Nothing's Sweeter than Candy (13 page)

“I think you might be onto something,” he finally responded as he carefully released her leg and moved to lie down beside her. He took her hand into his and kissed her knuckles and gave her a devilish smile. “I have to admit I'm a little shocked. It's not every day a guy meets a girl who isn't interested in a one-on-one relationship. Are you telling me you have
zero
interest in making our connection exclusive?”

“Yep, that's exactly what I'm saying.”

“Sounds like you've got it all worked out. But have you ever heard the saying ‘The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray'?”

“Yes, I've heard it, but I never really understood the meaning.”

“It means that no matter how well you might plan something, there's always a chance for the unexpected to happen. In other words, just because you
think
things will go as planned, odds are they can still go wrong.”

“I'm sure you're right, under normal circumstances.” She flipped him over and straddled his body, pressing her breasts flat against his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck. “But if we both focus on the
friendship
and the
benefits
of this arrangement” she said, punctuating the two words with a slow grind of her lower body, “how could anything possibly go wrong?”

“Well, since you put it that way,” he responded in a husky voice as he guided his hardened length into her soft, moist channel. “I'm more than willing to take a chance on beating the odds.”

Brice stood as still as a statue in the middle of his kitchen, a bottle of beer in one hand and the other stuffed deep in his jeans pocket. He stared into nothingness as he relived the past seventy-two hours. Leaving her on her doorstep had been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. He'd tried every angle he could think of short of kidnapping, but he couldn't convince her to stay with him any longer. She'd said thank you very much, but three days were enough. She had to go back and face her house, and she had a job and other responsibilities. She wouldn't even let him come inside to help her clear away the mess and damage left behind, insisting that she do it on her own.

Even though he'd dropped her off only a few hours ago, it bothered him to know she was there all alone. Her eyes still held remnants of fear and uncertainty, and even with new locks and a new alarm system, he could tell she didn't feel safe in her own home. Although he'd much rather have her stay with him a while longer, he was proud of her determination and refusal to let fear rule her life. But he wanted to protect her. He wanted to keep her safe.

He didn't dare push her, especially not now after that ridiculous arrangement she'd suggested. Her proposal had caught him completely off-guard, contradicting everything he thought he knew about women. Had it come from anyone but Candace, he would have jumped all over the opportunity with no problem and no questions asked. It was the kind of agreement every commitment-phobic man dreamed of.

Generally his relationships fell into one of two categories. He either went the whole nine yards from the chase and romance angle—until the feeling wore off, prompting him to spout the standard nonsense about how it wasn't working for him, he needed space, blah, blah, blah. Or, there was the typical one-night stand, when almost anyone with a pulse would do because he needed to get laid. He'd never wanted more than that. It was his MO to turn tail and run at the first rumblings of “when are we going take this to the next level?” Now with the shoe on the other foot, he wasn't so sure he liked how it fit.

What was his hesitation? Was his ego bruised over the thought that a woman was ready to dump
him
at the first signs of emotional dependency? Or was it because, finally, for the first time in his life, he
might be interested in more than a casual fling or a one-night stand?

The beeping of his phone interrupted his attempt at self-psychoanalysis. He answered right away when he saw the caller was Rick Thorne.

“Hello, Rick.”

“Hi, Brice. I've acquired the information you requested.” As usual Rick got right to the point in his strictly business manner.

“Let's hear it.”

“Andrew Nash lives in New York City, in the upscale Manhattan neighborhood of Chelsea. He is regional director for a medical supply manufacture-and-distribution chain, run by a multimillion-dollar corporation. He is in charge of the southeast region of the U.S., and travels at least once a quarter to North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Alabama to personally oversee plant services and operations. His annual salary is approximately $375,000 a year, not including bonuses. He spends his money on expensive hobbies such as casino gambling, sports betting, fast women, and faster cars. His overindulgences have brought him close to the brink of financial disaster on several occasions; however, so far he's managed to keep his head above water.

