Waking Up to You: Overexposed

by Leslie Kelly

  Of course, when they hit the city, that changed. Downtown San Francisco was, even on a Saturday afternoon, a busy mass of humanity, and traffic was a bitch. They didn’t arrive at the hotel until late afternoon and weren’t ensconced in their room until after five.

  She whistled as they entered and spied the plush room, the huge bed and the great view of the bay out the window. “Nice. You sure you can afford this, groundskeeper?”

  “I’ve got a few dollars tucked away,” he said, reaching for her and drawing her into his arms.

  She twined hers around his neck. “Seriously. You didn’t need to pay for all of this. I’ll pitch in.”

  Laughing, he refused the offer. “Do you really think I’m working for your grandfather because I need the money? For that matter, do you really think I’ve ever actually cashed one of the checks he’s given me?”

  Her mouth fell open. “He’s not paying you? Good grief, Oliver, you work like a maniac!”

  “I don’t think he’s figured it out yet. I don’t need the money, sweetheart. I needed the escape. Needed a place to stay, and hard work to do, so I could figure things out.”

  She stepped out of his arms, taking his hand and pulling him toward the bed. Unfortunately, rather than stripping naked and leaping onto him, she sat down, patting the space beside her for him to sit, as well.

  Oh. Great. They were going to talk.

  “And have you?” she asked. “Figured things out, I mean?”

  “I’m getting there.”

  She lifted her hand and cupped his jaw. “Are you going to be all right, Oliver?”

  He turned her palm toward his mouth and kissed it. “I am. I promise.”

  There was only one thing that could derail him from being all right, something over which he had no control. But he couldn’t push her, couldn’t force her. Hell, right now, he couldn’t even bring himself to ask her, not if it meant spoiling the last full day they would have together. By this time tomorrow, her grandfather would be home and Candace would be packing to leave for Los Angeles.

  Maybe he could convince her not to go. But maybe he couldn’t. Which meant today might be all he had, all he would ever have of her, for the rest of his days.

  “What do you...”

  “Later,” he insisted, pressing his mouth to hers for a deep, hungry kiss. She twined her hands in his hair. Oliver continued to kiss her, breathing her in, memorizing her scent and her taste and the way he felt at this moment. God, did he ever hope he wouldn’t have to bank these memories for a long time, and that she wasn’t really going to walk away from him tomorrow. Whatever this promise was that she’d made, surely she could get out of it. No way could she feel about him the way he suspected she did and not stay here and fight for a real relationship.

  When the kiss ended, she persisted. “I want to know what you’re thinking.”

  “Shh,” he insisted, kissing his way to her wrist. He flicked his tongue out on the pulse point, then continued moving up her arm, pushing her sleeve as he went. “Enough talking.”

  “Mmm,” she said as he abandoned her arm and moved to her neck, nuzzling the hollow. “You don’t play fair.”

  “Lawyer.”

  “But...”

  “No buts. We have to be at that ball in two hours, and I intend to spend the next one-hundred-and-five minutes giving you many, many orgasms. After that, you’ll have exactly fifteen minutes to wipe my cum off your thighs and get into your dress.”

  “Oh, my God,” she groaned, her voice thick with hunger.

  Candace always got off on his more blunt expressions of need for her, growing even more inflamed when he whispered in her ear the kinds of words a polite man usually didn’t say to a nice woman. She loved it, always growing wetter, wilder, when he talked about how much he loved eating her pussy and the fantasies he had about her gorgeous ass. They’d even gotten into a conversation about the most forbidden word in the female lexicon, and he knew she now looked at it in a whole new way, knowing if he ever used that word, it would be because he was out of his mind with need for her. What was once offensive had become incredibly erotic to her.

  “Any more arguments?” he growled as he nipped her earlobe, dropping a hand to her thigh.

  She gasped. “No arguments.”

  “Good. Now take off your clothes, Candace,” he ordered as he nibbled her collarbone.

