Waking Up to You Overexposed

chapter 6



OLIVER SPENT THE next day wishing he hadn’t consumed so much wine the night before, and steering clear of Candace.

He took care of the wine with some aspirin.

Her decision to visit her grandfather for almost the entire day took care of Candace.

That was good. He wasn’t ready to run into her again. Not when every time he closed his eyes, he saw her beautiful face, suffused with pleasure, so wanton and gorgeous, he knew she would haunt his dreams forever.

Sometimes, doing the right thing just sucked.

He had thought it was the right thing at the time. Unfortunately, right now, he couldn’t remember the reason why.

He’d tried to work out the frustration, spending the day laboring in the storehouse, which still held a number of antique vats. Buddy was hoping to restore and use them. Having tasted the amazing wines aged in antique wood last night, he had to agree that they were worth salvaging. And fortunately, the work was hard enough that he was able to put Candace, and the amazing moments they’d shared on that couch, out of his thoughts. At least, for the most part.

Finally, though, when he glanced at his watch and saw it was after six, he knew he had to call it quits. She would probably be heading back to the estate soon. He intended to go down to the rehab center to visit Buddy. Hopefully, their cars would pass in the night and they wouldn’t run into each other, there or here. He just couldn’t take another evening of sexual tension with the woman. Not when he knew how sweet she tasted, and how those feminine cries of pleasure sounded when she came apart in his arms. Not when he was dying to slam his cock into her and forget the rest of the world even existed.

As he toweled his hair dry and eyed his jaw in the mirror, he realized he ought to shave. Not because he intended to rub his face on someone sinfully soft and wanted to prepare, but because he was beginning to look a little scruffy. Buddy had made a point of mentioning it yesterday.

“It’s not about that soft skin,” he told his reflection. “Not about that stomach. Not about those breasts.” God, had he been dying to end the kiss if only so he could look down at the perfect breasts he’d held in his hands. He swallowed, seeing the condensation he left on the mirror as he breathed ever harder. “It’s not about wanting to bury your face between her thighs and see if she tastes as good as she feels.”

Somehow, though, as he finished shaving and stared at his smooth-cheeked reflection, he knew he was fooling himself.

No, he didn’t deserve her. No, he had no business taking up with her. But oh, hell, yes, did he ever want her.

Yesterday, when she’d walked up those stairs, giving him a glimpse of heaven between two limbs, it had taken every ounce of his strength not to follow her. He’d pictured it, a flash of erotic images storming through his brain. He’d seen himself pounding up after her, three steps at a time. Stopping her before she got to the top. Guiding her down onto her knees. Gently pushing her forward until she was on all fours and he could take his place a few steps below. He’d instinctively known how perfect it would be to position her sweet, wet sex above him, to bury his face in it, lick into her until she bucked and cried, then to drive into her before she’d even stopped screaming over the multiple orgasms he’d give her.

Oliver closed his eyes, willing the images to leave his head. But they wouldn’t. They were imprinted there, the vision so real it was almost memory.

Then came the images from last night. He could still taste her lips, still feel the softness of her skin, still remember how it had felt to slide a finger into that slick, tight channel and play with that pearly little * until she whimpered.

He groaned, reached down and found his cock hard and erect.

“Damn it, Candace,” he muttered, grabbing himself, squeezing, pumping. His hand was in no way as good—wet, hot—as she would be, but it was all he had. All he would allow himself.

It didn’t take long. No longer than it had taken the previous night when he’d gone to bed and let himself replay the moments he’d spent with her on the couch. He came in a hot gush, spewing his essence over his hand, knowing he’d give a year off his life if he could do it in her instead.

“But you can’t,” he told himself, feeling even more sexually frustrated than he had before his second jacking-off session of the past twenty-four hours.

His hand just didn’t cut it. He wanted her hand. Her body. Her mouth. More than he’d ever wanted anything.

He tried to forget his sexual needs as he drove down to the rehab center. He definitely tried to disguise his desire as he visited with Buddy and gauged how the elderly man was doing with his new hip. Fortunately, he’d been right about guessing Candace wouldn’t be there. She’d apparently stayed until dinnertime, leaving shortly before he’d arrived, so he wouldn’t have to pretend he hadn’t spent the past twenty hours f*cking her senseless in his mind. Hopefully he would get home late, find her rental car in the driveway, see all the lights were out and go to bed, having managed one more day of resisting her.

