concentrating on his every move. Now and then she tried to stroke him, but seemed too absorbed in what he was doing.
He was happy to be making her so happy.
“You’d better…we’d better…what about a condom?” She sounded desperate.
The barrier would slow him down and he wanted to make this last. Were there any in his toiletry kit? A few from the early days with Jane, he was sure.
“When we need one, I’ll get it. I’m happy here for now. You?”
“Mmm, hmm.” She nodded, lips parted, breathing through her mouth. She relaxed into the bed, lying open to his fingers. Moonlight bathed her parts-her breasts, belly, hip bones, curls, her taut thighs. He memorized her-her shape, her breath, the way her tongue swept her lips and her face-reveling in how she seemed to be sinking into the moment with him.
He kissed the impossibly soft skin of her neck, ran his tongue over her pulse, stroked the button of her sex, which swelled, eager for more. His thumb in place, he slid two fingers in and out of her in a rhythm he mimicked with his mouth and wanted to begin with his cock.
Her hips rocked faster, she tightened around his fingers. “Oh, oh, oh. I’m going to-”
“Come. Yeah. Come for me.”
She sped up, getting closer and closer until…
There.
She froze against the bed, then yelped, her eyes rolling back as she bucked against his finger. He felt so grateful to be with her, to feel her fire and energy and desire, to give her what she wanted.
He realized he’d sensed her needs without words. This was a surprise, this automatic understanding. It was as if they’d been together many times before.
“Oh, wow,” she breathed, rolling over and onto him. “That was-” She finished her sentence with a very wet, very violent kiss.
Abruptly, she rose to her knees and pressed his arms to the bed, looking as though she intended to wrestle him into submission.
“Uncle,” he said. “Aunt and cousin, too, if that helps.”
She smiled the smile of a hellcat bent on getting her due. Then she hesitated. “The condom…” She bit her lip. “I’m on the pill. I get tested. You?”
“I’m…healthy,” he said, not sure how he’d even make it to the bathroom with this incredible woman above him.
“Good. Bareback it is.” She guided his cock into her body, slowly seating herself at the base of his shaft, settling in with a moan of pleasure. She arched her body, head back, enjoying this, it seemed.
He certainly was. Her tight, hot sex was pure heaven. He grabbed her hips, pulling her down harder.
She looked at him, her hair falling forward, color in her cheeks, her eyes shining in the dimness. She was so beautiful.
“This just gets better, huh?” she breathed.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, thrusting up into her. “Better and better.” This had to be the best position. Except for looking down at her body. Or lying on his side, facing her. Or all the other positions they hadn’t tried. Yet.
“Mmm.” She sucked in her breath, then did a slow roll on his shaft, bending him, intensifying the rush of blood pulsing through his member. He was buried to the hilt in her. He moved in and out, rocking to press her clit with his shaft, loving the way she moaned each time.
He reached for her breasts and she bent forward so he could cup their weight and lick each nipple in turn.
She did a rolling twist with her hips that made him moan in sweet agony. He kissed her mouth, tugged at her tongue, held her breasts and lightly teased the nipples, giving her, he hoped, some of the hot rush that poured through him.
She rose to a full sit and he pressed his finger to her clit. Her head snapped forward. “Oh, yes. Do that.” She smiled the smile of a woman galloping toward a pleasure she knew was waiting just for her. He loved that look. He wanted to see it over and over.
He pushed her clit as he pumped upward, hard.
She gasped, then tensed, as if electrified by sensation, and he knew she was coming.
He let her spasms pull him into his own release. Closing his eyes, he pulsed into her, in time with her squeezing muscles. They were together in this crackle of electricity, riding its surging pulse together.
He usually made sure his lovers came first, but this mutual pleasure had happened as easily as breathing. And so much more fun.
She flopped against his chest with a great gasp of an exhale. “Oh. Wow. That was…”
“Great,” he said into her hair, which smelled of spice and flowers, her sweet sweat and the salty metal of the sea. “God, you smell great. I can’t-” sniff “-get-” sniff “-enough.”
He hadn’t felt this way before, had he?
Maybe with Heather. Back in college. Listening to Candy catch her breath, he couldn’t help thinking of his first real love. Heather had had the same wild energy as Candy. She’d had a thing for thrill rides, the more frightening the better. She’d loved sex, too, said it felt like the click-click-click to the top of the first coaster drop. She loved the anticipation, loved shrieking into the dive.
