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He positioned a hand under his head and stared at the ceiling. “I had a roommate for a while in California, Bob Rondell.
Bob had certain weird paranoias, one of which was that the dating site he signed up for hired hot women to tempt regular guys into keeping up their subscriptions by going out with them a few times, then disappearing and on to the next.”
Candy recoiled. “You thought I was doing that?”
“Er. Maybe.” He rubbed his chin sheepishly. “I did investigative journalism in California, and thought I was on to another scandal here.”
“Oh, for—” She rolled her eyes. “You took me for a professional escort?”
“That night after the party you did try to seduce me.”
“Argh!” She clapped her hands over her ears. “You thought I was coming on to you because of some financial arrangement?”
“Yes.”
Candy didn’t pretend to whack him with the pillow, she let him have it. Or tried to. He took one blow, stopped the next and had her on her back a split second later.
“Thought. I thought. Thought is past tense. And no, I could never quite become convinced.”
“The subconscious knows, huh?”
“I guess so.” Justin smiled lazily into her eyes. “You definitely fascinated me.”
“Past
tense!”
He kissed her mouth, her chin, her collarbone. “You fa-a-ascinate me.”
“So if my seduction made me a pseudo call girl, what were you when you tried to seduce me?”
He pressed his lips together, thinking, then his face cleared.
“Horny?”
She pretended to push him off her, giggling.
“No, no, sorry, fa-a-ascinated.” He kissed her once more, rolled over and sat up, ran his hand down her thigh then back up. “I would like nothing more than to make love to you again right now, but two things are stopping me.”
“One?”
“I’m
starving.”
“Two?”
“I’m
thirsty.”
“Me,
three.”
He climbed off the bed, pulled on boxers and a T-shirt, then threw her a clean one from his drawer. “Wear this? There’s nothing sexier than a hot girl wearing only a cool T-shirt.”
“Pervert.” She pulled it on happily and thumped downstairs into his kitchen, a mirror image of hers, with the same tile and cabinet style. His counters, however, had been modernized to a warm, mottled beige finish that suited the room, and his sink was stainless steel where hers was still the old porcelain.
As in the living room, he had plants on nearly every available surface.
She gestured to them. “Antidote to winter?”
“Bingo.” He got down two glasses from his cabinet. “Juice?
Tea? Coffee? Milk? Beer?”
“Juice sounds good. Orange?”
“Orange.” He pulled out a carton and poured. “My mom’s house was always full of plants. When we lived with Dad, we had someone care for them. In the house she and I moved to, if I hadn’t stepped in they would have died. Mom was big on ideas, not so great on follow-through. I guess I got used to having them around.”
“Like
pets.”
“But quieter. What would you like to eat?” He opened the refrigerator. “I have, let’s see, homemade guacamole, tofu, hot dogs, sliced turkey—how about a turkey sandwich with guacamole and chips?”
“That sounds delicious.” She sat at his kitchen table, making a mental note to buy plants and find some way to remind herself to take care of them. They were very cheering.
Justin pulled out a bowl of guacamole and set it on the table with a bag of tortilla chips. “Tell me about your family. I’ve talked about mine already.”
She drank juice, loving the special intimacy of conversation after sex. “I grew up in Milwaukee, you knew that.
Basic middle-class existence. No golf course near our house, but we did have a park nearby. I am the oldest, two younger brothers who got away with murder while I wasn’t allowed to walk down the block without a bodyguard. I told you that already.”
“Yup. Daddy’s little girl. Mustard on your sandwich?”
“Please. And yes, Dad was over-the-top protective.”
“Yellow, brown or Dijon?”
