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Turn Up the Heat
Isabel Sharpe











He wanted Candy …


Candy. Candy’s voice. Justin whipped around to stare at his empty doorway.

Then she walked into his room, and he saw immediately that the light tapping footsteps were caused by the same sexy, high-heeled black ankle boots she wore the first time he saw her across the street. With the same leg-enhancing sheer black stockings. But instead of the same black miniskirt, today she wore—

He swallowed convulsively. No skirt at all. Just sheer black panties topped by a red lace garter. Above that a red lace bra trimmed in black, and a red-lipped sultry smile.

“Candy …”

“As sweet as.”

She put her foot up on his bed, heel sharp on his navy quilt, calf curving up from the boot to her knee, then diving down again on the slope of her inner thigh. His eyes were held hostage and he was speechless.

“Want a taste?”

There was no such thing as too much Candy …


Dear Reader,

I’ve had my share of online dating experiences, some fun, some boring, some downright bizarre. I’ve always thought there was room for a service using the convenience and accessibility of online dating, mixed with the personalization of old-fashioned matchmaking.

Milwaukeedates.com was born, and with it, Marie, its intrepid owner, who is determined to find perfect matches for her female friends and fellow business owners.

In this book, set in Wisconsin’s snowy cold February, Candy is looking for a man to help celebrate her first single Valentine’s Day in a long time. Coming out of a relationship with a guy who suppressed her true spirit, she is more than ready to be set free, sexually and emotionally, especially by a guy as magnetic as Justin, new in town from sunny southern California, and looking for any way he can to get warm.

Keep looking for those perfect matches!

Isabel Sharpe

www.IsabelSharpe.com




About the Author


ISABEL SHARPE was not born pen in hand like so many of her fellow writers. After she left work to stay home with her first-born son and nearly went out of her mind, she started writing. After more than twenty novels—along with another son—Isabel is more than happy with her choice. She loves hearing from readers. Write to her at www.IsabelSharpe.com




Turn Up The Heat

Isabel Sharpe















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To sweet baby Alice,

who is such a welcome addition




Prologue


“IF YOU ASK ME, which I know you didn’t, you are ready to date again, Candy.” Marie nodded vigorously, looking around the table for confirmation from Kim and Darcy. The four of them were sitting together, as usual, at the every-third-Wednesday monthly breakfast meeting of Women in Power, Milwaukee’s organization of women business owners, held in a seventh-floor meeting room at the elegant Pfister hotel. “It’s January, the new year, time for a fresh start.”

“I don’t know.” Candy laughed nervously. She had a fresh girl-next-door beauty: heart-shaped face, long chestnut hair, wide-spaced light brown eyes and a generous, smile-prone mouth. If she put up an Available sign, men would kill each other getting in line. “I don’t feel ready.”

“You are, honey.” Marie laid her hand on Candy’s forearm. Candy had dated Chuck, the world’s biggest wet blanket, for five years before he had dumped her the previous February. “Trust me. I not only have a degree in psychology, but I am psychic. I had a vision.”

“Huh?” Candy looked startled.

“Wait, really?” asked Kim.

Darcy snorted. “Be serious.”

“Okay, not psychic, but certainly all-knowing.” Marie lifted her chin in mock outrage. “You should show respect for the wisdom of your elders.”

“Oh, what, you’re two years older than I am?” Darcy looked skeptical, as usual. “All of thirty-four?”

“Thirty-nine. Practically old enough to be your grandmother.” No, not quite that old, but Marie felt like a seasoned warrior, having been married ten years and divorced five, while the other three women at the table had never married and were currently single. “I know what I’m talking about. Candy should be out there dating, and she has the perfect resource in me to get started.”

“That’s for sure.” Sweet, shy Kim Charlotte Horton, the blonde of the group, stifled a yawn, striking blue eyes bleary from her being up all night to meet a particularly tough deadline for her struggling one-woman company, Charlotte’s Web Design. “You are the matchmaking queen.”

Marie agreed cheerfully. After her marriage had tanked and her online dating efforts met with no success, she became determined to create a site that didn’t just take people’s money and then make them do all the work. In five years, her personalized service, Milwaukeedates.com, had gone from the beginning of an idea to one of Women in Power’s Best Success Stories the previous year. Marie was happier than she ever thought would be possible again.

“I’ve considered it.” Candy nodded yes to the waitress’s pot of coffee and added two packets of sugar and two creamers to her refill. “At least I got that far.”

“Good first step.” Marie nodded her approval. Kim looked wistful. Darcy scowled.

Marie was content waiting for her own second chance at love, but she was determined to find that first chance for her friends. In fact, she’d made the three at this table her New Year’s Resolution. Each of these smart, fabulous women had so much to offer, and each deserved as much in return. “Candy, you do not want to let that first anniversary of being single go by without being out there looking for someone else. It’s a matter of pride.”

“When did Chuck break up with you? There was something horrible about it, that’s all I remember.” Kim wrinkled her nose. “But then I can barely remember my own name this morning.”

“Last February, on Valentine’s Day, the jerk.” Darcy narrowed dark eyes over her black coffee. “Candy planned a fabulous meal, made herself an incredible dress, decorated the dining room and her bedroom to the hilt, then Chuck slunk in and smashed her heart. So typically thoughtful of his gender.”

