Waking Up to You Overexposed

chapter 7



OLIVER WASN’T CERTAIN what had caused that warm, tender look to appear in Candace’s lovely eyes, but he figured it was bad news. He liked it better—felt safer—when she was snapping at him, taunting him, even flirting with him. This softness, this sweetness, this emotion he saw in her now, was way outside of his comfort zone.

He should have kept his fat trap shut. He should never have told her anything about himself—his past, his regrets, his shame. Because now, he greatly feared, he’d opened up a window through which she could climb, going around his instinctive defenses.

So let her.

Huh. Maybe he should. He still wasn’t ready for a relationship, still hated the idea of messing around with Buddy’s granddaughter while the old man was laid up. But he had to admit, he found Candace incredibly easy to talk to. She had heart and brains to go with that boatload of sex appeal, which made her a triple threat. He couldn’t deny he was tempted to take what she’d offered yesterday morning and last night. Maybe hooking up with someone who would be leaving in a week or so was exactly the right way to get back in the game of life.

Unfortunately, now that he’d realized he liked her as much as he wanted her, hooking up seemed less appetizing than it had before. He sensed it would satisfy him physically, but would just make the emotional strings that much harder to untangle. And emotions were still not his strong point.

“Will you excuse me a minute? I need to run to the ladies’ room,” she said.

He pushed his plate to the edge of the table so the overly flirtatious waitress, who’d come on to him every single time he walked into this joint, could pick it up. “Sure. I’ll ask for the check.”

She reached into her purse.

He waved a hand. “Forget it. It’s on me.”

“No way. You don’t bring down the big bucks anymore.”

He lifted a brow in challenge, remembering she’d said she was between jobs right now. “At least I’m employed.”

“Good point. But I think I can spring for one hamburger.”

Frankly, it was worth every penny to pay for her meal, if only for the pleasure of watching her eat that cursed ice cream.

He watched her walk away, again noting the changes in her wardrobe since she’d stopped wearing her sister’s more loose, casual ensembles in favor of stylish, extremely colorful and bright stuff. Her jeans were fire-engine red. She wore them with spike-heeled black ankle boots, and a silky blouse that fell off one shoulder. Every guy in the place watched her go, Oliver included.

He would bet every other guy in the place would give his left nut to have kissed her, and touched her the way he’d touched her twenty-four hours ago.

You’re a brainless bastard to have walked out on her like that.

If he had the day to do over again, he sensed yesterday would have ended up very differently. He only wondered if it was too late to change things.

After she’d left, Oliver signaled for the waitress, cutting her off when she tried to engage in small talk. It had been fine that she’d flirted when Candace was around to see and get a little tight-lipped, but now that she was gone, he couldn’t be bothered to play along. He hadn’t been interested in this woman, or any of the others he’d met since coming here four months ago. Only one interested him.

So what are you going to do about it?

He honestly didn’t know. But the more he got to know Candace, the more he wanted to do something.

“Hey, dude, you better watch it. She’s toxic.”

Startled, he looked up to see one of the jocks from the next table leaning over the back of his booth. He gave Oliver a look of manly commiseration that looked a little fake, as if he enjoyed spreading tales. “She’s messing around on you.”

“What?”

“Your girl. I heard her on the phone before you got here. She was all into whoever she was talking to. Just sayin’, you should watch your back, man.”

His muscles contracting, he realized he should tell the guy to go screw himself, that he and Candace weren’t a couple and if she had been on the phone with anyone else, that was her business. Not his.

Instead, he simply ignored the jock, tossed some bills on the table and got up. No, he had no business questioning who Candace talked to. But she’d sure made it sound like she was single, and she’d certainly acted that way yesterday during their erotic encounters.

Could she really have a lover somewhere? Was she the type who got bored easily and was simply killing time with Oliver while she was stuck up here in Sonoma?

The thought bothered him more than he cared to admit. So much so that he couldn’t even force a tight smile when she got back and walked over to him.

She spied the bills on the table. “I told you I’d pay for mine.”

“Forget it,” he insisted, his tone brusque to match his attitude. “Are you ready to go? Because I’m leaving.”

