He still wasn’t clear on the reasons Milly had decided, several months ago, to take a hiatus from Strong Construction. She’d left Stanton to visit friends on the west coast for an extended visit, saying that she needed to get away. She’d only recently returned and they hadn’t talked about her reasons for leaving.
“No, Mil, that’s not what I’m saying. It wasn’t your fault. You and I both know Angel started behaving differently before you left Stanton. Besides, you needed to get away,” he replied. “But maybe it’s time for her to have someone around her who can help her with things you and I can’t.”
“Davis, I never thought about that, honestly. Not until Gail said the same thing to me before she died.”
“I didn’t know she had.”
“Yes, she did. She thought it was important for Angel to have a black woman in her life. I agree with her.”
“Why?”
“It’s important. There are some things she’s going to need help with. Things you or I won’t be able to help her with. Life is harsh, Davis; you know that. And the reality is there are some people who aren’t color-blind, and can be cruel. Just like there are people who treat people with disabilities differently.”
Although Milly spoke from experience, because of her own disability, Davis remained silent. More than anything, Milly despised sympathy.
“Someone who was a good role model, maybe even worked with young girls. Maybe Angel would feel free to open up to her. But who? Who do we know that fits those criteria?” When her last few words sunk in, Davis grew wary.
“Don’t even try it, Mil. I know what, or who, you’re referring to.”
Davis felt the clench in his gut, the same reaction he had whenever the woman his sister was none-too-subtly referring to was mentioned or in his general vicinity.
The same woman who he’d convinced himself over the last nine months of their acquaintance was not an ideal woman to supervise the girls at the center.
The same woman who flitted through his mind with irritating regularity from since the first moment he’d laid eyes on her.
The one who’d been the cause of and starred in more wet dreams than he’d had since he was a randy seventeen-year-old adolescent.
He wasn’t a kid anymore. He was a grown man with responsibilities. And one of those responsibilities was to raise his daughter the best way he could. This meant having reservations about her being around someone who threw convention to the wind in her manner, dress and overall…presence.
“What do you have against Candice, Davis? Really. What is it?”
He damn sure couldn’t tell her he found Candice to be the wrong choice as the director of the center. She was way too free-spirited to guide and counsel a slew of impressionable young girls, his daughter included. But he still wanted to fuck the woman so badly it was all he could do not to howl at the moon in frustration.
Self-imposed frustration.
Because although she was very subtle, he knew the instantlust attraction he’d felt for Candice was reciprocated. Yet, he had no intention of letting her know that. It was hard enough keeping himself in check when he was around her. If she knew what thoughts were in his mind, and she was game to follow up, they’d end up screwing like bunnies for a solid week, without coming up for air once.
Or at least that’s what he’d want to happen. Whether she would be game or not, he didn’t know. In his fantasies, she was a willing participant.
No, it was better little Miss Candice thought he found her anything but attractive. Coupled with his desire, he felt guilt about it. His wife had been dead for seven years and their marriage had been anything but perfect, but the guilt was there.
He and Gail had known one another for years, had flitted in and out of each other’s lives from the time her grandfather had worked for Strong Construction when she was a young girl. Upon her return on break from university, no one had been surprised when they’d gotten together.
She’d always had a quiet way about her, always seemed to hold her emotional cards close. They’d flirted back and forth, yet Davis was surprised when she returned from school during her summer break and immediately insisted they take their relationship to the next level.
When she’d shown up on his doorstep, slightly intoxicated, he’d invited her in. He’d initially resisted, hadn’t wanted to take advantage of her inebriated state, but had eventually caved in and made love to her.
Six weeks later she’d told him she was pregnant, and they’d gotten married.
She’d never shown him as much desire, had never been so determined to make love to him, as she had during that time. Davis wouldn’t know for several months later why.
Once he learned the reason, he shut down his emotions around her. He’d kept his feelings tightly in check. Tried to make the best of it for Angelica’s sake.
“I promised Gail I would make sure Angel had a black woman in her life. And more importantly, I think Angel could benefit from it. And I will find one. A positive, nurturing, mature woman. But it won’t be Candice,” he stated, emphatically.
“What?! Oh come on! What are you going to do? Put an ad in the newspaper? ‘Help Wanted: Black woman who is positive and nurturing to be my daughter’s friend?’”
“Whatever I do, it won’t be to approach Ms. Cain. End of subject.”
Candy Cain. Just like candy, I can see it when you walk, even when you talk, it takes hold of me… he hadn’t been able to get the old ’80s song out of his mind from the moment he first laid eyes on her.
“I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll figure something out. Now when are you coming back to work? The place isn’t the same without you,” he quickly changed the subject.
There was a pregnant pause and he prompted her. “Mil? What’s going on? Is there something behind you leaving the company and Stanton besides you needing a break?”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle, Davis.”