The breakup had been unexpected and painful, even though she’d warned him-laughing-that she had emotional ADD. I never stick long. He’d thought it would be different with him. It hadn’t been.
He’d been shocked by how bad he felt and for how long and had stayed clear of women like Heather ever since.
Until Candy. He felt the uneasy rumble inside, like the distant thunder of a storm on its way. Don’t ruin this, he told himself. Stop thinking. Easy enough to do with the liquor still numbing his brain. Yeah, he was still drunk.
But for now he was content to breathe in Candy. God, she smelled good.
MATT WAS TAKING big, greedy sniffs of her hair and Candy smiled at how sweet that was. She felt stunned and so grateful. She’d had her share of quality sex, but this had been something else. Effortlessly great.
She’d suspected that Matt would be hot, but not so…oh…what was the word? Aware? In tune? It was as if he inhabited her body, knew exactly where she needed the most attention and for how long, when to go faster, harder and when to hold stock-still.
And all without a word. She liked the talkers-the men who took the time to pin down what she wanted and who guided her, too, in what they preferred-but Matt was in a class by himself.
What would she call him? A body reader. Yeah. She released a huge breath, sated from two close-together orgasms, enjoying the thud of Matt’s heart beneath her, the way he held her gently but securely, how their mingled sweat made them slick as seals, the way he smelled of lime and spice and sea and sex.
She’d loved how he’d swept her into his arms and carried her to the house like some dashing rogue from an old historical novel, intent on her willing ravishment.
She felt his muscles go limp and he let out a soft snore. So cute. He’d fallen asleep.
Or passed out?
Oops. That. Matt had been in a Tsunami-for-Two haze and she’d let him sweep her into his bed. Stone-cold sober, she’d behaved like the party girl she’d sworn not to be.
While Matt snored softly beneath her, she lay alone with the hard reality that she’d slept with her boss. Despair swelled in her chest. The sexy sweat suddenly felt clammy, the sweet postcoital intimacy a guilty crime. She had to get away, escape from her mistake.
She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Matt, who in his sleep made a patting gesture, as if to reassure her. He lay there, naked.
She sighed, covering him with the side of the bedspread to prevent temptation, then tucking it under his chin so he wouldn’t become chilled in the night.
Could he possibly be too drunk to remember this?
No way.
Now what? In a weak moment, she’d given in and now there would be hell to pay. She put on her bikini and tiptoed out of the house,
heading home. The playful moon seemed to taunt her. If she’d had a shoe, she’d have thrown it.
6
CANDY AWOKE TO THE SOUND of Sara whispering into the phone as she thumped down the stairs that ended a few yards from Candy’s foldout bed.
“I faxed it, Uncle Spence,” she said. “I’m telling you.”
Candy squinted at the wall clock. Quarter to six. Uncle Spence was an early riser.
“No,” Sara continued into the phone. “Yes…Like I said…Just check with Amy. I’m sure she has it.” Reaching the bottom step, Sara caught sight of Candy and cringed in apology.
Candy mouthed, “It’s okay.”
Sara moved into the kitchen and began making coffee, the cell phone propped beneath her ear.
Candy flopped back onto the pillow, memories of last night flooding in like an early tide, gunky with seaweed. Would what happened in Malibu stay in Malibu?
Hardly. It would ride all the way to L.A. with them and up sixteen floors to the SyncUp office and ruin everything. Her and Matt’s working relationship. Her chance for promotion. The tentative improvement in Matt’s impression of her. Everything.
For a moment, she wanted to curl in a ball and burst into tears. Instead she sat up. This was a mere setback. A pothole in her career path she would patch up and march over.
First, she’d go over to Matt’s as she’d planned and act normal, treat last night like a drunken boo-boo. Never mind that she hadn’t had a drop of liquor. They would laugh about it and move on. Proceed with Plan A.
She’d show Matt her work, do his makeover, teach him more about networking, then talk about the festival events she’d promised the girls she and Matt would do.
What other choice did she have?
Matt would probably be relieved. He’d be hungover and blaming himself, even though Candy knew it was her fault. Matt had been in unfamiliar territory-Drunkand-Crazy Land, which was Candy’s weekend hangout.
She made up the sofa, the sheets sticking out a bit, like her own doubts, then headed for the kitchen for coffee. En route, she paused to turn on Matt’s computer.
She would get her notes together, call Freeda for her files, then head over to Matt’s at 7:30, as agreed. Matt said he was up by 6:00, plus the hangover would wake him early. Soon, they’d be back on track-the sex a fading faux pas.