Marie sighed resignedly. Darcy, who could pass for a short-haired Catherine Zeta-Jones, was the work-obsessed proprietor of one of Milwaukee’s hottest new restaurants, Gladiolas, and would be Marie’s biggest matchmaking challenge, no question.

“How could I forget that charming story?” Kim made a sound of disgust. “The oinker.”

“Aw, he wasn’t so bad.” Candy moved uneasily. “It was my fault it all went wrong that night. The breakup had been written on the wall for a while. I just refused to read it.”

Darcy blew a raspberry. “Stop beating yourself up for something he did.”

“Thanks, Darcy, but …” Candy shrugged. “Every relationship is a two-way street.”

“From what I see, every relationship is a one-way street,” Darcy said. “The guy’s way.”

Marie groaned silently. As she’d thought, Darcy would be her biggest challenge, though she’d keep at her. Kim, she’d wait to match until her company seemed on firmer ground and her financial worries cleared. “In any case, Candy, if you let me help you I guarantee this Valentine’s Day will be a whole lot better than the last one.”

“Not that it would take much,” Darcy muttered.

“That’s for sure.” Kim drained her third cup of coffee. “You could scoop dog poo and have a better time.”

Candy smiled wanly, biting her lip, eyes distant. Marie’s instinct kicked in: She was thinking about Chuck, and not the way the three of them wanted her to be thinking about him. The last couple of times Marie and Candy had had lunch, Candy was still bringing his name up suspiciously often. The best way to evict that worthless lump from her heart was to replace him with someone new.

“Valentine’s Day is cursed in our family.” Candy gestured with her muffin. “My dad either forgot or the restaurant he was going to take Mom to burned down or the present he ordered arrived broken. My best friend Abigail planned a Valentine’s Day wedding, which her fiancé canceled. Chuck didn’t believe the calendar should dictate when he expressed love for someone, so it was usually up to me how we celebrated, or if we bothered. Most of the time I didn’t bother. It is overhyped.”

Marie leaned toward Candy. “Would you turn down flowers and candy and a declaration of undying love from a man on his knees in a fabulous restaurant just because of the date?”

Candy’s cheeks grew pink; her eyes shone. “Not on your life. In fact, I admit—guiltily—that exact scenario has been my proposal fantasy since I was a girl.”

“Come see me. It’s time.” Marie straightened and picked up the quarter of a cheese Danish she’d been determined to leave uneaten on her plate. “February is around the corner and we want you waist-high in roses and chocolate on the fourteenth.”

“That’s only a month from now.”

“You can find someone in a day if he’s right.” She took a guilty bite of the rich pastry—by now she knew better than to make dieting any part of her New Year’s resolutions. “And that’s where Milwaukeedates comes in. Matching clients shouldn’t be the job of some software program that doesn’t take human variation or taste into account. I work with each—”

“Marie.” Kim grinned at her. “You are sounding like your commercial.”

Candy snickered. “Yeah, I was looking around for the radio.”

“Okay, okay.” Marie brushed crumbs off her fingers and held up her hands. “But no apologies. I’m selling the real thing.”

“Ha!” Darcy shook her head in mock disdain. “You’re selling imprisonment, forced labor and a lifelong descent into—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Marie waved the comments away while pulling out her iPhone. She was sure Darcy’s posturing was more about self-protection than conviction. “Candy, it won’t cost you anything to come in and talk. Are you hosting any events tomorrow?”

Candy dug out her BlackBerry, an obvious ploy to buy time. In her line of work—party and event planning—she had to know what she was doing every day down to the last hour or she’d be sunk. “Well, no, nothing scheduled, but I have to prepare for a tea party on—”

“Tomorrow.” Marie pounced. “Ten o’clock?”

Candy turned helplessly to Darcy and Kim, the excitement in her eyes giving her away. “Am I really going to do this?”

“Looks that way to me,” Darcy said drily.

“Sure, why not?” Kim squeezed her shoulder. “You were smart to give yourself a year to get over Chuck. Now I agree with Marie, it’s time to move on. Remember, ‘Why leave meeting the right person to chance?’”

Darcy chuckled and joined in for the rest of Marie’s slogan. “‘Leave it to Milwaukeedates.com!’”

“Well?” Marie tilted her head, gave Candy a coaxing smile. “How about it?”

Candy attempted an exasperated sigh, entered Marie’s name in her BlackBerry, then held up the screen. “How does that look?”

Marie patted her friend on the arm, hiding the extent of her triumphant satisfaction. “Like you’re on the way to finding new love.”




1


CANDY PULLED INTO THE parking lot of Marie’s office building at 9:59 a.m. She’d spent the last hour with a jittery administrative assistant organizing an after-work surprise birthday party for her boss, the CEO of the company. She was the type of person who made Candy wish for patience pills: an anxious perfectionist worrywart. “Are you sure they spelled his name right on the cake?” No, Candy was sure they hadn’t, and she was thrilled because she loved doing a terrible job, which was why she was so much in demand.

Some people.

She picked up her briefcase containing a file of notes and Milwaukeedates.com paperwork filled in the night before, admittedly at the last minute. She’d popped a bowl of popcorn and settled down with a glass of wine to dull her nerves over this whole process. Then she’d been faced with trying to figure out how to represent her entire personality for an online profile in one paragraph, and how to summarize what qualities she wanted in a guy in another paragraph, all the while sounding witty and sexy and fun and appealing, yet honest and substantive.

Right.

