Waking Up to You: Overexposed (11 page)

He snorted a laugh. “You weren’t watching
Barney
the day they went over that whole sharing thing, huh?”

“Are you kidding? I was forced to share from the minute I drew breath. Madison and I had to split everything fifty-fifty.”

“Your sister?” She’d mentioned Madison, who would be coming in from the east coast this weekend, always speaking fondly of her only sibling.

“Yep. Believe me, I never had a thing to call my own.”

“Close in age, huh?”

Her grin was infectious. “Uh, yeah. You could definitely say that.”

Before she could elaborate, the movie began to play. The image flickered on the screen, grainy and gray, and the credits began to roll.

“Where’s the music?” she asked, looking confused. “Didn’t they always have that really dramatic music underscoring everything?”

“The music wasn’t imprinted on the movie any more than dialogue could be—hence the term
silent picture.
”

She smacked her palm against her own forehead. “Duh.”

“Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. I asked exactly the same question the first time I watched one of these with my family.”

“Whenever I see clips from these old movies, there’s always music. Where’d it come from?”

“The written score always accompanied the reels when they were sent out to the big movie houses.” He reached for the bucket of popcorn. “In-house organists would play along as the movie ran.”

“Live?”

“Yes. I’ve seen some pictures from some of my great-grandfather’s movie openings. There were huge, elaborate organs.”

“Guess the musicians had to be fast studies.”

“I suspect a lot of it sounded alike.It was the cue to the audience about how they were supposed to feel.”

“Have you ever seen any of those YouTube videos people make with clips of horror movies set to the soundtrack from a comedy? Or vice versa? The music definitely makes the moment.”

“So, should I hum?” he asked with a grin.

“Are you any good?”

“I’m told I have the perfect voice for singing in the shower. Or on a deserted island.”

Laughing, she curled up against him on the couch, watching as the credits finished and the action started. He draped an arm over her, amazed at how natural this was, how laid-back and comfortable. He found her so easy to talk to. There was no pretension with her, no subtext that he’d often experienced with other women, when they’d say one thing but mean another.

Candace was nothing like that. She was honest—refreshingly so—and utterly open.

Except about her secret.

Yeah. Except about that.

Forcing himself not to think about it, he focused on the screen, immediately recognizing his ancestor, who rode in on a beautiful Arabian horse.

“Not exactly politically correct,” he said, noting the heavy makeup.

“Shh.”

“Why do I have to shh when there’s nothing to hear?”

She elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m reading.”

“And you need to hear to do that?”

“Yes, so I can create the voices in my head.”

She sounded a little testy, and he couldn’t resist baiting her. “Hearing voices in your head...do that a lot, do you?”

She sat up and glared at him. “Shut up or I’m going for the pots and pans.”

He held up a self-protective hand before making a zipping motion over his lips.

Leaning over and brushing a quick kiss on his lips, she settled back against him, her arm around his waist, her head tucked against his shoulder. She fit perfectly against him and this little scene of domestic tranquility seemed somehow right, even though it was against everything he’d expected for himself in recent months.

As they watched the story unfold, he found himself getting immersed in it. Something about watching without the music made it more dramatic. It was easier to focus on the images, the way the actors emoted. The plot was easy to follow, and probably typical of the era. Handsome sheikh rescues beautiful blonde American woman from the dangers of the desert and whisks her off to his sensuous silk-swathed palace. Their people try to tear them apart, but in the end, true love triumphs over all.

Once the film ended, Candace murmured, “It’s just like that line from
Sunset Boulevard.
They didn’t need words, they had faces.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Your great-granddad was a handsome dude.”

“He was apparently quite the rogue.”

“Like grandfather like grandson?”

He grunted and slipped his arm out from under her so he could go turn off the projector.

“Come on, Oliver, spill,” she said, leaning over the arm of the couch to watch him. “Did you leave a trail of broken hearts throughout Hollywood when you moved up here?”

“Hardly.” He swallowed visibly. “Just the one.”

The teasing light faded from her eyes. “You mentioned that at the bar. She left you because of the scandal?”

“Yes. She bailed right around the time the newspapers started sucking my blood.”

