week, without coming up for air once.
Or at least that’s what he’d want to happen. Whether she would be game or not, he didn’t know. In his fantasies, she was a willing participant.
No, it was better little Miss Candice thought he found her anything but attractive. Coupled with his desire, he felt guilt about it. His wife had been dead for seven years and their marriage had been anything but perfect, but the guilt was there.
He and Gail had known one another for years, had flitted in and out of each other’s lives from the time her grandfather had worked for Strong Construction when she was a young girl. Upon her return on break from university, no one had been surprised when they’d gotten together.
She’d always had a quiet way about her, always seemed to hold her emotional cards close. They’d flirted back and forth, yet Davis was surprised when she returned from school during her summer break and immediately insisted they take their relationship to the next level.
When she’d shown up on his doorstep, slightly intoxicated, he’d invited her in. He’d initially resisted, hadn’t wanted to take advantage of her inebriated state, but had eventually caved in and made love to her.
Six weeks later she’d told him she was pregnant, and they’d gotten married.
She’d never shown him as much desire, had never been so determined to make love to him, as she had during that time. Davis wouldn’t know for several months later why.
Once he learned the reason, he shut down his emotions around her. He’d kept his feelings tightly in check. Tried to make the best of it for Angelica’s sake.
“I promised Gail I would make sure Angel had a black woman in her life. And more importantly, I think Angel could benefit from it. And I will find one. A positive, nurturing, mature woman. But it won’t be Candice,” he stated, emphatically.
“What?! Oh come on! What are you going to do? Put an ad in the newspaper? ‘Help Wanted: Black woman who is positive and nurturing to be my daughter’s friend?’”
“Whatever I do, it won’t be to approach Ms. Cain. End of subject.”
Candy Cain. Just like candy, I can see it when you walk, even when you talk, it takes hold of me… he hadn’t been able to get the old ’80s song out of his mind from the moment he first laid eyes on her.
“I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll figure something out. Now when are you coming back to work? The place isn’t the same without you,” he quickly changed the subject.
There was a pregnant pause and he prompted her. “Mil? What’s going on? Is there something behind you leaving the company and Stanton besides you needing a break?”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle, Davis.”
“Are you sure? I’ve been so caught up in Angel and her theatrics I think I’m missing something with you.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle, Davis,” she repeated. “You know I’m a big girl now. I don’t need for you to jump in and fight my battles for me,” she replied, her voice nonchalant.
Davis held back his desire to probe deeper, knowing his sister was stubborn as hell and wouldn’t listen to him.
Just as all the women in his life seemed to be, he thought and munched moodily on his cold French toast.
3
“Is it me, or does my ass look like the back side of a very large caboose in these jeans?” Candy mumbled out loud, to no one in particular. It was becoming an eccentric habit of hers, she thought. Talking to empty rooms.
Candy twisted her body this way and that, glaring at her hind end at every conceivable angle. She reached behind and tugged at the waistband of her new jeans, where material and skin met. She blew out a frustrated breath of air. There was enough space between for her to insert her entire hand inside!
The hip/waist ratio thing was a serious pain whenever she bought a new pair of jeans. Too tight in the hips and it was perfect for her waist. Too loose in the waist and they fit to a T in the thighs and butt.
With her eyes still trained on her butt, she knew she’d have to whip out her sewing machine and do some serious alterations to make these babies work.
She had given up finding a pair of jeans that would fit. The best she could do was to make sure they worked for thighs and butt and alter the waistline.
It would be nice if at least one designer would get it right for women with her body type, she thought. It wasn’t like all women were a perfect size-eight body. All they’d have to do was take a look around at the general population of everyday women, take a poll, something, she mentally griped.
Candice blew out a disgusted puff of air.
She should have altered them before deciding to wear them for the first time, she thought.
“Do you want me to answer that question, or are you just talking out loud to hear yourself speak?”
Candice nearly jumped out of her skin when the deep voice answered. She spun around and tripped, catching herself before she fell on the floor in an undignified heap.
Her eyes widened. Davis Strong stood in her doorway, a deep frown settling across his handsome face.
She stumbled again. Before she could right herself, he had crossed the room, his warm palm cupping her beneath her elbow. “Whoa—be careful.”
Her reaction to the contact was immediate. The feel of his big, warm palm on her skin caused a direct zing of electric heat to sizzle between them.
She glanced up, heart pounding. “Thank you,” she murmured and cleared her throat.
“No problem.”
Candy tried to pull away. When he held on, she turned back toward him and their gazes locked. His eyes were trained on her mouth and seemed to darken when her tongue swiped along her full bottom lip.
Her gaze traveled over his face, cataloging features that were already burned into her memory.
He’d recently returned from Florida, and had gained a light olive tan. The color contrasted vividly against his light-gray eyes.
Although he wasn’t handsome in the typical model, GQ way—no, his harsh good looks were beyond anything so tame as model perfection—he exuded raw masculine appeal that drew her in like a magnet every time she was anywhere in his vicinity.
Davis Strong had the ability, no matter how put together she thought she was, to make Candy feel like a ten-year-old naughty schoolgirl.
Although the feelings he stirred in her whenever she was in his presence weren’t the feelings a young girl would, or should, be having.
Naughty or otherwise.
Not that she wouldn’t mind playing the naughty little girl for him, if ever he was so inclined.
Despite her wayward dreams of late, where she’d cast him as the unsuspecting male lead in her very own porn flick, he had
