Nothing's Sweeter than Candy (4 page)

As he leaned into her for their first kiss, the swollen evidence of his desire throbbed and pressed intimately against her. His rigidity was welcomed, wanted. Necessary. He held her head immobile and plunged his tongue in and out of her month, dueling with her tongue and pulling it into the hot, moist cavern of his own. His kiss robbed her of her senses, branded her with his taste, and marked her with his scent. His free hand traveled over the curve of her bottom and gripped and squeezed it tight, then slid effortlessly under the elastic and up between her thighs ... his tongue and fingers magically stroking and teasing her into a red-hot inferno ...

Her pulse raced as fantasy became entangled with reality. For one brief moment, she didn't know where the hell she was.
Damn, girl, you need to get a grip. Or better yet, get laid.
Candace angrily pushed away from her desk, picked up a stack of files, and headed to the file room. There she spent the rest of the afternoon, buried in work, fighting the urge to wander off again into an erotic fantasyland with the Ice King.

• • •

“Dr. Jeffers's office, how may I help you?” Candace's cheerful greeting was met with silence on the other end of the line. “Hello? May I help you?” she repeated. Half a heartbeat passed, and then a familiar, sneering voice broke the silence.

“What's up, Freak?”

Her blood went cold.
Nash.

“Hello, Nash. This is a surprise. How did you get this number?”

“Oh, come on. In this age of technology and social media, how could you even ask such a stupid question? I can find out anything I want to know about you, Freak: your number, where you live, who your friends are—even who you sleep with.” His voice had a low and nasty quality that sent fingers of unease tingling down her spine. She kept her reply cool and indifferent.

“Of course you can, Nash. I just find it hard to believe that you'd even want to. You made it perfectly clear you could have any freak you wanted, so why bother with this freak?”

“Oh, I want to. No woman walks out on me.” There was a brief silence, and then, “Been lonely lately? I know you ain't getting any. That's got to be pretty hard—a woman like you needs to be fucked regularly.”

“Have you been
spying
on me?”

“Let's just say I know how to keep track of what's mine. Your pussy belongs to me. I own it. If you weren't still strung out, you would have tried to replace me by now. Go ahead and admit it. You miss me, don't you, Freak?” His voice changed to a husky, sensual whisper. “You can't deny it. I know you still want me. Don't you remember lying in my bed, how I kissed your body and licked you all over with my hot, wet tongue?”

Her nipples beaded involuntarily, and the fine hairs on her arms stood up as her flesh prickled with goose bumps.

“Maybe I should remind you.” He breathed heavily into the phone. “I started with your neck, at that spot just behind your ear, and licked you all the way down to your breasts.” The sound of his voice teased her with memories that made her core ache and throb. “When I reached those pretty, pert nipples, I sucked and pulled on them and bit down hard enough to make you moan.”

Candace clutched the handle of the phone until her fingers cramped.

“Then I played with that ring in your belly button, my tongue going in and out, licking and teasing you and making you wait, and anticipate how much lower I was going to go.”

A groan rose in her throat and pushed through her lips.

“Yeah, that's it, Freak. You remember.” He continued his torment with a note of implied intimacy. “You remember how I pushed my face way down low and traced your naked lips with my tongue, licking and sucking your clit and tasting your sweet cream.”

Candace sucked in a breath and shivered. Her body caught fire, the flames fed by the sound of his voice and the memory of his touch.

“I wrapped my arms around your hips and pulled you closer and spread you wide and stroked my tongue in deep so I could eat you up.”

Her clit pulsed with the familiar ache of expectation.

“Do you remember how hot my mouth felt as it made you wet and then sucked you dry? Do you, Freak?”

She bent forward, clutched her groin, and clamped her knees together in a futile attempt to stop the flood of warmth. And to her shame, the heat—unbearable and unstoppable—rushed over and through her, pouring out in moist release, dampening her underwear. A whimpering sound she couldn't suppress slipped out.

“Yeah! That's it, Freak.
I
have the last word. It's not over until I say it's over. Remember that.” Nash hung up the phone. The vengefulness in his voice as he severed the connection quashed the fire in her loins and rekindled her anger.

“Ass!” She slammed the receiver down and seethed. Joyce stepped out of her office just in time to witness her furious response.