He flipped the projector off, not bothering to turn on the floor lamp in the corner. It was cozy in here, with enough illumination spilling in from the nearby kitchen to cast warm streaks of light on her beautiful face.

He hadn’t necessarily intended to have this conversation, but figured it had probably been inevitable. So he admitted, “We worked together. When I started making waves in our little office pool, she swam for the shallow end and left me there, treading water.”

Looking indignant on his behalf, she sat up and crossed her arms over her chest. “Bitch.”

“Maybe. She was ambitious and didn’t want to go down with a sinking ship.”

“Then she obviously didn’t care very much about you. She could have, at the very least, thrown you a life preserver.”

Nobody had. None of his colleagues, anyway. Nobody he worked with had wanted to come anywhere near him once he’d made himself a marked man by going up against the powerful D.A. Yes, eventually the media, the public and the judicial system had started calling him a rare man with integrity. A hero. But behind closed doors, he had been vilified. He was finished in Orange County, and he knew it. Unless, as Candace had suggested, he kept on living simply and started taking some jobs on his own. He couldn’t deny he’d been thinking about it since she’d suggested it. His experience as a prosecutor had made him view most defendants as guilty, but he knew in his soul that some were not. It was just a matter of finding them.

Candace rose to her feet, crossed to him and put her hand on his chest. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Oliver. But can I also say I’m glad it brought you here? I honestly hate to think of what my life would be like right now if you hadn’t been here waiting for me when I arrived.”

He put his hands on her hips and drew her close, pressing a soft kiss on her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him more deeply, parting her lips, sliding that delicious tongue out to play with his. God, how he loved kissing this woman. Loved the way she molded against his body, every curve of her fitting into some hollow in his.

After a long moment, she said, “Want to head over to your place?”

By unspoken agreement, they’d confined their lovemaking to the cottage, as if neither of them wanted to take advantage of Buddy by making love in his house. “Yeah.”

“Give me a couple of minutes,” she said with an impish smile. She walked toward the stairs. “I want to throw a few things in a bag.”

He didn’t think she meant luggage since his place was all of a hundred yards from here. He could only hope she meant she wanted to pack something sinfully sultry...or wickedly erotic.

“Am I going to like what you’re packing?”

“You’re going to love what I’m packing,” she promised with a saucy wink. Then she turned and hurried up the stairs.

Figuring he’d have a few minutes, Oliver carefully took apart the old projector. He placed the components back in the case, and collapsed the screen. Buddy had kept the things in a small storage room adjoining the kitchen, so he carried them back there, carefully setting the antique equipment in a corner where it wouldn’t be tripped on. Afterward, he cleaned up the food and their drinks and carried the leftovers to the kitchen, finding places for them in the cabinets.

The Dots he kept. He tucked the half-empty box into his pocket, envisioning a few places he’d like to put them...just so he could pull them back out with his teeth and his tongue.

Before the night was over, he might end up liking gummy candy after all.

With that thought in mind, he was smiling as he walked back toward the front of the house. Candace was standing at the bottom of the stairs, her back to him, looking up. She’d changed her clothes and had slipped into something a little more comfortable. Not a sexy nightie, unfortunately, just a loose-fitting pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. He couldn’t stop a tiny stab of disappointment that she wasn’t wearing leather and screw-me heels, but figured it was chilly out and she’d have more to strip off in front of him when they got to his bedroom.

“I can’t wait to get these off you,” he murmured, coming up behind her and sliding an arm around her waist.

She gasped, obviously startled. Oliver held her tighter, spreading his hand across her belly, pulling her hard against him so her curvy butt pressed against his rapidly hardening cock, and bent to nibble on her neck. “You make me crazy, Candace. All day long, I think about nothing but getting you naked and wet.”

Rather than lifting her arm over her shoulder and encircling his neck, or tilting her head to give him more access, she cleared her throat and slowly turned around to face him. His hands dropped lower, cupping her backside, and he looked down at her.

Then he blinked, wondering what was wrong. Something was...off. She wore a look of amused speculation that he couldn’t remember ever seeing before and her lips were curled up in a tiny, jaded smile that was half sneer. Candace’s grin was usually far more sexy—or, occasionally, sweet. Never jaded. Not Candace.

