Waking Up to You: Overexposed (4 page)

“Ridiculous! She needs to stay in Florida and take care of your stodgy old fart of a father.”

Seeing the smile on Candace’s face, and the matching one on Buddy’s, Oliver could only think theirs was a close-knit family and the joke was an old one. Buddy had to be at least eighty, but he was usually as peppy and energetic as a much-younger man.

“Well, that’s why I came, to scope out the situation and see if she needed to visit.”

“She doesn’t!”

“You certainly seem peppy.”

“I’m feeling no pain,” he admitted. “You really don’t have to stay.”

“Of course I’m staying. I’ll be here when you get out of surgery, and I’ll be at your house waiting for you when you come home.”

He didn’t argue anymore, looking visibly touched and showing just the faintest hint of vulnerability. Buddy might not want to be a bother, but when it came to being in the hospital, nothing beat having family nearby. The old man hadn’t said anything about being nervous about his operation, but considering he hadn’t been expecting any such thing twenty-four hours ago, he had to be worried about it.

“I think I’ll give you two some time alone,” Oliver said. “Buddy, I just wanted to say I’m here and hope everything goes well with the surgery. I have no doubt you’ll be kicking up clods of dirt and rocks in no time.”

His boss nodded. “Thank you for bringing my grandbaby to see me.”

“Not a problem.”

“You’ll make sure she’s okay out there at the house? It’s awfully lonely and desolate for a helpless young girl on her own.”

He saw Candace roll her eyes at the description. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted. “I certainly don’t need a babysitter.”

“Humor an old man. Promise me you’ll let Oliver look after you.”

She glanced back and forth between them, her mouth opening and snapping closed. Obviously she didn’t want to promise any such thing. However, she didn’t want to upset her elderly relative, either. Finally, she hedged. “If I need anything, I’ll be sure to ask him.”

That could range from needing a roll of toilet paper to needing a spider killed. What it wasn’t was an agreement to let him watch over her.

“Promise?”

She obviously didn’t like being pressed, and mumbled, “If there’s a dire emergency, Oliver is the first one I’ll call.”

Buddy didn’t appear thrilled by the concession, but apparently knew he’d pushed hard enough. “All right.” Then he extended his hand. “Thank you again, Oliver.”

Oliver walked over for a handshake, but when he tried to end it, the old man didn’t let go. Instead, Buddy clutched his hand, while also holding his granddaughter’s.

“So, you two are getting along okay?”

If Cupid had ever suffered from a broken hip, he’d probably have taken a day off. Not so for Buddy Frye.

“Grandpa,” she said warningly.

“She’s already tried to kill me,” Oliver said, caught off guard.

Buddy snickered. Obviously the pain meds were still in fine working order. Eyeing Candace, he said, “Did I ever tell you about what your grandma did to me once, back when we were dating? She shoved me in front of a moving car.”

“No, you didn’t tell me, and I don’t believe it,” she replied a little primly. Then she gave Oliver a look that said,
Don’t you dare make fun of me about this.

“Yep. She said I was smiling too much at a waitress, so she pushed me into the street. My, that woman loved me.”

“She had a funny way of showing it,” Oliver couldn’t help mumbling. “Imagine if you’d ever really flirted with someone. You’d have been nose-to-nose with a freight train.”

Candace obviously heard and her lips quirked.

“I just want you two to get along,” Buddy said, settling deeper into his bed and arranging his covers over himself. He wasn’t looking at either of them. “I think you probably have a lot in common.”

“I doubt it,” Candace said, her tone saying the subject was at an end.

Oliver didn’t back her up, or offer her a reassuring glance. He couldn’t deny he found the idea of her grandfather playing matchmaker pretty cute, even if the very idea that she’d need him to was ridiculous. The woman was smart, beautiful, funny...she wouldn’t need an elderly relative fixing her up. He suspected she could have just about any man she wanted.

She wants a stupid, foreign one,
he reminded himself.
Not you.

Which was just as well. He’d already decided he was not getting personally involved with Candace Reid. So the less time he spent in her company, the better.

