by Dawn Atkins
“Don’t be. It was…nice.” He sighed, still watching her.
“So, how badly am I burned?” she asked him.
“Not too badly here.” He touched the tip of her nose with a cool finger. “Check your shoulders.”
She pushed her blouse down her arms and craned to see. “Maybe I should get SPF 60,” she said, but when she looked at Matt he wore the strangest expression.
“Anything over 45 is a waste,” he said faintly. “Most sunscreens only block UVB rays. The real damage is done by UVA rays, except avobenzone isn’t yet available in the U.S., so—” He stopped. “Too much information, huh?”
“No, it’s good to know. Do you think I’ll blister?” She tilted a shoulder at him.
He touched her skin, sending a tingle through her that had nothing to do with her sunburn. “Doesn’t look like it. No.” He dropped his fingers to the table.
In the dim light, he looked a little dangerous in the black T-shirt that fit him like a second skin with his bad-boy chip and his intense gaze. Also, his inner calm and confidence. She’d bet he was an attentive lover, who took his time. With every…little…body part…Mmm.
Not what she should be thinking about right now. She had a job to do. Time to get to it. “So, networking…” she said. “We should get on that.”
Matt blew out a breath. “Okay. Where do we start?”
“The idea is to expand your circle of contacts, meet as many people as you can. The more you meet, the more likely you’ll find people who want our products.”
“I get the theory. It’s the logistics that stump me.”
“The secret is open-ended questions. Talk less, listen more. Any answer you get should lead to another question. People love to be listened to. As you talk, you’ll discover what you have in common and develop rapport. Naturally, you work around to business topics, product needs and stuff like that.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It is. Once you get the hang of it. I’ll demonstrate.”
She started up a conversation with the couple at the next table about the blue martinis they were drinking, ending with an invitation to visit SyncUp, since the pair turned out to be communications majors at UCLA.
When it was over, Matt grinned at her. “You’re amazing. Another minute and they’d have asked you to be a bridesmaid in their wedding.”
She laughed, warmed by his praise.
“How did you learn this, anyway?” he asked.
“Some of it’s instinct, but I practice. Also, I’ve been going on client visits with one of our customer liaisons, picking up customer interests and ideas.”
“I didn’t know you did that.”
“There’s lots you don’t know about me,” she said, advancing her cause, she hoped.
“I imagine so,” he said softly, studying her. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but she had a feeling it was more personal than professional.
“Anyway, now it’s your turn to try. If we were at a convention, I’d challenge you to collect twenty business cards.”
“I doubt many of these people carry cards,” Matt said, watching two girls in bikinis walk by.
“So collect phone numbers.”
“Won’t the women think I’m coming on to them?”
“Not if you give off a business vibe. Or you could just talk to the men.”
“So they can think I’m coming on to them?”
She laughed. “No man with functional gaydar would think you’re playing for the other team.”
“It’s because I don’t layer, isn’t it?” He pretended to be sad, shaking his head in false gloom.
“Definitely,” she joked, not willing to dwell on the details of his masculinity. “We’ll fix that tomorrow.”
“Uh-oh,” Matt said.
“Relax. I promise it will be as painless as possible.”
“I’m in your hands.”
Don’t I wish. A sigh escaped her and Matt’s eyes locked on.
“What the hell is that?”
They both jolted at the interruption. Jaycee was pointing at the booze boat, then crouched beside Matt so her breasts bulged up at him like grapefruit fighting for air.
“It’s a Tsunami for Two.” Matt held out his straw and Jaycee sipped, leaning forward to emphasize her cleavage. Gentleman that he was, Matt kept his gaze trained on her face.
“Yum,” she said, smacking her lips. An old Cars tune rocked through the bar. “Want to dance?” she asked him.
“I can’t dance,” Matt said, shrugging.
“After that, you can.” She nodded at the Tsunami.
“Candy and I are talking business.”
Jaycee looked askance.
“It can wait,” Candy said. “Go on, Matt.” If he got busy with Jaycee, that would be a surefire end to Candy’s fixation.
“Maybe later,” he said to Jaycee.
She shrugged—your loss—then bounded back to her table, not wounded at all.
“You could have gone,” Candy said in case Matt was trying to be chivalrous. “I’d be fine on my own.”
“I’m sure you would be,” he said, “but we’re working, right? Isn’t that what you wanted?” He held her gaze, then seemed to catch himself and ducked down to take a long pull on his straw. “This tastes better and better.”
“Maybe you should give it a rest. Want some?” She tilted her club soda at him.
“I’m fine,” he said, waving her away, drinking deeply from the booze boat. “I feel more like slapping backs with every swallow. How many phone numbers should I get, coach?”
“We should make it interesting. Maybe a competition? See which of us can meet the most people?”
“You’re too good. You’ll win hands down.”
“I’ll give myself a handicap…say I get two for every one you get. How’s that?”
“Sounds fair. What are the stakes?”
“Let me think about that for a while.” She should come up with something they’d both want.
A roar rose as a woman was passed over the top of a group of guys, then lowered to the floor.
“It’s kind of crazy in here,” Matt said. “Maybe we should find another place.”