“Are you sure? I’ve been so caught up in Angel and her theatrics I think I’m missing something with you.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle, Davis,” she repeated. “You know I’m a big girl now. I don’t need for you to jump in and fight my battles for me,” she replied, her voice nonchalant.
Davis held back his desire to probe deeper, knowing his sister was stubborn as hell and wouldn’t listen to him.
Just as all the women in his life seemed to be, he thought and munched moodily on his cold French toast.
3
“I s it me, or does my ass look like the back side of a very large caboose in these jeans?” Candy mumbled out loud, to no one in particular. It was becoming an eccentric habit of hers, she thought. Talking to empty rooms.
Candy twisted her body this way and that, glaring at her hind end at every conceivable angle. She reached behind and tugged at the waistband of her new jeans, where material and skin met. She blew out a frustrated breath of air. There was enough space between for her to insert her entire hand inside!
The hip/waist ratio thing was a serious pain whenever she bought a new pair of jeans. Too tight in the hips and it was perfect for her waist. Too loose in the waist and they fit to a T in the thighs and butt.
With her eyes still trained on her butt, she knew she’d have to whip out her sewing machine and do some serious alterations to make these babies work.
She had given up finding a pair of jeans that would fit. The best she could do was to make sure they worked for thighs and butt and alter the waistline.
It would be nice if at least one designer would get it right for women with her body type, she thought. It wasn’t like all women were a perfect size-eight body. All they’d have to do was take a look around at the general population of everyday women, take a poll, something, she mentally griped.
Candice blew out a disgusted puff of air.
She should have altered them before deciding to wear them for the first time, she thought.
“Do you want me to answer that question, or are you just talki
ng out loud to hear yourself speak?”
Candice nearly jumped out of her skin when the deep voice answered. She spun around and tripped, catching herself before she fell on the floor in an undignified heap.
Her eyes widened. Davis Strong stood in her doorway, a deep frown settling across his handsome face.
She stumbled again. Before she could right herself, he had crossed the room, his warm palm cupping her beneath her elbow. “Whoa—be careful.”
Her reaction to the contact was immediate. The feel of his big, warm palm on her skin caused a direct zing of electric heat to sizzle between them.
She glanced up, heart pounding. “Thank you,” she murmured and cleared her throat.
“No problem.”
Candy tried to pull away. When he held on, she turned back toward him and their gazes locked. His eyes were trained on her mouth and seemed to darken when her tongue swiped along her full bottom lip.
Her gaze traveled over his face, cataloging features that were already burned into her memory.
He’d recently returned from Florida, and had gained a light olive tan. The color contrasted vividly against his light-gray eyes.
Although he wasn’t handsome in the typical model, GQ way—no, his harsh good looks were beyond anything so tame as model perfection—he exuded raw masculine appeal that drew her in like a magnet every time she was anywhere in his vicinity.
Davis Strong had the ability, no matter how put together she thought she was, to make Candy feel like a ten-year-old naughty schoolgirl.
Although the feelings he stirred in her whenever she was in his presence weren’t the feelings a young girl would, or should, be having.
Naughty or otherwise.
Not that she wouldn’t mind playing the naughty little girl for him, if ever he was so inclined.
Despite her wayward dreams of late, where she’d cast him as the unsuspecting male lead in her very own porn flick, he had yet to ask in real life.
But heaven help her if he did. Or help him, as she knew exactly what she wanted from him.
Despite the disapproving looks he would cast her way, she knew he was attracted to her, no matter how he pretended otherwise.
But he’d yet to act on it. And she damn sure wasn’t so desperate for attention to be the one to initiate anything. No matter how fine he was, she told herself, clenching her thighs together when her body taunted her, quickly responding to his simple touch.
When he finally released her and moved away, she released a sigh, not realizing she’d been holding her breath. “I need to talk to you about Angelica,” he said, bringing her mind back to the reason he had sought her out.
“Please, have a seat.”
When he turned his head from her, his eyes surveying her messy office, she refrained from rushing into an explanation that she’d come in early to clean.
As he sat in one of the few chairs in the cluttered office not filled with papers, Candy’s gaze wandered over his big body, subtly, from the corner of her eye.
The gray T-shirt he wore clung to his broad chest. It looked as though it had been washed a thousand times at least, it was so soft-looking. The light gray color of the T-shirt was the same color as his eyes, but didn’t come close to matching the intensity.
His long legs were encased in worn jeans, his hard thighs bunching against the material as he sat.
Yet, for all his good looks, Candy was drawn to him for reasons beyond the physical. Reasons such as his love for his daughter, along with the way he treated the kids who frequented the center.
He took time out to laugh and talk with them whenever he was there. He was real with them, no pretense.
Candy longed to get to know the real Davis, the one he presented to the kids, when he thought no one was watching. She wanted to be the one responsible for making the deep slashes in his lean cheeks appear whenever he smiled or laughed at one of their jokes.
The Davis she saw was one who closed up around her, a scowl on his handsome face as he broodingly watched her, when he thought she wasn’t looking.
