Swept Away Read online

  “We do need the points.” Sara brightened, as if turning it into a duty meant she could safely do it.

  “How about this? You try to enjoy yourself today, Sara, and I’ll try not to.”

  Sara gave a rueful laugh, then glanced at the clock. “It’s six. I need to roust Ellie for her audition. I’m doing her makeup. Wish me luck.”

  “How did her hair turn out?”

  “I think gorgeous. She’s not so sure.”

  “Change is not for wimps or sissies.”

  “Amen to that.” Sara saluted her with her mug.

  Candy showered and dressed, careful to mask her love bite with plenty of foundation. Twenty minutes later, she was working at the computer, while Ellie moaned about the audition and Sara chased her around the condo with an eye-shadow palette.

  Freeda was at work when Candy called and easily sent her the files she needed. Candy double-checked her PowerPoint presentation, got everything in order and made a few notes. It took hardly any time, which made her feel better about blowing off work the evening before with Matt.

  What she’d prepared would really show him why she’d make a great team leader. Candy could name three shoo-ins and a most-likely for four of the team leader spots. She had her heart set on the fifth one. She had the advantage of more marketing experience than anyone else Matt could possibly consider. Her secret weapons were fresh ideas, creativity and the dedication she was showing Matt this week.

  Finished, she shut down the computer, put it in the bag, then mixed up a glass of her patented hangover cure to take to Matt. She was good.

  She set off, the gently crisp air adding to her high spirits. Only a few surfers were in the water and a handful of people ran along the beach. Radar, her kindred spirit, was nowhere to be found. Maybe her work ethic had chased him away.

  She knocked at Matt’s door. No answer.

  Could he still be asleep? Or was he in the shower? She went to the back of his place and peered in his bedroom window.

  He was in bed, lying on his stomach. He’d kicked off most of the bedspread so that his bare ass and one leg were in full view. Her heart practically stopped at the sight.

  His dark hair was dramatic against the white spread. His butt muscles dipped and swelled. She noticed a beauty mark high on the left cheek—the mate to the one on his face.

  She was staring like a Peeping Tom, but it felt more like visiting a museum, studying a gorgeous statue: Man at Rest.

  And she’d had him in action mere hours ago. The memory made her ache in delicate places.

  She released a sigh and rested her forehead on the screen, making it rattle against the window.

  Matt lifted his head at the sound, then pressed his temples, as if in pain. Sitting up, he saw her. His lips moved—saying her name, she’d bet. He tugged the spread around his waist and staggered to the window, which he opened. “Why did you leave?” He blinked at her through the screen, looking adorably sleepy.

  “I was restless. And I had work to do.”

  He squinted at his watch, but that seemed to hurt, too. “It’s only seven-thirty.”

  “Sorry I woke you, but you said you were up by six. Should I come back later?”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” he said, trying to smile, but only managing a wince.

  “Dr. Candy to the rescue.” She lifted the glass. “My patented hangover cure.”

  “I’ll meet you at the door.” He turned and plodded away, the bedspread slipping deliciously low on his behind, so that his beauty mark seemed to wink at her. Mmm.

  He let her in, then looked her over dreamily. “How are you, Candy?”

  She fought the melting feeling and held out the glass. “Better than you, I bet.”

  “You look great,” he said, his eyes roving her face, then her body, then back up to stop at her neck. “Did I do that?” He touched the hickey.

  “I tried to cover it up,” she said.

  “Don’t. It’s cute.” He looked almost proud.

  “Here.” She put the glass in his hand. “It’s got OJ, an egg, protein powder and a dash of vodka. Wait, though. You need B vitamins.” She put the computer down and fished out two capsules from the pillbox in her purse.

  “Take these, drink it all down, then take a cool shower so your capillaries won’t swell. That causes more pain. The final touch is a scalp massage.”

  “You’re taking care of me.” He grinned goofily.

  “Trying to. Now drink.”

  Obediently, he took the vitamins and emptied the glass. “Not bad,” he said, smacking his lips.

