Nothing's Sweeter than Candy (3 page)

“Yeah, well, even though I no longer need a fallback plan, that contract is still good for business. I'll have a lot of explaining to do once Sarona finds out about that little gem of an idea. By the way, I'll be leaving the business in your capable hands once again because I'm taking off for another couple of weeks. I'll check out your report when I get back, but right now, all I care about is spending time getting up close and personal with my woman.”

“All right man, no problem,” Brice said. “Enjoy your trip.”

Brice disconnected his call in a state of shock. David's news had totally blown him away. His friend had fallen. Hard. The whole idea was surreal and unbelievable, and it had him worried. Where would David's departure from bachelorhood leave him? What was he supposed to do now, without his wingman? The two of them had made a great team: handsome, eligible, and on the prowl, enjoying the spoils of female conquest. They looked out for each other and steered likely prospects in the other's direction. Neither had seen the advantage in settling for one woman when there were so many as yet untapped resources. Now with David suddenly out of the picture, he'd be on his own, flying solo.

Brice had grown up the son of a U.S. diplomat. His father had once held appointments in countries all over the world, and at a young age Brice had been exposed to many different cultures. As a boy, he'd been fascinated by the differences in the skin color and texture of darker children. When he grew into an adolescent and his hormones were running rampant, he found himself more attracted to females of other races than those of his own. It wasn't something he could explain. It was simply something he felt, strongly and internally. His free-spirited parents never questioned the friends he brought home or the girls he preferred to date. They didn't try to influence him one way or the other, allowing him to find his own way.

His fascination followed him into adulthood, and he began dating Latina and African American women exclusively. He was drawn to strong, beautiful, exotic women, and he liked the in-your-face attitude, fire, and spice he encountered from women with diverse cultural backgrounds. A strong-willed man, he needed a woman who could handle and counterbalance his sometimes-domineering nature. But even though he was a take-charge kind of guy, his mother had raised him to respect women. Her love and strength had molded him, and she would kick his ass big time if he ever said or did anything disrespectful toward a woman.

Brice was a multifaceted man with many interests. He loved music, computers, and, of course, women, approaching each of these interests with purpose and intensity. The musician in him was a perfectionist, constantly in search of those elusive musical notes that would bring his songs to perfection. The man in him strove for erotic encounters that had the same depth of feeling and flow as good music. His carnal appetites were voracious, but kept under strict control. He rarely allowed his passionate nature to surface. Exposure to his deepest desires would probably frighten your average romance-seeking, immersed-in-fantasy, vanilla-sex-loving female away.

He knew what women saw when they looked at him: handsome, successful … and a meal ticket. He was a free ride to the good life. He didn't begrudge them for wanting to use him to advance their social status. It was only natural. So what if he had to give up a few trinkets and an expensive meal or two. When it was all said and done, they both got what they wanted out of the deal and moved on. He didn't hang around long enough to chance getting involved in anything serious. He'd let them use his body and his money, for a time, but he'd never be fool enough to give them his heart.
That
was off-limits for all the money-hungry, status-seeking, survival-of-the-fittest social climbers.

Even though he was a typical man, trying to rack up as many points as he could before the game was over, he still had an old-fashioned streak in him. He was holding out for someone special—the one who made his stomach churn, his blood burn, and his heart damn near stop beating. Someone interested in experiencing sex and intimacy in new and exciting ways. And most important of all, she'd accept him “as is” and wouldn't spend the rest of their lives trying to change him or turn him into something he could never be.
Now
that's
probably a fantasy.
But if dreams could come true for someone like David, the ultimate playboy, then maybe there was hope for Brice yet.

Brice was nearly thirty minutes early for his meeting. He'd learned early on that timing was everything, and he made it a point to always be at the right place at the right time. Today would prove to be no exception to his rule.

At the end of the hall was an impressive mahogany wraparound desk occupied by a petite and attractive brunette. Glancing at the nameplate displayed on the desk, Brice smiled and introduced himself.

“Good morning, Ms. Johnston. My name is Brice Coleman. I'm here for a ten o'clock appointment with Mr. Charles Chancellor.”

