Hard Line

by Erin McCarthy

  Jared swiveled around to face her and said, “Well, that’s easy enough for a man to answer. I think we all want to be touched in the same place. And I’m not talking about our feet.”

  She was sure he wasn’t.

  Before she could think of a response that didn’t make her sound like a priss or a porn star, but a nice I’m interested in-between, Jared spoke again, his eyes dropping to her chest, where she rubbed the blouse button like a worry stone.

  His hand was slung over the back of the chair, and his shirt strained across his muscular chest. “So, if someone was going to touch me, that’s where I would want it to be.”

  Candy forced herself to stop pacing. “Why don’t you type that in on the assessment then?”

  Jared let out a laugh. It was the first time she had ever heard him amused enough to laugh. It was a deep rich sound that washed over her and sent her goosepimply.

  “I’ll do that.” He grabbed the laptop and typed with both hands, fast and efficiently. “What should I put for your answer? Where would you want to be touched, Candy?”

  Everywhere. Times three.

  “Weeell,” she drawled the word out, hoping time would give her courage. She knew what she wanted, it was just a matter of saying it out loud.

  Squeezing her fists shut tight, Candy tossed back her hair and went for broke. “My breasts.”

  Jared wasn’t looking at her, but she saw his fingers pause over the keyboard. His voice was low, persuasive. “Would you say specifically your nipples, or all of your breasts, Candy? And touched with hands, or with a tongue? I want to be as accurate as possible you know, for the counseling.”

  Candy gripped the back of chair to prevent falling down in a dead faint. Lord, the man was sexy even on the back of his head. “Both. Everything.”

  The fingers resumed. “Got it.”

  Then Jared scrolled down the screen. “Let’s see about question five.”

  Candy had never been a drinker, but she felt the sudden need for a splash of bourbon. Or a barrel of bourbon. She had started this, aided by Harold’s ridiculous intimacy quest, and she needed to see it through. Her crotch demanded it.

  “I’m ready.”

  “What is the difference between sex, love, and romance?” Jared snorted. “Oh, this one’s easy.”

  “Really?” Leaning against her chair Candy said, “So what’s your answer?”

  Jared didn’t even look up at her as he typed. “Sex you do, love you feel, and romance you say.”

  Well he just had it all figured out. Candy protested. “That’s not true. You can do love, too, by showing someone you love them with a gift or a thoughtful gesture. You can say you love someone. You can show romance with a candlelit dinner and you can feel romantic. Sex you most certainly can feel, and talking and romance are all involved in sex as well. They’re all interconnected but very different.”

  As anyone could see.

  Jared glanced at her with a pained expression. “You’re right. I was wrong.”

  His answer startled a laugh out of her. “What?”

  “Isn’t that what you want me to say? We could argue, but I figure this just saves us time.”

  “No, I don’t want you to just agree with me. I want to hear your opinion. I want to discuss it, have an exchange of ideas and possibly learn something new from your knowledge.”

  He looked doubtful. “No woman has ever wanted to hear what I have to say. Not really.”

  Candy looked down at him, taking in his gorgeous blue eyes and black hair. The way his cheekbone was so strong and sensual, narrowing down into a proud chin and thin lips. She had a sudden insight. Women probably treated Jared the way men treated her.

  Like an object. Like an arm ornament.

  The rush of understanding made her blurt out, “I want to hear what you have to say. Whether I agree or not.”

  His eyes swept over her, and she stood still, defiant, daring him to shut her down. Let him frown at her now and she wouldn’t mind so much.

  He didn’t frown. He paused, pursed his lips together, then shook his head slightly. Finally he said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  It was enough for her.

  He added, “But we’re sticking with my original answer because yours is too hard to type in.”

  Candy laughed and leaned forward. She was edging closer to him, hoping to innocently glance at the screen over his shoulder. Which would force her to brush against him, of course.

  “Oh, look, there’s a bonus section between questions five and six. It’s a tip on keeping the romance alive.” Jared shook his head. “Damn, what the hell was Harold thinking? Didn’t he even look at this thing?”

  “I doubt it.” Candy put her hands on the back of his chair to steady herself and bent over his shoulder. If she turned to the right, their lips would be a smidgen apart. But for now, she looked straight at the screen.

  “What’s the tip?”

  Jared turned. His breath hit her cheek. “Looking for some advice?”

  She shrugged and the movement caused her breasts to brush against his back and shoulder. “You never know. It could be something good.”

  “It says you should massage your partner. Starting at the feet and working your way up, with special emphasis on erogenous zones.”