“You have to seize the moment. You never know where a contact will come from.” She watched five guys drop shots into beer mugs and guzzle them. Matt may have a point.
“Hey, lady. You, me, there!” Carter pointed at her, then him, then the dance floor.
She looked at Matt.
“Go on,” he said. “I’ve got this to finish.” He motioned at the Tsunami.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” she said, but Carter had led her too far away to be heard over the noise.
On the crowded dance floor, Carter rested his hands lightly on her hips for the slowish song. She looked over at Matt, who was sucking down his drink way too fast.
“So, what are you doing after this?” Carter asked.
“Huh?” She looked at him. “After this?”
“Yeah. After this.” He was clearly interested in spending more time with her, but with Matt around, she didn’t dare risk anything that might reinforce her party-girl image.
“Working,” she said sadly.
He looked at her questioningly.
“Really,” she said on a sigh. She glanced toward Matt just as a curvy brunette in a teensy bikini was leading him to the floor. That was a surprise.
When they were close enough, Matt leaned toward Candy. “I’ll be getting her number,” he said, sounding a bit boozy. The Tsunami seemed to have reached land.
He turned to his partner, who promptly wiggled down his body, freak style, then up again. Matt’s eyes went wide and he froze.
Candy almost burst out laughing. The girl turned her back, bent forward and rubbed her bottom in a deliberate circle against his crotch.
Matt looked at Candy over the woman’s bent body and shrugged, hands up.
“When in Rome!” she called to him. She could rescue him, but firs
t she’d see how he handled this on his own.
4
WHAT THE HELL AM I supposed to do now? Matt wondered, as his partner rolled her ass around and around against his groin.
He would never have stepped onto the dance floor if Steroid Steve didn’t have his hands all over Candy. He didn’t want to look like a total loser sucking down a froufrou drink while she rocked the dance floor.
Now this girl was having mock sex with him in front of God and the entire bar. He didn’t even know her name, let alone her number. Thank God he was too shocked to be erect.
She didn’t seem to care what he did, moving around as though this was a dance with actual steps, though her feet stayed in place. Her hips and ass and breasts were doing all the work.
She was stylin’, moving her arms just so, her attention focused inward, oblivious to him. He was only a prop for her gyrations. Now she faced him, her leg between his, and slid down his body, as if he were a chrome pole.
Meanwhile, Candy, who could make him hard as stone by running her tongue across her lips, was laughing at him. She thought a strange woman humping him was hilarious.
Actually, it was pretty funny.
In a few seconds, Candy danced Carter over and arranged a partner trade. The muscle-bound Carter appeared happy to grind away with Matt’s partner, who didn’t mind the switch either, it seemed. Whatever spun your hard drive, he guessed.
Speaking of which, Candy was now inches away from him, swaying her tight body to the music. She grinned up at him. “You should have seen your face. You looked paralyzed.”
“I thought she’d start on my zipper any second.”
“Would that have been so bad?” she asked, teasing him, her eyes brimming with laughter. “What happens in Malibu, stays in Malibu, remember?”
A much slower song began, so, of course, he had to put his arms around her. She rested her palms lightly on his shoulders, keeping her lower body a discreet distance away.
He was glad, since he was mortifyingly erect. Around Candy, he felt sixteen and defenseless against his parts.
The crowd shifted abruptly and someone knocked Candy into him. Now she would feel his…yep. Her face told him she’d noticed his hard-on.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“Don’t apologize,” she said shakily. “You had a woman rubbing on you. Of course you’re going to—”
“It wasn’t her,” he said, holding her gaze, letting her see the truth, something he’d never have done if he’d been thinking straight. But Candy and the Tsunami for Two had addled his brain.
“Oh.” Candy took that in, exhaled, and seemed to melt even closer to him. They stayed that way, bodies pressed together, pretending the crowd had forced them into such close contact.
He rested his hands on the curves of her swaying hips, pressing lightly with his fingers, keeping his groin against hers. The laundry-list of liquors in that zippy blue boat he’d just guzzled rushed along his bloodstream, relaxing him into this cheat. Dancing was a legitimate reason to hold her close. And she felt so good to him.
Maybe it wasn’t booze, just testosterone—the flood brought on by Candy—that washed away all his good sense.
They looked at each other, bodies tight together, her breasts pressed into his chest, pelvis-to-groin, moving in effortless rhythm.
“How are you doing?” Candy asked.
“Better now,” he said. Holding you. He wanted to slide his hands down to her ass, grip her hard and kiss her mindless.
“You look dazed,” she said, smiling.
He was dazed. By her and how much he wanted her. That seemed lame, so he said, “I guess I am. This place is not my scene.” Around them drunks bellowed, hooted and poured beer on each other. Women were dancing on the bar. A few danced on tables, one girl in just a bra and panties. “I’m glad I’ve got an experienced guide.”
Her eyes went dark, as if he’d insulted her. “As your guide, I suggest you pace yourself on that Tsunami.”
“Too late. I polished it off.” And he was feeling it, too.
“What am I going to do with you?” She shook her head, as if he were a kid who’d overdone it with the birthday cake.