He didn’t plan to walk out and leave her here, not now that he knew just how closely the table full of men had been watching her. But he didn’t need her to know that.

“Sure,” she said, blinking in surprise at his here’s-your-hat-what’s-your-hurry attitude.

He didn’t enlighten her. Telling her what the nosy softball player at the next table had said would only open up a conversation he really didn’t want to have. The only reason he’d need to know if she was available was if he intended to sleep with her.

He didn’t.

Right?

They walked outside to the parking lot. While they’d been inside, the early signs of a storm had blown in. This area didn’t get a whole lot of rain, and what it got usually came in the winter. But sometimes the spring brought wicked storms and it looked like they would have one tonight. The air was wildly alive, with gusts that had the trees bouncing and a whistling sound coming from under the eaves of the building.

Instead of tightening her jacket, ducking against the weather and racing to her car, Candace tilted her head back, smiled and closed her eyes. She apparently liked the feel of the wind battering her body. Liking it, too, he understood. There was something freeing about being in a climate so variable and elemental. L.A. and San Diego were pretty standard all year round—sunny, warm, beautiful. In the winter and spring months he’d been up here, he’d realized you couldn’t really count on anything. You never knew when the winds would change and the air would crackle with electric excitement.

“I love this,” she said, raising her voice to be heard.

“I can tell.”

The gusts kept catching wispy strands of her honey-brown hair, blowing them across her face. She didn’t even try tucking them behind her ears or restraining the long curls. The longer they stood outside, the more primal and tangled it became. She was beautiful, sultry, exotic...he had a sudden image of being back at the estate with her, outside, naked, letting the wind batter them as they came together in an explosion as powerful as a spring storm.

Unable to take it anymore, he looked away, not wanting to be utterly entranced by the wild, erotic picture she presented, all windblown and sexy, with her lips moist and parted in exhilaration as she breathed in the cool night air.

“It’s going to break over us pretty soon,” he said. “And it won’t be a fun drive once it starts pouring. We should go.”

Her shoulders slumped. “All right.”

When they reached her rental car, she said, “It seems like a good night to stay inside. Maybe I could pay you back for dinner by picking up some candy and popcorn for our home movie night?”

He frowned. “It’s late.” It wasn’t that late, maybe ten o’clock. Ten minutes ago he might have leaped at the chance. But the fact that he didn’t know enough about her had been hammered home by the jock inside.

“Tomorrow maybe?”

“I don’t know if I’ll have time for that before you leave.”

Disappointment flashed across her face. “Oh.”

Part of him wanted to take it back, especially seeing the flash of hurt in her eyes. But it was better this way. Better that he put the walls firmly in place again. She’d be gone in a week, returning to her life and her...whoever the guy on the phone had been. Buddy would be home. Oliver would descend back into his self-imposed purgatory. Everything would be as it should. Hell, maybe once he’d gotten his shit together, he’d go back to L.A. and look her up. Find out if she was single or not. But who knew when that would be?

“Well, thanks for dinner,” she said as she got into her car. She wasn’t meeting his eyes. Embarrassed? Angry? He wasn’t sure.

Muttering, “You’re welcome,” he pushed the door shut. He strode to his own truck, not turning around as she revved up her car’s engine, threw it in gear and tore out of the parking lot like she had a dragon on her tail.

Okay, so she was angry.

Hell.

It’s better this way, he reminded himself.

Somehow, though, he didn’t feel better. In fact, he felt like crap. Crappy enough that, rather than heading right for the Sonoma Highway and home, he stopped at a liquor store and bought a six-pack. Not just because he had the feeling he could use a second beer, but because he didn’t want to get back to the estate until he knew she would be safely tucked inside Buddy’s house.

But after his stop, as he began driving home, leaving the highway and hitting some of the twisty back roads, he couldn’t get the image of her standing there, enjoying the wind in her face, out of his mind. Especially because that wind threatened to take the steering wheel out of his hands a couple of times. And now it had started to rain.

“Shit. You should have followed her home.”