Popcorn gone, bottle of wine half-empty, Candy had given up in exasperation. She had a personality as varied as the parties she loved to plan: whimsical, prim, raunchy—it ran the gamut. How to distill that into a neat sound bite without sounding as if she had multiple-personality disorder?

Exhausted and defeated, she’d finally decided problems like this were what she’d be paying Marie to handle, so she’d gone to bed and dreamed of marrying a guy with six heads.

Oh, baby.

Out into the frigid air of January, the harshest month of winter, though March won for the most wearing, Candy crossed an icy patch in the parking lot with the short, choppy steps people in winter states adopted to keep forward momentum to a minimum. Her breath sent mist streaming into the crisp, dry air, which swallowed the moisture gratefully. She was nervous, not entirely in a good way.

She couldn’t let go of the feeling that she was cheating on Chuck, which was ridiculous because he’d left her to pursue someone else, someone he claimed matched him better, which had been the most bewildering part of the breakup. Candy didn’t know any other couple that operated in such perfect unison. She and Chuck were so alike, and their minds ran in such complementary directions. She’d felt completely understood and accepted for the first time in her life.

Not that they never fought or disagreed—if couples never fought they were either suppressing emotions or had nothing to say to each other in the first place—but in everything that mattered, the big things, the values, what they wanted and expected from a relationship, on all those things they matched better than she ever could have imagined.

On top of that solid foundation, they shared a sense of humor, taste in movies, food and books, and their sex life was good, too. In short, Chuck never stopped being interesting, sexy and exciting to her; she lit up like a lightbulb every time she saw his face, yes, even five years later. How could she hope to find that again? How could he have let it go?

Most people recommended a year for recovery. Hers had been hell, but she was nearly through it. Maybe taking this first step would be the best way to banish her fear that she wasn’t ready, and her deeper fear that she’d never be able to remove Chuck entirely from her heart. When you loved someone that completely, gave yourself over, body and soul …

Yes. But. Chuck was with Kate now, living in her house in Racine, as much as that still managed to hurt, and Candy refused to stay stuck mooning over what wasn’t possible.

Plus, Marie’s point about Valentine’s Day was valid. Candy certainly didn’t want to spend the day alone, reliving the hell of the previous year. And being part of a lame-duck collection of single women that night didn’t appeal either. She wanted a date. A fun one, if not a really special one.

So.

She entered the warm building gratefully, stomped snow off her boots onto the mat and turned down the hall to Marie’s office. For the first three years Marie had operated Milwaukeedates.com out of her home, but she’d felt strongly that an office would up her professional cachet, so when the business started doing well she’d leased space downtown on Water Street, a gamble that had paid off.

Candy unwrapped the floral wool scarf from her neck, took off her black mittens—maybe she was old for mittens, but nothing kept her fingers warmer—and smiled at Marie’s receptionist. “Hi, Jane.”

“Hey, there.” Jane grinned, headset perched on top of her red curls, startling blue eyes blinking behind narrow black-framed glasses. “Marie’s in her office, go on in. If you want tea or coffee help yourself.”

“Thanks.” She crossed to the counter where Marie had set up a generous selection of teas and coffees, regular, decaf and herbal, and poured steaming water over a fragrant orange-spice tea bag.

Behind her, the ring of the phone, then Jane’s voice: “Milwaukeedates.com, how may I help you?”

A current client? A prospective client? Maybe even the guy Candy would end up with. Would she be out with him on Valentine’s Day?

Stomach churning with a mixture of excitement and dread, she strode to Marie’s office, knocked and pushed the already ajar door open. The space managed to be professional and cozy, much like Marie herself. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, occasional books turned face-out, deliberately empty spaces on the shelves filled with plants, pottery or sculpture. Oversize chairs in warm brown tones, a burgundy-shaded Oriental rug.

Behind her desk, on the phone and beckoning Candy in, Marie stood in a fabulous teal suit whose cut elegantly camouflaged her extra pounds and deemphasized her short stature. She’d recently started coloring her hair a subtle auburn, which flattered her still-smooth skin and complemented her hazel eyes, today embellished by soft black liner and subtle shadowing. Marie was a lovely, warm person with a core of strength and determination which had gotten her through her stinking husband’s betrayal and earned her every bit of her subsequent success.

Candy wanted to be her when she grew up.

“I completely understand, yes. And how did he react when you told him how you felt?” She smiled apologetically at Candy and gestured to the chair in front of her desk. “I see. And how did that make you feel?”

Candy sank into the cushy chair and arranged a couple of the bright pillows behind her back. The office was deliciously warm and smelled of lavender and orange spice, the perfect antidote to the frozen gray outside. Candy dipped her tea bag a few times and tried vainly to relax. Since her breakup with Chuck, in an attempt to mitigate the crushing grief, she’d thrown herself into work, dragged herself out of the house as often as possible, gone dancing, taken a cruise with her best friend, Abigail, traveled down to Chicago several times … and somehow she hadn’t managed to slow down again. Not like when she was dating Chuck and was blissfully content with evenings at home watching TV, weekends spent sleeping late, staying in bed later and puttering around the house.

She kept the pleasant look on her face and sipped hot, comforting tea, telling herself the past was past and she was here in hopes of starting her future—romantically speaking.

“Right. I understand. Well, I’m sorry it didn’t work out, but you have the date next week to look forward to …” Marie bent to hit buttons on her computer and scanned the screen. “With Ted. Yes. Okay, talk to you later. Take care. Bye.”

