Waking Up to You Overexposed

chapter 4



IT WAS THE size of a Volkswagen.

Big, hairy, with a million eyes and fuzzy spiked legs and probably a sac full of poison hidden on its bulbous body.

Spiders. God, she hated spiders. Especially spiders who were blocking the only exit from the kitchen, where she stood, wearing a filmy, short little bathrobe, freezing her butt off because she’d come down to put coffee on right after she’d gotten out of the cold-as-ice shower.

“Go away,” she ordered in a quivery voice.

The spider ignored her and remained planted right in her path. Beady little pinpoint eyes stared up at her, red and angry—or maybe not, but they looked that way to her—and she knew if he had a mouth, it was smirking.

She edged backward toward the stove, thankful she’d glanced down before walking out of the kitchen, because if she’d placed her bare foot on that furry little beast, she would have screamed loud enough for Tommy to hear her back in L.A. Besides, the little creature looked big enough to have flung her off rather than being smashed flat.

Candace wasn’t scared by much. Snakes didn’t bother her; she had been skydiving so she wasn’t afraid of heights. She’d even bungee jumped off a bridge in Mexico once. She’d stared down more than her fair share of grubby dudes with cheesy come-on lines on the street.

But bugs? Spiders in particular?

The little bastards terrified her.

“Candace?” a voice called. A voice that was familiar, even though she hadn’t talked to him much in the past few days.

She and Oliver, as if by unspoken agreement, had spent little time together since the morning her grandfather had tried to fix them up. When they’d left late that day, after visiting with Grandpa in the recovery room, Oliver had brought her to a car rental place so she could get her own vehicle. She didn’t want to have to rely on him to run her back and forth to the hospital, which was where she spent most of her time. They ran into each other there on occasion, had grabbed coffee or a quick lunch and engaged in a little small talk. But as if they both realized they probably shouldn’t spend too much time together out at the house, where they were entirely alone, they’d avoided interaction. They exchanged mostly waves as they were coming or going, or when he was working out on the grounds, and she was watching him while pretending she wasn’t at all interested.

Any woman would be interested. It was bad enough seeing him inside at the hospital, clothed and respectable. When he worked, when he stripped off his shirt to wipe his sweaty, dirty face, and those muscles rippled and gleamed, he was male beauty in motion. The few times they had talked at home, she’d done everything she could to keep from revealing how incredibly attracted she was to him. Sometimes, though, she caught him staring at her, and suspected she wasn’t doing a very good job.

She only wished he would do something to reveal whether or not he felt the same way. So far, he hadn’t. He’d been cordial and polite, never more than that, as if she’d suddenly become his employer now that Grandpa was out of commission.

Got a task for you there, Mr. Groundskeeper. How about doing a little plowing for me?

She scrunched her eyes shut, muttering, “Not French, not stupid, off-limits.”

“Candace? Are you here?”

“In the kitchen,” she said, not sure whether she was hoping he would turn right back around and leave, or that he’d stride in and accidentally squish Mr. Spider so she wouldn’t have to (A) deal with the arachnid herself, or (B) technically ask for Oliver’s help.

“I just wanted to let you know your suitcase has finally made it. The delivery service just left it on the porch. I signed for it.”

Oh, thank goodness. She’d been fighting with the airline about it all week, fearing she would have to put in a claim to replace everything she’d packed for the trip. She’d run out of her sister Madison’s left-behind clothes and had had to wash and rewash the few items she’d had in her small carry-on bag. Especially the panties. Hmm. Funny how she’d gone through panties at a record rate since she’d met Oliver. That man ought to buy stock in Victoria’s Secret.

“I’ll bring it in. Do you want me to haul it up to your room?”

She nibbled her lip, wanting no such thing. Oliver in her bedroom, near her messed bed with the silky nightie tossed carelessly on top? Him filling her private space with that delectable, intoxicating man smell?

Hell, no. She was already having the most intense, erotic dreams about the guy without ever having to picture him near her bed. No way was she going to invite even hotter ones.

“No, it’s okay. You can just leave it in the hall.”