To make sure of that, he intended to go out for a bite to eat and maybe have a few beers at a local watering hole before heading back. He’d even picked the place.

After they’d spent a half hour talking about the amazing find in the wine cellar, Buddy said something that made him wonder if fate was conspiring to bring him and Candace together.

“You ought to see if you can catch up with Candace at Wilhelm’s. I told her they have the best burgers in town and she said she was going to stop there for dinner.”

So she could avoid arriving home in time to see him? That was funny, considering she was dining at the very bar at which he’d intended to stop. Now, though, he figured drive-through fast food would do him just fine.

“I should probably get home and make an early night of it. I’m going to get back to work on the old vats tomorrow, see what else we can salvage.”

Buddy frowned. “I’d feel better if you swung by and checked on her. Tonight’s Monday. Adult softball league night.”

“So?”

“So we both know the teams all converge on Wilhelm’s for brewskis and wings after their games. It can get a little raucous. I’d hate to think of my girl having to fend off some guy who downs a little too much liquid courage.”

Oliver tensed at the very thought of it. No, he didn’t have any claim on her, and had told her he didn’t want any. But damned if he wanted another man making a move, welcomed by her or otherwise. That was probably pretty selfish, but, frankly, he didn’t give a shit.

Since he met her, Candace had been putting off some strong signals. Her body was dying for some action, she needed sex and she needed it badly. And last night, when they’d kissed and he’d stroked her into an orgasm, she had been like a cat in heat, so obviously ripe and ready that he had smelled her arousal—hence his drooling hunger to bury his face in her sex and eat her like a kid ate an ice-cream cone.

He’d be damned if any guy with less-pure motives and less self-control was going to take her up on what she was silently offering.

“Will you at least go by and check on her, make sure she’s okay?” Buddy prompted. He wore a slight frown, but Oliver saw the tiniest hint of a smile on his face, as well. The old man was matchmaking again. Under normal circumstances, that would have sent Oliver running in the other direction, away from the local pub where Candace might now be putting off those vibes he’d been picking up on since the night they’d met.

But because of those vibes, he just couldn’t.

“Okay, Buddy. I’ll go by and make sure she’s all right.”

And make sure she wasn’t entering into negotiations with any other guy for one tiny innocent little kiss. After giving her that orgasm, he’d left her high and dry last night. Over his dead body would any other man get her low and wet.

* * *

HER GRANDFATHER HAD been right. Wilhelm’s had great burgers. After Candace swallowed the last bite of hers, she wiped her mouth, reached for her tea and thought about dessert.

Not that she was still hungry. Honestly, the burger had been huge. She never ate like that, and could almost hear her arteries screaming in protest. But she was not ready to call for her check, get up, leave and drive back to Grandpa’s place. Not while it was only eight o’clock. Not when there was a good chance Oliver would be up, the lights on in his small cottage, tempting her to find some excuse to wander over to see him.

He’d avoided her all day today. As if his rejection last night and the finality of his goodbye hadn’t been enough, he’d made it a point to avoid coming outside at all until she’d left the house this morning.

He had the will of a monk. Or a eunuch. The flash of her cootchie as she’d walked up the stairs hadn’t elicited more than a frustrated groan from the man. She couldn’t deny she’d slammed the door to her room because he hadn’t stormed up after her, overtaken by lust. Then, last night after their wild, erotic kiss that had involved a whole lot more than lips and tongues, he’d still stuck to his terms and walked out on her.

She’d gone to bed full of need and hunger, dying to be filled. Thinking about it later, however, she forced herself to concede she’d been lucky. She’d already listed the million-and-one reasons why she couldn’t get involved with Oliver right now. A little wine and the offer of a kiss had made her forget them, but there was no harm done. He’d ended it, and she was glad.

Maybe if she told herself that often enough, she would begin to believe it. “This sucks,” she mumbled.

“What’s that sweetheart?” a voice asked.