  “Why don’t you make me,” she said, her tone sultry, provocative. She was daring him, egging him on, testing the boundaries.

  He stared at her, narrowing his eyes, giving her a moment’s warning. Then he reached for the front of her blouse, grabbed two handfuls and yanked.

  Buttons flew. She gasped. Two gorgeous, perfect, pink-tipped breasts spilled out.

  As he’d suspected, no bra.

  All was right with the world.

  “I’ll buy you a new one,” he said as he pushed her back onto the bed, bending for a taste of one succulent nipple.

  “To hell with the blouse.” She cooed as he sucked one breast while tweaking and toying with the other. They were made for pleasure, big and sensitive, and as he played with them, he wondered if every other man in the world was as hopelessly addicted to sucking the breasts of the woman he loved.

  Twining her hands in his hair, she rose toward his mouth, holding him where she wanted him, whimpering with pleasure as he suckled her. Her hips were rising in tiny thrusts, as if every pull of his mouth sent sparks of heat surging to her groin.

  After he’d paid lavish attention to those beauties, he kissed his way down her belly to the seam of her pants. Unbuttoning them, he pulled them off her, taking her shoes and panties, too, until she was naked, spread out like a feast for the devouring.

  He stood up beside the bed, slowly stripping off his shirt, his hands shaking with need. He never took his eyes off her. Candace lay there, writhing, stretching, running her hand over her own body, from her breasts down to that perfect little tuft of curls between her thighs.

  “Touch yourself,” he ordered her as he unfastened his pants.

  She did, slipping a long, slender finger deeper into her crevice to stroke the tiny nub of flesh that perched at the top.

  “Like this?”

  “Oh, yeah. I definitely like that.”

  She laughed softly. “I do, too,” she admitted, her voice filled with feminine power. She knew what she did to him, knew he went a little crazy every time they made love.

  He shoved the rest of his clothes off, smiling with male satisfaction as she stared avidly at his erect cock. She licked her lips, whimpering, her body twisting even more restlessly as her need overtook her.

  He didn’t reach for her yet. Reaching for his cock, he stroked it, knowing he could bring himself to climax by just standing here watching her.

  But he wouldn’t. Because that wouldn’t even come close to the sensation of coming inside her body.

  “How do you want me, Oliver? What’s your fantasy?”

  His mouth went dry as he pictured all the ways he’d had her, and the ways he hadn’t. He could make love to her every day for a month and find something new to try, some new place on her lush body to explore with his hands and his mouth.

  But one thing immediately came to mind.

  “Turn over,” he told her, his tone silky.

  “With pleasure.”

  She smiled up at him, her eyes gleaming with anticipation, and did as he’d asked. Oliver groaned at the sight of those pale, round globes, his hands tingling with the need to squeeze and stroke them.

  “Have I ever told you how much I love your ass?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Ever since that morning when you walked up the stairs, shaking it at me, all I’ve been able to think about was getting you on your hands and knees and slamming into you from behind.”

  She didn’t hesitate, rising onto her knees, her bottom perched up invitingly. When he caught sight of that glistening pink slit, he forgot everything else. Nothing mattered except t
he need to get inside her and pump wildly, to imprint himself on her, body and soul.

  “Come and take me,” she ordered. “Take me and come.”

  He knelt on the bed behind her, nestling his cock between her cheeks, sliding up and down to wet it with the cream seeping from her sex. She was whimpering, pushing against him, silently begging for more. Unable to resist a moment longer, he nudged her legs farther apart and moved his cock to her slick opening.

  “Yes. Now, please!”

  He didn’t need any further urging. Giving in to her demands, and his own body’s, he thrust into her. Sensation battered him, and he was left stunned at how good the angle felt, how much deeper he got, and how fucking erotic it was to look down and see his cock buried balls-deep in her body.

  He grabbed her hips, pulling out, thrusting back. Candace met his strokes, groaning, begging, going mad.

  It was wild. Hot. Incredibly pleasurable. When he bent over her to cover her back, and reached around so he could toy with her clit, she came with a loud cry.

