Candy Store

Callie cursed her unfortunate weakness for tall, dark, and handsome. Her friends liked to joke that the big brutes she always fell for were the perfect counterpart to her petite blonde curves. But it wasn’t really all that funny. The truth was that if the man came with a harsh past and an emptiness in his soul, she was metal to his magnet.

Which may have had something to do with her still being single, she mused unhappily.

If she could only find a nice, simple, happy man—yes, short, soft, and pale would have to suffice—everything would be perfect.

Oh yeah, except for the fact that she was going to have to close her store if she didn’t start making a profit.

Callie fell even deeper into her misery as she made her way past the last of the tables. The best man ran a large hand through his hair and said something in a low voice to the bartender. The sound of his voice sent goose bumps running up her bare arms.

I wonder which tall, gorgeous, svelte woman he’s married to? she thought, feeling more than a tad snarky. Callie knew she was being bad, but for once she didn’t care. Not only was she totally unwedded and alone, but she was about to be out of a job too. Pretty soon, instead of spending her days making candy—the one thing she loved most in the world—she was going to be sitting behind a desk in an office typing memos for some executive, or reeking of grease and saying, “Would you like onions with that?” Callie shuddered. Coming shoulder to shoulder with Mr. Handsome and Tortured, she said to the bartender, “Give me something. Anything. Just make it strong.” She had never had more than a sip of wine before—alcohol wasn’t her thing, not when she could do such amazing things with sugar and chocolate—but Callie didn’t care. If there was ever a time to get drunk, it was now.

The best man, who was even more striking up close, tossed back a shot of something golden then turned to face her. “She’ll have a shot of tequila,” he told the bartender, all the while holding her gaze with his own. Seemingly pleased by her shock at his forward behavior, he quirked an eyebrow and added, “Make it two. With lime and salt.”

Callie had never seen eyes so green. Or such a gorgeous, masculine face. She blinked and tried to tear her eyes from his, but she didn’t have a chance.

“Tobey Danville,” he said, his voice warm and slightly thick.

Callie’s tongue darted out to lick her lips. She knew she was supposed to say her name, but she was having the darnedest time just remembering to breathe around this guy. His name seemed vaguely familiar, but her brain wasn’t working well enough for her to think about anything at all.

One side of his mouth quirked up, but his semi-grin was far from being a smile.

“And you are?” he asked, his tone slightly mocking, as if he was used to women losing all use of their tongues whenever he deigned to speak to them.

The bartender placed a shot glass of tequila in front of Callie and she finally pulled herself away from her trance of lust. It was long past time for her to stop acting like such an idiot. What did it matter how gorgeous this guy was? He was probably married, she was definitely single and that was that.

“Callie Moore,” she said without looking at him again—god forbid she get stuck in his green eyes again—and picked up the little glass. She took a small sip of the liquid and nearly spit it out.

Suddenly angry at being the butt of some stranger’s joke, she turned towards Tobey, her eyes flashing. “What is this? Are you trying to kill me?” His laughter was so unexpected that Callie took a step back.

“I take it you’ve never had tequila before?” he said, his words mixing with his laughter.

Callie shook her head, not trusting herself to say anything more to this awful, albeit incredible, specimen of a man. When he laughed his eyes lit up and she thought they sparkled like the ocean, which was a ridiculous thought given that the closest she’d ever come to seeing a green-blue ocean was during a documentary about Jacques Cousteau on television.

But before she could walk away—scratch that, run away—to her car and leave to go hide in her kitchen behind her store, he leaned down so that she could feel his warm breath across her cheek and said, “Won’t you let me show you how?” His softly spoken words made shivers run all the way from the tips of Callie’s breasts, which were now hard points of desire, past the vee of her legs, which was suddenly hot and aching, all the way down to the tips of her toes, which were fairly curling in her high heels. Every cell in her body was quivering in anticipation of whatever it was that Tobey wanted to show her.

“God, yes,” she said in an exhale, wanting him to show her far more than how to drink the bitter beverage. Right now, as far as she was concerned, he could show her anything he wanted. Preferably naked, of course.

Callie knew she should be shocked by her wanton behavior, by her shameless thoughts, but she couldn’t think straight with this man invading all of her personal space.

He slid the two glasses together and picked up a slice of lime. “First, you hold the lime between your teeth, with the flesh facing me.” Obediently, Callie opened up her mouth and let Tobey slide the small green fruit between her lips. His thumb brushed lightly over her bottom lip as he did so, and even though she knew he was touching her on purpose to tease her with his power, to show her that he already controlled her body with his own, she didn’t care.

“Now tilt your neck to the side,” he said as he brushed her blonde curls away from her neck. With hot, sure fingers, he lightly pushed aside the neckline of her long sleeve jersey dress to bare a small patch of skin between her neck and her collarbone.

Callie was about to burst with wanting him. All he had done was touch her mouth and the tender skin on her neck and she was about to explode into a million pieces. She was shivering, but not with cold. It was a sunny day in the first week of January in frigid upstate New York, but Callie was burning up as if it was August in Barbados.

“Good. Very good,” he said in a low voice, the tips of his fingers still upon her neck.

Callie held her breath waiting for whatever came next.

“I’m going to sprinkle a little salt onto your beautiful skin,” he whispered, shaking out several grains of salt onto her and Callie gasped, painfully, powerfully aware of the throbbing between her legs.

“And then,” he said, in so low of a voice she could barely hear him, “it’s time for the tequila.”