Tilting his head in confusion, he stared at her, slowly drawing in a breath. Because the truth finally landed in his befuddled brain.

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered. “You’re not Candace.”

10

W
HEN
SHE
HEARD
Oliver speak, Candace thought for a moment he’d called out to her from downstairs. She strode to the top of the staircase and glanced down, expecting to find him looking up at her.

Instead, she saw the man she was falling for, with his hands on her sister’s ass.

“Whoa!” she called, charging down the stairs, taking them a couple at a time as she descended.

Oliver, his mouth agape, stared at her, then at Madison, then back at her. He dropped his hands and took a quick step back, almost tripping over his own feet.

“Twins? You’re twins?”

Realizing what had happened—that her lover had mistaken her sister for her and obviously copped a feel—Candace felt her flash of jealousy disappear. She bit down on her lips to prevent a giggle, knowing Oliver was incredibly embarrassed.

Madison stuck her hand out, as if he hadn’t just been gripping her butt, which had always been just a wee bit curvier than Candace’s. “I’m Madison Reid. It’s nice to meet you. You’re Oliver, I presume?”

He didn’t take her hand, continuing to stare back and forth between them, as most people did when they first realized they were seeing double.

Finally shaking off her shocked amusement, Candace threw her arms around her twin’s shoulders. “What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you until at least tomorrow.”

“I caught an earlier flight.”

Madison squeezed her tight, and they held each other for a long minute. Neither seemed willing to let go first.

Ever since Candace had moved out to L.A. to try to break into movie costuming, missing Madison had been the hardest thing to deal with. Oh, of course she missed her parents and her friends, but she and her twin had a special bond. The only person who’d ever come close to coming between them was Tommy, and that was only until Madison had clued in to the fact that he was gay and wasn’t someone they ever had to compete over.

Before the move, they hadn’t ever been apart for longer than a few weeks, since they’d both gone to colleges in Central Florida and shared an apartment throughout. Mad had been Candace’s best friend since the day they were born, and until this moment, when tears started pouring out of her eyes, she honestly hadn’t realized how long they’d been apart. It had been months since she’d flown to New York to help Mad move into her new place after she’d landed her first big-city reporting job.

“I’ve missed you so much,” her sister whispered.

“Right back at you.”

She heard sniffling—not her own—and realized she wasn’t the only one who’d turned on the waterworks. Finally, knowing Oliver had to be standing there, gaping, wondering when somebody was going to explain, she let Mad go and took a step back. They both wiped their eyes, probably looking like a pair of saps.

“Uh...does somebody want to tell me what’s going on?” Oliver still looked a little stunned.

Candace walked over and took his arm. “Didn’t I ever tell you that Madison and I are identical twins?”

“I think I would have remembered.” He didn’t sound happy. “How do you not mention something like that? And I can’t believe Buddy didn’t.”

She shrugged, a little sheepish. “I guess it never occurred to him. When we were younger, we were both pretty adamant about not being thought of as just the Reid twins. We wanted to always be known as individuals.”

“Right,” Madison interjected. “Individuals who had each other’s back no matter what, switched places all the time and sat in on each other’s classes for the subjects one or the other of us didn’t like. But everybody had to call us by our given names, not, ‘the twins.’”

Candace exchanged a smile with her sister, both of them obviously remembering their stubborn insistence during childhood on being unique people, not part of a duo. Of course, they’d been inseparable anyway. Oh, how she’d missed her.

“I really wish I’d known,” Oliver said. When he rubbed his hands over his eyes and shook his head, she realized he was more embarrassed than anything else. He confirmed it. “I was an ass. I’m sorry, Madison, I truly thought you were Candace.”

Her sister, who prided herself on chewing men up and spitting them out, both romantically and in the cutthroat world of journalism in which she’d immersed herself, offered him a wide smile. “Are you kidding? I loved every second of it.”

Wondering just how much she’d missed, Candace shot a pointed stare at her sister that silently said,
Back off. He’s mine.

Madison put her hands up, palms out in a conciliatory gesture, but ruined it when she wagged her eyebrows up and down. “Candace wasn’t quite as descriptive about you as she might have been.”

