Nothing's Sweeter than Candy (9 page)

“Do you have somewhere you can go, Candace? Friends, family? Can you stay with Joyce?”

“Joyce left town for a seminar two days ago. My other close friend is out of town, too. I can't go to my parents' house. I don't want to worry them. They'd freak out and use this as an excuse to insist I move back home.”

To see Candace this frightened and confused was heart-wrenching. The proud, confident woman he'd come to know and admire was suddenly vulnerable and unsure. A fierce sense of protection suddenly prompted him to pull her into his arms and hold her against his chest. “Get your things. You're coming with me. We'll call Joyce, tell her what happened, and let her know where you'll be.”

“What do you mean? Where are we going?”

“I'm taking you home with me for the next few days, until we can sort things out. I have three extra bedrooms and plenty of space. We'll let the police take it from here. Now go. Put some things together. But, if you'd rather, I'll take you to a hotel. Whatever you want, Candace. Just tell me, and I'll take care of it.”

“Why would you do that? This isn't your problem.” Her voice was low and on the verge of tears.

“You're right, it's not, but I'm making it my problem. I won't stand by and let you deal with this alone.” He gave her a gentle push. “Pack enough stuff for a couple of days. I'll call Joyce.”

Candace went to do as Brice urged as he pulled out his phone.

“Hello, Joyce? This is Brice.”

“Hi, Brice. This is a surprise.”

“Yeah, I know. Look, there's been an incident. Someone broke into Candace's townhouse while we were at the concert.”

“What?! Where is she? Is she all right?”

“Candace is fine. She was with me when it happened, but she's definitely shaken up.”

“What happened?”

“Her place was trashed. The police have already come and gone. They took photos and whatever information we could provide during their preliminary investigation. The door doesn't have much damage, but inside the place is a mess. I think I know who did it.”

“You don't think it was Nash, do you?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah, that's exactly what I think. This wasn't random. It was personal—the torn photos and the ripped underwear, and especially the vulgar message left on the mirror. You and I both know the guy has all the makings of a certifiable nut job. I'm going to take her home with me. We just wanted to keep you updated.”

“Thank God you were there. I'll be back on Tuesday. Can I speak to her?”

“Sure.” Brice found Candace standing in the middle of the mess in her bedroom, wringing her hands and staring at the message on the mirror. His heart twisted again at the sight, and his jaw stiffened with resolve. He would find Andrew Nash and personally kick his ass.

Forty minutes later, they walked through the front door of Brice's home. Candace had remained silent during the entire trip, in shock and staring out the window. Brice had held her hand, offering up reassurance and support. She stood in the vestibule and waited as he locked the door behind them. Brice took her hand and her bag and led the way into the heart of the house, the family room and the kitchen. When she saw the spacious room, comfy furniture, and huge in-home theater and surround-sound equipment, her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open. She turned to him in awed admiration and said, “You have nice toys.”

Brice chuckled. “Yeah, it's your typical man cave. Sometimes I get lost in here for days at a time. Let me show you the rest of the house.” He gave her a quick tour of the lower level, which included an office that doubled as a music studio, the guest bathroom, the laundry room, and the master suite. “The other bedrooms are upstairs. You can have your pick.”

When she'd seen each room, she settled on the second master suite. It had large, masculine pieces of furniture and a king-sized sleigh bed with lots of pillows and a heavy comforter. She was instantly tempted to sink down into that huge bed and let all her troubles disappear among the pillows and plush covers.

“Everything you need should be right here,” he said as he showed her the bathroom and the linen closet. “Take your time getting settled. I'm going downstairs to make us a couple of drinks.”

She joined him downstairs in the family room a few minutes later. “This is a really nice place, Brice,” she commented.

“Thanks. I like it.” He handed her a cocktail. “I didn't know what you preferred, so I took the liberty of making you one of those fruity drinks.” He smiled as he handed her the glass. “It's an apple martini.”

“Thank you. I like apple martinis.” She took the drink and downed most of it in a couple of gulps.

“Do you think it could have been Nash?” he asked. “Given his recent behavior, it wouldn't be a far stretch to consider him a suspect.”

“Nash? Why would you think it was Nash?” she blurted out, surprised. “He doesn't even live here in Atlanta. He lives in New York City. I only saw him once or twice a month, when he came here on business. He's never even been to my house. Besides, why would he do something like this? I know he's been acting strange, but he wouldn't go that far. Would he?” Fear and confusion flooded her. It hadn't occurred to her that this might have been a personal attack.

She must have looked distressed, because Brice dropped his line of questioning. “You're probably right. I guess I'm blaming the guy because I don't like him. Let's just forget it. You don't have to think about any of this right now, and you're welcome to stay here for as long as you want to.”

“Thank you, Brice, but I don't want to impose any more than I already have. I'll stay tonight, but tomorrow I should probably go to a hotel. I know I can't go back home yet. I need time to clear my head and figure out what to do next.”

“Look, Candace, you're not disrupting anything. I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to help.”

“You really are a sweet man,” she said. She reached up to cup his cheek in her hand and planted a soft kiss on his lips. “Thank you for everything. If you hadn't been there, I don't know what I would have done.” She stared up at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

He gently pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. Pressing her face against his throat, he rested his chin on her head. “Don't worry, Candace. I'll fix this. I'm not letting him get away with this, whoever he is.”

“Are you going to be my knight in shining armor?” she whispered, her voice muffled, as she snuggled closer.

“I will if you let me.”

• • •

Brice rubbed his hands gently up and down her back. Sighing deeply, Candace shook her head and pushed back from his embrace, obviously weary and still shaken up.

“If you don't mind, I think I'll take a shower and go to bed now. I'm kind of tired.”