She looked around to see a bunch of guys in dusty gym clothes and ball caps, who had just sat down in the booth directly behind hers. One of them was leaning over the back of his seat, invading her space, and her contemplation.

“Nothing, sorry,” she insisted, her tone polite but cool.

“Hey, we won our game, how about joining us for a celebration?” said another of the men.

Good grief. Did men really think single women eating alone in restaurants were just praying a table full of sweaty dudes would invite her to join their six-some? The guys looked harmless—stockbroker, businessman types, in matching gym shorts and shirts and pricey sneakers. She didn’t feel threatened. Nor, however, was she at all interested. “No, thanks.”

Before she had to elaborate, she heard a ringing from her purse. Coming from L.A., where people’s cell phones were connected to their heads by magnetic beams or something, she’d developed a loathing for anyone who yakked on one in public. Especially in a restaurant. But now, the excuse to cut short a conversation with some overly friendly jocks was most welcome.

When she saw the name on the caller ID, she was even more grateful. She’d talked to Tommy a few times since leaving home and he always managed to distract her from her troubles...usually by talking about his own.

His were always more interesting, anyway. Hmm, this sexy rock star or that studly NBA player? Decisions, decisions.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said, her voice louder than technically necessary, just to underscore the point with the on-the-make guys. One of them continued to hover over the back of her booth, so she upped the lovey-dovey factor. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Missed you, too, sugar lips,” Tommy said with a laugh. “Who’s listening? Grandpa? Biker gang? Jealous she-hag?”

“Nothing of the sort. I’m at a pub, where I just finished dinner. It looks like it’s a popular hangout for the local athletes.”

“Any delicious athletes?”

“I honestly wouldn’t know.”

“Oh, come on, girlfriend, you losing your vision?”

Maybe for some things. She hadn’t really been able to see any man since meeting the only one she wanted.

“Maybe just my enthusiasm.”

Not to mention her opportunities.

“Any idea when you’re going to be able to leave there yet?”

“I suspect I’m going to be here until the day you need me to come back,” she admitted.

He grew serious. “Is your grandfather doing that badly?”

“No, he’s doing very well. But I want to be around to cheer him on during rehab—it’s tedious and painful. Plus I want to be at the house for him when he first comes home.”

“When will that be? Will it leave you enough time for a trip? Maybe you could go to Montreal? They speak French. Or hey, there are lots of hunky Spanish-speaking dudes in Mexico. Doesn’t Cancun sound awesome?”

“I don’t think so. But I won’t stay too long after he gets home. He’ll have home health aides come in, and Madison said she could fly in from back East to relieve me in ten days or so.”

“How is Mad, bad and dangerous to know?”

She chuckled. “Same old, same old. Ready to dive into her career playing hotshot reporter, fighting city hall, exposing corruption and never letting a man get the upper hand.”

“The Reid sisters—toughest girls of Blue Lake Elementary.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“How could I? You two both acted as my beards at one time or another in high school. I couldn’t have made it without you.”

“Aww, you’re such a romantic. How could we resist? You know Madison and I have both always been totally hot for you.”

The eyeballs were probably popping out of the heads of the guys behind her now. They were likely envisioning wild threesomes and naughty hook-ups. Huh. Other than the threesome part, she was right there with them. Two would be quite enough for the hook-up that had been on her mind all week.

“Ooh, kinky. Gonna be that kind of wife, huh?”

“Don’t push it,” she muttered under her breath.

She settled into the corner, feeling her tension drift away. Talking to Tommy was like talking to a therapist. But she didn’t want to talk to him about Oliver. Mainly because she knew her friend—he’d encourage her to jump the other man’s bones or live to regret it later.

She already knew she was going to regret it later. That didn’t mean she could do it now. First, because he wasn’t the bone-jumping type; he was the type you lost your heart, body and soul to and lived the rest of your days pining for.

He also wasn’t interested. Well, he was interested; he just wasn’t going to act on that interest. So she couldn’t, either.

“Sounds like you’re really not going to have much time for booty calling your way across North America, much less Europe.”

“No. I’m not.” She held her breath, wondering if there had been any change, if the urgency had died down. Not wanting him to think she was backing out on him, she didn’t ask.

