by Dawn Atkins
Why can’t we sleep together again?
He’s your boss. You want him to promote you.
Oh, yeah. That. She was showing him how smart and balanced and hard-working she was. How dedicated and responsible. How—
“You about done there?” he asked, turning.
“Uh, sure. Just being thorough.”
“Shall I do you?” he asked, low and slow.
Not that he meant anything by the suggestive words, but they gave her thoughts. “That’d be great.” She handed him the tube, turning her back.
His fingers pressed into her skin as he rubbed slowly and carefully, even under her shoulder straps. He was so very thorough. As he kept working, she couldn’t help but think that one little tug and her top would drop and he’d have more to rub than he’d bargained for. Her knees turned to water.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I think you got it,” she said, turning to grab the tube from his hand.
He looked startled, still holding his hand out.
“We’ll be late,” she said, hurrying toward the water, hoping it would be chilly enough to shock her out of her sensual lethargy.
Matt caught up and they walked the edge of the surf, letting the waves brush their toes, then retreat in foamy whispers.
The water was full of swimmers and bodysurfers. Young boys on Boogie boards tumbled like acrobats into the surf, heedless of pain or danger.
The shore was crowded with sunbathers under colorful umbrellas, lying on towels, surrounded by ice chests and beach toys, tossing balls or Frisbees.
“I love the beach,” she said, determined to enjoy every moment of it she could.
“Me, too,” Matt said. “I’m glad Ellie got me out here.”
“She said you had to use up vacation time.”
“I did. I tend to get too focused.”
“It’s easy when you love your work,” she said, but she’d never had extra vacation to use up. She’d had to take a two-day advance to make a Tahoe trip with friends to a ski lodge.
“Actually, Candy, I’m glad you came over. I might have parked myself in front of my laptop and missed all this.” He gestured out at the sparkling line between sky and sea.
“I’m glad I could be what you need,” Candy said, the words far too intimate. Her traitorous heart fluttered in her chest.
You’re what I need, too.
For my career, she reminded herself firmly. They were helping each other. This was all about SyncUp and their working relationship. The nearly naked volleyball game, the makeover to come, the hours sitting thigh-to-thigh at Matt’s computer showing him her stuff.
Oh, dear.
She’d handle it like they did it in AA: One twinge at a time.
3
THE VOLLEYBALL tournament sign-up was at a table on the beachside terrace of a bar called WHIM SIM, short for What Happens in Malibu, Stays in Malibu.
“You lookin’ to get on a team?” asked a hot guy, motioning them over. “Cuz we need a couple players.”
“Absolutely,” she said.
“I’m Carter.” He grinned, extended his hand to Candy and gave her an appreciative once-over. He was very tanned and his hair was a sun-bleached blond that would cost a fortune in a salon, but Candy bet he’d earned it with real ray time.
“I’m Candy and this is Matt.”
“Cool.” Carter shook Matt’s hand.
“These guys are in?” a gorgeous blonde in a red bikini, as tanned as Carter, asked. When he nodded, she beamed. “Perfect. We need two players. I’m Jaycee.” She was talking to Matt and she flipped her long hair over one shoulder in an obviously practiced move.
Candy figured this was a good social moment to start Matt’s lessons, so she asked Jaycee and Carter how they knew each other. Jaycee, it turned out, managed a health club in Santa Monica where Carter was a trainer. Candy explained that she and Matt worked together at SyncUp.
“You market software, huh?” Jaycee asked Matt, clearly flirting with him. “When I see ‘auto run,’ that’s what I want to do. What kind of software do you sell?”
“We’re most known for our integrated suite of applications for word processing, numerical analysis and data management.”
“Sounds interesting.” Jaycee’s eyes glazed over.
“What Matt means is we help businesses manage their books, handle payroll, do project planning and scheduling. Like that.”
“I get it. We have a payroll program, for sure. Don’t know if it’s yours, but the time cards take forever. No offense.”