She punched off her phone. “That woman has gone out with and found something horribly wrong with practically every guy on our site. During our interview I thought she seemed a little wound-up, but I didn’t see this coming. She needs about a year’s worth of therapy, not a relationship.”

“Oof. Sorry.” Maybe Candy needed that, too. Or maybe she just needed another excuse to delay this moment.

“Anyway, this isn’t about her.” Marie came out from behind her desk and perched on the edge, beaming. “This is your time. We are going to find you someone absolutely fabulous. How did you do on the sheets I had you fill out?”

“Dismally.”

“Hmm.” She held out her hand. “Let me see.”

Candy pulled the papers from her briefcase. “I couldn’t decide between answers. I think I checked all the options practically every single time. Do I like staying home or going out? Yes. Do I like old movies or contemporary? Yes. Do I like restaurants, bars, clubs, movies, museums or lectures for a favorite night out? Yes. What is more important, career or family? Both. And on and on. I’m hopeless.”

“Hopeless?” Marie took the papers. “Let’s call you well-rounded. Adventurous, open-minded, cosmopolitan.”

Candy conceded the point. “Yes, better term than hopeless. But when I got to the introductory paragraph I splintered completely. I felt I could put up four different profiles.”

Marie looked up from the papers. “What would you call those profiles? I mean if you had to classify them. What would those four different parts of you be?”

Candy blinked. She’d expected Marie to laugh, not put on her psychologist hat. “Well. One part of me is playful. Like a kid. The part that dresses up as Sally the Silly Fairy at kids’ birthday parties. So one part I’d call goofy.”

Marie reached back for a pad and pen and started writing. “Child at heart. Go on.”

“Let’s see.” Candy sipped her tea, considering. “Another would be the part of me that likes to read, to do crossword puzzles, jigsaw puzzles, play Scrabble, to curl up in front of a fire with a glass of wine and a good book I can later discuss, to take classes in things I’d like to know more about. Call her … the Professor.”

“Professor.” Marie wrote it down. “I like that. Next?”

“Next … is the ambitious side of me, the part that loves organizing, planning, waking up every day knowing what I want to accomplish and knowing I will do it. Continually conquering challenges, beating back problems, making sure everything flows smoothly.” She frowned, trying to come up with a title. “Battle-ax?”

Marie pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Superwoman.”

“Superwoman!” Candy laughed. “That works, too.”

“Is that it?”

“Well … no.” Candy felt herself blushing and held the cup of tea close to her face. “There’s one more.”

Marie’s eyebrow raised. “Ye-e-es?”

“It’s the smallest part. I’m not even sure it really is a part of me, maybe just a fantasy.”

“I’m listening.”

“The part that would like to get dressed up for an absurdly expensive restaurant, to travel to Paris, Monaco, ski the Alps. To wear hot lingerie every day, and have the confidence to seduce a stranger in a bar merely by giving him the right look.”

“Hmm, yes.” Marie eyed Candy speculatively. “I can see her in you, but I don’t think you’ve indulged her yet. Chuck sure didn’t let you.”

Candy’s mouth dropped. “Didn’t let me? What do you mean? Chuck was very supportive of whatever I wanted to do and whomever I wanted to be.”

For one unbearable moment Marie just watched her, and Candy started feeling anxious as well as angry.

“Yes, sorry. I crossed the line.”

Candy let out the breath she’d been holding. She had to keep reminding herself that her girlfriends judged Chuck unfairly, probably out of loyalty because he’d hurt her so badly. She didn’t have much nice to say about Marie’s ex-husband Grant, either, after he’d left her for some bimbo barely old enough to drink. “It’s okay. I guess Chuck is still a raw topic. I’m not even sure I should be here. How can I fall for another guy when this one is still so special to me?”

“Oh, honey. I know how hard this is.” Marie capped her pen, face radiating gentle sympathy. “Of course I don’t want to push you to do anything you don’t want to. But I think this is the right time and the right way. I guess I’ll have to ask you to trust me.”

“I do.” She drank more tea to keep herself from breaking down and bawling. “I do trust you. I’m just a little …”

“Conflicted?” Marie smiled warmly. “I went through the exact same thing after my marriage broke up and I was looking to date again. I had to force myself the first few times. Then it got easier.”

“But you never found anyone.”

“No. But looking did me a lot of good, made me realize that Grant not wanting me anymore didn’t mean no one did. And besides.” Her smile turned wicked. “I didn’t have Milwaukeedates, and you do.”

Candy laughed. “Of course.”

“So.” Marie uncapped her pen again and poised it over the pad. “Let’s call the fourth one Sexy Glamour Girl.”

“Okay.” Candy finished her tea, stronger already. Marie was really good at her job. “So that’s me. How do I put all that together in a couple of paragraphs?”

Marie sat, eyes narrowed in contemplation, tapping her chin with a professionally manicured fingertip. “I have an idea. Kind of a wild idea, but …”

“I’m all ears.”

“Why don’t you make four profiles?”

Candy let out a startled laugh. “Four?”

“I know, crazy, right? I’m thinking of it as an experiment to see which part of you men respond to the most. See which part you enjoy bringing to the foreground the most. It would actually be fascinating from a psychological standpoint.”

“I’m … I … I’m …” She made herself breathe. “I’m stammering apparently.”

“Take your time.”