She could take care of herself, of that he had no doubt. He would remember Buddy’s request and help her in the case of a major emergency, like if the pipes burst or a robber turned up. But as far as spiders and toilet paper went, she was on her own, and he was steering clear.

It was better that way...for both of them.

4

I
T
WAS
THE
size of a Volkswagen.

Big, hairy, with a million eyes and fuzzy spiked legs and probably a sac full of poison hidden on its bulbous body.

Spiders. God, she hated spiders. Especially spiders who were blocking the only exit from the kitchen, where she stood, wearing a filmy, short little bathrobe, freezing her butt off because she’d come down to put coffee on right after she’d gotten out of the cold-as-ice shower.

“Go away,” she ordered in a quivery voice.

The spider ignored her and remained planted right in her path. Beady little pinpoint eyes stared up at her, red and angry—or maybe not, but they looked that way to her—and she knew if he had a mouth, it was smirking.

She edged backward toward the stove, thankful she’d glanced down before walking out of the kitchen, because if she’d placed her bare foot on that furry little beast, she would have screamed loud enough for Tommy to hear her back in L.A. Besides, the little creature looked big enough to have flung her off rather than being smashed flat.

Candace wasn’t scared by much. Snakes didn’t bother her; she had been skydiving so she wasn’t afraid of heights. She’d even bungee jumped off a bridge in Mexico once. She’d stared down more than her fair share of grubby dudes with cheesy come-on lines on the street.

But bugs? Spiders in particular?

The little bastards terrified her.

“Candace?” a voice called. A voice that was familiar, even though she hadn’t talked to him much in the past few days.

She and Oliver, as if by unspoken agreement, had spent little time together since the morning her grandfather had tried to fix them up. When they’d left late that day, after visiting with Grandpa in the recovery room, Oliver had brought her to a car rental place so she could get her own vehicle. She didn’t want to have to rely on him to run her back and forth to the hospital, which was where she spent most of her time. They ran into each other there on occasion, had grabbed coffee or a quick lunch and engaged in a little small talk. But as if they both realized they probably shouldn’t spend too much time together out at the house, where they were entirely alone, they’d avoided interaction. They exchanged mostly waves as they were coming or going, or when he was working out on the grounds, and she was watching him while pretending she wasn’t at all interested.

Any woman would be interested. It was bad enough seeing him inside at the hospital, clothed and respectable. When he worked, when he stripped off his shirt to wipe his sweaty, dirty face, and those muscles rippled and gleamed, he was male beauty in motion. The few times they had talked at home, she’d done everything she could to keep from revealing how incredibly attracted she was to him. Sometimes, though, she caught him staring at her, and suspected she wasn’t doing a very good job.

She only wished he would do something to reveal whether or not he felt the same way. So far, he hadn’t. He’d been cordial and polite, never more than that, as if she’d suddenly become his employer now that Grandpa was out of commission.

Got a task for you there, Mr. Groundskeeper. How about doing a little plowing for me?

She scrunched her eyes shut, muttering, “Not French, not stupid, off-limits.”

“Candace? Are you here?”

“In the kitchen,” she said, not sure whether she was hoping he would turn right back around and leave, or that he’d stride in and accidentally squish Mr. Spider so she wouldn’t have to (A) deal with the arachnid herself, or (B) technically ask for Oliver’s help.

“I just wanted to let you know your suitcase has finally made it. The delivery service just left it on the porch. I signed for it.”

Oh, thank goodness. She’d been fighting with the airline about it all week, fearing she would have to put in a claim to replace everything she’d packed for the trip. She’d run out of her sister Madison’s left-behind clothes and had had to wash and rewash the few items she’d had in her small carry-on bag. Especially the panties. Hmm. Funny how she’d gone through panties at a record rate since she’d met Oliver. That man ought to buy stock in Victoria’s Secret.

“I’ll bring it in. Do you want me to haul it up to your room?”

She nibbled her lip, wanting no such thing. Oliver in her bedroom, near her messed bed with the silky nightie tossed carelessly on top? Him filling her private space with that delectable, intoxicating man smell?

Hell, no. She was already having the most intense, erotic dreams about the guy without ever having to picture him near her bed. No way was she going to invite even hotter ones.