“Friend of yours?”

“Obscene caller,” she responded through clenched teeth.

“Honey, how ‘obscene' was it?”

“Don't worry, Joyce. I took care of it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go to the ladies' room.” Candace got up and practically ran to the restroom, leaving Joyce to stare after her.

Brice couldn't get her out of his head, that woman with the sexy body and beautiful face. The unforgettable sound of her voice had lodged itself deep in his memory, and he replayed it over and over again. It spilled like cool water over his skin and down his spine, pooling at the base of his groin and making him as hard as a rock. He'd been like that ever since he'd first heard her speak, nearly twenty-four hours ago. And for twenty-four hours, no matter what he tried—short of yanking out his dick and jerking off—he couldn't make the feeling go away. He was suffering from the hard-on from hell.

He closed his eyes. His hands moved lightly over his saxophone, fingering the keys and caressing its tapered form. The exercise was meant to soothe, but so far it wasn't working. Because of her, notes of perfect clarity rang in his ears and danced in his head, searching for a way out. Finally, he brought the saxophone to his lips, settled his fingers upon the keys, and started to play.

His fingers moved as if they had a mind of their own. There was no hesitation. No uncertainty. No struggling to get it right. The notes came straight from his soul. Her face appeared like a ghostly mist, then melted and blended seamlessly into the sound that flowed from the instrument. The sweet seductive rhythm of her voice, the sway of her body, and the glow of her skin were all captured and entwined in the melody. Through the chaos in his mind, he poured every ounce of anger, uncertainty, and fear he felt bottled up inside of him into the tune.

When the last note was played and the lingering echo had died, Brice laid his saxophone across his knees and sat back. He'd never experienced anything like that before. Never had his music flowed so smooth or sounded so sweet. He'd never allowed himself to feel so empty or so free. Shaking with excitement, he picked up a pen and hurriedly put the song down on paper. An hour later he had a completed first draft, which he promptly titled “Nothing's Sweeter than Candy.”

Sweet, sweet candy.
His aching cock jumped, and his mouth watered. He licked his lips. He shut his eyes and imagined plunging his hands into that thick mane of hair, pulling her closer to gaze into her golden, honey-brown eyes. He buried his face in her neck and inhaled deeply. She wrapped her arms around his waist and dragged him closer, aligning their bodies. He felt the firm rounded flesh of her breasts imprinted against his chest, and the intimate pressure of her nipples tight and pointed with desire. Her hand crept down and wrapped itself around his hardened cock, gripping and stroking it, back and forth over its length. The feeling of her grasping hand over the rough texture of his jeans was a deadly combination that threatened to make him explode. He took her mouth in a demanding kiss and shamelessly begged for more ...

Brice ran his hands through his hair and down his face in sheer frustration. “There's a disturbance in the force,” he mumbled. He could try to ignore the feeling, but he knew himself too well. Once his mind latched onto a problem, he'd find no peace until he'd solved it. If there was any hope of getting her out of his head, he needed to know more. Who she was and what kind of power she wielded.

He had a place to start; he'd overheard everything he needed to know. He knew the person she'd come to see, whom she worked for, and her name. Sure, it might be easier to just call David and have him ask Sarona, but he didn't want to interrupt their romantic vacation. And he didn't want to answer any unwanted questions such a call might generate. Finding her wouldn't be a problem; he breached corporate security for a living, after all. The problem would be what to do after he'd found her. He picked up the phone and waited until the cheerful voice of Sylvia Johnston answered on the other end. “Peterson, Powell, and Lambert, how may I direct your call?”

“Hello, Ms. Johnston? This is Brice Coleman. We met yesterday when I was there for a meeting with Mr. Chancellor.”

“Hello, Mr. Coleman, how can I help you?”

“To be honest, I'm not sure if you can, but you're the only person I can think of who might be able to point me in the right direction. You see, I stopped by again yesterday, late afternoon, to drop off additional papers for Chancellor's signature. I haven't heard back from him yet, so I'm a little worried. I hate to admit this, but I got a little confused with the labeling on the drop boxes, and I'm beginning to think I may have left them for the wrong office. I might have left them at Ms. Sarona Maxwell's office instead. I was wondering if you could give me the name of her secretary so that I could ask after the paperwork? It's important that those documents get to Mr. Chancellor by today.”