“Would that be fair to the guys I was seeing? If I’m not really being me?”

“But you are being you.” Marie pushed herself off the desk, headed behind it and opened a file drawer. “It’s not like you’re changing any part of yourself, just emphasizing one in each case. If the guy’s got half a brain he won’t think he knows you entirely because of how you present yourself on the site.”

“I don’t know, Marie.” Candy was getting excited even as her sensible self told her there had to be disastrous aspects to this plan that she couldn’t see yet.

“This will give you a chance to explore certain parts of yourself that might have been …” Marie circled her hand, coaxing out her next word. “Underappreciated.”

Candy put her hands to her temples, ignoring the second unreasonable jab at Chuck. “I need to think this through.”

“Of course.” Marie pulled out several sheets from a folder. “I have four sets of profile sheets here, one for each of you. You’ll probably fill them out in half an hour this time.”

“I haven’t said I’d do it.” She was turning the idea over and over. Instinct was telling her she was going to say yes, but common sense wouldn’t let her yet. Four different women?

“Filling these out doesn’t commit you.” Marie held the papers across the desk. “You’ll have a blast, especially given your talent for performing.”

“I haven’t been on stage in years.” Candy heard the laugh beginning in her voice. She never would have considered doing anything this impulsive and stupid if Chuck were around. He’d be here to tell her she was going off half-cocked again, not thinking through the pros and cons, not making a list and approaching the problem calmly and logically.

But Chuck wasn’t here.

“Maybe not on stage, but whenever you manage your events you’re performing in a way.” Marie shook the papers insistently toward Candy, who gave in and took them. “Plus, even though this is hardly scientific, I’d be curious about the results. Who knows, you might help me help other people decide how to present themselves, too. Oh, and you’d only have to pay regular fees. The three extras would be on the house.”

Candy slid the papers absently into her briefcase. “What if a guy recognized the other three of me when he’s looking through profiles?”

Marie smiled. “Pardon me, but my experience has been that while men are visual creatures when it comes to the opposite sex, they’re more likely to take in an impression of a woman than focus on her features. You probably haven’t spent much time browsing other sites, but I’m constantly having to tell men on ours not to submit long-distance pictures of themselves in sunglasses.”

“Why not?”

“Women want to see eyes, read faces. Men are okay with the bigger picture, shall we say.” She gave Candy a critical once-over. “We can do your hair and makeup differently for each, glasses for one profile, your contacts for another. And since most clients view primarily the profiles I suggest to them, it probably won’t even be an issue. If it is, who cares? We’ll explain. Not like we’re breaking a law.”

“True …” Candy shut her briefcase, excitement still bubbling away inside her. It did sound fun. More than that, appearing as a caricature of one part of herself felt more like a game and less like a risk, more like a dare than a date. Most importantly, this didn’t make it seem as if she was finally giving up hope that Chuck would come to his senses and want her back.

“Well? You’re grinning, that has to be a good sign.”

“I’ll do it.” She finished her tea and stood, feeling giddy and fizzy, better than she had in a long time. “I’ll really do it.”

Marie broke into a wide triumphant grin. “Candy, honey, get ready for some serious dating fun.”




2


JUSTIN PULLED ON his thermal jacket, thrust his hands into puffy black gloves and stepped into boots that promised to keep his feet warm and dry through whatever winter could offer. So far it had offered a lot. Very generous was winter here in Wisconsin. Not much in common with the last thirty winters of his life spent in San Diego. When he’d announced his plans to move to Milwaukee, his friends all got the same bewildered look in their eyes. Dude, what are you smoking? They’d predicted he’d last through January then come shivering back to sunny California.

So far he was holding strong, but days like this …

He peered through the back window at the outdoor thermometer the previous owners left with the house, which he could barely see. Five-thirty and nearly dark. And this was better than it had been in December, when it had started to get dark an hour earlier.

The temperature registered … eighteen? Sorry, but that wasn’t enough degrees for him. Who was responsible? Who could come to the state and fix it? Shouldn’t spring have started by now? Near the end of January? He was certainly ready.

He braced himself and opened the door, cringing at the blast of air that attacked him as if he were naked. The day before had been miraculously warmer, enough to melt the snow on his roof, which meant that as temperatures dropped again, his gutters became icicle hangers and his driveway a skating rink.

Yes, he had moved here on purpose.

He closed his eyes, briefly picturing palm trees, sunshine—he’d seen the sun maybe ten times during the three months he’d been here—sandy beaches, waves made for surfing.

No point torturing himself. He started on the perilous journey toward his garage for a bag of salt, reminding himself that he owned this spacious two-thousand-square-foot house with full basement, instead of the cramped two-bedroom he’d sold in Solana Beach, his hometown on the California coast. Point in Wisconsin’s favor, they were practically giving houses away here. He’d jumped on this one, a typically midwestern brick bungalow on a quiet street in Shorewood, just north of the city of Milwaukee, and made enough profit on the sale of his old house not only to buy the place with cash, but to allow himself time to settle in and write the first book in what could turn out to be a very profitable series with Troy, his closest friend from college.

Justin hadn’t been planning to move, but the coauthoring book deal from Troy and the amount of work they’d need to do together, coupled with the nasty break-up of a relationship, had certainly planted the seed. It wasn’t until his new neighbor, out of the blue, made a very generous offer to purchase his house that Justin started to view the idea seriously. In the end, it almost seemed as if the fates were pointing him here.

