Waking Up to You Overexposed

chapter 9



OVER THE NEXT couple of days, Candace found herself falling into a routine. She would get up early, and spend the morning with Grandpa, cheering him on with his rehab. Then she would come back to the house, have lunch with Oliver, have sex with Oliver, have orgasms with Oliver, do a little drawing, then go back to have dinner with Grandpa. Often Oliver accompanied her for dinner, though they left the sex and the orgasms at home.

She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been happier. Oh, she was still very worried about her grandfather, and was now busy dealing with her newest assignment. The studio had called, saying they loved her sketches and wanted her for the project. She knew as well as anyone that this could be the film that got her some major attention. Aside from that, she was also busy talking to appraisers and auctioneers about the wine collection. And surrounding all that business and activity, a happy glow of personal contentment swirled around her just about every minute of the day.

She and Oliver did more than just have the most amazing sex. They cooked together, walked together, laughed together. She’d gotten him to open up a little more about his savaged career, and even got him to admit that, with his change in lifestyle, he probably could afford to put out a shingle and take on only the clients he truly believed were innocent.

Only one thing could pierce her glow of contentment: thinking about what awaited her back in L.A.

“Hey, chickie, whatcha doing?” Tommy asked when she’d answered the phone late one afternoon.

She hadn’t told him about Oliver. The only person she’d even hinted to about her relationship with him was Madison, to whom she talked every other day or so. Her sister had been her other half since birth. They had the kind of bond few people ever experienced with a sibling. Madison knew how to keep a secret, so they usually told each other everything. But even Madison didn’t know the whole story. Candace had kept some things from her, the most intimate things. She’d protected the relationship, wanting to keep it private for as long as it lasted. But the fact that it couldn’t last much longer was crushing her.

“I’m shopping,” she admitted. “I’ve got to buy a new dress.”

“For?”

“There’s a big winery owner’s ball tomorrow night,” she said, still wondering if she’d made the right decision in saying she would attend with Oliver.

Their relationship so far had been mostly about sex. Drinking wine, talking about Grandpa and him teaching her what he’d learned so far about the wine business had taken up some time, too. But other than that one dinner/dessert they’d shared at Wilhelm’s, they’d never actually gone on a date. So last night, when her grandfather had told them he wanted the two of them to go to the event, since he had already RSVP’d for himself and Oliver, her first instinct was to refuse. Then she’d met Oliver’s eye from across the hospital room and had seen the gleam of interest there.

She couldn’t deny being curious. She’d gotten to know him as a working man. This formal, black-tie event might be her only chance to catch a glimpse of the man Oliver had been before his life imploded. Not that she didn’t adore the man who’d taught her things about her body she’d never even known, but she wanted to learn as much about him as she could, while she could. She wanted to discover all his facets and imprint them on her memory, to tide her over for the long and lonely years that stretched ahead.

It was getting harder to think about those years, harder to envision the life she’d chosen for herself. Even the sound of Tommy’s voice, which usually made her happy, twisted the knife in the wound. For a few days, she’d been able to pretend she was at the start of a relationship that could change her life.

Maybe it still would. Maybe she’d change from a normal, happy woman to a heartbroken, never-able-to-love-again sad case.

Love? What the hell are you thinking, girl?

“Sounds fancy.”

She was still too busy tripping over the word love in her mind to respond.

“Where is it?” he asked.

She finally shook her head, forcing away thoughts she wasn’t ready to deal with, and replied, “At a hotel in San Francisco.”

“Nice. I love that city.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Do you think anyone would notice if I walked in the parade? I could blend in with the crowd.”

“Maybe...if you covered yourself with gold body paint from head to toe and wore a rubber gorilla mask on your face.”

“Party pooper.”

She shrugged as she walked around the square in Sonoma, eyeing the windows of various boutiques. “Have you been behaving?”

“Define behaving.”

“Staying out of the news?”

“Babe, I’m always in the news. I can’t take a piss in a restaurant bathroom without some jackass trying to snap a picture he can sell to the tabs.”

“That really sucks, Tommy,” she said, hearing the note of sad resignation he couldn’t disguise.