Finally, he said, “Did you catch TMZ last night?”

“No, Grandpa only gets basic cable. Why?”

“Let’s just say it’s getting a little more uncomfortable down here. I guess me being seen around town without a woman—namely you—on my arm is making those engagement rumors die down. And others spike back up.”

Was he asking if he could announce their engagement? Oh, she hoped not. She wasn’t ready for that. She hadn’t even had a chance to explain it to her family, though she knew they would understand. Tommy had spent just about every summer in her backyard when they were kids. They knew who he was and loved him almost as much as she did. They wouldn’t necessarily approve, but they would understand she was marrying him out of loyalty, love and friendship. Still, she wanted to tell them herself before any stupid tabloid got hold of it.

“Why don’t you stay home more often then?”

“I’m in demand, hot stuff. Gotta see and be seen.”

God, she was not looking forward to being part of that. Except the red-carpet Oscar stuff. That should be an experience. Of course, it would be better if she were walking that carpet as a nominee, rather than the wife of one, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Considering she still hadn’t nailed down her next project—she’d done the sketches she was asked for and sent them in, but hadn’t heard anything yet—she doubted an Oscar nomination for best costume design would be coming her way very soon.

“Well, gotta go, babe. There’s a party with my name on it.”

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

Then, again because she sensed the guys in the next booth were listening, she added, “I love you.”

“You know, once you’re wearing my ring, guys won’t be hitting on you all the time.”

“That goes both ways.”

“Bite your tongue!”

“Bye, Tommy.”

“Bye. Love you, sugarplum.”

She disconnected the call, glanced at the time and realized it was now nine. Probably not late enough for Oliver to be in bed, but late enough that she’d look weird and pathetic showing up at his door and thus wouldn’t be tempted to find an excuse to knock on it. So she figured it was safe to call it a night.

She lifted her hand to call for the check, but before she could catch the young waitress’s eye, her vision was blocked by a big jean-and-T-shirt-clad body. A body she’d know anywhere.

Eyeball to crotch with that familiar body, she swallowed hard and slowly lifted her gaze.

“Can I join you?” Oliver’s tone was almost conciliatory, as if he regretted the way he’d ended things last night.

She swallowed hard. Why on earth had he now sought her out when he’d been trying so hard to avoid her?

“Candace?”

“Aren’t you afraid I’m not wearing any underwear, or that I’ll ask you for one little kiss?” she couldn’t help asking.

Behind her, somebody started coughing. She ignored him.

“I guess I deserved that,” he said, not cracking a smile.

There was no way to refuse him, and she gestured toward the empty seat across from her. She heard grumblings from the baseball team and could only imagine what they thought. She’d shot them down, then had a romantic phone conversation and now invited a gorgeous man to take a seat. They probably thought she was a bored housewife on the prowl, cheating on her poor spouse.

“What are you doing here?” she asked after he sat down.

“Your grandfather asked me to check on you.”

Her brow shot up. “You two think I need babysitting?”

His scowl deepened, and he nodded toward the table full of guys behind her. “When I came in and looked over, one of those bozos was right above you, just waiting for you to move enough so he’d have a clear line of sight down your shirt.”

She jerked her head around and looked over her shoulder. The amateur ballplayers all immediately ducked their heads together, as if realizing they’d been caught out.

“So you came storming over to defend my honor?”

That was rich, considering he was the only man who’d come even close to sullying it lately. And oh, had she liked being sullied.

“No. They’re men, they’re out drinking beer and you’re beautiful. Of course they’re gonna look.”

The beautiful part echoed in her ears.

His jaw tensed, and he crossed his arms over his chest and raised his voice slightly. “But if any of them even thinks about touching you, he’ll be drinking his beer through a straw.”

She should resent this he-man protector stuff. But instead, she found herself feeling all warm and soft at the realization that he felt protective of her. Mainly because it meant he somehow felt possessive of her.

He could have possessed you yesterday—twice—and twice he turned you down.

Right. She straightened in her seat, determined not to relax her guard around him, or let him know she was still smarting over what had happened. She was determined to forget all about yesterday, pretend she’d dreamed the whole thing. Well, except the orgasm. She wanted to remember that. She wanted to hug and hold that memory because, as far as she could remember, it was the only time her head had completely blown off her shoulders and then settled back into place.