The fates clearly had a high tolerance for cold.

He made it to the garage, no falls or bruises, all bones intact, hefted the bag of salt and managed to work out a method of sprinkling and shuffling carefully forward at the same time, ice crackling under the mineral assault. If he was lucky, he could get the car over this and onto the street without smashing into anything. Snow driving and Justin were only just getting acquainted.

At the end of the driveway he’d turned and started on the sidewalk when a movement across the street caught his eye. His neighbor, whatever her name was, had emerged from her house into the strong beam of her back-door light, and was sauntering toward her car, a bright red minivan parked on the street. He’d seen her through the window a couple of times, but meeting people on a block where no one was ever outside unless he or she was pushing a roaring snowblower had proved complicated.

This woman intrigued him. Not just because she was young, attractive and he hadn’t happened to see a guy attached to her, but because, unless she was one of twins or triplets, every time he’d seen her in the past week she’d been sporting a completely different look. Not just different clothes, but hair, accessory styles, even her movements. The first time he’d noticed the change from her usual casual outfit and aura, she’d been striding aggressively toward her car in a pantsuit masculine enough that he could have worn it, no coat, hair in a severe bun, eyes imprisoned by thick, dark-framed glasses. The second time, late one evening, she’d been taking out her trash at the same time he was watering plants in his living room—plants he’d bought to remind himself that not every living thing had died in October. That time, Mysterious Neighbor wore unobtrusive rimless glasses and had her hair in a soft, long braid, exposing chunky gold earrings. On her slender body a bulky hip-length cream sweater hung over casual tan pants and sensible brown shoes. She’d moved in slow dreamy steps, a book tucked under her arm.

Tonight? Whew.

Dark hair hanging sexily loose past her shoulders, tight black miniskirt, fabulous legs in sheer black stockings, which happened to be one of his favorite looks. His gaze followed those shapely legs downward into black lace-up stiletto ankle boots. Under her gaping long black sweater—she must be part Siberian not to be wearing a coat—a purple clingy top dropped low enough to make him yearn for a two-scoop ice cream sundae in spite of the cold. Delicate silver earrings, a silver bracelet, rings on her fingers—bells on her toes?

He realized he was gaping and gave what he hoped was a friendly and neighborly wave, which was all they’d exchanged so far. Her answering smile reached across the street and practically pushed him off his feet.

Whoa.

He crossed, almost forgetting to check for cars, took off his right glove and offered to shake with frozen fingers. “Hi there. I’m Justin.”

Her fingers, extracted from black leather and lace, were warm. “I’m Candy.”

He was about to say, yes you are, when it occurred to him what could be a fun compliment from someone she trusted would sound slimy coming from a stranger. “Nice to meet you, Candy …”

“Graham.”

“Candy-gram?”

She shrugged, smiling wryly. “Dad had a weird sense of humor. My real name is Catherine. I’ve tried to switch to the full name, but …”

He knew this one. “But everyone has always called you Candy, and using another name would be like throwing part of yourself away.”

Her turn to gape at him, but unfortunately not because he was the hottest thing she’d seen all winter long as had been the situation when he was doing it. “How did you know?”

“My last name is Case.”

“Case?”

“Justin …”

“Justin Case.” She cringed, where every other person who made the connection burst out laughing. “Oof. Sorry.”

“Thanks.” He was distracted by the way her full curving lips were colored a plummy shade that complemented her top. She parted those lips and her breath emerged, a soft white cloud in the dim light. He had a sudden and urgent desire to kiss her, and when he lifted his gaze to her eyes and felt the earthquake shock of attraction, he almost did.

Almost. “Uh, yeah, my dad was quite the jokester, too.”

“Apparently.” She broke the eye contact, glancing across the street at his house. “Well, welcome to the neighborhood, Justin Case. How long have you been here?”

“Since November.” He put his glove back on, crossed his arms over his chest. She had dynamite eyes, lashes long but not fake-looking; subtle liner and smoky brown shadow made them large and smoldering, yet he had the feeling that when she wasn’t dressed and made-up in one of her guises, she’d look farm-girl sweet. Nothing turned him on more than the combination of heat and innocence. He wanted to ask if she was seeing anyone, and how she’d feel about staying indoors with him for the rest of this miserable season. “Pretty serious cold here today, huh.”

“Today?” She blinked at him.

“My thermometer said eighteen. Brutal!” He shook his head, taken aback when she looked puzzled. “For this time of year, I mean.”

“You’re not from Wisconsin, are you.”

“Uh. Southern California?”

She smirked. “That explains it. Eighteen is a pretty normal temperature. This winter has actually been really mild. We usually go subzero in January.”

He shuddered. Were there flights out of Milwaukee to anywhere warm leaving this afternoon?

“It’s not that bad.” She shifted on the sidewalk, gesturing with her hands in her pockets; her sweater gaped and he got a very nice eyeful. She wasn’t tall—he was six-one and she came up to his chin in those incredible boots—but perfectly proportioned. If anything could warm him up … “What made you move here, Justin?”

“A book contract.” His teeth started to chatter; he wondered if she’d think he was making a move on her if he invited her to continue their conversation inside.

“No, kidding! What about?”