The Davis he presented to her made her wonder what in hell she’d done to make him so surly around her, yet gave off enough sexual sparks to cause a brush fire.
To make matters worse, whenever she was within a five-mile radius of him, she turned into a blushing, gauche, tongue-tied woman who was about as sophisticated as one of the teen girls who attended the center.
“Sorry to barge in like this. Your assistant told me you were in,” he said, after settling his large frame in the small chair.
“It’s fine. I came in early to clean.”
“Is this what you normally wear to clean?”
Candy noticed his gaze centered on her midsection, and glanced down at herself.
He would have to come today, when she’d dressed even more casually than normal.
Her plan had been to clean, not entertain one of her girls’ parents. Even if said parent was incredibly fine and sported hard chiseled muscles outlined to perfection beneath his T-shirt.
She tried to discreetly tug the skimpy top she was wearing, emblazoned with the phrase taste like butta, into the waistband of her jeans when she saw him staring at the small gemstone she wore in her belly.
Candy refused to admit, even to herself, how his attention to her body jewelry affected her. His gaze then traveled from her belly button, up the length of her body, his gaze hot and direct when he met her stare.
The intensity in his light-colored eyes caused her pulse to quicken, her breath to catch in her throat, as their gazes locked.
She folded her arms over her breasts, to hide her nipples’ reaction. After walking to her desk, she sat down. It was that, or embarrass herself and fall down.
“I’m here because of Angelica.”
When he mentioned his daughter, his somber tone made her forget her irrational, unrequited and silly obsession with him for the moment.
“Is everything okay with her? She’s not hurt, is she?”
“No, nothing like that. She’s been cutting school. Her principal called me into the office yesterday to tell me. Seems like she’s been doing it for a while,” he admitted, and ran a hand through his short, dark-blond hair in frustration.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Strong.”
“Please, Ms. Cain, call me Davis. We’ve known each other long enough to dispense with formalities,” he offered.
Candy was thrown off guard. He’d never extended the offer for her to call him by his first name.
“Thank you, Davis. And please, feel free to call me Candy,” she offered in return. “That’s my nickname. The girls like to call me that. They think it’s funny my last name is Cain.”
“Candy Cain, huh? I once wondered if that was your real name or not.”
She quickly glanced over his expression, to gauge his intent. The look in his eyes seemed more curious than condescending and Candy relaxed.
“No, I understand about unconventionality. My Aunt Mildred raised my sister and me, and, as you know, Aunt Mildred isn’t a conformist in the least,” he laughed huskily.
Mildred Davis had been one of the first women to own and operate a large construction and architectural firm in the city of Stanton. She’d also been the first female millionaire in the city.
“What’s going on with Angelica?” She guided the conversation back to the reason Davis had sought her out.
“Angel cut school on Thursday and gave the teacher a forged permission slip from me. And it wasn’t the first time it happened.” Once again, he raked a hand through his hair in frustration.
“It wasn’t the first time she skipped school, or forged a note?” Candy asked.
“Both, unfortunately. This is her second time skipping and forging a note with my signature. She had a substitute teacher the first time and the second time around she timed her absence when she knew Mrs. Douglas, her regular teacher, would be gone.”
“She missed the day Mrs. Douglas was teaching, and the day the subs
titute came, she returned to school?” Candy asked, seeking clarification.
“Yes.”
“At least she’s creative in her manipulation.”
The laugh he uttered was more like a snort, and his expression was sheepish at best. He reached around and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Yes, she is. She knew the sub wouldn’t know my signature and was counting on the fact the woman wouldn’t call her out about it. But what she failed to understand was the notes were kept. Mrs. Douglas would eventually see it.”
“Why wasn’t she caught the first time?”
“The sub misplaced the note but documented she’d seen it and that was it.”
“Angelica thought she’d gotten away with it and they’d been fooled by the signature and decided to try again?” Candy hazarded a guess.
“How did you guess that?” He looked at her with what she saw as suspicion, and their tentative camaraderie evaporated as though it never had been.
“I work with her age group all the time, Mr. Strong. You don’t believe I had anything to do with this, do you?”
Candy began gathering strewn paperwork on her desk, the need to keep her hands busy paramount.
It was that or jump across the desk and slap him into the middle of next week for insinuating she’d had anything to do with Angel’s truancy.
Damn, the man brought out either the need to jump his bones, or the need to throttle him.
“Yes, I know this is your area of expertise. I wasn’t trying to imply anything else, Ms. Cain. I’m at a loss and on edge.”
Davis sighed.
He was coming across as an ass to Candy. He knew it.
He hadn’t come to antagonize her. He’d come to ask for her help.
But every time they were within two feet of each other, sparks flew. He knew he was the one to blame.
It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t keep his thoughts where they should be, whenever he was around her. And her wearing that tight little top with her smooth brown belly showing, her small tits pushing against the thin material so that he could see them bead when he’d touched her, hadn’t helped matters.
Just Like Candy Page 3