The waitress sauntered over, lazy and laid-back as she’d been all evening. But when she reached the table, she did a double take and offered Oliver a much bigger smile than she’d offered Candace. “Hey, there, Mr. McKean. Nice to see you again!”

The woman practically simpered. Ugh.

“You want the usual?” the woman asked.

“Sure.”

She was back with his beer in record time. “Can I get you something else? Anything at all?”

Candace gripped her hands together under the table, determined not to react. It wasn’t easy, especially when the woman responded to Oliver’s request for a menu by leaning over him to grab a paper one standing between two condiment bottles on the back of the table. Her ample breasts rubbed his shoulders. He didn’t appear to mind.

Once the waitress had walked away, after telling him to think about what he wanted, Candace said, “Gee, who’s going to defend your honor?”

His jaw may have softened a bit. “You offering?”

“You didn’t look like you needed—or wanted—any help.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound jealous.”

“How fortunate that you know better.”

She reached into her purse, tucking her phone back inside. Before he’d shown up, she’d been planning to pull out some cash, pay her bill and leave. Now that he was here, though, she found herself wanting to stay.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, let me order, then I’ll walk you to your car.”

And leave him here to be the blue plate special for the big-boobed waitress? Not a chance.

“I’m fine,” she replied sweetly. “I was thinking about ordering dessert.” She grabbed another menu, skimmed over the offerings and decided on her very favorite: a dish of ice cream. Simple, easy, nonsuggestive, delicious vanilla ice cream.

After they’d ordered, they spoke briefly about her grandfather, and his reaction to their find in his wine cellar. The old man had been ecstatic, and had immediately started making plans for what he would do with the money. Most of his ideas had to do with helping out his family—her included—and for a moment, Candace had allowed herself to think she would not have to marry for money. Then she remembered. She wasn’t really marrying for money. She was marrying for friendship. And no amount of money could ever replace Tommy in her life.

However she felt about Oliver as a man—and potential lover—she had to give him credit: he was a conscientious employee, though she suspected the relationship between the two men had moved beyond professional to personal. Grandpa liked him...that was quite obvious, and the feeling appeared to be reciprocated.

She was a little surprised by their conversation. Once they’d turned the focus away from them—the sexual tension that was so thick between them she was surprised she could see him across the table—she found Oliver very easy to talk to.

They chatted about the wine, and the results of the phone calls Candace had made today to an expert in the region. He had given her the number of an auction house in San Francisco, saying if she really did have the bottles she’d mentioned, they’d be begging for the chance to sell them. If not rich, Buddy was at least going to be a lot more comfortable soon.

The waitress returned with Oliver’s hamburger a short time later, and brought Candace’s ice cream. She waited until the woman had left to pick up the spoon and help herself to a small amount. Lifting it to her lips, she almost cooed, seeing the tiny black flecks of vanilla bean. This was her favorite treat. Not terribly decadent or exciting, but she had always had a thing for plain vanilla.

“You gonna marry that stuff or eat it?”

Startled, she almost dropped the spoon. She’d apparently been oohing and aahing over it before she’d even brought a spoonful to her lips. And, for a change, there had been absolutely nothing deliberate about it. She wasn’t trying to tease him, taunt him or make him regret walking away from her yesterday. She just liked ice cream.

“I don’t usually eat dessert.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

She inserted the spoon into her mouth and sighed in pleasure, closing her eyes as the creamy sweetness hit her tongue and made her taste buds burst to life. “How can something so plain and simple taste so incredibly good?”

The question had been a rhetorical one, but Oliver looked like he was giving it serious thought. Very serious. He appeared contemplative and stared at her, hard. Some devil within her made her dip the spoon into the dish and draw more toward her mouth, knowing he was watching, rapt and attentive.

“Mmm.” She licked every drop, loving the tingle as the cold refreshment slid over her tongue and down her throat.

Okay, so now she was being deliberately provocative. But he so totally deserved it.