  He almost followed her, but something made him stop. Yeah, he loved this. Yes, he knew it would go down as one of his favorite things in the entire world.

  But he wanted to see her face. Wanted to memorize how she looked when racked with pleasure and totally lost to everything but him.

  So without saying anything, he pulled out of her, gently turned her over and settled back between her thighs. She reached for him, encircling his neck, smiling as she pulled him down for a long, slow kiss.

  “Amazing,” she whispered against his lips when the kiss ended.

  “Yeah. We are.”

  She tightened her hold on him, wrapping her legs around his hips as he slid back into her. Their bodies melted together, each of them giving and taking by turns. He lost all sense of time and place, sure only of one thing.

  He couldn’t lose her. He’d do whatever it took to keep her in his life forever.

  11

  OLIVER HAD TAKEN pity on her and given her thirty minutes to get dressed rather than fifteen. Other than that, though, he kept his word, giving her more orgasms in an hour and a half than she’d thought humanly possible. As they rode the elevator down to the ballroom where this evening’s event was being held, Candace had to shift back and forth on her feet, incredibly aware of how tender and well used she felt.

  He apparently noticed. Stepping close, he slid an arm around her waist and ducked his head toward hers. “Are you okay?”

  “Perfect,” she whispered back, conscious of the other people on the elevator, another couple—middle-aged and well dressed—and a duo who looked like a mother and daughter. Neither of whom could take their eyes off Oliver, who did things to a tux that James Bond would envy.

  Good heavens, the man was handsome. Not just hot and sexy, but so amazingly handsome he turned heads—male and female. Tonight she thought he could outshine Tommy, routinely called one of the top ten sexiest men in the world.

  Tommy.

  Hell.

  She hadn’t thought much about him today. Nor had she answered when he’d tried calling a little while ago. She’d been busy, using all of her thirty minutes to clean up, fix her hair and makeup and get dressed. She would call him tomorrow, once she’d willed herself to pack up and head home. Tonight, she didn’t want to think about anyone or anything but Oliver.

  When they reached the ballroom, Oliver removed two tickets from his breast pocket and handed them to the person at the door. The minute they walked in, a congenial older gentleman with a barrel chest and very little hair walked over and greeted them. When he heard who she was, he enquired after her grandfather.

  “I heard he was laid up—some kind of accident?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. But he’s recovering nicely. He’s supposed to come home from the hospital tomorrow.”

  The man nodded absently, then moved on to what she suspected was his real topic of conversation. “Say, I’ve been hearing some stories. Something about a fabulous secret collection of antique vintages?”

  The Northern California wine community was a small one. She was not at all surprised rumors were already being bandied around. Considering these growers and vintners were also wine drinkers, she would bet most of them would be attending the auction once it was set and advertised.

  But not wanting to reveal too much, she merely shrugged and pasted on a vapid smile. “I don’t know about that. Actually, I’m afraid I don’t know anything about wine at all,” she said, forcing a giggle. “Just that I like to drink it!”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” He patted her hand, condescension dripping from him, and wished her a nice evening.

  As they walked away, she heard Oliver’s deep chuckle. “Well played.”

  “Hey, no point in getting the vultures circling until Grandpa gets home and decides what he wants to do. If word spreads too much, we’re going to have to start locking the door to the house.”

  “Buddy would never stand for that.”

  As they walked across the already-crowded room, Candace looked around, noting the decorations. Vines that looked quite real climbed and wove around some freestanding arbors, while beneath couples danced and chatted. The softly lit chandeliers cast a gentle glow over the well-dressed attendees, and laughter and wine were in abundance.

  Oliver smiled pleasantly at several people who said hello. Although he wasn’t technically one of them, he’d apparently met and impressed Buddy’s colleagues and neighbors. In fact, one of them, a beautifully gowned, attractive woman in her fifties, approached them before they got halfway across the room.