Candace wasn’t used to driving in this area, with hilly roads full of dangerous switchbacks and steep drop-offs. The bad weather made it even worse. If he hadn’t been such an ass, he could have made sure she was safe, and he practically held his breath until he got to the estate and saw her rental car in front of the main house.

He parked his truck outside the cottage, breathing a deep sigh of relief that she’d made it, too. Replaying their conversation back at the bar, he knew he’d behaved badly. So much for the smooth gentleman he’d always been praised as being in his old life. He’d been a total dick to Candace half the time. He’d been like a kid who knew he couldn’t play with the toy he most wanted, so he’d pretended he didn’t want it at all.

Tonight, he’d reacted like a prosecutor instead of like a man who was getting to know an honest, refreshing, bright and sexy woman. He hadn’t given her the benefit of the doubt. Was he so jaded, so used to being lied to and manipulated that he no longer had the capacity to give someone a chance?

He owed her an apology. And if all the lights hadn’t been off in the main house—the place utterly pitch-black in the windy night—he would have gone over and offered it up, even though he’d have had to run through the driving rain. But the building was obviously shut down. She’d come home, turned off every light and gone to bed, probably sending him a silent message to stay away from her.

“Message received,” he said as he hurried to the door of his cottage, getting soaked along the way, and pulled out his key.

Buddy always laughed at him for locking the door since they were out in the middle of nowhere, but the big-city habit was too ingrained. He found himself wondering, though, if he’d really been out of it when he’d left earlier this evening for the hospital. Because the knob twisted easily in his hand. He must have forgotten to lock it.

Letting himself in, he reached for the switch on the wall and flipped it up. Nothing.

“Oh, God,” he mumbled, suddenly realizing why the world was so dark. The power was notoriously unreliable in high winds, and his was probably out.

He waited for his eyes to adjust, before making his way across the big room that dominated the main floor of the cottage. It served as both living room and kitchen, the two separated by a stone fireplace that opened on either side. It was a great feature and he’d used it and nothing else to heat the place during the winter. Looked like it was going to come in handy tonight, too, both for heat and for illumination.

Before he moved to light it, he thought about Candace. She was alone in that huge house. That huge drafty house with its spiders, crickets, cracked window casings and frigid tile floors. No lights, no heat, no hot water—which was pretty well par for the course—and he’d bet the phones were out.

“Better go check on her,” he mumbled.

Grabbing the coat he’d just placed on the hook, he began to put it on. But he hadn’t even gotten one arm in a sleeve when he heard a soft, feminine voice coming from the sofa on the other side of the room.

“You don’t have to check on her. She’s right here.”

* * *

CANDACE HAD ONLY been waiting for Oliver for a few minutes—since just after she’d gotten back, realized the power was out and decided his cozy cottage with the fireplace would be a better place to ride out the storm. But that had been long enough for her to decide she’d made a mistake.

Sitting here in the dark, in his space, had been more disturbing than comforting. The whole place smelled like him—all musky, spicy and hot. Utterly masculine. Her body reacted to the scent even before her mind could put it together and figure out it wasn’t just the cold making her nipples hard.

She also worried how he would react to finding her there, in the dark, and what he would make of her presence. He was a private person; it had taken him days to even admit to her that he was really an attorney. He probably wouldn’t take kindly to her using Buddy’s keys to let herself in and make herself at home. She suddenly felt a little like Goldilocks. Add a broken chair and a few bowls of porridge and she might come face-to-face with an angry bear.

She’d decided to leave, to brave the cold and the darkness in the main house, when she heard him pull up outside. Her chance to escape was gone. She had to stay and brazen it out.

“Candace?”

“It sure isn’t Goldilocks,” she muttered.

He hung his coat back up and approached, moving carefully in the darkness. She’d been here longer; her eyes had adjusted, so she could easily see him moving toward her. His hair was wet, dark strands sticking to his unsmiling face.

“How did you get in?”

“I’m sorry. I used Buddy’s key. I know it was rude.”

“And illegal.”

Twisting her hands in front of her, she rose from the couch. “I was freaked out. That place is spooky enough when it’s daylight. I kept picturing spiders lurking in every corner.”

“Not the ghost of Fatty Arbuckle stalking you?”