“Yeah, poor, poor me,” he said, his dark mood lifting quickly, as always. “Remind me of that next time I get a contract for a ten-mill picture.”

“Will do.”

“Considering half of it will be yours, I’m sure you will!”

Right. His millions would be her millions. Somehow, that had meant something to her once upon a time. It just didn’t now.

“Hey, have you heard from the studio?”

One bit of bright news. “Yes. I got the job.”

“Congrats, girlfriend!”

“Thanks. They sent me the script and I’m starting on some prelims.”

“Excellent. We should celebrate.”

“We will. When I get back.”

“When’s that going to be again?”

She swallowed hard, knowing she had to say the words aloud—not just for his sake, but for hers.

“I’m coming home in a few days. Grandpa gets out of the rehab facility on Sunday. The last time I talked to Mad, she was booking a ticket to come out and spend some time with him. She should be here sometime this weekend.”

“So there’s nothing keeping you there?”

No. Nothing keeping her.

Nothing at all.

She wished she could talk to Tommy. Other than her sister, he was the one to whom she could always spill her darkest secrets and woes. And since her sister lived clear on the other side of the country, and they seldom saw each other, it was Tommy who she usually relied on.

But she couldn’t talk to him about this. Couldn’t admit anything about her amazing relationship with Oliver. It was too personal, too vulnerable, and she had to concede, too heartbreaking. Telling him would mean revealing her feelings—she could never keep those from him. If she revealed how she really felt, she would be putting Tom in a hell of a position.

Would he urge her to follow her heart, tell her he’d deal with the fallout?

Maybe.

Or maybe he’d panic and beg her not to bail on him.

Either way, she’d end up feeling like the worst friend in the world. Because she’d promised. Agreeing to marry him was not the kind of promise she could go back on, not when so much was riding on it for him. If she didn’t follow through, his career could be over, and so could their friendship. So no matter how deeply she feared she was falling for Oliver McKean, her old friend had to come before her new lover.

Even if hers was the only heart in their strange triangle that ended up getting broken.

* * *

HEARING A CAR pull up that evening, Oliver walked to the front room of Buddy’s house and gazed out the window. Candace had just returned from town, and as she got out, she pulled a plastic-wrapped bundle on a hanger with her. Her shopping trip had apparently been a success.

He still couldn’t believe he’d agreed to escort her to the ball. The whole hobnob-with-the-wealthy-set had never been a big part of his life, though he’d attended a few events when he was with the D.A.’s office. But he sure hadn’t hauled his tux with him when he’d moved; the thing was moldering in a storage unit along with most of his suits and a mountain of law books. He’d had to stop by a rental place to order one, which was always a pain in the ass. In fact, the whole thing was a bad idea all around.

But when Buddy had suggested it, he simply hadn’t been able to resist. He wanted to take Candace out, to have her on his arm, at least once. Wanted to show her a great time that didn’t include them being in bed.

Well, it would probably end up with them in bed. In fact, considering he’d booked a room at the hotel, he was counting on it ending up there. Still, the point remained. He didn’t want her just for the phenomenal sex. He liked being with her, and wanted her to know it.

Why, he had no idea.

Because you don’t want her to leave, jackass.

Oh. Yeah. That.

Oliver had set up a special evening for them and looked forward to seeing her reaction when she walked in the door. Candace had appeared happy since the moment they’d become lovers, but every so often a shadow would appear. Her lush mouth would pull down, her brow would furrow with worry, and he knew she was stressing over something. He had a feeling it was because she was hearing the ticking of the clock. Frankly, he was stressing over it, too.

When he’d agreed to her one-week-only terms, he hadn’t been thinking about much beyond getting her naked. Saying goodbye hadn’t sounded so painful if it meant a week of mind-altering sex. But now that he’d become addicted to that mind-altering sex, and, he greatly feared, the woman with whom he was having it, her imminent departure weighed on him heavily.

So ask her to stay. Or to at least keep the lines of communication open when she leaves.