“Good morning, Mr. Coleman,” she responded cheerfully. “I'll let Mr. Chancellor's secretary know you're here.” He waited while she made the call.

“Mr. Chancellor is currently in a meeting, which should be ending shortly. In the meantime, you're welcome to have a seat.”

“Sure. I can do that.”

Eyeing a recent copy of
Sports Illustrated,
he picked it up and began riffling through the pages, occasionally glancing up at the clock on the wall.

While absently turning pages, his ears picked up on a distant, distinct, and confident click of high heels tapping against the hard marble flooring. The sound grew louder as it came nearer, and a primal instinct as old as time instantly kicked into heightened awareness. Brice pretended to be engrossed in the magazine while anxiously awaiting the arrival of those as-yet-unseen heels. Timing was everything.

At the exact moment the sound breezed past his chair, his eyes rose to catch sight of a stunning pair of long, café-latte-brown legs sashaying by. His gaze traveled up their length and came to rest on a gorgeous round bottom, covered by a short-fitted skirt that swayed slowly from side to side in perfect sync with some erotic, unheard melody.

With his interest piqued, he quickly forgot the magazine in his hands. He covertly watched the woman's purposeful, easy-flowing gait as she headed straight for the reception desk. Lucky for him, she stopped directly in front and afforded him an unobstructed view of her stunning backside. He had yet to see her face, but the view from behind was remarkable.

Her figure was long and lithe, and her shapely bottom stood high and firm above toned, muscular legs. They looked as though they belonged to a dancer or an athlete—and strong enough to squeeze a man tight as they wrapped around his waist, holding on and pulling him in deep
.
His cock stirred and twitched unexpectedly. Her heels were at least four inches high and accentuated the curve of her hips, the dip of her back, and the width of her shoulders. A full, springy, spiraling, reddish-blonde mane of hair stood out and hung low, brushing her neck and shoulders. She wore a two-piece custom-tailored suit in a rich, dark plum. Brice held his breath and waited expectantly.

“Good morning, Sylvia. How are you doing today?”

When Brice heard the first musical strains of her voice—a sound of unadulterated fantasy laced with seduction and steeped in sex—his immediate response was purely physical. His balls crawled up into his groin as his shaft thickened and tightened.

“Oh my goodness, Candace Brown! What a surprise. We haven't seen you around here in a while.” Sylvia was obviously delighted to see her. “If you're here to see Sarona, she's not here. She's out of town. Again.”

“Yes, I know.” Candace laughed, and an electrical shock swept through Brice's body and made his hair stand on end. Musical notes danced in his head, and a pageantry of colors pulsed and glowed behind his eyes. Other musicians had described this euphoric phenomenon, of sound taking the form of indescribable emotion and color. He'd never believed in such a thing, until now.
And
God
, what a rush.
The mention of Sarona's name added to his excitement, and he wondered how well they knew one another.

“Actually I'm here to pick up some forms she left behind for Dr. Jeffers. Sarona said she'd leave them with her secretary. Could you buzz her and let her know I'm here?”

“Sure, but she's not in her office right now. I saw her heading for the supply department about ten minutes ago. She'll probably be back any minute. If you like, you can have a seat and wait.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Brice's heart pounded, his groin throbbed, and the rest of him damn near melted in his seat as he waited anxiously to see the face behind the voice. When she turned, every intention of making a covert assessment deserted him. He was staring. He knew he was staring, but he couldn't help himself. She was stunning, with her lovely brown skin and tawny tresses that spiraled and curled about her face, neck, and shoulders. Her face was a perfect oval shape with high cheekbones, a button nose, and very full, very sensuous lips. Her eyes, large and catlike, were the color of light-brown honey and sparkled with tiny flecks of gold. Fringed with long lashes beneath perfectly arched brows, they twinkled with humor and intelligence.

All at once, an inexplicable need welled up and rushed through him—an urge to plunge his hands into her hair, run his tongue over that gorgeous brown skin, and hear her melodious voice purr with pleasure.