“Oh, great, thanks. That makes me feel tons better!”

“I’m surprised you know who I was referring to.”

“Hello, movie biz, remember? Was he one of your great-grandpa’s cronies?”

“They did a few films together,” he said.

Very cool.

“Let me brighten things up a little in here.”

He headed for the kitchen. She heard him fumble with something, and a moment later, a soft light spotlighted his handsome face. He came back carrying a thick candle, which he placed on the coffee table.

“So, do you want me to leave?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “It’s coming down in buckets. You’d be soaked to the skin with no way to warm up.”

True. “I can stay?”

“Yes. Sit down. I’ll light a fire.”

“That would be wonderful.”

She curled up on the couch again, watching him. Fortunately he’d had logs and kindling already set in the fireplace, and they sparked quickly. Within minutes, the small space was benefiting from the heat created by the blaze, and the room was enveloped in a lovely golden glow.

She took the opportunity to look around a bit, knowing he’d only been here a few months, but sensing he’d taken steps to make the place his own. There were some non-fiction books on the mantel, along with a few thrillers. No pictures on the walls, but a couple of framed family type snapshots stood on the end table. Some colorful pillows were tossed on the furniture, and the thick rug in front of the hearth looked new and cozy.

She’d definitely seen worse bachelor pads.

“Better?”

“Much, thank you.”

He fell silent again, and she felt that tension between them that had appeared in the restaurant, after she’d gone to the ladies’ room. Compared to his friendliness before she’d left, she couldn’t help thinking something had happened. As she’d driven home, she’d half wondered if he’d made some assignation with the waitress and just wanted to be rid of her. She couldn’t deny she’d held her breath waiting to hear him come home, and was pleased he had, even if it had meant she was trapped and busted as a home invader.

He finally broke the silence. “I think I owe you an apology.”

“Oh?”

He sat on the floor, near the fireplace, on that thick rug. His long jeans-clad legs were stretched in front of him, booted feet casually crossed. The jeans pulled tight on those powerful thighs. She again noted how built he was, obviously not from any L.A. gym lifestyle but from his physically demanding job.

“Yeah. Earlier tonight, at the bar, one of the guys in the next booth told me you’d been on the phone before I arrived, having a very intimate conversation.”

She laughed. “Of course I was—intentionally! My best friend called, and I was trying really hard to make it sound like he was my boyfriend, so they would stop pestering me.”

He dropped his head back, shaking it and mumbling something under his breath. Something that sounded like, idiot.

Well, yeah, he had been. Being all macho-aloof instead of asking her about it had been the typical male reaction.

“Is that why you were such a jerk in the parking lot?”

He straightened to look at her. “I’m sorry.”

“Were you angry about it?”

“Not angry. Jealous as hell,” he admitted.

That sent warm shivers of excitement rushing through her. There was no reason for Oliver to have been jealous if he didn’t want her for himself.

“I know it’s none of my business, but you said you didn’t have a boyfriend....”

“I don’t,” she insisted. “No boyfriend, no husband, no lover.”

Just a fiancé.

The thought stabbed into her head like a brain freeze, shocking and painful. She was so used to not being involved with anyone, it was hard to remember that now, she technically was.

Oh, hell, what a mess.

She knew she should just tell him the situation, be honest and let him know what was happening. But in order to do that, she’d have to tell him why she’d agreed to a sexless marriage, and why it was okay for her to cheat on her fiancé.

She couldn’t out Tommy to somebody he didn’t know. Nobody had that right. Especially because, even if she didn’t reveal the name of her future husband, once the press got hold of her engagement and marriage, Oliver would realize who she’d been talking about. It wasn’t like he was some foreign, overseas stranger who would never give her another thought. He lived right in California, worked for her grandfather. His family lived in San Diego, and he probably still had plenty of work ties to L.A. No, he wasn’t the type who would run tattling to the press the minute he heard the news, but what if he accidentally said something to the wrong person? Tommy could be hurt—badly—because of her. She just couldn’t risk it.

Telling him the truth was out. But lying was just against her nature.

Was there a happy medium? Could she walk the tightrope and take what she wanted more than anything in the world—a wild affair with Oliver—without jeopardizing her best friend’s reputation?

