Erin McCarthy - Bad Boys Online

Holy hell, he had almost kissed her. Had he learned nothing from Jessie and the clandestine copy room kiss? Work and sex didn't mix. Ever.

Even when you were locked in a cozy room with the office babe and she was standing so close a gnat would have trouble squeezing between you.

Especially not when you were discussing the titillating effects of chocolate sauce during a massage.

And certainly not when the same office babe kept lobbing off personal remarks that made you feel as if she might actually listen to you if you spoke.

Candy was revealing herself to be hiding as many layers as an onion. As Jared stared at the computer screen in front of him, he wondered how one woman could be intelligent, kind, funny, and so damn gorgeous all at the same time? If he wasn't careful, he might actually find himself tumbling into some serious like .

If she could cook too, he was toast. Crispy burnt toast, without a job.

"What's the next question?" she said.

Shit, who cared? He had bigger problems here than Harold's dumb-ass counseling. Like the massive appendage throbbing in agony in his pants.

He read the question anyway, painfully aware there was no relief in sight for his poor neglected dick. "Number six. Do you like the city or country better?"

Knowing he should be grateful for the lack of reference to smearing food sauce on each other's bodies, he answered the question quickly. "City."

As he typed, Candy said, "Country."

Jared didn't risk a look in her direction, since she was still hovering over him. But he couldn't stop himself from saying, "A country girl, huh? I'm not surprised with that twang of yours."

Candy stood up. "I do not have a twang. You can't even tell I'm from the South."

Right. Candy had Southern Belle stamped on each and every curve of her body, and she would probably even moan in pleasure with a cute little accent. "You're not a 'Hee-Haw' episode, that's for sure, but there is no way you could pass for a native Chicagoan."

He chanced a look over at her. Her hands were on her hips. "Are you insulting me?"

"Not at all."

She looked ready to argue, but he staved her off by reading the next question. "Number seven. What's your favorite way to spend an evening together?"

Did that mean before they got naked, or after?

Candy had relaxed back against his chair, her hip nestled snug against the side, the twang comment apparently forgotten. "Well, I would want a nice romantic dinner, at home. Good wine, some jazz playing in the background, and a video we could watch together. We would talk about our day, the movie, everything, and then, uh, proceed from there."

It sounded very ordinary. It sounded like exactly what he wanted.

The thought startled him. His relationships had never been particularly romantic. He didn't seem to inspire those feelings in women. Usually the only conversation involved their coaxing and pleading that he do things that he knew were bound to get him into deep shit. Like copy room kisses.

At about seventeen he'd given up on expecting anything that resembled friendship with a woman. The only women he could ever claim to have had an honest-to-God conversation with were a former fifty-year-old coworker, and his friend Kim, whom he'd known since they were nine. He was guessing it wasn't a coincidence that Kim also happened to be a lesbian.

Even his weekly chats on the phone with his mother involved more platitudes and discussion over his laundry and the weather than anything real.

"What about you?" Candy asked him.

He thought about lying, or saying something quelling, but instead he said, "The same. Only add a fireplace to it."

The reward was a glorious smile that spread from one end of Candy's golden face to the other. "Really?"

The pleasure that little word brought him had him shifting from discomfort, and it had nothing to do with his still-very-much-there erection. It was worse than he could ever have imagined.

He had tumbled already.

He actually liked her.

Which meant he was so screwed.

"Really," he confirmed, then rushed on. "So, question eight. Here we go. Why did you choose your current career?"

Easy enough from his point of view. Because it paid reasonably well, he was good at it, and involved nothing gruesome, like slinging trash or probing body cavities.

Candy shifted so that her opposite hip jutted out. "Well, it's sort of complicated. I had to pick a career that was equal parts men and women because if I was a woman in an all-male field, I wouldn't be taken seriously." She glanced at him. "The name, you know."

The name, the hair, the legs, the accent. Just for starters.

"Yet I can't work with all women either. Women seem to exclude me and aren't friendly. I've never been able to figure it out, but it seems like the harder I try, the more they pull back."

Try jealousy. Candy would draw male attention no matter what she did, and women would react to that, he was sure. In the negative.

"So, I decided marketing had a good male-female mix and I like the challenge of anticipating the client's needs."

Well, his answer sounded stupid now. Good thing he hadn't said it out loud.

"I enjoy my job, but I still don't have many friends here. I can't seem to break into the inner circle." She shook her head sadly, all trace of flirtation and the businesswoman gone. Candy just looked hurt and vulnerable.

"No one really likes me."

His brain begged him not to say it. His heart and other body parts didn't listen. "I like you."

Candy crossed her arms over her chest and laughed, a nervous startled sound. "No, you don't. You avoid me like I have something catchy. That's why we're in Harold's office, remember?"

He stood up and turned to her, moving into her space before she could dart away. His hands fell on each of hers. Her eyes went wide as he spoke.

"Maybe that's because I liked you too much."

Then those lips that had been taunting his every waking moment, and a good portion of his sleeping ones as well, lifted and rounded into a perfect O. He took advantage of her surprise by leaning forward.

A second later his lips were on hers. It should have been short and sweet, just a light touch then retreat. The second he tasted her lips, all tangy and plump, there was no chance of that.

She was tense, her hands gripping his sleeves, but her mouth fell open for him on a soft sigh. Without warning his tongue decided to take a detour by her tonsils, and hot pulsing need gripped him below the belt.

Someone moaned. He hoped like hell it wasn't him.

Candy held on to jared for dear life and struggled to stay upright. Have mercy. It felt like he was eating her mouth, licking and sucking and tugging.

It was too much; she couldn't keep up with the hard, fast movements of his tongue and mouth. The only thing she could do was let him consume her, hang on, and groan her pleasure.

She had the moaning thing down pat, whenever there was actually time to take a breath. Mostly she was fighting for air and working hard not to wobble in her heels.

His hands rose up her arms to her face and cupped her cheeks. It wasn't tender, it was fierce, dominating, his strength holding her still while he moved over her mouth.

Confusion mixed with passion, and Candy squeezed his arms harder. This wasn't what she had expected. She had envisioned tight control from Jared, emotion firmly out of the picture as he kissed her with skill and charm.

After her ex-husband and his selfish lovemaking, she had vowed to find someone different, who would focus on her needs, not his. She had thought Jared would be that man.

But Jared was anything but reserved, and her reaction was anything but what she had expected. She was enjoying herself. It was arousing to know that she had sent Jared skittering over the edge, dropping his control somewhere back about question six.