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He was nervous. Babbling. Her proximity, the way her hair wound around her shoulder, the way a strand lay on the soft skin of her throat, the way her forward-leaning position made her neckline gape, the tantalizing shadow of her cleavage—all of it made him want to do anything but talk, so he talked in self-defense. It was hard to believe she was fake, hard to hang on to his outrage. When he was with her like this it felt calm, solid and right. More than being with any other girlfriend ever had. Which made no sense. He barely knew her, and what little he knew he might not be able to trust.
“Wow. Your parents went after completely opposite life-styles. Did that make it hard to figure out who you were?”
Her question stopped him. He had to think before he could answer. “Actually it made it easier. Dad’s life was so artificial, so defined by money and show. The people he and Chloe hung out with—all of it was unnatural to me. If my parents had stayed together it might have been harder for me to single that piece out and reject it quite as neatly.”
“I see what you mean.” She nodded, and he felt she really did understand; she wasn’t agreeing with him to be sweet and appealing. He had to keep Troy’s words in mind, Either she’s clean or she’s so good that you need to get away from her now.
“What kind of kid were you? Besides beautiful.”
She laughed, flushing at his compliment. Could a hard-boiled liar blush that easily? “I was average, too. Unremark-able.”
“I doubt that.”
“I had a good imagination. My parents were extremely protective which sucked, especially when I got to be a teenager. I was the only girl and the oldest, so double whammy.
I escaped by going over to Abigail’s where it was too chaotic for her mom and dad to notice who did what, and by escaping into daydreams. And onto the stage.” She smiled wistfully. “I wanted to be an actress.”
“No kidding.” Candy on stage, captivating audience members by disappearing into different characters? It sounded painfully familiar. “A movie star?”
“No, I wanted to be a Broadway actress.” Her graceful hand gesture was accompanied by a self-deprecating smirk.
“Straight plays or musicals—didn’t matter to me. I loved to sing, though I wasn’t much of a dancer.”
“What did you like most about acting?”
“Getting on stage and leaving myself behind. The satisfaction of working at something I enjoyed and was good at. The camaraderie of the cast. Applause was nice, too.”
He was really uncomfortable now. Both because she was talking about her skill at becoming someone she wasn’t, and because her movements had taken on a sensual quality, her gaze had became faraway, and the reflective tilt of her head exposed a long, bare curve of skin his lips wanted to taste.
How could he get her out of here?
“Are you doing any theater work now?”
“Only at my parties. I dress according to the theme when the hostess wants me there making sure things run smoothly.
I act silly for my kids parties, very prim for the tea parties.
For the bachelor parties…” Her expression changed. “That kind of thing.
“What about the bachelor parties?”
She laughed mischievously, then leaned toward him. He caught her scent. Floral. Jasmine? Lavender? He didn’t know.
But he could sit here and inhale her all night. “I’ll tell you a secret, Justin.”
God help him. She was so close, her whisper so intimate.
“What’s…” He had to clear his throat. “What’s that?”
“One time for a bachelor party the woman supposed to jump out of the cake didn’t show. So I did it.” She pouted seductively. “Pasties, G-string. The works.”
He nearly moaned, moved his hips up slowly, then down, trying to ease the pressure as imperceptibly as he could. He had to get off this couch or he was going to slide his hand up her thigh and kiss her until he finally got enough. Which might not be possible.
One problem—he couldn’t move.
“I think you’re trying to kill me, Candy.”
“Kill you?” She looked genuinely puzzled. That had to be an act. How could she not know what she was doing to him?