“An interactive how-to computer manual. There will be a disk with the book, and an e-version. In the ebooks, readers will be able to click links to pursue subjects further, see short animated demos or try out software screens. We’re trying to duplicate a classroom experience. A friend pitched the idea to our publisher. He’s the computer guy. I’m the writer.” Could she tell his sentences were getting shorter and shorter as his body started to want to shake in earnest? It took more and more energy to hold still. Not macho to start violent trembling. “If it flies they’ll want a whole series.”

“No kidding! That is most excellent. Did you write in California? Where were you from exactly? I have a friend in L.A.” Her conversation tumbled out, as if she’d been holding back before.

“I’m from Solana Beach, outside San Diego. Yes, I wrote, technical manuals for a scientific engineering company.”

“Oh, wow. That sounds so …” She faltered.

“Unbelievably exciting? Universe-altering, in fact?”

“Of course.” She tipped her head, smiling again, hair hanging in a shiny curtain behind her right ear. If he wasn’t about to turn into Frosty the Snowman, he’d really enjoy being on the receiving end of that deep-brown gaze, imagining what else she might find unbelievably exciting.

But he was about to turn into Frosty the Snowman.

“Listen, I know you natives consider this a balmy day in paradise, but I am about to start dropping limbs. Would you like to bring this conversation over to my house? I have coffee on, though at this point I’m thinking of bathing in it.”

She laughed. “I’d love to, but I have a … date.”

“Yeah, okay.” He was surprised to be so disappointed. But of course a woman like this would have a boyfriend, or guys all over her. Guys who’d walk around on a day like today in shorts, shirtless and not even have their balls retract. His were somewhere up near where they’d been the day he was born. “I should have figured with you so dressed up.”

“I don’t always dress like this.”

He almost said “No kidding” but didn’t want her thinking—okay, knowing—that he’d taken a somewhat voyeur-type interest in her and was already curious about her abrupt changes in style. “Too bad.”

She smiled, and under her sex-aura he thought he detected shyness. “Thank you.”

“You … go on a lot of dates?”

“Recently, yes.”

He took a step back. He really liked the look of this woman, the way she smiled so often, and the sensual energy she emitted, but he wasn’t the type to stand in a testosterone line. Angie, his ex-girlfriend, was like that. A man-magnet, who was a lot better at attracting than at repelling, for which she was unapologetic, to say the least. She was one of the reasons he’d done more than just consider cutting ties to his home state.

“I joined a dating site.”

“Yeah?” He stopped moving back. That would explain all the dates—easy access to a pool of single guys. But not the variety of outfits. “How’s that working?”

“Not bad. Not great.” She laughed. “Sometimes I don’t know if it’s such a good idea.”

He nodded, not really understanding. For someone who didn’t think it was a good idea, she sure put a lot of effort into transforming herself.

“My friend owns the site. Milwaukeedates.com. It’s … sort of a favor to her.”

“Really.” Now that was interesting. She was going on dates to help out a friend, not to find someone? What about the women who signed up legitimately at the website? What about the poor men who thought they were on a real date and had a chance with her? “The company isn’t doing well? Needs more women?”

“Oh.” She dropped her eyes, clearly flustered. “No, she … No, it’s doing very well. In fact, Marie won a Best Success Stories award last year from Women in Power, a local organization of female business owners. I belong, too.”

“Good for her.” His reporter instinct started humming. Something was making this appetizing Candy-gram pretty uncomfortable. After graduating with a degree in journalism from the University of Southern California, Justin made most of his money through his technical-writing job, but kept his hand in investigative reporting simply because he loved it.

“What do you do?”

“I have my own event-planning company. We do kids’ parties, adult parties, corporate events, whatever anyone needs.”

“What a great job.”

“I enjoy it a lot.”

His mind was still spinning. Bob Rondell, longtime friend and ex-roommate, a good-looking successful guy who loved conspiracy theories, had one about a dating site he’d joined in San Diego. He was convinced the company employed hot women, put up their profiles, and had them show up on two or three chaste dates per new enrollee, to boost the site’s cachet and to keep the men eagerly paying steep monthly dues in case the next date worked out better. At the time Justin had chalked up the theory to Bob’s bruised ego.

But … he’d heard other rumors of deceptive practices on dating sites. It could happen. Justin had learned to trust his instinct when it told him something was worth probing further. Just not here, now, with his ears on fire, his nose running and his toes going numb.

“Well, enjoy your date.”

She looked rueful. “Coffee in your kitchen sounds more fun.”

“The offer stands for another time.” He backed into the street a few steps, keeping their eye contact going, and then turned and did everything he could to amble casually up to his back door when every frozen cell in his body was begging him to run as fast as he safely could.

Was it spring yet?

Inside, still enjoying the mental picture of Candy’s body beckoning in purple and black, but feeling bad for the guy she was going to meet with all the excitement of someone facing jail time, he let himself warm up for a few minutes, turning over the meager facts. Nothing substantial to go on. But … an article exposing fraud of any type was always fascinating to readers, and it wouldn’t do any harm for him to check further.

He hauled out his phone and dialed Bob in California with fingers still clumsy from the chill. Would he ever get used to winter in this place? He missed surfing the most. Maybe he should take up cross-country skiing. Supposed to be a good enough workout that you didn’t mind so much being flash-frozen.

“Bob, hey, it’s Justin. What’s going on?”

“Sitting on my balcony in a swimsuit, getting some sun, enjoying a good book and a beer. You?”

Justin made a noise of disgust. “Up to my testes in ice.”

“Ha! Dude, I knew you’d get hammered there. Serious winter. Come home, the living is still easy.”