  “Now the shower.”

  “How about you come with?” he asked, low and slow. His wrap hung low and she glanced down to see an unmistakable bulge.

  She forced herself to stay on task. “I already showered.”

  “You can never be too clean.” He reached for her.

  She sidestepped. “Matt. We have to forget last night.”

  “Not possible.”

  “It has to be. You were drunk. I was…stupid. We work together.”

  “We’re on vacation. What happens in Malibu, stays in Malibu?”

  His argument was tempting, but no. “Last night was—”

  “Great,” he said.

  “It was crazy,” she corrected, fighting the urge to go with what he was saying, keep it up, stay in the fog of desire. “It was the time, the place, the booze. We were two warm bodies acting on natural urges. Under normal circumstances, we’d never be together, right? We’re like apples and oranges, oil and water….”

  “Gasoline and a match.” His voice had a rough, sexy edge.

  “Yeah. That.” She felt herself weaken, watched his fingers at his waist, thought about how nimble they were. If he would just drop that bedspread, they could get down to business.

  No. Control yourself. “Come on,” she said as if he were being ridiculous. “The two of us? I mean, you’re not my type.” That sounded harsh and hurt flickered in his face, so she fixed it. “And I’m not yours, either. Right?”

  “Right,” he said stiffly, tightening his fist in the wadded sheet. “Of course. I’ll get dressed.” He turned to go, looking so defeated her heart ached.

  Except in bed, she wanted to call after him. In bed, you’re more my type than anyone. Ever. But this was best.

  While he showered, she’d make him breakfast and fire up the computer. After that, they’d hit the mall for his makeover. She had a plan and she was sticking with it. Never mind that Matt was naked and wet and soapy…and did his shower have a pulsing nozzle?

  While the computer booted, Candy made a pot of Columbian, Matt’s favorite blend. Ellie had bought bagels, cream cheese and lox, so Candy toasted the bagels. The lox had omega-3, which would aid Matt’s brain’s recovery from the alcohol.

  Back at the computer, she opened up her files, then located the Web site for the Malibu Country Mart and wrote down the numbers of the hair salon and optician. By the time Matt emerged, she was setting loaded plates beside two steaming mugs of fresh coffee.

  “Better?” she asked him.

  “A little, I guess.” He looked pale and moved like a recovering accident victim.

  “The food should help.” She handed him his coffee, which he sipped tentatively. He looked so good in ordinary Dockers and a short-sleeved plaid shirt that she was ready to shove him against a wall and climb all over him.

  Instead, she settled onto a stool beside him to watch him eat while nibbling on her own bagel.

  “This is working,” he said after a few bites. “Thanks.”

  It was working on her, too. Watching his mouth and fingers move as he ate, remembering where they’d been on her body, made her lose her appetite completely.

  She went to wait for him at the computer.

  He joined her, sitting on the chair she’d placed close to hers so they could both see the screen. When their thighs touched, she sucked in a breath so sharply she sounded like she’d been stabbed.

  “You okay?”
he asked, concerned.

  “Of course. Sure.” Her reaction embarrassed her.

  “So, that last part…of the hangover cure?” He grinned.

  Hell, she’d forgotten about the scalp massage. “Sure. Face this way.”

  He turned his chair and she scooted so that their legs were interlaced and they were mere inches apart, his breath, smelling of coffee and toothpaste, warm on her skin. She couldn’t stare into his eyes—intense even through the glasses—so she told him to close his eyes. When he did, she slid her fingers into his wet hair and began to squeeze his scalp. “This will stimulate circulation and soothe the nerve endings. You’d be surprised how many there are in your scalp.”

  She worked her fingers slowly across his skull, starting at his crown, then working her way to his forehead. With his eyes closed, she was free to study his face, which was smooth and handsome and newly tanned from the volleyball game. That made the laugh lines beside his lips and the crinkles around his eyes more vivid.