“Of course, I'd be glad to,” Sylvia answered. “Her name is Cynthia Burrows. I can transfer you to her office.”

“That would be super. Thanks.”

“It's not a problem. Good luck.”

Brice waited for someone to pick up on the other line.

“Department of Human Resources, this is Ms. Burrows.”

“Good morning, Ms. Burrows. My name is Brice Coleman. I'm an IT representative for the business firm Security Matters.”

“Good morning, Mr. Coleman, how can I help you?

Brice explained his “situation” and asked her to check her file boxes for papers with the Security Matters title and logo.

“Yes. Just give me a moment, please.”

Of course she wouldn't find anything; the query was merely a ruse to ask the follow-up question, the real purpose for his call. “Mr. Coleman?”

“Yes?”

“I'm sorry, but I'm unable to locate any such documents. Perhaps you took them to the right office, after all.”

“Okay. That's a relief. Well, thank you for your time. I'll check there next. Um, Ms. Burrows?”

“Yes?”

“I'm sorry to bother you further, but maybe you could help me with another matter?”

“I'll try.”

“Yesterday, I spoke with another visitor, a Ms. Candace Brown. She mentioned that her boss might have a potential interest in security upgrades, and we exchanged business cards. At the risk of sounding like a complete idiot, I'm sorry to say that now I can't locate her card. She mentioned she was there to see you, so I was hoping you might have her employer's contact information. I guess I wasn't on top of my game yesterday, but I can't afford to lose a possible client because of a misplaced business card.”

“That's not a problem, Mr. Coleman. I know Candace and her employer quite well. Her name is Dr. Joyce Jeffers.” She read him the office phone number.

“Thanks again, Ms. Burrows. Have a nice day.”

“You're welcome.”

That was too easy,
Brice thought as he hung up the phone. Who knows? In spite of the cloak-and-dagger routine, this Dr. Jeffers might even turn out to be a potential client.
Hell, if David can use the business as a cover to get close to a woman, then why can't I?

• • •

“Good morning, Candace,” Joyce sang as she strolled into the office.

“Good morning, boss-lady.” Candace looked up from her desk with raised eyebrows. “You're in early. Your first patient isn't due until noon.”

“Yes, I know, and you can wipe that surprised look off your face right now. For your information, I need to catch up on paperwork. It's been a busy week, and I've fallen behind on a few of my evaluations. Is there any coffee? Please tell me there's coffee. Being up and about this early puts my nervous system into a state of shock.”

“Of course there's coffee. I'm always prepared, especially for bosses who show up unexpectedly. There are donuts, too.”

Joyce was a tall woman with a slender frame. She had a rich, mocha chocolate chip-brown complexion with soft, smooth features, full lips, and almond-shaped eyes that turned slightly upward. Her appearance denoted a touch of Asian ancestry. Her hair was chestnut brown, thick, short, and twisted in tiny curls that spiraled and sprang out in all directions. Her features were exotic and unique, and she knew exactly how to use them to her advantage. Though she was in her mid-forties, she could easily pass for someone ten to twelve years younger.

“Bless you, child. I don't know what I'd do without you.” Joyce put aside her briefcase and purse and filled a cup with coffee, cream, and sugar, “I've got some wonderful news to tell you. You'll be so proud of me. I took a call late yesterday after you'd left. I don't usually, but for some odd reason it didn't go to voice mail, and the ringing was getting on my nerves. Anyway, the call was from a Mr. Coleman. He said he worked for a computer security service and that his company worked by referral. And lucky me, someone referred my office to his business.

“The poor man tried delivering his sales pitch and explaining the miracle of what his service could do for me, but I told him to save his breath. I politely informed him that I didn't speak ‘computer-ese' and that my translator had left for the day. I advised that if he wanted to introduce his product to this business, he needed to speak to my resident computer expert. And since I don't actually have one of those,” she continued with an airy lilt in her voice as she choose a cinnamon swirl sweet roll, “that my dear, would be you. I told him if he could sell what he's pedaling to my ‘computer expert,' then he could consider it a done deal. I suggested he call back during our regular office hours and make an appointment.”