The thought had definitely occurred to him. He just wasn’t sure he was ready to broach the subject with her. He didn’t want her to go, but he also didn’t want to spoil the last few days of the week she’d allotted them by pushing for more before she was ready.

She reached the porch, and he opened the door before she could even grasp the knob.

“Hi.”

The furrow and the frown disappeared, as did the faintly slumped shoulders that hinted she bore some heavy weight. He would like to help her with that, but whenever their conversations turned too personal, she changed the subject by dropping an item of clothing.

Somehow, that always worked.

She draped what looked like a glittery, siren-red dress—God help him—over the railing at the bottom of the stairs. “Hi, yourself.”

Stepping into his arms, she lifted her face for a kiss, and he welcomed her. It felt as right as everything else about them, this easy, coming-home embrace, as if they’d always walked into each other’s arms at the end of a day.

“Success?” he asked.

She nodded. “A little out of my price range, but some of those boutiques are amazing. I think you’re going to like my pretty new outfit.”

The way she said it made it sound like the thing was sweet and innocent. He knew, however, judging by that color and the scantiness of the material, that it would be anything but.

“You’re messing with me, right?”

“Oh, absolutely. You’re going to love my wicked new take-me-now dress.”

He could hardly wait. But considering he’d made other plans for this evening, wanting to show her they could be more to each other than just incredibly erotic sex partners, he figured that would have to wait.

“Did you eat?”

“Nope.”

“Good.” He took her arm and steered her toward the living room, which he’d set up for tonight’s surprise.

When she saw the large, old-fashioned movie projector, and the screen he’d erected against the far wall, she clapped her hands together. “Movie night?”

“You got it.”

Smiling broadly, she walked over to the couch, then saw the feast he’d spread out on the coffee table just beyond it. He had never taken her to a movie, so he’d had to guess what her favorite candy would be. Covering all the bases had seemed like a good idea at the time.

“Hot dogs, nachos, popcorn...oh, my God. Dots? You bought me Dots? They’re my absolute favorite,” she gushed, hurrying over and plucking that box from among all the other junk food he’d piled onto the table. “If there’s a wedding ring in this box, I’ll say yes on the spot.”

She was laughing, her eyes sparkling, but the moment the words left her mouth, she winced and bit her bottom lip. Obviously sheepish, she mumbled, “Sorry, I was just...”

“I know,” he said, waving off her explanations. To be honest, he didn’t want to discuss that topic any more than she did. Not because he was upset she’d mentioned it, but because the idea wasn’t as immediately horrifying as he’d have thought a few weeks ago. No, he was in no way ready to get married. But since meeting Candace, he no longer considered marriage to be a dirty word.

He couldn’t help wondering if costume designers could telecommute. How strange would it be if it turned out that he’d come up to Sonoma to find out what he wanted from the rest of his life and discovered what he wanted lived back in L.A.?

“So, what are we watching?” she asked as she kicked off her shoes and plopped onto the couch. “One of your great-grandfather’s hits?”

“I don’t know if it was a hit,” he said, eyeing the metal case in which the movie reel had been packed. He walked over to the projector, through which he’d already threaded the film, and flipped it on. Dimming the lights, he explained, “I haven’t seen this one before myself. Judging by the title, Master of the Heated Sands, it’s either about a sheikh in a desert or a pimp in Miami.”

She snickered, opened a box of her favorite candy and popped three of the juicy, colorful little treats into her mouth. “Num num,” she murmured as she chewed, her grin as wide as a kid’s.

He’d never developed a taste for gummy candy, but he couldn’t deny he suddenly wondered how the confection would taste when devoured off Candace Reid’s tongue.

“What?” she asked, obviously catching him in his stare as he returned to the couch and sat down next to her.

“I’m suddenly developing a sweet tooth.”

She clutched the box to her chest. “Mine.”

He snorted a laugh. “You weren’t watching Barney the day they went over that whole sharing thing, huh?”

“Are you kidding? I was forced to share from the minute I drew breath. Madison and I had to split everything fifty-fifty.”

“Your sister?” She’d mentioned Madison, who would be coming in from the east coast this weekend, always speaking fondly of her only sibling.