She waited to hear him bring in the bag and leave. Waited for an acknowledgment—something. But there was nothing but silence. Frowning, she risked edging a tiny bit closer to the doorway, never taking her eyes off her fuzzy enemy, who showed no signs of moving out of the way. She briefly considered jumping over him, but had the most horrible vision of him launching up while she was split-legged above him. For all she knew, he could be the bug world-record holder at the high jump. Considering she wore nothing but the short robe, she wasn’t prepared to even think about where he might land if he leaped. Her vajayjay might have grown cobwebs from disuse, but that was taking things a step too far.

She desperately wanted to go out and make sure Oliver was gone, then dash up the stairs and put some clothes on before he could come back, but it looked like she was going to be involved in a spider standoff for hours. Thinking, she finally grabbed the broom and tried waving it in his general direction. But it wasn’t until she got the bristles to within six inches or so that the thing began to move.

Straight toward her.

“No—get away from me!”

A hard pounding emerged from the hallway. She recognized it as running footsteps just as Oliver burst into the kitchen. He didn’t hold a rake this time, but the look on his face said he expected trouble.

“What is it?” he snapped as he scanned the room. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, nothing,” she said, forcing a smile. Though, when she saw where he stood, she didn’t have to force it any further. Because unless the creepy crawly had moved really fast, he was right now stuck to the bottom of a man’s thick-soled work boot. Although she loved most creatures, she wasn’t about to start playing a dirge for that one, who’d looked like a mad scientist’s experimental cross between a bug and a dinosaur.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Nobody. I thought you’d left.”

“I was bringing in your suitcase,” he explained, walking closer, studying her face to see if she was lying, perhaps covering for a bad guy hiding in the pantry. He obviously wasn’t going to go away without an explanation.

Knowing she had to, she admitted in a voice a little above a whisper, “There was a spider.”

His frown disappeared. A twinkle might have appeared in those dark bedroom eyes, but he had the courtesy not to smile. “One that speaks English and follows orders?”

“Ha-ha, very funny. That thing was huge. I mean, it could have been wearing a mask, swinging from webs and looking for the Green Goblin!”

“Comic book fan, huh?”

“Movie biz, remember?”

And considering Tommy was hoping to be cast as the latest comic hero, he’d made her watch a bunch of them recently. She wasn’t a huge fan of the genre, but had to admit, some of those guys did an awesome job filling out their clingy costumes. She’d become a huge Jeremy Renner fan in the past year and fantasized about getting to dress him. Undressing him would be a mighty fine experience, too.

“So where is this huge mutant creature?”

“Gone.”

“Where’d he go?”

“I think onto the bottom of your shoe.”

“You sure? I didn’t hear anything that sounded like the crushing of a colossus.”

“Well, he’s not...” Her voice trailed off and her eyes rounded as she saw a black leg disappearing behind the table leg. She squeaked, grabbed his arm and ducked behind him. “Oh, God.”

“What?”

Keeping her voice low, as if they were facing a ravaging tiger, she replied, “He’s right over there.”

He followed her gaze and snorted. “That’s your monster spider? He’s tiny.”

“That thing’s as big as my hand!” Closing her eyes, she begged, “Please take it away, Oliver. I’ll pay you.... I’ll bake you a cake, cook you dinner. Just please get it out of here.”

“Are you a good cook?”

“The best. Excellent. Cordon Bleu. Restaurants vie for my services.”

“Are you lying?”

“Oh, hell, yes. Right through my teeth. Now would you please help me?”

“I thought you didn’t need any help except in the most dire emergency.”

“This is dire.”

“Are you an arachnophobe?”

“If that means I am utterly terrified to my bones and feel like I’m going to throw up if I so much as glimpse a spider, then yes, that’s me.”

“Gotcha.”

He didn’t tease her anymore, as if knowing she wasn’t playing the weak girlie-girl in some effort to entice him. Not, she hoped, that he would ever expect her to. Turning, he grabbed the dustpan, then unhooked her death grip from the broom. Drawing on his primal, caveman-hunter genes, he stalked the monster, deftly swept it into the pan and carried it toward the front door.

“Are you just going to let it go?” she asked, following him. “What if it gets back in?”

“I’m sure he’d be too afraid to risk it. You’re pretty intimidating.”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t squish it?”

“Bloodthirsty, aren’t you?”