“Really?” Candy asked, her marketer’s ears perking. “What would make it easier for you?”
“Fewer screens. God. It’s tab, type, tab, type, tab until you want to scream.”
“So, if the software could plug in routine entries for you, that would help?”
“Oh, yeah. That would be great.”
“That’s our job. To solve customer problems like that. Actually, Matt could get lots more technical if he wanted to. He started out as a computer engineer.”
“Really?” Jaycee blinked up at him. “So you wear two hats? One day you’re all thinky and into numbers and the next you’re, like, creative and fresh?” Blink. Blink. She was pretending to be dumber than she clearly was.
“I don’t write code these days. I manage our marketing division.” There was a beat, then Matt seemed to grasp the need to keep talking. “However, my engineering background does help me interpret for both the programmers and the marketing staff.”
“So you’re, like, the translator. Sprechen Sie computer?”
“In a sense, yes.” He smiled.
“That’s very cool,” Jaycee said. “So what are you cooking up at the moment?”
“We have a variety of projects in R & D and beta.” He glanced at Candy, who urged him on with her eyes. “Uh, one you might be interested in is a personality test to help employers ensure applicants are suited to the job.”
“Another test to fail.” Carter groaned in pretend misery. Candy pegged him as one of those lighthearted, physical guys who were tireless in bed and eager to please their partners. Under other circumstances, he’d be the perfect companion for a week at Malibu. Too bad she was otherwise occupied.
“Yeah, but those test questions are so obvious,” Jaycee said. “‘Would you rather rob a liquor store or play poker with your mother?’”
“Actually,” Matt said, “the test has been certified to have construct and concurrent validity, as well as—”
Candy cleared her throat.
Matt glanced at her, then paused. “Uh, basically the test measures what it claims to measure.” He’d caught on, she was pleased to see. Can the jargon.
“Right,” Candy said. “Plus, employers consider other factors when they hire.”
“Like charm and good looks?” Carter said, winking at Candy.
“As long as you’re qualified for the job,” she teased back.
“Oh, I’m qualified.” He held her gaze for a telling moment. “You two here for the festival?” He was assessing their romantic status, she could tell.
“Partly,” she said. “We’re doing that photo scavenger hunt, for one thing, since Matt’s also a photographer.” She figured that could lead to more conversation.
“That’s so cool,” Jaycee said. “Do you do head shots? Because I need some for my modeling composite.”
“Not really. I just play around.”
“You do? You play around? I like that.”
“It’s only a hobby.” Matt seemed oblivious to Jaycee’s flirtation.
“But he has a great eye,” Candy said.
“Even better.”
Lord, could the girl be more obvious? Candy felt a pang of irritation, but pushed on. “Why don’t you take a snapshot of our team, Matt?”
“With the phone? Ah. Sure. Good idea.” He cut her a glance that told her he knew where she was heading—get contact info.
Jaycee called over the other two players, then plante
d herself in the center of the picture. She was so damned bouncy. Like an overage high school cheerleader. Candy wasn’t sure why that annoyed her, except that she seemed to be deliberately jiggling her breasts under Matt’s nose.
Matt snapped the shot, then keyed e-mail addresses into his phone, finishing just as their team was called to play.
“You’re a good student,” she murmured to him as they headed onto the court.
“Because I have a great teacher.” He held her gaze for an extra beat, giving her that melting feeling again. Between the sun and Matt, she’d be a puddle in the sand before long.
Checking out their opposing team, Candy felt intimidated. They looked so athletic. She was reasonably coordinated, but still…She glanced at Matt who smiled, calm and reassuring.
As the game went on, Matt kept his eye on her, backing her play when the sun blinded her or she was out of position when a ball came over. He even saved her shot when Radar lunged onto the court and nearly knocked her down. Matt was a strong and graceful player…who distracted the hell out of her, standing there—tall, bare-chested and gorgeous. He had to do a million pushups when he wasn’t at his keyboard. Not to mention sit-ups.