“Yep. Believe me, I never had a thing to call my own.”

“Close in age, huh?”

Her grin was infectious. “Uh, yeah. You could definitely say that.”

Before she could elaborate, the movie began to play. The image flickered on the screen, grainy and gray, and the credits began to roll.

“Where’s the music?” she asked, looking confused. “Didn’t they always have that really dramatic music underscoring everything?”

“The music wasn’t imprinted on the movie any more than dialogue could be—hence the term silent picture.”

She smacked her palm against her own forehead. “Duh.”

“Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. I asked exactly the same question the first time I watched one of these with my family.”

“Whenever I see clips from these old movies, there’s always music. Where’d it come from?”

“The written score always accompanied the reels when they were sent out to the big movie houses.” He reached for the bucket of popcorn. “In-house organists would play along as the movie ran.”

“Live?”

“Yes. I’ve seen some pictures from some of my great-grandfather’s movie openings. There were huge, elaborate organs.”

“Guess the musicians had to be fast studies.”

“I suspect a lot of it sounded alike.It was the cue to the audience about how they were supposed to feel.”

“Have you ever seen any of those YouTube videos people make with clips of horror movies set to the soundtrack from a comedy? Or vice versa? The music definitely makes the moment.”

“So, should I hum?” he asked with a grin.

“Are you any good?”

“I’m told I have the perfect voice for singing in the shower. Or on a deserted island.”

Laughing, she curled up against him on the couch, watching as the credits finished and the action started. He draped an arm over her, amazed at how natural this was, how laid-back and comfortable. He found her so easy to talk to. There was no pretension with her, no subtext that he’d often experienced with other women, when they’d say one thing but mean another.

Candace was nothing like that. She was honest—refreshingly so—and utterly open.

Except about her secret.

Yeah. Except about that.

Forcing himself not to think about it, he focused on the screen, immediately recognizing his ancestor, who rode in on a beautiful Arabian horse.

“Not exactly politically correct,” he said, noting the heavy makeup.

“Shh.”

“Why do I have to shh when there’s nothing to hear?”

She elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m reading.”

“And you need to hear to do that?”

“Yes, so I can create the voices in my head.”

She sounded a little testy, and he couldn’t resist baiting her. “Hearing voices in your head...do that a lot, do you?”

She sat up and glared at him. “Shut up or I’m going for the pots and pans.”

He held up a self-protective hand before making a zipping motion over his lips.

Leaning over and brushing a quick kiss on his lips, she settled back against him, her arm around his waist, her head tucked against his shoulder. She fit perfectly against him and this little scene of domestic tranquility seemed somehow right, even though it was against everything he’d expected for himself in recent months.

As they watched the story unfold, he found himself getting immersed in it. Something about watching without the music made it more dramatic. It was easier to focus on the images, the way the actors emoted. The plot was easy to follow, and probably typical of the era. Handsome sheikh rescues beautiful blonde American woman from the dangers of the desert and whisks her off to his sensuous silk-swathed palace. Their people try to tear them apart, but in the end, true love triumphs over all.

Once the film ended, Candace murmured, “It’s just like that line from Sunset Boulevard. They didn’t need words, they had faces.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Your great-granddad was a handsome dude.”

“He was apparently quite the rogue.”

“Like grandfather like grandson?”

He grunted and slipped his arm out from under her so he could go turn off the projector.

“Come on, Oliver, spill,” she said, leaning over the arm of the couch to watch him. “Did you leave a trail of broken hearts throughout Hollywood when you moved up here?”

“Hardly.” He swallowed visibly. “Just the one.”

The teasing light faded from her eyes. “You mentioned that at the bar. She left you because of the scandal?”

“Yes. She bailed right around the time the newspapers started sucking my blood.”

He flipped the projector off, not bothering to turn on the floor lamp in the corner. It was cozy in here, with enough illumination spilling in from the nearby kitchen to cast warm streaks of light on her beautiful face.

He hadn’t necessarily intended to have this conversation, but figured it had probably been inevitable. So he admitted, “We worked together. When I started making waves in our little office pool, she swam for the shallow end and left me there, treading water.”