She thought about it. She wasn’t, really. Still, some things were just beyond the bounds of humanity, and sharing a house with a big honking spider was one of them.

“You’ll be glad for him during mosquito season.”

“Maybe if they’re killer mosquitoes carrying the ebola virus. Otherwise, I’ll invest in calamine lotion and take my chances.”

He opened the door, walked outside and was back with the broom and dustpan a moment later. Leaning them both against the wall, he said, “All gone.”

Relieved, she drew in a deep breath and whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You okay now?”

She nodded slowly. “Oh, sure. Fine.”

Her pulse finally stopped racing and her muscles loosened. The nausea receded, as did the panic. Not for the first time in her life, she found herself wondering if an older cousin had dangled a spider in her face when she was a baby or something. Because her phobia about them had been lifelong and was, even she could admit it, a little obsessive. Now that her heart wasn’t thumping hard enough to beat out of her chest, she could acknowledge she might have overacted just a teeny, tiny bit.

Feeling almost normal, she waited for Oliver to turn and walk out the door. Considering he usually avoided her, that’s what she expected him to do. But for some reason, he didn’t leave. He just stood there, two feet away, drawing in slow, even breaths as he studied her.

Finally, he murmured, “Cold in here.”

Her spider terror having receded, she paused to remember just what she was wearing—not much.

Her skimpy robe hung to the tops of her thighs, leaving her legs completely bared. The robe also gaped over her breasts, revealing a deep V of cleavage. The whole thing was held together only by a loosely knotted sash.

“Yes, I guess it is,” she replied slowly, wondering if he had been making small talk or offering a sideways comment on the fact that her nipples were hard, poking visibly against the silk sliding so sinuously over them.

He continued to stare, falling silent. She knew the answer to that question. He’d finally noticed her apparel—or lack thereof. Oliver was definitely reacting to it. Looking at her. Staring at her.

Visually devouring her.

Her lips parted on a tiny helpless sigh. He didn’t acknowledge the sound, instead merely swept that dark-eyed attention over her, from damp-haired top to bare-toed bottom. The gaze was like a touch, lingering here, skimming over there, and she reacted to it instinctively. Here went soft, there went hard, and her most vulnerable places went all hot and wet.

She knew she should yank her robe more tightly around her body and glare him into stopping, or else turn and flounce up the stairs, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She’d been looked at by men before, of course. By lovers, by potential lovers, by strangers, but she had never felt as thoroughly studied as she did now. It was as if he was examining her, tucking away every detail of her into his prodigious internal memory bank. His dark eyes gleamed, and he made absolutely no effort to disguise his focus or make her think he was doing anything other than memorizing all the things he could see, and imagining all those he could not.

He wanted her. It was stunningly obvious. He was imagining what wild, wicked things they could do together, of that she had no doubt. She knew because she’d been thinking the same thing since the night she’d arrived. So how could she blame him?

A mental voice shouted a warning. But another part of her—the part that had been trying to figure out if he had been avoiding her for the past few days because he wasn’t attracted to her, or because he was—appeared to be calling the shots.

She couldn’t walk away from him now. Not just yet.

“This is a really bad idea,” he muttered.

She knew what he meant but still replied, “What is?”

He swept a hand through his dark hair. The movement made his arms bulge against the white T-shirt he wore, and drew the thin fabric tight against his shoulders. “You standing there, looking like that. Me standing here, looking at you looking like that.”

Her mouth went dry.

Turn around, Candace. Go upstairs. Pray your vibrator is still safely tucked in your suitcase and wasn’t pawed over by some luggage guys, dig it out and remember you don’t technically need a man to give you orgasms.

But she remained still, as if her feet were glued to the floor. Her vibrator couldn’t fill her the way she so desperately wanted to be filled. It couldn’t hold her, stroke her, touch her, lick her. It couldn’t make her feel as utterly jittery with excitement as she felt just standing here, knowing he wanted her.

Besides, she suddenly realized she couldn’t run away up to her room. Not while he was standing at the bottom of the steps. Her robe was short and tiny, which was why she’d stuffed it in her carry-on bag, and she had never been more conscious of the fact that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Although she and her sister had done their share of mooning during her younger, wilder days, the only way she wanted to wiggle her bare bottom at this man was if she got on all fours and invited him to make her howl.