“In recent weeks, he adjusted his travel schedule to visit Atlanta on average at least twice a month, citing a sick relative living in the area as the reason. He's been in Atlanta twice in the last three weeks; his most recent visit was this week. He stayed at the Ritz-Carlton downtown, which appears to be his preferred place of residence when in town. He departed on Sunday morning at eight a.m. on a return flight to New York City.”

“What about criminal history? Does he have a record? Has he ever been arrested?”

“I had to dig deep. Someone very adept at hiding information buried it under layers and layers of administrative data, but he's had a string of harassment complaints filed against him in every state in his region of operation. But he apparently must have connections within the system because all of the incidents were dismissed, documented as minor infractions, or swept under the carpet to disappear altogether.”

“He's even more of an asshole than I thought,” Brice muttered. “And an asshole with connections can be a dangerous combination.”

“There's more.”

“I'm listening.”

“He's former military. He was a captain in the Marine Corps and served one full four-year enlistment and two years of a second term, which ended when he was discharged for conduct unbecoming an officer. His military occupational specialty was as an intelligence officer, which means he's probably trained in surveillance, counter surveillance, and other information-gathering techniques. For the most part, he was a desk jockey and wouldn't have seen any real action. I don't have all the details of his discharge, but I did learn he was accused of sexual harassment and assault. The assault charges didn't stick.

“His psych evaluation prior to dismissal confirms my initial personality assessment. The doctor diagnosed Nash as having narcissistic personality disorder, also referred to as NPD, as well as possible symptoms of paranoia or schizophrenia.”

“What does that mean, Rick? Is he dangerous?”

“NPD is a disorder with varying degrees of severity. Some have an underlying need for dominance and derive immense pleasure from others' suffering. They view themselves as special, have self-aggrandizing thoughts, and don't believe that rules apply to them. They have no empathy and don't possess a sense of guilt. Basically, they don't have a conscience.

“I believe your friend Nash fits this profile. He is accustomed to using manipulation and control to get what he wants, and once he's fixated on someone, he will refuse to relinquish his hold. Relationships, if they can be characterized as such, end on his terms, and he will undoubtedly ignore any attempts to cut him loose. I also believe Nash is a borderline psychopath with a consuming hatred for women. He sees them as property to be controlled. Your friend was lucky she dumped him when she did; however, his history indicates he will refuse to accept that the relationship is over.

“This disorder didn't just happen overnight, Brice. I'm certain that this behavior manifested itself years prior to his diagnosis, which means he's had a lifetime to refine his ability to mask his true self. To answer your question—absolutely, yes. The man is potentially very dangerous.”

“Why would a man with a military-intelligence background end up in the field of medicine? That doesn't make sense to me.”

“I agree, but an unbecoming conduct discharge carries a lot of weight in the civilian world. Nash comes from a family of physicians and pharmacists, so working in the medical field would have been his fallback plan.”

Brice had grown increasingly tense as he heard each revelation. He could only imagine the hell he'd put those other women through, but he'd be damned if he'd let that scum do the same thing to Candace.

“I want to know his whereabouts this past Friday night, and I want to know where he is now,” Brice said tightly.

“I obtained a record of incoming and outgoing calls made from his cell phone for the last thirty days. If you'll provide me with your friend's address, I can check for any calls bouncing off of cell towers within a ten-mile radius of her home, and what time they were made. As for his current whereabouts, I can put a team on him right away and advise you if he makes a return trip to Atlanta.”

“Do it.”

Brice gave Rick the information he needed and hung up the phone. He needed a stronger drink. The report had left a bad taste in his mouth. Nash was the lowest kind of scum that walked the earth. He'd gotten away with his terror tactics for too long—and obviously believed he was untouchable. But those women hadn't had Brice to look after them. He would keep a closer eye on Candace whether she wanted him to or not.