Looking indignant on his behalf, she sat up and crossed her arms over her chest. “Bitch.”

“Maybe. She was ambitious and didn’t want to go down with a sinking ship.”

“Then she obviously didn’t care very much about you. She could have, at the very least, thrown you a life preserver.”

Nobody had. None of his colleagues, anyway. Nobody he worked with had wanted to come anywhere near him once he’d made himself a marked man by going up against the powerful D.A. Yes, eventually the media, the public and the judicial system had started calling him a rare man with integrity. A hero. But behind closed doors, he had been vilified. He was finished in Orange County, and he knew it. Unless, as Candace had suggested, he kept on living simply and started taking some jobs on his own. He couldn’t deny he’d been thinking about it since she’d suggested it. His experience as a prosecutor had made him view most defendants as guilty, but he knew in his soul that some were not. It was just a matter of finding them.

Candace rose to her feet, crossed to him and put her hand on his chest. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Oliver. But can I also say I’m glad it brought you here? I honestly hate to think of what my life would be like right now if you hadn’t been here waiting for me when I arrived.”

He put his hands on her hips and drew her close, pressing a soft kiss on her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him more deeply, parting her lips, sliding that delicious tongue out to play with his. God, how he loved kissing this woman. Loved the way she molded against his body, every curve of her fitting into some hollow in his.

After a long moment, she said, “Want to head over to your place?”

By unspoken agreement, they’d confined their lovemaking to the cottage, as if neither of them wanted to take advantage of Buddy by making love in his house. “Yeah.”

“Give me a couple of minutes,” she said with an impish smile. She walked toward the stairs. “I want to throw a few things in a bag.”

He didn’t think she meant luggage since his place was all of a hundred yards from here. He could only hope she meant she wanted to pack something sinfully sultry...or wickedly erotic.

“Am I going to like what you’re packing?”

“You’re going to love what I’m packing,” she promised with a saucy wink. Then she turned and hurried up the stairs.

Figuring he’d have a few minutes, Oliver carefully took apart the old projector. He placed the components back in the case, and collapsed the screen. Buddy had kept the things in a small storage room adjoining the kitchen, so he carried them back there, carefully setting the antique equipment in a corner where it wouldn’t be tripped on. Afterward, he cleaned up the food and their drinks and carried the leftovers to the kitchen, finding places for them in the cabinets.

The Dots he kept. He tucked the half-empty box into his pocket, envisioning a few places he’d like to put them...just so he could pull them back out with his teeth and his tongue.

Before the night was over, he might end up liking gummy candy after all.

With that thought in mind, he was smiling as he walked back toward the front of the house. Candace was standing at the bottom of the stairs, her back to him, looking up. She’d changed her clothes and had slipped into something a little more comfortable. Not a sexy nightie, unfortunately, just a loose-fitting pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. He couldn’t stop a tiny stab of disappointment that she wasn’t wearing leather and screw-me heels, but figured it was chilly out and she’d have more to strip off in front of him when they got to his bedroom.

“I can’t wait to get these off you,” he murmured, coming up behind her and sliding an arm around her waist.

She gasped, obviously startled. Oliver held her tighter, spreading his hand across her belly, pulling her hard against him so her curvy butt pressed against his rapidly hardening cock, and bent to nibble on her neck. “You make me crazy, Candace. All day long, I think about nothing but getting you naked and wet.”

Rather than lifting her arm over her shoulder and encircling his neck, or tilting her head to give him more access, she cleared her throat and slowly turned around to face him. His hands dropped lower, cupping her backside, and he looked down at her.

Then he blinked, wondering what was wrong. Something was...off. She wore a look of amused speculation that he couldn’t remember ever seeing before and her lips were curled up in a tiny, jaded smile that was half sneer. Candace’s grin was usually far more sexy—or, occasionally, sweet. Never jaded. Not Candace.

Tilting his head in confusion, he stared at her, slowly drawing in a breath. Because the truth finally landed in his befuddled brain.

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered. “You’re not Candace.”