Swept Away

“So, what else can we do? You say you played basketball, so let’s see what sports are going on. Ah, here we go. Beach volleyball. Starting in—” she looked at her watch “—half an hour. Let’s do that. We’ll meet some people, which will be good practice for you. After that, we can come back here and I’ll show you my stuff.”

“Beg your pardon?” His eyes dropped to her bikini, which peeked from the sides of her blouse.

“My marketing stuff, Matt.”

He turned bright red. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re human.” She pushed at his arm in a friendly way, but her fingers stayed a moment too long. Having such a polite guy unable to keep from staring at her chest was dead sexy.

“I’m not usually so rude. Around you…I don’t know. You’re so…lively.”

“Lively?” Was that code for her being blatantly sexual? A party girl, in other words? That thought was a cold stab. “I’m more than you think I am,” she said lightly, not wanting to reveal her hurt. She usually didn’t take such quick offense, but the whole PQ2 thing and the promotion pressure had thrown off her confidence.

“That’s true of most of us, isn’t it?”

“Sure. I guess.” Everyone got pigeonholed to some degree, but not everyone got padlocked in as she’d been by her family. And not everyone could lose credibility at work over their reputation, either. She’d had enough of false impressions and she needed her time with Matt to fix this for good.

“Do you want to change?” Matt asked.

“What’s wrong with how I am?” Had he seen her PQ2 already?

“I mean for the volleyball game?” He nodded at her outfit.

“Oh. Change my clothes. Sorry.” She laughed, feeling foolish. Lighten up. “We haven’t got time really. I’ll just get more comfortable.” She took off her blouse, since it would constrict her arms, then crouched into a block to test her pants. “Too tight,” she concluded and undid the zipper to step out of her capris.

Afterward, Matt seemed to have to drag his gaze up to her face. She’d just changed in front of him, after all. “Better?” he asked, swallowing over what must have been a dry throat.

“Sure,” she said, flattered that he seemed to have to struggle to stop staring at her. The bottom of her bikini wasn’t cut particularly high and the top barely showed the curve of her breasts, but Matt seemed utterly stunned.

“You’ll want to lose the shirt,” she said, nodding at him.

He took it off and tossed it to the couch.

Now it was her turn to stare. Definitely buff, with an attractive line of dark hair that began low on his chest and pointed toward glory.

“Candy? You okay?”

“Yeah. Just checking.” She pretended to consider his biceps. “You’ve got a faint tan line, but your olive skin means you’ll only need a kiss of sun.”

“You’re worried about my tan?”

“A spray-on touch-up wouldn’t hurt.”

“What?”

She grinned. “Kidding! Nothing extreme. Maybe just a chemical peel? Kidding,” she added before he could object.

“I have the feeling I’m going to regret this,” he said, but his eyes twinkled. “I look okay for the game?” He stood back so she could check him out.

Naked to the waist, he was awe-inspiring. Even wearing boring khaki shorts. “Lose the belt,” was all she said.

He whipped the leather smoothly from the loops, his eyes on her the entire time, and her body went electric. Don’t stop, she wanted to say. Take it all off.

“Shoes, too,” she breathed, kicking off her own sandals.

He did likewise and there they stood, inches apart, with next to no clothes between them. Her bikini seemed like tiny paper-thin triangles and Matt’s shorts a mere patch of khaki. They were so close to naked heaven.

Was he aroused? She dared a glance at his zipper, where she thought she detected a bulge. Oh. Her own sex ached madly.

This was wrong. She forced herself to move, bending to grab her clothes, then Matt’s shirt. She shoved them all, plus their shoes, into her straw bag.

“I’ll get my, uh, sunglasses,” Matt said, bolting away from her toward the hall. Thank God.

Candy hightailed it outside, where she felt better. She dug her toes into the warm sand, inhaled the salt smell, took in that white glow the air at the beach always had. Seagulls cried and spun overhead. Down the shore, children shrieked happily.

The breeze lifted her hair and she tilted her face to the sun for a moment of pleasure. She had work to do, of course, and an attraction to ignore, but she was at the beach and it was glorious.

She turned to find Matt watching her from his porch. Even in the old-school sunglasses, he looked hot. With a good cut, contacts and well-tailored clothes, women would fall all over themselves to get to him.

As he headed toward her, she wondered who would be next. Someone big on career like Ice Princess Jane, no doubt. Someone chic and cool, Blackberry at her fingertips, pricey merlots in her temp-controlled wine closet. Thinking of Ms. Next-in-Line cooled Candy’s hots for Matt, which was a very good thing.

When he reached her, she fished out sunscreen, put some on her hands and held out the tube to him.

While she applied the cream to her arms, he rubbed some briskly between his broad palms, then smeared it over his face and shoulders, leaving white streaks everywhere.

“You have to rub it in,” she said and smoothed the liquid into his nose and across his cheekbones, blocking her awareness of how close she was and how nice his skin felt.

“Turn around,” she said, thinking that would help. She was a glutton for punishment, she realized, surveying the muscular expanse of his back. With a sigh, she started in on the firm surface of Matt’s shoulders and upper back, enjoying the slide of his muscles, lingering longer than strictly necessary, her mind sluggish with pleasure.

Why can’t we sleep together again?

He’s your boss. You want him to promote you.

Oh, yeah. That. She was showing him how smart and balanced and hard-working she was. How dedicated and responsible. How—

“You about done there?” he asked, turning.

“Uh, sure. Just being thorough.”

“Shall I do you?” he asked, low and slow.

Not that he meant anything by the suggestive words, but they gave her thoughts. “That’d be great.” She handed him the tube, turning her back.

His fingers pressed into her skin as he rubbed slowly and carefully, even under her shoulder straps. He was so very thorough. As he kept working, she couldn’t help but think that one little tug and her top would drop and he’d have more to rub than he’d bargained for. Her knees turned to water.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I think you got it,” she said, turning to grab the tube from his hand.

He looked startled, still holding his hand out.

“We’ll be late,” she said, hurrying toward the water, hoping it would be chilly enough to shock her out of her sensual lethargy.

Matt caught up and they walked the edge of the surf, letting the waves brush their toes, then retreat in foamy whispers.

The water was full of swimmers and bodysurfers. Young boys on Boogie boards tumbled like acrobats into the surf, heedless of pain or danger.

The shore was crowded with sunbathers under colorful umbrellas, lying on towels, surrounded by ice chests and beach toys, tossing balls or Frisbees.

“I love the beach,” she said, determined to enjoy every moment of it she could.

“Me, too,” Matt said. “I’m glad Ellie got me out here.”

“She said you had to use up vacation time.”

“I did. I tend to get too focused.”

“It’s easy when you love your work,” she said, but she’d never had extra vacation to use up. She’d had to take a two-day advance to make a Tahoe trip with friends to a ski lodge.

“Actually, Candy, I’m glad you came over. I might have parked myself in front of my laptop and missed all this.” He gestured out at the sparkling line between sky and sea.

“I’m glad I could be what you need,” Candy said, the words far too intimate. Her traitorous heart fluttered in her chest.

You’re what I need, too.

For my career, she reminded herself firmly. They were helping each other. This was all about SyncUp and their working relationship. The nearly naked volleyball game, the makeover to come, the hours sitting thigh-to-thigh at Matt’s computer showing him her stuff.

Oh, dear.

She’d handle it like they did it in AA: One twinge at a time.

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