He grabbed his burger and started to eat it, not looking toward her again. Which made eating the ice cream a little less fun, though no less delicious.

She knew she shouldn’t mess with him, shouldn’t play with fire, but he’d been sending her mixed signals since the moment they’d met.

Takes one to know one.

True.

She scooped more, making another sound of satisfaction.

“You’re such a brat.”

She smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She licked the spoon clean, wiggling with delight.

“Would you stop it?” he asked after she’d swallowed.

“Stop what?”

“Stop licking that spoon like you’re thinking about sex.”

“I am thinking about sex,” she admitted, licking again. She saw no reason to be coy and wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “I’ve been thinking about it since last night. How could I not?”

He leaned over the table, coming closer, making everything around them disappear. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Funny, I don’t feel like I’m getting burned. In fact, it’s quite chilly.”

He took another bite of his burger, chewing the thing like he had to wrangle it into submission. When she began to help herself to another spoonful of her dessert, he cast her a warning look. “Time for either a subject change or a table change. Your choice.”

Meaning he would get up and leave her here alone if she didn’t stop tormenting him? How cute was that? She honestly hadn’t realized he would be that affected by her engaging in a little food foreplay. But she didn’t want him changing tables. Not when the waitress might very well decide to take a break and plop down on his lap.

“Okay, subject change. Grandpa mentioned that you had a connection to the estate. Your great-grandfather was the silent movie star who built it?” That had surprised her, especially given Oliver’s apparent disdain for the movie business.

“Yeah.” He looked relieved she’d done as he asked. “A million years ago. I never knew him.”

“Have you ever seen any of his movies?”

“Sure. My great-grandfather bought a bunch of them when his studio went bankrupt. My father has a box of them. We sometimes had family nights watching them when I was growing up.”

“How very Norma Desmond,” she murmured.

He nodded, getting the Sunset Boulevard reference.

“When he found out I was living here, he mailed me a few so I could show them to Buddy. I haven’t had a chance to do it yet.”

“What a fascinating era it must have been. So much more mysterious and glamorous than today, given the 24/7 coverage of every gruesome detail of a famous person’s life.” She knew her voice contained a hint of bitterness, on Tommy’s behalf, but he didn’t question her on it.

“They sure knew how to party, from the sound of it.”

“I’d love to see one of those films.”

He reached for his beer. “They’re on big reels. A pain to operate, but they certainly make for an authentic experience. Buddy borrowed a projector from somebody, but we never got around to showing them.”

Meaning he couldn’t just give her a disk to pop into her laptop. He’d have to come in and set up a whole viewing room. Stay and operate the machine. Spend time with her, watching it. Like one of his family movie nights growing up, only it would just be the two of them.

“We can watch one some evening if you’re bored.”

This was sounding a little like a movie date, and she suddenly wondered if he would live to regret having her change the subject. She could eat all kinds of ice cream while watching a movie. And if he dared to offer her two kisses, she might finally get that multiple orgasm she’d been craving.

“I’d love that,” she murmured. “It might make you feel like you’re at home. Speaking of which, where does your family live now?”

“San Diego. I was born and raised there.”

“Big family?”

“Parents, two sisters, one brother-in-law, one niece.”

“All in Southern California?”

“Yes.”

“So why aren’t you there with them?”

“I was close, in Orange County, until four months ago.”

Finally she was getting somewhere. “What on earth made you come up here?” she couldn’t help asking. “I’d normally guess one of the three biggies—romance, legal trouble or job. But you appear to be single and don’t look like the law-breaking type.”

“I am. And I’m not.”

She went over the answer in her mind, realizing he was admitting he was single—hallelujah—and an honest guy.

“Okay. So, number three. Job? I don’t mean to offend you, but it seems to me your field isn’t necessarily one that would require you to move so far away.”

He sipped his beer again, not meeting her eye. She didn’t push, sensing he was trying to reach a decision about how much to say. Finally, with a sigh, as if he realized she wasn’t going to back off and would be around long enough to wear him down if she chose to, he admitted, “I was with the district attorney’s office in L.A. until earlier this year.”

“With...wait, you mean you’re a lawyer?”