She was so busy watching the way he crouched—arms extended, hands fisted together, muscles rippling—that it took her a heartbeat to notice he’d set the ball to her.
At the last second, she managed an inelegant one-armed swing and was amazed when the ball made it over the net. It surprised the other team, too, and they missed it.
Candy had earned a point by ogling Matt.
Carter slapped her on the back. “Excellent,” he said, lingering near her. She noticed Matt watching the moment, pensive, slightly frowning.
The two sides traded the lead over and over, until it was game point and Candy’s serve. Yikes. She moved into position, dizzy and freaked, her nerves tight as guitar strings. All eyes were on her. This one counted. She shot a look at Matt.
“It’s just another serve,” he murmured. “Show them what you’re made of.”
She would. She’d show the players. And she’d show Matt. Her ideas, that is, as soon as she got the chance. She’d show her family, too. She’d show everyone. Pumped with adrenaline and determination, she swung the ball into the air, hauled off and slugged it—straight over everyone’s heads and yards out of bounds down the beach.
“Outside!” the ref called.
No kidding. Her second try went sideways and out, losing the serve for her team. Radar fetched the ball, dropping it at her feet. She tossed it over the net to the other team.
“No big thing,” Matt said to her, waiting until she looked at him. “Really, Candy. It’s nothing.”
She felt terrible, though, and determined to make up for her failure. When her team got the serve again, the return ball came over at a tough angle. No way would she let this go without a fight, so she dived for the sand, scraping palms and knees, but managing to set the ball high.
From the ground, she watched Matt spike the ball hard.
The other team didn’t have a chance.
They’d won. Her team cheered, the ref whistled for the teams to change sides, and Matt held out his hand to help her to her feet.
She smiled and reached up, enjoying the pressure of his broad palm, his firm grip, the power in his arms. Bouncing to her feet, she rocked into him.
His arms went instinctively around her, reminding her of the moment when he’d tried to steady her before she fell anyway.
“Great dive,” he said softly.
“Great spike. We make a good team.”
They stood that way, eyes locked, breathing unevenly, braced in each other’s arms. The seconds stretched and sagged, as sweet and slow as pulled taffy. She could feel Matt’s heart beat against her hands. There was something they had to do, but she couldn’t…quite…remember…what…it was.
“Hello?” Jaycee called from the other side of the net. “We’re over here. New game?”
“Oh. Right.” Matt jolted forward.
“You okay? Need some water?” Jaycee asked him when he reached her, extending her water bottle.
“I’m fine.”
Jaycee bounced back to her position and Candy leaned toward Matt. “She wants to have your baby.”
“What are you talking about?” He looked at Jaycee. “You’re exaggerating.”
“You should go for it.”
“No. I’m not…No.” He colored, embarrassed or flattered or both. A jealous prickle moved along Candy’s nerves. Which was crazy. If her help juiced Matt’s love life, then so much the better, right?
The game started and, again, the teams traded the lead, passing game point over and over again. Matt and Candy played together well and she managed a few good shots. In the end, they were once again victorious, which meant they took the match 2-0.
Carter, as team captain, handed out the winner’s booty—a wad of drink tickets and a voucher for points in a competition that was part of the festival, along with a WHIM SIM T-shirt. “We’re going inside to spend these,” he said to Candy, holding up his drink coupons. “You coming?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said.
“See you inside then.” Carter turned to go.
“You like that guy?” Matt asked nodding at him.
“What’s not to like?”
“He’s kind of muscle-bound, don’t you think? Definitely not your intellectual equal.”
“Maybe that’s not where I want him to be equal,” she said, watching Carter enter the bar. This was the Sin on the Beach festival. It would be almost criminal not to have some fun. Carter had a happy-to-please boyish way about him. An all-around good-time playmate. She became aware of Matt’s stare. “What?”
“Nothing. Just watching you watch him.” Was that sarcasm? Maybe he felt a little jealous, too. Hmm.