“No, it’s okay. You can just leave it in the hall.”

She waited to hear him bring in the bag and leave. Waited for an acknowledgment—something. But there was nothing but silence. Frowning, she risked edging a tiny bit closer to the doorway, never taking her eyes off her fuzzy enemy, who showed no signs of moving out of the way. She briefly considered jumping over him, but had the most horrible vision of him launching up while she was split-legged above him. For all she knew, he could be the bug world-record holder at the high jump. Considering she wore nothing but the short robe, she wasn’t prepared to even think about where he might land if he leaped. Her vajayjay might have grown cobwebs from disuse, but that was taking things a step too far.

She desperately wanted to go out and make sure Oliver was gone, then dash up the stairs and put some clothes on before he could come back, but it looked like she was going to be involved in a spider standoff for hours. Thinking, she finally grabbed the broom and tried waving it in his general direction. But it wasn’t until she got the bristles to within six inches or so that the thing began to move.

Straight toward her.

“No—get away from me!”

A hard pounding emerged from the hallway. She recognized it as running footsteps just as Oliver burst into the kitchen. He didn’t hold a rake this time, but the look on his face said he expected trouble.

“What is it?” he snapped as he scanned the room. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, nothing,” she said, forcing a smile. Though, when she saw where he stood, she didn’t have to force it any further. Because unless the creepy crawly had moved really fast, he was right now stuck to the bottom of a man’s thick-soled work boot. Although she loved most creatures, she wasn’t about to start playing a dirge for that one, who’d looked like a mad scientist’s experimental cross between a bug and a dinosaur.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Nobody. I thought you’d left.”

“I was bringing in your suitcase,” he explained, walking closer, studying her face to see if she was lying, perhaps covering for a bad guy hiding in the pantry. He obviously wasn’t going to go away without an explanation.

Knowing she had to, she admitted in a voice a little above a whisper, “There was a spider.”

His frown disappeared. A twinkle might have appeared in those dark bedroom eyes, but he had the courtesy not to smile. “One that speaks English and follows orders?”

“Ha-ha, very funny. That thing was
huge.
I mean, it could have been wearing a mask, swinging from webs and looking for the Green Goblin!”

“Comic book fan, huh?”

“Movie biz, remember?”

And considering Tommy was hoping to be cast as the latest comic hero, he’d made her watch a bunch of them recently. She wasn’t a huge fan of the genre, but had to admit, some of those guys did an awesome job filling out their clingy costumes. She’d become a huge Jeremy Renner fan in the past year and fantasized about getting to dress him. Undressing him would be a mighty fine experience, too.

“So where is this huge mutant creature?”

“Gone.”

“Where’d he go?”

“I think onto the bottom of your shoe.”

“You sure? I didn’t hear anything that sounded like the crushing of a colossus.”

“Well, he’s not...” Her voice trailed off and her eyes rounded as she saw a black leg disappearing behind the table leg. She squeaked, grabbed his arm and ducked behind him. “Oh, God.”

“What?”

Keeping her voice low, as if they were facing a ravaging tiger, she replied, “He’s right over there.”

He followed her gaze and snorted. “That’s your monster spider? He’s tiny.”

“That thing’s as big as my hand!” Closing her eyes, she begged, “Please take it away, Oliver. I’ll pay you.... I’ll bake you a cake, cook you dinner. Just
please
get it out of here.”

“Are you a good cook?”

“The best. Excellent. Cordon Bleu. Restaurants vie for my services.”

“Are you lying?”

“Oh, hell, yes. Right through my teeth. Now would you please help me?”

“I thought you didn’t need any help except in the most dire emergency.”

“This is dire.”

“Are you an arachnophobe?”

“If that means I am utterly terrified to my bones and feel like I’m going to throw up if I so much as glimpse a spider, then yes, that’s me.”

“Gotcha.”

He didn’t tease her anymore, as if knowing she wasn’t playing the weak girlie-girl in some effort to entice him. Not, she hoped, that he would ever expect her to. Turning, he grabbed the dustpan, then unhooked her death grip from the broom. Drawing on his primal, caveman-hunter genes, he stalked the monster, deftly swept it into the pan and carried it toward the front door.