She shouldn’t have been surprised, considering she’d already seen evidence of his intelligence, his memory and his darned interrogation skills. But it was just so strange to think of a big Los Angeles attorney moving up here to work as a laborer for her grandfather.

“It’s a long story.”

She merely stared.

“I don’t want to get into it.”

“Come on, you’ve got to give me more than, I was a lawyer, quit and came up here to plant grapes.” She suddenly remembered what he’d said the night they met, about feeling cleaner digging in the dirt here than he had in his previous life. Then she thought about the kinds of cases he must have been involved in. Los Angeles was a glitzy haven to starry-eyed actors and actresses. But anyone who actually lived there knew it could be incredibly seedy. Ugly, violent, with crimes and murders happening often enough to immunize its residents to the shock of them, unless they involved a movie star.

“One crappy case too many?” she speculated.

“Yes,” he replied, staring straight into her eyes, looking a little surprised she’d understood so easily.

“I can see why you’d want to come here, then, if you needed a change. Better hard manual labor than a mental breakdown.”

A smile appeared. “I don’t know that I was near that point, but I was definitely feeling on the verge of a moral one.”

“Oh?” Now he had her really curious.

He idly rubbed the tip of his finger on the rim of his beer mug. “You might not believe it, but criminal law is one hell of a competitive place.”

“Well of course I believe it. I read John Grisham.”

“Multiply that by a hundred and you might have an idea of how brutal the atmosphere can be, especially in a place like Hollywood, with the money and the star factor added in. There’s a winner-take-all attitude, a score-points-on-the-other-guy mentality. It’s not about guilt or innocence, not about finding the truth, not even always about justice. More than anything it’s about winning.”

That surprised her. She’d always been one of those idealists who believed in the justice system. But it sounded like Oliver no longer did.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, suddenly remembering some of the news coverage she’d seen last winter, about corruption uncovered in the district attorney’s office. She didn’t remember seeing Oliver’s picture, or hearing his name, but she hadn’t really been paying attention, and the timing certainly made sense. “Were you the whistle-blower?”

He stared into her eyes, not looking surprised she’d remembered the story. She didn’t recall any of the details; she just knew the media had had a field day with the previous D.A., whose own employee had accused him of judicial misconduct, including hiding evidence of innocence in a high-profile murder case.

“Yeah,” he said, lifting his mug and downing his beer.

“You were involved in that case where the kid in the gang was accused of murdering the pregnant mother?”

“It was my case. I was all set to go to trial when I found proof that he hadn’t done it.”

“And your boss buried it,” she murmured, remembering more.

“Tried to.” He leaned back, dropping his napkin onto his plate. “The kid was a punk, but it was mostly swagger. Maybe the close call will make him clean up his act.” He frowned. “Or he could get worse and end up killing somebody after all.”

“But he didn’t kill that woman?”

“No, he didn’t. I’d let myself go along with some of the crap you have to do to score convictions. Did stuff I’m not proud of. But I couldn’t be a part of convicting an innocent young man of murder, no matter what he might do in the future.”

Stepping forward and doing the right thing had been noble and admirable. But it had also probably cost him his job.

“Were you blackballed?”

“Blackballed, dumped by the woman I’d been seeing, shunned by people I’d thought were friends,” he said with a harsh laugh.

“That’s awful,” she muttered, focused more on the dumping than anything else. How could any woman do that to this gorgeous, amazing man?

He went on. “I can never go back to any D.A.’s office in California, and I’m not ready to switch sides just yet.”

“Defense attorney, you mean?”

“Right. I’m too jaded, too quick to see the bad side of humanity to start defending people I automatically assume are guilty. So for now, I dig, I shovel, I fertilize, I test pH, I till, I haul, I study. And I drink wine.”

“I think that last one’s my favorite.”

This time, his laugh wasn’t angry...it was soft and genuine.

Candace sat there and let the masculine sound wash over her. She’d seen him angry and tense, seen him sexy and aroused, seen him concerned. This was the first moment, though, that she truly believed she was seeing the real man, with his guard completely down. Seeing the Oliver he had been before his world had fallen apart last fall. She liked this man. Liked him a lot.

And oh, God, did she ever wish she had met him before she’d agreed to marry her best friend.