“Shall we hit the bar?” she said. “We can make it another sociability lesson—see how many people you can meet.”
“You’re the boss,” he said, brushing the sand from his legs, then his chest and arms. She imagined those hands on her, brushing sand from all those pesky places….
Stop that now. “Put this on,” she said, handing him the WHIM SIM T-shirt. Enough with the bare chest already. She put on her blouse and tied it at her waist.
The T-shirt was tight on Matt and hugged every muscle and dip on his torso, making it no help at all.
She pulled her gaze away and headed for the bar. They’d have one drink and then she’d show Matt her work. That meant no booze for her. She’d stick with club soda. Mentally patting herself on the back for her good sense, she pushed open the rough-wood door to find utter drunken chaos.
The place was packed and noisy with pounding rock and drunken laughter, which swelled and subsided like ocean waves. Three women wearing bikinis danced on the massive mahogany bar. Guys on stools bellowed and whistled at them.
Down the way, a bartender in the staff uniform of a blue Hawaiian shirt passed a lighter over three liqueur shots, which burst into wavering flames. Blue martinis, the bar’s signature drink, were half price, so blue liquor gleamed from martini glasses at nearly every table.
“Wow,” Matt said, turning to her. He’d changed from dark glasses to regular ones before they walked in and she noticed that his eyes matched the bar’s martinis. “It’s pretty wild in here.”
“It’s summer at the beach. Time to bust out. For these people anyway.” She tried not to sound sad. She itched to join the fun.
“Come on.” Matt guided her to the bar and found a place inches from the tipsy dancers grinding away above them. He glanced up, then down. “Interesting,” he said politely. “What would you like to drink?” He surveyed the menu overhead where specials were written in pink and green neon.
“Club soda with lime,” she said grimly.
“How about we try the Tsunami for Two?”
She read the ingredients—crème de cacao, blue curaçao, rum, vodka and a bunch of juices to mask the booze. Gua
ranteed to make you karaoke drunk. She could even see a karaoke setup on the stage at the far side of the bar. “I don’t think so. Too intense. We’re working later.” She felt like a complete deadbeat saying such a thing in a place like this.
“Come on. When in Rome, huh? We can ‘work’ tomorrow.” He made quote marks around work. He thought she was joking.
That sent a surge of irritation through her. “It’s your funeral.” She would stick with her plan no matter what.
Before long, they sat at a round table barely big enough to hold the gigantic froufrou drink Matt had ordered. It was in a ceramic boat shaped like a hollowed-out tree trunk filled with blue liquid with whipped-cream whitecaps.
Matt looked down at the sea of booze. “Whose idea was this, anyway?”
“The Romans?” She gulped half her club soda, which was refreshing after so much exercise in the sun.
Matt sipped from the long, red straw at his end. “It’s sweet,” he said. “Thirst-quenching. Try it.”
She leaned in for a sip of her straw. Fruit masked enough booze to turn a straight man into a stripper. “I think I’ll stick with soda. You should pace yourself. Drink some water…”
Matt was studying her face. “Looks like you got some—” He reached out.
“Whipped cream?” She rubbed her nose to get it off.
“No, no. Sun. You’ve got a bit of a burn on your nose.”
She laughed. “I guess after that night with the prickly-pear margaritas, I expect whenever we drink together I’ll end up with something on my face.” And my legs in the air.
“I’m not usually such a gorilla,” he said, grimacing.
“And I’m not clumsy. Usually.”
“I know you’re not.” His words had an undertone of heat that made goose bumps rise all over her body.
“So we both got the wrong impression that night,” she said.
“Evidently.” He looked relieved, too, and some of her embarrassment over the Tiger-Thong Incident faded.
She scooped a bit of whipped cream from their drink boat and licked it off her finger. “Mmm.”
She heard Matt suck in his breath and her gaze shot to him. Licking was a suggestive thing to do. She stopped with the tip of her tongue at the middle of her upper lip. “Sorry.”