“Are you just going to let it go?” she asked, following him. “What if it gets back in?”

“I’m sure he’d be too afraid to risk it. You’re pretty intimidating.”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t squish it?”

“Bloodthirsty, aren’t you?”

She thought about it. She wasn’t, really. Still, some things were just beyond the bounds of humanity, and sharing a house with a big honking spider was one of them.

“You’ll be glad for him during mosquito season.”

“Maybe if they’re killer mosquitoes carrying the ebola virus. Otherwise, I’ll invest in calamine lotion and take my chances.”

He opened the door, walked outside and was back with the broom and dustpan a moment later. Leaning them both against the wall, he said, “All gone.”

Relieved, she drew in a deep breath and whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You okay now?”

She nodded slowly. “Oh, sure. Fine.”

Her pulse finally stopped racing and her muscles loosened. The nausea receded, as did the panic. Not for the first time in her life, she found herself wondering if an older cousin had dangled a spider in her face when she was a baby or something. Because her phobia about them had been lifelong and was, even she could admit it, a little obsessive. Now that her heart wasn’t thumping hard enough to beat out of her chest, she could acknowledge she might have overacted just a teeny, tiny bit.

Feeling almost normal, she waited for Oliver to turn and walk out the door. Considering he usually avoided her, that’s what she expected him to do. But for some reason, he didn’t leave. He just stood there, two feet away, drawing in slow, even breaths as he studied her.

Finally, he murmured, “Cold in here.”

Her spider terror having receded, she paused to remember just what she was wearing—not much.

Her skimpy robe hung to the tops of her thighs, leaving her legs completely bared. The robe also gaped over her breasts, revealing a deep V of cleavage. The whole thing was held together only by a loosely knotted sash.

“Yes, I guess it is,” she replied slowly, wondering if he had been making small talk or offering a sideways comment on the fact that her nipples were hard, poking visibly against the silk sliding so sinuously over them.

He continued to stare, falling silent. She knew the answer to that question. He’d finally noticed her apparel—or lack thereof. Oliver was definitely reacting to it. Looking at her. Staring at her.

Visually devouring her.

Her lips parted on a tiny helpless sigh. He didn’t acknowledge the sound, instead merely swept that dark-eyed attention over her, from damp-haired top to bare-toed bottom. The gaze was like a touch, lingering here, skimming over there, and she reacted to it instinctively. Here went soft, there went hard, and her most vulnerable places went all hot and wet.

She knew she should yank her robe more tightly around her body and glare him into stopping, or else turn and flounce up the stairs, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She’d been looked at by men before, of course. By lovers, by potential lovers, by strangers, but she had never felt as thoroughly studied as she did now. It was as if he was examining her, tucking away every detail of her into his prodigious internal memory bank. His dark eyes gleamed, and he made absolutely no effort to disguise his focus or make her think he was doing anything other than memorizing all the things he could see, and imagining all those he could not.

He wanted her. It was stunningly obvious. He was imagining what wild, wicked things they could do together, of that she had no doubt. She knew because she’d been thinking the same thing since the night she’d arrived. So how could she blame him?

A mental voice shouted a warning. But another part of her—the part that had been trying to figure out if he had been avoiding her for the past few days because he
wasn’t
attracted to her, or because he
was
—appeared to be calling the shots.

She couldn’t walk away from him now. Not just yet.

“This is a really bad idea,” he muttered.

She knew what he meant but still replied, “What is?”

He swept a hand through his dark hair. The movement made his arms bulge against the white T-shirt he wore, and drew the thin fabric tight against his shoulders. “You standing there, looking like that. Me standing here, looking at you looking like that.”

Her mouth went dry.

Turn around, Candace. Go upstairs. Pray your vibrator is still safely tucked in your suitcase and wasn’t pawed over by some luggage guys, dig it out and remember you don’t technically need a man to give you orgasms.

But she remained still, as if her feet were glued to the floor. Her vibrator couldn’t fill her the way she so desperately wanted to be filled. It couldn’t hold her, stroke her, touch her, lick her. It couldn’t make her feel as utterly jittery with excitement as she felt just standing here, knowing he wanted her.