  “Man, that’s good. It’s like you released rubber bands from my skull.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” She spied that beauty mark on his cheek and thought about the matching one on his behind. Oh, Matt. Now that she’d slept with him, the temptation was even stronger.

  “You sure know your way around a hangover,” Matt said.

  That stung. “I’m hardly an expert. I talk to people. I’ve read tips.”

  Matt opened his eyes. “That was a compliment, Candy. I meant to say you are a knowledgeable person.”

  “If I were that good, I’d have insisted you drink less Tsunami and more club soda.”

  “I knew what I was doing, Candy.” He grabbed her gaze. “Every minute.”

  “Oh.” The heat in his words shot through her. “Close your eyes,” she demanded.

  He did and she focused on her task, moving to his neck to work her fingers along the cords of muscles, digging where muscle met ligament and ligament met bone.

  Matt moaned the way he had last night and she went tight all over.

  “That’s enough of this,” she said, patting his shoulder. It was all she could bear.

  He opened his eyes and smiled. “Thanks. All that’s left is the steel wool between my ears.”

  “That’ll take more time.”

  “I’m never drinking again,” he said, then held up his hands. “I know, I know. Everyone says that.”

  “Just stay clear of Tsunamis, huh?”

  “Good advice.”

  “Shall we?” She indicated the computer screen before them, her anticipation helping her ignore Matt’s nearness, his smell, the way the sun snagged in his hair and made it gleam.

  “So what have you got for me?” Matt said, blinking against the brightness of the screen, poor thing.

  In answer, she clicked the lead slide, Ledger Lite Personal, with the artwork she’d had a friend in graphics mock up for her. A second click revealed the tagline: The powerful business solution now perfect for personal use.

  “The idea is to pare Ledger Lite to the basic ledger and planning sheets, down-price it and market it for consumers and small business.”

  “Interesting,” Matt said. “Small business, you say?”

  “Yep. Like I told you, I’ve been talking to Gina in customer relations and she says people using Payroll Plus are asking for a simpler, cheaper version of LL.”

  “You have hard data to that effect?”

  “Gina has a list of clients who’d happily test it and be our word-of-mouth network hubs.”

  “Who’s already in the market?”

  “We’ll blow the competitors right out of the water, Matt. They’re at higher price points, their programs are unwieldy, the menus counterintuitive. Nothing like the simplicity we’ve got built in with LL.”

  “The packaging you’re showing is pricey.”

  “We could scale it back. This is just a mock-up.”

  “Our strategy is market expansion for Ledger Lite. A new niche would dilute that.”

  “But it’s not new. That’s what’s cool. We’re already a preferred provider with Payroll Plus. We have seventy-five percent penetration with small business. So, no need to buy lists or cold-market at all.”

  “You’ve got the numbers on that?”

  “I was talking to Bud in R & D, yeah.”

  He nodded slowly. “This would require a new interface. Lots of code hours.”

  “Not if we adapted programming from a consumer product.”

  “It would be a scratch effort. And our programmers are swamped with the fall releases.”

  Candy’s heart was pounding in her ears. He seemed impressed, yet he shot down each answer with a new question.

  “You seem skeptical. I can get more data, if that’s all.”

  “That would help, because this would mean a big shift.” He hesitated. “It’s a good idea, Candy.”

  “What’s missing?”

  “The numbers, of course. It’s something to consider.” He smiled at her. Nice try, kid. She felt a mix of plunging disappointment and sharp fury. Why was he treating her this way?

  “I have to ask…if Dave or Jim Daltry or Susan came to you with this idea, would you react differently?” Those three were definite team leaders.

  “Of course not.” He looked startled. “We’ll consider it, like I said. Get the numbers for me and down the line we’ll—”

  “Ledger Lite goes into beta in two weeks. It can’t be down the line. Can’t we talk with the programmers, see if they can fit it in?”

  He studied her. “Scott would have to decide that. I’d need something to pitch to him.”

  “A full marketing plan? No problem. I’ll do that tomorrow.”