But the urgent need for self-preservation pulled him back from an invisible edge. His gut churned. This intense, unexpected attraction tripped off alarm bells inside his head. He knew intuitively this woman could potentially change the carefree life he knew and loved. The set of his jaw became as hard as steel and his mood transformed from charged, overheated, and excited to tense and agitated.

Brice openly watched as Candace strode past and took a seat several spaces over. As the smell of her perfume wafted in the air, his remaining senses surrendered to this unexpected and unsettling stranger.

• • •

When Candace turned, her eyes were immediately drawn to the handsome, dark-haired man sitting directly across from the receptionist's desk. His bluish-black, medium-length hair fell rakishly across his forehead, cut in a loosely tapered style that accented his rugged features. He had a broad brow and nose, high cheekbones, a squared chin with a dimple, and full thick lips. His skin was a sun-kissed bronze with natural olive undertones, and even though seated, he looked to be more than six feet tall. He was dressed in a tailored Armani in dark charcoal gray, a royal-blue shirt, and a blue-and-black patterned silk tie. With broad shoulders, long limbs, and a trim torso, he looked like he'd stepped directly from the pages of
GQ
magazine.

He didn't have the typical “pretty boy” good looks that usually caught her interest. He looked raw, hard. Made of steel. He may have been dressed like a corporate elite ready to mingle with CEOs and presidents, but there was something about the glint in his eye that said
bad boy on a leash.
His
Clark Kent disguise might fool corporate, but she'd bet real money that that suit was hiding something absolutely “super” beneath its fine lines and perfect creases.

She suddenly felt the full force of a piercing stare from his beautiful, aquamarine-blue eyes. Eyes that blatantly traveled over her face and body, lingering long enough to make her blush.

She returned the man's open gaze with an equally direct and probing look. As she watched, his unguarded interest and curiosity slowly turned unnervingly defiant and hostile. Her back stiffened, and she moved swiftly past this suddenly intimidating man to take a seat.

• • •

“Candy Girl!” Brice watched as a man with a booming voice approached from the elevators, his arms spread wide in welcome. “Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes.”

Candace smiled broadly. “It's great to see you, too, Paul. Where have you been, out playing golf? You look especially golden brown today,” she teased as she gave him a firm, lingering hug.

Brice was consumed with an inexplicable jealousy as he witnessed the intimate contact and easy, familiar laughter.
Who is that old fart?
he thought, annoyed at the idea there might be something more than friendship between the two.
He's old enough to be her father.
Witnessing their embraces and conspiratorial smiles, his stomach twisted and clenched with immediate dislike for the man. He was irritated beyond reason, even more so because he knew his reaction was irrational. Though the entire incident couldn't have lasted more than ten minutes, for Brice it was a long and torturous ten minutes.

Candace got back to her office a little after lunch. She placed the package in Joyce's inbox and checked the day's appointment schedule. Her morning detour had put her slightly behind, but she'd been happy to see Paul Lambert. Paul and her father were close friends. She'd seen him around the house so often while growing up that he was sort of like an adopted uncle.

After a couple of hours of nonstop work, the face of the handsome stranger from her morning trip popped into her head. She recalled every detail regarding the sexy stranger with the unwavering, penetrating stare and his blue-green eyes that went from burning hot to freezing cold. He had emanated all the qualities of a pure alpha male: roaring confidence, power, and sex appeal.
Now
that
is the stuff fantasies are made of.
She wondered what his smile would look like. Would that disturbing sheet of ice in his eyes melt into aquamarine blue, if touched with the excitement of desire?

Drifting away and suddenly lost in fantasy, she imagined him towering over her. The warmth of his hands scorched her wrists as he held them high above her head. His weight, heavy and immovable, pushed her up against the wall. He leaned down and nuzzled her neck, pressing his knee between her legs and brushing back and forth across her pulsing and aching nub. Her skirt was hiked up and bunched around her hips, allowing the rough fabric of his jeans to rub against her panty-clad mound. A million volts of electricity raced through her system and short-circuited her brain. She groaned and ground herself against his knee, pushing down hard, desperately in need of that persistent pressure to ease the ache.