  She leaned in close to Oliver, not looking like the typical partygoer interested in exchanging gossip and feigning ennui. “You’re Mr. McKean, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry, have we met?”

  “I’m Doris Gladstone.” She stuck out her hand. “I work with Ben Harmon.”

  He dropped her hand. “Oh.”

  “Hear me out.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  This was getting more and more interesting. Oliver obviously knew who this Ben Harmon was, and didn’t want to talk to his associate.

  Candace stepped the tiniest bit closer, wishing the nearby string quartet would quiet down so she could eavesdrop more easily.

  “Look, I know the whole story,” the woman said. “Everybody knows. You might have made some enemies in the southern part of this state, but I promise you, everywhere else, people are well aware that you did the right thing and got royally screwed for it.”

  The truth dawned. Oliver hadn’t said anything about his past following him up here. But it obviously had. Hearing the way the woman was speaking, it wasn’t hard to gauge her respect for him, nor her interest in engaging him in shoptalk. Since Oliver almost never talked about his old life, she found herself intensely curious, wondering what he’d been like in that other world. Had he been as sexy, as thoughtful, as sweet? Had he exhibited flashes of that sardonic wit? Had he been a wildly erotic lover to lots of women?

  She swallowed, not wanting to consider that. Knowing how fast-paced life in Los Angeles could be, and how shallow some of the wealthy set was, she had to wonder if he’d ever been the flavor of the week for some socialite who’d heard about the rising hotshot of the D.A.’s office.

  “Ben is still dying for you to come in and talk to us. It’s a small practice, with just the office in Napa, but we’re both horribly overworked and we think you’d be a great fit.”

  Tension poured off him, and his hand tightened on Candace’s waist. She imagined he didn’t even realize it.

  “I don’t do that anymore.”

  “You don’t prosecute,” the older woman said. “But come on, you wouldn’t have made it in the L.A. district attorney’s office for four years, much less with a nearly perfect conviction record, if criminal law wasn’t in your blood.”

  His jaw was growing stiffer, his hand tighter, and Candace feared this Doris Gladstone person was pushing too hard. She wanted
Oliver to think about what the woman was saying, but, like most men, he wouldn’t want to be forced into it.

  She caught the other woman’s eye and narrowed her eyes, warning her off with a small, negative shake of the head.

  The attractive blonde got the message. Smiling brightly, she said, “Well, anyway, I won’t bother you and your lovely friend. I just wanted to reiterate what Ben told you. We’d love to talk to you.” Ignoring his silence, she reached into her purse and drew out a business card. She held it out and for a moment, Oliver just stared at it. When Candace nudged him, though, and he realized how rude he was being, he took it and dropped it into his side pocket.

  “Guess I should get back to my husband. We have a small place. He produced a thousand bottles last year and now thinks he’s ready to go up against Mondavi.”

  Smiling pleasantly, she walked away. A few other people stood nearby, all engaged in loud conversation, but Candace kept her voice down anyway.

  “They want you to come work with them?”

  “It’s been mentioned.”

  “But you declined?”

  “Her partner didn’t offer me a job or anything. Just asked me to lunch one day and broached the subject.”

  “You’re not even tempted?”

  He swiped a hand through his thick, dark hair and shook his head. “I don’t know, honestly. I just don’t want to think about it tonight.”

  “Understood,” she said, meaning it. The subject was closed for now, and she would respect his wishes by dropping it.

  Smiling his thanks, he turned toward a corner. “How about a drink? Red, white or an appallingly sweet combination of the two?”

  “Let’s go with red, and see if anything measures up to that bottle we shared from Grandpa’s cellar.”

  He twined his fingers with hers and squeezed, obviously appreciating that she’d let the subject change. Oliver had come up here to think about what he wanted to do with his life, including whether that life included a career in law. For four months, he’d buried himself in hard work and had allowed himself to believe he had no supporters, nowhere else to turn. So seeing that wasn’t true was probably good for him. An occasional nudge was probably in order. But any more than that was out of line. He would have to decide for himself what his future should be.