  “Candy, that’s crazy. This is your vacation. It can wait.”

  “Not if we want to make beta.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Of course.” She watched as Matt gradually realized she’d meant what she’d said. It was hard not to wonder if he’d be as slow to accept the word of the key staff she’d mentioned.

  “Get me a full marketing plan and we’ll see.”

  “Great. Terrific.” She had a chance. All she had to do was beef up her proposal. She’d work between festival events and nail it. Maybe it was better that he’d had questions and concerns. She’d prove she could accept criticism, modify her work, be resilient—all important management skills, all things that would make her a great team leader.

  “So, are we done here?” Matt said, stifling a yawn. “Sorry. Caffeine’s wearing off.” He smiled, his eyes watery. The poor man was still hung over.

  “For now, yeah.” They’d gotten past the sex thing and were back to Plan A, so it was all good. “On to the mall now.”

  Matt groaned. “Can we get coffee there?”

  “Absolutely.”

  In a half hour, they were strolling through the Malibu Country Mart, a friendly collection of boutiques boasting loads of greenery, flowers and arches, a rest area with a sandy playground and a view of the beach.

  “I need a fill-up.” Matt held the door to a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf café for her.

  “You’re buying from one of Ellie’s competitors?”

  “People go to Dark Gothic Roast for Ellie as much as the coffee. No one can compete with that.”

  “True.” She liked how well Matt knew his sister and how obvious his affection for her was.

  At the oak counter, Candy studied the menu.

  “I think you’ll want the macchiato with an extra shot of espresso,” Matt said. “It’s the closest to café de Sade.”

  She jerked her gaze to his. “You know my coffee?”

  “And you take it with sweetener, cream and cinnamon.”

  “Ah. You’re remembering the time I sprinkled your shoes.”

  Another awkward Dark Gothic Roast meeting. She’d been relieved she hadn’t added scalding coffee to the cinnamon topping she’d applied to Matt’s wing tips.

  “I just know w
hat you like.”

  In bed. The message was clear. “Oh.” Heat rose between them and she knew they were both remembering their erotic encounter.

  “Can I help you?” the clerk asked.

  “Uh, yeah,” Matt said, jerked out of the moment. “She’ll have the machiatto with a shot of espresso.”

  “And he’ll have Columbian regular,” Candy said. When the clerk left, she turned to him. “Black, right? I know what you like, too.”

  “Oh, yeah. You do.” More heat, more trembling.

  Somehow, they made it to a table, and she vowed to keep her mind on their professional relationship, not their recent intimacy.

  “Nice job on the PowerPoint,” Matt said, clearly trying to shift the topic. Did he sound surprised?

  She realized she should clear up another misconception he probably had about her. “That reminds me, while we’re overcoming bad impressions, I want to explain about that report I was late with—the next morning? After I fell?”

  “The report that was missing pages and riddled with typos? I don’t remember that one.”

  She cringed inside. “Exactly. You see what happened was—”

  “It’s water under the bridge. You don’t have to explain.”

  “I need to explain. The reason I was late was I had to help my neighbor look for her lost dog. She was sobbing in the parking lot, so what could I do?”

  “Express sympathy and get to work on time?” But he smiled, teasing her. “You could never do that.” He leaned closer and she realized she’d moved in, too, her head at a flirty angle. They were behaving like lovers in public, hinting at secret moments they’d shared. Sex had changed their rapport, which wasn’t good, no matter how lovely it felt.

  She sat back and folded her arms across her chest. “Anyway, helping her made me late and I’d forgotten that I hadn’t finalized the report. It was not like me. I meet deadlines and am committed to quality and—”

  “Did you find the dog?”

  “The dog? Oh. Yes. Covered in mud. You should have seen my backseat, but we found her.”

  “So it was worth it.”

  “Except that it left you with a bad taste in your mouth about me.”

  “I think you tasted quite nice that night. Sweet and salty from the margarita. Spicy, too. Your own taste.”