Once he resolved to take on the role of her personal protector, his thoughts turned to more serious concerns. He knew Candace felt nothing for him other than maybe a growing friendship. Truthfully, it was way too soon to have expectations. But
his
world had started unraveling long before she'd put her proposition on the table.

He was willing to go along with it—for now. He'd do whatever it took to keep her in his bed while he worked his way into her heart. Meanwhile, he'd make sure she had no reason to be with another man. It gave him a headache to even consider the possibility. Maybe in that one aspect alone he grudgingly understood Nash's insane obsession—he didn't want to share her with anyone else.

Candace sat looking out of her living room window, brooding over a hot cup of tea. It had been weeks since the break-in, and things were starting to feel almost normal again. But the police still had nothing—whoever trashed her place had left no evidence behind. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if there might be something to Brice's suspicions. Was Nash responsible for the damage to her home? Brice was right about the destruction: it had a vicious, personal element to it. Had Nash been so pissed off at her that he would respond in such a way? It was hard to comprehend that much anger and violence directed solely toward her—or that he'd go so far out of some distorted sense of revenge.

But, with no arrests or suspects, she was forced to accept there'd be no justice. She'd put on a brave face and picked up the broken pieces, cleaned up the mess, and tried to pull her life back together. But despite her best efforts to go back to how things were before, she couldn't get beyond the stab of fear she felt each time she unlocked her door. She jumped at imaginary noises, left lights on in every room, and propped a chair against her bedroom door before going to bed, just in case.

Brice called nearly every day. Despite the warning signs of moving too fast and getting too close, she looked forward to every call and hearing the sound of his voice.

So far, he was doing a pretty good job of living up to his role as her knight in shining armor, with the added bonus of good sex to keep her mind off her fear.
Wait, did I say “good” sex? I meant “rolling in the sheets sweating out my hair and waking the neighbors with screaming O's” sex.
Yeah, the kind that made your toes curl and your legs cramp up. Even with her own aggressive nature and voracious appetite, she was finding it hard to keep up. Who knew that unexpected tryst in the elevator would melt the Ice King and release such an insatiable monster? The man might have artic-cold eyes that seemed to look right through you, but there was molten lava running through his veins. At times, she felt exposed and stripped bare beneath his perceptive gaze. And the feeling scared her shitless.

His concern and thoughtfulness melted her insides and gave her that special, cared-for feeling. But “special” and “cared-for” were feelings she didn't want to get used to. Brice needed to be kept at arm's length, or further. Her brilliant friends-with-benefits agreement might not have been such a sure bet. There was no guarantee she wouldn't do something foolish—like get blindsided by emotional stupidity—and mistake just having a good time for something more. It wouldn't be the first time. When it came to matters of the heart, she knew she had a poor track record for making sensible choices. She'd made a fool of herself, twice. Perhaps the first time could be excused because of youth and the lack of experience. But the second time around, she should have known better. She should have learned her lesson—that toying with a woman's emotions was just part of the game men liked to play.

Maybe after all these years, her resistance to relationships had more to do with pride than pain. She wasn't really sure anymore. The one thing she knew for certain was that she wasn't going to play the fool ever again. Humiliation was a hard pill to swallow. She wouldn't let seemingly sweet considerations and warm and fuzzy sensations weasel their way into her heart—again. There was a reason she held onto her pain like a favorite pair of old shoes. It was her reminder that the heart couldn't be trusted to make sound decisions.

Candace glanced at the clock and sighed heavily. It was time to push Brice and bad premonitions aside. Right now she had other concerns, and they would be knocking on her door any minute. Joyce and Sarona were on their way over for a girls' night out. They'd called and insisted on seeing her, and although she'd tried all kinds of excuses to keep them away—she didn't feel up to a night out, answering a million questions or being pitied—they wouldn't take no for an answer. When her doorbell rang at eight o'clock, they stood on her doorstep with overstuffed arms and bright smiles.