Unfortunately, it seemed a bit early in their relationship for that kind of invitation.

No relationship. There’s not going to be any relationship. Remember?

“Go upstairs,” he ordered, his voice strangled. That was pretty far from an admission of lust.

She instinctively shook her head.

He stepped closer, scowling, almost threatening, as if he could intimidate her into going. “Walk away, Candace. Please.”

“No. You walk away. The door’s right there.”

“I can’t.” His hand rose and he stroked the sleeve of her robe, fingering the silk. He didn’t look down, never took his attention off her face, and she wondered if he even realized he’d moved so close. So incredibly close.

“It has to be you,” he insisted.

“Why?”

“I need you to turn your back on me, to make it clear that you want me to leave.”

He waited. She didn’t turn.

“All right, at least say it,” he ordered. “Make it clear.”

She knew what he was asking, but she couldn’t give him what he wanted—a verbal command to go. Not when she suddenly wanted, with every fiber of her being, for him to stay.

“Tell me to go,” he pleaded.

She wordlessly shook her head.

He muttered a curse. Reaching for her, as if unable to control himself, he caught hold of the silky bathrobe tie at her waist. He tightened it a little, maybe not even realizing he was doing it, as if he was fighting an inner battle between pushing her away and pulling her close.

But she realized it. Her nerve endings were roaring now, her heart thudding in her chest. There was something almost predatory in his expression, and the tightening of the sash around her waist made her feel somehow claimed.

If he pushed her away, she would be devastated.

If he pulled her close, she’d be lost.

“Go upstairs,” he insisted.

“I don’t have to.”

“God, you’re stubborn.” He leaned in closer, until his pant legs brushed her bare calves. The fabric was deliciously rough and warm from his body and she couldn’t help stepping closer, sucking up that warmth. The early morning air was still chilly but heat wafted from him, like he’d absorbed the first sunbeams of the new day and could now reflect them back.

He inhaled deeply, as if he needed her scent in his lungs. She knew she smelled fresh, soapy and clean, not perfumed or lotioned, but the man looked intoxicated all the same.

“This is not why I came in here.” His face was so close to hers, she could feel the gentle fall of his exhalations on her skin. A slight shift and there was the most delicate rasp of his stubble upon her cheek.

“You came to bring my suitcase,” she murmured, not really thinking about the words they exchanged, able to focus only on his closeness. His power. The scent of his body, the roughness of his strong jaw. She wanted that roughness scraping all over her, knowing his soft, delicious mouth could kiss away any soreness.

“Right. And now I have.” He moved his body even closer. Their thighs came together.

“So you can go.” She arched against him, sighing as her hard, aching nipples met that masculine chest.

“You want me to?” One of his hands dropped to her hip and he squeezed lightly, again making her feel claimed.

“The choice is yours.” She tilted her head to the side, offering him the bare expanse of her neck.

“I’ll go then.” He moved his face to her throat, not kissing, not tasting, just breathing in and out, a millimeter from her skin, increasing the tension, heightening her senses.

So close. So incredibly close.

“If you say so.” She closed her eyes, swaying slightly on her feet, willing him not to go, and, for heaven’s sake, to just stop talking about it and kiss her.

“I’m going.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

“Damn it,” he muttered as if he’d finally realized she wasn’t going to order him to leave, and had finally snapped himself out of the sensual spell. But he still couldn’t back away completely, and brushed his cheek against her hair. “Do you always have to get your way?”

“Ask me in an hour.”

And she gave up, stopped playing coy and took what she’d been wanting since the night they’d met. Not giving him a chance to fight it anymore, she twined her fingers in his hair and pulled him to her. His eyes flared and he tensed. Then, with a deep groan, he gave in to her and lowered his mouth to hers.

Their lips parted, the kiss hot, sensuous and wet. There was nothing tentative about it, no hesitation, no regret. He simply devoured her and she let him, tilting her head, loving the feel of his tongue in her mouth. Their bodies were pressed together, his hands at her waist, hers tangled in his thick hair, and the kiss went on and on, deep and hungry. She had sensed this man’s mouth had been made for kissing, and now she knew. He dined on her, sipped from her, swallowed her exhalations as if he needed her breaths to expand his lungs and fuel his cells.