He was a charity case to her, he realized. The networking lessons and tomorrow’s makeover were her attempt to rescue him from terminal dorkdom. That sucked.
To distract himself from that gloomy idea, he danced closer to the crowd forming near the stage. A sign above a table announced a karaoke contest and people seemed to be signing up.
“Those poor idiots,” Matt said. He wouldn’t be caught dead singing in public, not even drunk.
“You know, I always thought SyncUp should create karaoke software,” Candy said. “What’s missing is good background videos so it feels like a real performance, don’t you think?”
“I suppose.” He considered the idea, studying the stage, wondering about rear projection and stock footage, possible markets, development costs….
He was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice Candy had moved away until she was back. Grinning.
Uh-oh. Dread filled him. “You didn’t do what I think you did, did you?”
“I signed us up for a duet!” She beamed triumphantly.
“Yeah, but I was the silent bass player, remember?”
“You’ll be fine. I’ll carry us. We’re doing ‘You’re the One That I Want.’ From Grease? I was in the musical in high school.”
“So, I’m supposed to be John Travolta? God.”
“You’ll do great.”
He should back out, he knew, but he didn’t want to disappoint her. She’d made him feel as though he could dance. She could probably make him feel as though he could sing, too. Candy made him want to let go, let whatever happened, happen.
Well, Candy and that massive tiki drink.
The first few performers weren’t bad. A couple of ’faced frat boys sang “Shout.” A trio of girls sang a Bangles song. And a guy with a huge cowboy hat wobbled through a sad country tune.
When it was their turn, Matt’s gut twisted with anxiety, but he led Candy to the stage, forcing a smile. He found that if he closed one eye, he could just about read the lyrics from the prompter.
The song kicked off and Candy carried him, just as she’d promised, her voice clear and crisp and perfectly in tune. She danced around him in a way that seemed choreographed. For his part, he managed a well-timed dip here and there.
She sang the chorus—the title of the song—right at him, her eyes bright, her face glowing, her body warm in his arms.
He was overheated, buzzed from the booze, and all he wanted to do was stay on this stupid stage singing away, just to hold her a while longer.
He sang the chorus and realized he meant the words. And for a beat of time, he saw in her eyes that she meant them, too.
The song ended and the crowd applauded wildly, whistling and bellowing and pounding the tables. He helped Candy off the stage, shaken by what he’d felt. They watched the rest of the performers, arms at each other’s waists, glancing at each other from time to time, not speaking. She seemed as startled as he.
After the last singer, they were called up with the other contestants so the crowd could choose the winner by drunken applause.
He wasn’t surprised when the audience went nuts for them. It was all Candy, he knew, and they walked away with the grand prize, a trophy shaped like a microphone, ten free dinners-for-two at a Santa Monica restaurant and a voucher for five hundred festival points. Whatever that was.
Once they were off stage, Candy threw her arms around his neck. “We did it, Matt! We won!”
“It was all you.” The title of the song said it all. His desire for her thundered through him, overpowering what was left of his inhibitions and he decided to kiss her. He leaned over and—
Candy jerked back, surprised. She looked left, then patted the speaker on a stand beside them. “Just making sure I wasn’t about to knock it over.”
She was easing the tension with a jo
ke, he could tell, so he went along. “That was my fault. I knocked you down.” He cringed at the memory of his oafish move.
“No, sir. You tried to keep me from falling. It was my fault. I thought you wanted to kiss me, so I reached up.”
“I was trying to kiss you.”
“But there was margarita on my chin.”
“An excuse.”
“Too bad it didn’t work out.” Her breathing was uneven and her eyes flew across his face, unsure whether to run or stay.
“I always regretted I didn’t get to show you my moves,” he joked, but his throat was dry and he was sweating buckets.
“You have moves?” Her words were breathless.
Without another thought, he lowered his mouth to hers.
A quiver passed through her body, then she held very still. He went for her tongue and she made a soft sound and let go, her body sagging so that he had to hold her up.
The crowd roared around him, his blood pulsed in his ears and all he wanted was Candy’s sweet mouth.
It was crazy, he knew, but at the moment, good sense was just so much white noise in his head. They wobbled together, almost tipping over. He didn’t care. He’d take the speaker out this time if he had to. He wasn’t letting go of Candy until they were done.
MATT’S KISS WENT FROM playful to hot like that. Candy felt as though she’d leaned in for a sip from a water fountain and gotten a blast from a fire hose. She could barely stand and couldn’t breathe at all.
She held the karaoke trophy in one hand and wrapped the other around Matt’s neck, holding on tight, fighting to keep from falling, wanting more of Matt’s mouth, his tongue, feeling his erection against her body, his fingers on her bottom.
She heard moans, too. Low, desperate sounds they were both making, a sweet duet of heat and need.
She wanted to crawl clear inside the man.
Matt was drunk, not himself, to be kissing her this wildly in public. So what was her excuse?
It was how much he wanted her. His fierce kiss made her woozy and weak. Her sex was so tight she thought it might snap—she hoped it would to ease the agony she felt.
In the background, music pounded and people yelled and laughed and carried on, wild for a good time. She and Matt were smack-dab in the spirit of things, surfing this wave of heedless pleasure….