“Sure, a shower and a good night's sleep will be good for you.” He reluctantly released her, and she climbed the stairs out of sight. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he called after her. His heart pounded in his chest, beating hard in response to the feel of her soft lips, the warmth of her body, the smell of her perfume—and the growing need to shield her from all the world's unexpected cruelties.

He closed his eyes. A flood of emotions tore through him like a runaway train: his desire for her body, the fading willpower to resist her allure, and his overwhelming need to watch over and protect her. The depth of the unfamiliar feelings concerned him, but he'd deal with that later. Right now there was something else he had to do, something much more pressing.

Brice fixed another drink and went into his office and closed the door behind him. Since the room doubled as his studio, it was also soundproof, and that was a good thing. He needed absolute privacy for what he was about to do. He rummaged through his desk until he found what he was looking for, then picked up the phone and made a call to his private investigator, Richard Thorne.

Thorne, former Special Operations Forces with the Marines, had once been the Agent in Charge assigned to his dad's personal protection detail. Having worked primarily in hostile foreign environments, he was a trained counterterrorism, weapons, and self-defense expert. Richard Ashton Thorne was the living, breathing badass you only read about in books or saw in movies, the stuff heroes were made of. He'd successfully taken his military experience and crossed over into the civilian sector, and now ran a highly sought after PI and personal security consultant firm.

Brice had used his services on numerous occasions to breach company security of potential clients and, when necessary, for other, more personal reasons. Being the son of a former high-profile political figure and a wealthy man in his own right, Brice often had need of Rick's expertise. Personal security had been drilled into him since childhood, so he never took anything or anyone at face value. When he needed something checked out, he called Rick.

Thorne had access to unique state-of-the-art super gadgets and high-tech information databases. He was the consummate professional, a man of few words who got results.

Brice couldn't shake the feeling that Nash was responsible for trashing Candace's place, and Rick Thorne was just the man to find out if his gut intuition was right.

“Rick, this is Brice. I've got a job for you.”

“Sure. What's the target?”

“It's a special job.”

“Special jobs come with special prices.”

“I know. That's not a problem.”

“What's the name?”

“Andrew Nash. I don't know much about him except that he lives in New York City and travels here to Atlanta for business once or twice a month. There's no evidence to prove it yet, but I believe he broke into and vandalized my friend's home. I want him investigated, and if he's the threat I think he is, then I want the problem dealt with, or eliminated.

“I want to know his every move for the past month: phone calls, contacts, business trips, et cetera. I want to know where he works, where he lives, and what kind of car he drives. I want to know every detail there is to know, because when I'm done with him, I want to make sure he'll never threaten another living soul.” Brice gave a brief description to get the investigation underway.

“Okay. What's the deadline?”

“How about yesterday?”

“I'm on it. I'll have a preliminary report in a few days.”

“Good. I look forward to hearing it.”

Brice made a couple more calls, one to his security service and one to a locksmith. He gave them instructions to replace all the locks at Candace's house and to drop the new keys off the next day. The police had temporarily secured her place, but something more permanent was needed. He knew he was overstepping his boundaries, but he didn't care. He'd deal with the consequences tomorrow. Having accomplished everything he could for the moment, Brice showered. After putting on pajama bottoms and an undershirt, he decided to make one last check on Candace before going to bed. When he reached her door, he found it ajar. Peeking inside, he overheard quiet sniffles.

“Candace? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” was the muffled response that came from beneath the bedcovers.

“May I come in?”

“Yes.”

Brice went to the edge of the bed and eased down beside her, putting his hand on her back. To his surprise, she abruptly turned and wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest, sobbing quietly. The sight of tears in her eyes moved him and melted something deep inside.

He was a take-charge kind of guy. If someone was in need, he dove right in—up to his neck if need be—without hesitation. He made decisions quickly, with no fears and no regrets. That's what he did. That's who he was. Emotion had no part in his decision-making process; it was a distraction that he couldn't afford. Up until now, he'd made it a point to stay away from women with whom he might share strong common interests. He didn't want to see them as individuals with personalities because that made them more human, and it made him more vulnerable. But there was something about
her
tears that twisted his stomach and jolted his heart.

He stretched out beside her and pulled her fully into his embrace. Holding her to him, he kissed her eyelids and tasted her tears. “Shh, baby, don't cry. Everything's going to be okay. I promise.” His kisses were deliberately soft and tender as he pressed his lips to her tear-streaked face. His mouth moved down the curve of her upturned cheek and lightly brushed across her pouted lips. The moist and silky softness he encountered triggered his natural male instinct, and pushed him beyond his ability to resist.

This is a mistake.

His mouth settled over hers, and she tentatively opened to allow him entry. He was swept up in a whirling pool of sensual heat that pulled him in deeper under her spell. What had begun as a show of support was fast becoming something more meaningful.

She shifted her body and pressed closer and held on tighter. He took the kiss deeper. The hardened tips of her breasts pushed into his chest and brought chills to his body, raising goose bumps that prickled his flesh. She moved against him in slow, sensuous, grinding circles, and the chill became a spark that ignited and burned into passion. Hunger raced through his body, fed by the warmth of her touch. Rippling sensations flowed through his core as bursts of fiery desire reached every part of him, from the base of his scalp, down to his toes.

He sought out the sweetness of her mouth and descended further into its softness. His body responded, and his cock hardened and lengthened, destroying any vestige of doubt that he craved this woman.

But with supreme effort, he pulled back from the edge of insanity. No matter how badly he wanted her, he wouldn't allow the situation to push either of them too quickly into something they might regret. He reluctantly ended the kiss, and, resting his forehead against hers, he drew in a ragged breath.