Against her groin, she again felt the rigid heat that proclaimed his desire for her more than words ever could. Clad only in the robe, with his body slammed against hers, she couldn’t help but notice the rock-hard strength of him. She moaned, low in her throat, and rocked toward it, so filled with need she thought her legs would give out.

He suddenly tensed, as if realizing they were one step away from too-far-to-stop. Dropping his hands, he ended the kiss and pulled away, staggering back a step to punctuate the end of their embrace.

The sound of their ragged breaths filled the silent air. Candace felt certain every ounce of blood in her body had pooled in her most intimate places, which now throbbed and boiled with demand. Her breasts hurt, the nipples so sensitive that the scrape of the silk robe was almost unbearable, and she knew nothing would make them feel better but his hands, his tongue, his lips.

But the look on his face said she wasn’t going to get any of those things. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his tongue was back in his mouth, his lips were sealed tight and turned down in a frown.

He was trying to pretend he regretted the kiss.

She knew he didn’t.

“That was...unexpected,” she admitted, hearing the weakness of her voice.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“Oh, of course you meant to. Just as I meant to.”

“Maybe you’re right. But that doesn’t mean it can happen again, or go any further.”

She opened her mouth to argue.

“You’re only here for a short time, you’re my boss’s granddaughter and he trusted me to look after you.”

“I think he was sort of hoping you would romance me,” she said, her tone dry.

“Yeah, but not bang you up against the front door.”

“Is that where we would have ended up? Gee, and the sofa is right in the next room.”

“Damn it, Candace.”

She held a hand up, palm out, stopping him from saying anything more. “Forget it. I know you’re right. I have reasons of my own for not insisting you rip off your clothes and do me until I can’t remember my own name.”

He coughed and laughed, both at the same time. Then, as if the laughter—and her saucy words—had snapped some kind of spell, he reached out, put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around so she faced the staircase. Gently pushing her, he ordered, “Go.”

She spun back around. “I can’t.”

His jaw turned into granite. “You’re being ridiculous.”

All because he needed her to be the one who walked away and ended this before it really began? As if he had no free will? As if he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from doing to her exactly what she’d practically dared him to do unless she removed herself from his presence?

You don’t want him to do it, either, remember? You know you can’t do this.

Her grandfather was being moved to a rehab facility today. He’d be there for about a week, and then he would be coming home. But coming home to what? Her having an affair with his groundskeeper, then the descent of the paparazzi once her engagement was announced? Did he really need that while he recovered? Did Oliver, who was obviously here for reasons he hadn’t yet revealed to her? Did she need the scandal? Did Tommy?

No. She might want Oliver, and having sex with him might even be worth what she would go through afterward if people found out. But nobody else deserved it. She needed to cool this, here and now. She had to be the one who walked away.

Which still wasn’t going to be easy.

“I’m telling you, you really don’t want to watch me walking up those stairs.”

“Yes. I really do.”

“And you’re honestly not going to get out of here until I do?”

“No.”

“You’ll regret it.”

“Hell, I already regret it,” he said, tunneling both his hands through his hair this time, leaving it more tousled than before.

“Not as much as you’re about to.”

A helping of anger had been heaped upon her sexual frustration. Yes, she’d decided she couldn’t have him, but did he have to be so damned insistent about it?

She hadn’t been kidding that he was going to regret it. Because she was ready to give him what he was asking for...and wondered if he was ready for what came along with it.

Without another word, she spun around again, squared her shoulders, stiffened her spine and ascended the stairs. He stood below, watching her, and when she reached the fourth one, she couldn’t help pausing to glance over her shoulder at him.

“Oh, Oliver, do you want to know why I didn’t want to walk up the stairs until you left?”

He didn’t reply, just gave her an inscrutable look.

She told him anyway. “Because of this.”

Candace took another step, knowing she’d reached the point of no return. Knowing full well he could now see what she was not wearing beneath her robe.

She wished she could say his strangled, guttural cry of helpless frustration made her feel better about walking away from what she sensed could be the best sex of her life.

But she just couldn’t.