Wishing her twin hadn’t mentioned the fact that she’d been talking about him, she changed the subject. “Come on in, sit down, relax. Do you want something—coffee? A glass of wine?”

“Is it from a fifty-thousand-dollar bottle?”

Candace grinned. She’d filled her sister in on the treasure in the basement. “Sorry, no. We figured we’d better leave everything else that’s down there for the appraiser. I have horrible visions of accidentally misreading something and breaking open a bottle that would pay off the mortgage on this place.”

“Ah well,” Mad said, waving a hand. “I guess I’ll make do with cheap swill for tonight.”

“I’ll see if I can find something up to your New York City tastes,” she replied with a chuckle.

Mad followed them into the living room and plopped down on a recliner, flipping the handle to lift the footrest. She kicked off her comfortable shoes and flexed her feet, making herself at home.

Candace went to the bar, grabbed a bottle she’d picked up at a nearby store and popped it open. Oliver, meanwhile, sat on the couch, trying unsuccessfully to hide the fact that he was looking back and forth between them, trying to find differences that were hard even for family members to spot. Candace’s second piercing in one ear, a freckle on her left hand, the tiny scar on Madison’s chin, which she’d split open in nursery school—those, and their vastly different wardrobes, were all that really told them apart now that Mad had given up her redhead experiment and gone back to her natural color.

“You doing okay?” she asked Oliver after she’d given Madison her wine. She touched his shoulder lightly. “I’m really sorry I didn’t say anything. I meant to.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “As long as I’m not going to get charged with groping a stranger.”

Her brow went up. “Groping?” She cast an arch look at her sister. “Just how long did you let him think you were me?”

Mad smiled sweetly. “Long enough to be impressed, little sister.”

Little
by virtue of being born twenty-seven minutes after her twin.

Candace sat down and dropped a possessive hand on Oliver’s leg. He covered it with his own, squeezing her fingers, and she knew his embarrassment was fading.

As she sipped her wine, Madison asked a million questions, mostly about Buddy. She was just as fond of their grandfather as Candace and was looking forward to seeing him tomorrow. Deciding his heart probably wasn’t up to any pranks right now, she agreed not to sneak into Candace’s closet and try any identity swaps.

“So when is he going to be able to come home?”

“The day after tomorrow,” Candace replied.

“I’m sure he’s looking forward to it.” Madison dropped her gaze, eyeing the ruby liquid in her glass. “Are you, uh, still planning on leaving as soon as he’s released?”

Her stomach lurched. That had been the plan all along. Mad had promised to come visit her in L.A. once Grandpa was back on his feet, since she knew Candace had already been here for almost two weeks.

She had to do it, knowing real life was waiting for her. But oh, God, she did
not
want to go. She wasn’t ready to end this wonderful interlude. The time she’d spent here, her days with her grandfather, as well as the long heated nights with her lover, had been the happiest she could remember for a very long time. She loved the climate, loved the country, loved being involved in the excitement of her grandfather’s collection.

She loved Oliver.

That realization had been creeping up on her a little more every day, but she hadn’t allowed herself to really believe it until now. While her first inclination was to continue to shove the very idea away, pretend it had never occurred to her, she knew she wasn’t that good at denial.

Somewhere between her first night here, when she’d attacked him with a pot and fifteen minutes ago, when she’d seen him holding her sister, she had lost her heart to him. All her mixed-up feelings toward the man had cemented into pure and simple love.

“Yeah, Candace,” Oliver asked, his tone serious and his stare intense. “Are you leaving?”

She swallowed, but since her mouth had gone so dry, it didn’t help. “I, uh...I’m not sure yet.”

He nodded slowly, then cast a glance between her and Madison. “Listen, it sounds like you two haven’t seen each other for a while. I’ll get out of here so you can catch up.”

“You don’t have to...” she protested.

“Don’t go on my account!” added Madison.

He stood anyway. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.” He cast a glance toward Madison. “Candace and I were supposed to go to a winery owner’s event down in the city tomorrow evening. Why don’t you take my spot?”

That was the courteous offer to make and she wasn’t surprised he’d extended it. But her heart twisted anyway. She’d been so looking forward to an evening out with him, being on his arm, dancing with him. Spending the night in an opulent hotel room where they didn’t have to share a small, lumpy bed or sneak out of Buddy’s house like she was a teenager getting it on with her high school football player boyfriend.

