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She’d lived with a guy for some years. She was no innocent.
“I’m not trying to kill you.”
“Then
what
are you trying to do?”
She blinked. Leaned back, flushing. “I thought you’d think it was funny. Since I’m not the type.”
“Not what type?”
She looked incredulous. “Not the jump-out-of-the-cake type.”
What the hell game was she playing? “Then what type are you?”
“I’m…” She looked blank. “Just me.”
He got up from the couch, restless and annoyed. Forget calm and solid and right. She was even more unsettling to be around than Angie. He’d have glimpses of a wonderful, fun and funny woman with real substance, then she’d pull something manipulative and weird like this and he’d be back to square one thinking she was playing him.
Was this the big seduction move? Was that on her schedule? Date number one: Kiss like you mean it but don’t let the guy in your house for coffee. Date number two: Drape self seductively over couch and tell story of wearing pasties, then pretend surprise at any sexual connotation. Date number three: Get man to the brink of coming, then tell him you met someone else and sorreee!
“Do you want anything more to drink?”
She shook her head, looking subdued and slightly bewildered. Damn it. Even annoyed with her, he didn’t want her to be upset. Along with the self-protective instinct warning him to keep his distance, came a paradoxical need to protect her. From what, he wasn’t sure, since she held all the power here.
“How about a tour of the house?”
She swung her legs onto the floor, put her delicate sandals back on. He wasn’t a foot-fetish kind of guy, but even her feet were sexy to him. “Okay.”
Yeah, he didn’t think it was a great idea, either, but it would put them back on a normal footing, and then maybe she’d leave.
She’d seen the kitchen, but admired the art-deco chandelier in his dining room, and exclaimed over his drum set in one of the bedrooms downstairs.
“Can I hear you play?”
“You wouldn’t be able to help it. Probably from across the street.” He rapped a cymbal. “I’m out of practice now, and drum solos aren’t all that fascinating without a band. But if I find one to join I’ll invite you.”
“Promise?” She smiled coyly.
He nodded and tapped the snare. “Promise. You’ve admired the bathroom already. Come see upstairs.”
He went up ahead of her, not because he was gallant, but to avoid climbing behind her, with that incredible rear end at eye, mouth and hand level. On the second floor, he gestured to each doorway: his bedroom, his office, the bathroom, the closet, thinking this tour might be lame enough that she’d get his message and leave.
“Oh, this is your room.” She wandered in, turned to smile at him over her shoulder.
Not lame enough.
She stopped by his bed and his dream came back full force, as clearly as it had the last few nights when he’d conjured it, pumping himself into Candy-induced bliss.
He could have that same bliss now. She was obviously offering.
Why tonight? Why not after their first date when they’d kissed their way to a much more intimate place? Because that was date number one and her Milwaukeedates.com contract didn’t allow for sex that soon?
“This is so much like our—I mean my bedroom.” She made a face. “Sorry, old habits die hard.”
He nodded abruptly. Our bedroom? She had broken up with that guy, hadn’t she?
Of course she had. Crazy thought. And yet…even wondering for a few seconds was a few seconds too many. Justin wasn’t going to sleep with a woman he couldn’t trust. Done that already, barely survived.
Troy had to get him to the next level. If Justin asked Candy about her role at Milwaukeedates now, she’d deny everything, whether she was innocent or not, and he still wouldn’t know the truth.
“You even have your room set up similarly. My dresser is over there.” She pointed to his laptop desk. And I had the closet doubled.”
He murmured something polite.
“Ooh.” She peered at a portrait on top of his bureau. “Is that your mom? She’s beautiful.”