  Candy thought about Jared’s hand massaging up her legs, zeroing in on her inner thighs and settling in for a long, hot haul.

  “They also suggest the use of edible massage oils, with flavors like chocolate and raspberry.”

  Oh, Lord. The idea of him licking chocolate sauce off of her nipple contributed to her increasingly damp panties problem. If she spent much more time with Jared she was going to have to start carrying a spare pair.

  Candy turned. Jared was watching her. His lips were very much close enough to touch. To lick. To kiss.

  She whispered, “It sounds sticky.”

  The smell of coffee rushed over her as he breathed, a little harder and faster than normal. Candy pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and tugged.

  He said, “It sounds delicious.”

  “If you’re hungry.”

  “Oh, I’m hungry, Candy. It’s lunch time, you know.” Jared’s eyes dropped to her lips.

  He was going to kiss her, he was going to kiss her, he was going to… turn back to the computer.

  Dang it. Where was a jar of chocolate massage oil when she needed it?

  She was going to have to start carrying that around in her purse along with the spare panties.

  Holy hell, he had almost kissed her. Had he learned nothing from Jessie and the clandestine break room kiss that led to a full-on blowjob where co-workers microwaved their frozen noodles? Work and sex didn’t mix. Ever.

  Even when you were locked in a cozy room with the office hottie 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 hottie kept lobbing off personal remarks that made you feel like 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 they 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 movie 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 with women 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 break room kisses and sexting.

  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 co-worker, 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. It meant she never saw him a sexual light at all.

  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 it 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 respond to that, he was sure. In the negative.

  “So, I decided marketing was 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.

  “Maybe that’s because I liked you too much.”

  Her eyes went wide as he spoke. 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 pain gripped him below the belt.

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

  Candy held onto 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.

  Jared stepped away, taking his heat and masculine scent with him. “Fuck.”

  Candy forced her eyes open, and dragged in a shuddery breath. Wiping her wet mouth with her thumb and index finger, she watched him, wondering if he would stammer or apologize.

  She should have known better. Jared was no stutterer.

  “See, I told you I like you.” He straightened his tie, but kept his eyes trained on her.

  Candy felt her cheeks burn. She had to admit, that was a much better answer than a muttered apology would have been. None of this was working out the way she had planned it. Her original idea had been to have Jared ask her out, then seduction would ensue.

  This was wilder, more uncontrolled, and dirty. They had been making out in her boss’s office. And she liked it.

  “Maybe you do,” she agreed. Then with an acting ability she hadn’t known she possessed, she sauntered past him, catching her arm on his as she approached Harold’s desk.

  Jared sucked in his breath. Candy didn’t look back.

  She bent over in front of Harold’s desk again and propped her chin up with her hand. “So, how long have you… liked me? As a friend.”

  Jared pried his eyes off Candy’s legs and wondered what game she was playing now. His feelings of friendship had nothing to do with that kiss. That kiss was based on two months worth of stored
up lust.

  Friendship had just come into the picture in the last half hour, and he had to assume he’d just about blown that with his grab-her-and-mash-her kiss.

  He found he actually regretted the idea that he might have shattered the growing rapport between them. Maybe if he retreated now he could salvage some kind of friendship between them.

  Dropping into the chair so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch her, he cleared his throat. “We haven’t really talked to each other a whole lot, but I respect the work you do. You’re very efficient, always on time, and your presentations are professional and thought provoking.”

  He sounded like he was giving her a yearly productivity review. But better that than saying what he really thought.

  Which was that she had an adorable smile and said funny things that made his heart squeeze. Not to mention she had a body that made him wish he were a sponge so he could rub all over it. Wet.

  She made a noise with her teeth. “That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about liking me.”

  He was drowning in this conversation. Since he had promised to behave himself, he would not repeat a single one of the rated-R ideas running through his head, all focusing on how much he could like her.

  Instead he said, “That’s what I was talking about too.”

  There was a pause, and her finger hovered in front of the screen. “Look, question nine fits right in with what we’re talking about.”

  What were they talking about? Because hell if he knew.

  “What do you like the most about your partner?” Candy was still propped up on her hand, leaning over the desk.

  Her legs were straight, her curvy little ass back in front of his face, way too close for comfort. Her hair was tumbling over her shoulders and she had pulled her lip into her mouth and was making little sucking noises with it.

  Then, for some unknown reason that probably involved nefarious plans to torture him, she spread her legs. Just widened them a bit so that her feet were planted a foot apart. Her skirt inched up under the strain.

  It could be she was getting more comfortable. Or it could be that she knew the effect spreading her thighs would have on him.