Oliver watched her from the floor, his dark eyes catching glimmers of firelight, reflecting them. He cast a long deliberate stare over her, gazing from her face, down her throat, to the single bare shoulder revealed by her blouse. She’d been wearing a raincoat when she came in, but hadn’t wanted to get his couch wet. At least, that’s what she’d told herself. Actually, the thought of him looking at her, like this, hadn’t been a small part of the reason she’d taken the coat off.

Something was happening between them. Heat—quiet but intense—flared. But the problem bore repeating: what a mess.

“This has been pretty inevitable, hasn’t it?” he asked, his tone simple, to the point. As if he’d given up resisting something they had both known was going to happen.

“Yes, I think so.”

He wanted her. That was obvious. He’d been fighting it, as had she. But it seemed they’d both had enough of playing games. The attraction between them had been thick from the moment they’d met. They were always headed to this moment. Always.

Find the happy medium, an inner voice urged.

She couldn’t let it go that one last step toward becoming this amazing man’s lover until she’d clarified a couple of things. No, she couldn’t reveal Tommy’s secret, but she had to be as honest as she could be. “You need to know something.”

He didn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead he got on his knees, crawling closer to the edge of the couch. His glittering eyes were narrowed, his lips parted, his hair was damp and hanging in his face. He looked earthy, primal and...hungry.

“Oliver...”

“Unless you need to tell me you’re a virgin or a nun, I don’t think there’s anything else I absolutely have to know right now.”

She couldn’t help laughing a little at his vehemence. “What if I needed to tell you I was gay?”

He moved closer, dropping his hand on her calf. “Then I’d tell you you’re a liar.”

She swallowed hard, feeling the heat of his palm through her jeans. He squeezed lightly.

Quivering in reaction, she managed to insist, “I really do need to make something clear.”

He hesitated. Her heart ached as she thought of doing anything to sabotage what she sensed could be one of the most sensual, erotic nights of her life, but she had to at least try to make things as open as possible.

“Whatever happens can’t go beyond this week.”

He smiled a little, looking relieved. Okay, maybe he had just wanted a one-night, or one-week, stand. Which shouldn’t have bothered her, since a week was all she had. But her insides twisted, anyway.

Stop overanalyzing. Maybe he’s just relieved you didn’t say you were transgendered.

She forced herself to go on. “I meant it when I said I don’t have a lover or a boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean I’m free. I have made a serious commitment and I intend to keep my word. Once I leave here next week, when Grandpa gets home, this is completely over.”

He eyed her intently. “You want to tell me what the commitment is?”

“I could try, but it wouldn’t be easy for me to say too much without breaking someone else’s confidence,” she said, hoping that wouldn’t be a deal-breaker.

“Understood,” he said with a nod. She already knew he valued integrity and wasn’t totally surprised he hadn’t insisted she spill everything.

“You’re an adult, you want me and you’re not married. As long as all three of those things are true, then, honestly, right at this moment, I don’t give a damn about anything else.”

He fell silent. So did she. Their stares locked.

Finally she spoke. “All those things are true.”

He moved closer.

“But I do have a request to make. Can we just agree that, if we, uh...” She could feel her cheeks warming. “If we enjoy tonight...”

His spontaneous laugh made her smile. The man did not suffer from any lack of confidence.

“If we do, and we want to spend the rest of the week together, that’s great,” she explained. “After that week though, it’s never mentioned again, never referred to. You don’t contact me.... I don’t contact you?”

“No strings? Absolutely no regrets?”

“Exactly.”

He didn’t jump for joy the way most men probably would have at hearing a woman admit she wanted a no-strings sexual affair with him. “You’re serious?”

“Very.”

He didn’t answer for a moment, considering. Then, at last, he slowly nodded. “My life’s too crazy now to even consider getting tangled in any strings. If that’s really the way you want to play it, that’s the way it’ll be.”

Another long stare. A silent assent.

Then an exchange of slow, sultry smiles.

They’d made a bargain. They would be lovers.

She had a week. And she intended to enjoy every minute of it.