Especially if it was to be the last night they’d have together.

The last night ever.

Tears formed in her eyes again. She blinked them away, willing him not to notice.

“Not a chance!” Madison replied with a visible grimace. “I’ve been working fourteen-hour days lately. I’m so burned-out I think I’ll do nothing but sleep and visit the old guy for at least a week.”

“It really isn’t...”

“Forget it,” Mad said, cutting him off. “I’m not being nice—ask Candace. I don’t do nice. I’m just being honest. I really don’t want to go.”

True. Mad didn’t play nice for niceness’s sake. She was blunt and honest. Still, seeing the twinkle in her sister’s eye, and knowing Madison had to realize by the way she’d been talking about him that Candace was crazy about Oliver, she couldn’t help thinking that this time, her sister’s crusty heart was speaking for her.

“If you’re sure,” Oliver said. He turned to Candace. “So will you be ready to leave by three o’clock tomorrow?”

Spoken as if he didn’t think he’d see her tonight. Ha. She had a key to his cottage and she wasn’t afraid to use it. She’d proved that to him already.

But, figuring she’d surprise him later by showing up in his bed without a stitch, she merely smiled. “Of course.”

Bidding Madison good-night, he left the house. They were silent for a few minutes, then without saying a word, her sister got up, went to the bar and poured two glasses of wine. She came back, handed one to Candace and sat beside her on the couch.

“You’re in love with him.”

Candace could only nod.

“I think he’s in love with you, too.” She chuckled. “He’s definitely in lust. Whoa, girl, that man has some plans for you. He’s totally delish, by the way.”

“I know.”

She didn’t go on, feeling that deep well of sadness rise up within her. Because yes, she suspected Oliver had developed feelings for her. But no, she was not going to have the happily ever after her twin seemed to be envisioning.

It was silly, really. Most women would be envious, thinking she’d be blissfully happy when her engagement to one of the most eligible bachelors alive was announced. In truth, her heart would be shattered, knowing she’d given up her only chance at happiness with the lawyer-turned-groundskeeper who had made her entire world come alive.

“So why are you miserable?” Mad asked, sensing her mood. Her mouth twisted into a frown. “Has he done something to hurt you? Jesus, he’s not married is he!”

“No, of course not.”

“Then what is it?”

She sighed deeply. “I can’t keep him.”

Her sister snorted. “Of course you can.”

“I have to get back to my life in L.A.”

“Bullshit. You can work from here.”

“It’s not the job,” she admitted. “I’ve made a commitment and I can’t back out on it.”

Madison leaned forward, dropping her elbows onto her knees. “There’s no commitment in the world that’s more important than figuring out if this guy is the love of your life.”

“Yes, there is.” She sighed heavily, glad to be able to reveal her secret to someone. Madison would understand, of that she had no doubt. “I’m engaged.”

Her sister spit out her mouthful of wine. It dribbled down her chin, landing on her sweatshirt. She grabbed Candace’s left hand, noted the absence of a ring and gaped. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s true,” she insisted. “I’ve made a promise. I’m going to marry Tommy.”

* * *

T
HE
NEXT
AFTERNOON
,
Oliver walked up to the main house, knocking on the door for the first time in as long as he could remember so he didn’t make any more identity mistakes. Candace answered right away, holding a small suitcase in her hand. She looked beautiful, as always, wearing slim-fitting tan slacks and a bright pink blouse, the color of cotton candy, cut low over those delicious curves. His mouth watered with the need to taste her, because oh, did she ever melt on his tongue.

Judging by the way her nipples pebbled beneath the fabric, she’d seen his expression and read his thoughts. Those dusky points were prominent against the material, and he wondered if she’d eschewed a bra. Candace was generously built, with breasts that invited lots of deep sucking, which he knew she loved. The thought that she was bare beneath her clothes would torment him throughout the whole drive into the city.

His pants tightened across his groin. He couldn’t even look at her without wanting her. If they weren’t on a timetable, he’d have her on the couch and be between her thighs, cock-deep in heaven, within ninety seconds.