“Nah, I like it so far. Except for the cold.”

“Right, and that’s only a mere eight months of the year. I lived in Boston and nearly died. Wisconsin is worse.”

“Don’t need to hear it, I’m living it.”

“I’m telling you … How’s the book coming with Troy?”

“We’ve made a good start.”

“Yeah? I can’t picture the two of you doing anything but goofing around drinking beer.”

“We’re working. We have deadlines, we have to.” He put icy fingers under his arm to try to thaw them. “Listen, are you still signed up at that dating site?”

“CalDates? No-ho-ho-ho.” He chuckled out the syllables. “Waste of good money. I told you my theory.”

“That’s why I’m calling.” He outlined the situation with Candy, her odd behavior and his completely unfounded suspicions.

“One question. Is she hot?”

“Let’s just say hers is the only house on the block without snow.”

Bob snorted. “Then yes. I bet you anything she’s working for this friend of hers who owns the site. Probably whoever comes in, he’s matched up with her in whatever disguise he seems to want, and bingo, she walks in and he’s thinking ‘look at this chick, this is the site for me!’ Then she disappears after a couple of dates. ‘It’s not you, it’s me. No, really.’

“After that, he keeps striking out, but the memory of that first hot woman keeps him renewing the charges. I’m telling you, men are simple. Lonely men are even simpler. ‘Do I have a hope of getting laid again someday? I’ll keep paying.’”

Justin made a noncommital sound and switched his hands so the other one could have hope of getting feeling back. He wasn’t sure he liked hearing men classified as simpletons, though he admitted one glance at Candy dressed the way she was today, and he’d been having some pretty simple thoughts: Me want that.

“You know they did some study of chickens pecking at levers. One group always got food when it pecked. Pretty soon those birds got full and stopped. One group never got food from pecking. They gave up, too, pretty quick. The third group sometimes got food, sometimes didn’t. Those guys never stopped pecking. See what I mean?”

“Uh …”

“Dude, men are the same. Give us a little hope, a few dates with a fantasy babe, and we’ll keep trying forever. It’s brilliant when you stop to think about it.”

“Brilliant.” He was even more uncomfortable now. The chicken story was a little close to home when he thought about his relationship with Angie. For every week she was horrible to him, there was one he was in, and yeah, he kept pecking that lever for way too long. “Well, thanks, I’ll stay in touch.”

“You do that. And visit. You’ll crack by March at the latest. Government there will be handing out free straitjackets by the end of the month, I’m telling you.”

“We’ll see.” Justin said goodbye and hung up, chuckling and shaking his head. Bob the Man. Full of it, on many levels.

However, as much as Justin was skeptical of his friend’s theory, it wouldn’t hurt to check out Milwaukeedates.com. He missed the journalistic rush of adrenaline as worthwhile stories emerged under his digging, and would like to keep that part of his career going in Milwaukee. Uncovering a dating-site scam wouldn’t earn him a Pulitzer, but it could be a solid foot in the door in this new city. Once he got enough details and felt a story was possible he could put together a proposal and see who bit.

Only one problem as far as he could see.

If he was investigating Ms. Graham’s involvement, he couldn’t ask her out with anything more in mind than coffee and information. While where she was concerned, his mind was full of a whole lot more than that.




3


CANDY GOT INTO HER CAR and slammed the door, trying not to stare at Justin’s very nicely put-together body making its way cautiously over his icy driveway. Oh, my goodness. She hadn’t been affected that much by a man in … well not since she’d met Chuck in her senior year at University of Wisconsin Stevens Point. He’d sat behind her in their British Novel class and kicked the back of her chair until she got so annoyed she’d turned around to tell him to knock it off—and encountered the world’s most winning grin and a note waved in her direction: I just fell in love with the back of your head. Meet me for coffee after class?

She had, coffee that lasted through her free hour, her Entrepreneurship class, too much homework time, dinner and the next five wonderful years. During all that time, and in the last year of horrible grief, Candy had hardly looked at another man.

Oh. Well. There was that guy she’d met at the bachelor party she organized last year. And the father of the little girl who had the Barbie birthday party a couple of years before that. And the cute guy who helped her ver-r-ry attentively at Best Buy when she was getting Chuck a new TV for his birthday.

But those men were either spoken for, or she was, so she’d been friendly, and left it at that. Now, gulp, she was free. And if Justin had recently moved, maybe there wasn’t a girlfriend in the picture, unless he’d left one on the beach in California.

Candy turned on the engine, shivering—not from eighteen degrees as much as from Justin. Maybe he was only being neighborly, but her female instincts told her he’d been more than that; the excitement of possibilities had been buzzing in the air between them. Look how she’d jumped to make it seem the whole multiple-dates thing was just a favor to Marie. Candy hadn’t wanted him thinking she was desperate for a man, but obviously she’d also wanted him to know she hadn’t been swept away by anyone yet. Hint, hint.

She wanted to cancel her date tonight with Ralph, knock on Justin’s door and see what talking to him felt like, even though common sense told her this was a temporary thrill. No matter how wonderful Justin turned out to be, odds were he’d end up just a friend in the long run.

Though, mmm, the idea of what could happen in the short run was enticing. Maybe Justin would turn out to be the person Marie prescribed to banish Candy’s ghosts of Valentine’s Day romantic failure.

Oof. Pull back, girl. She was getting ahead of herself, which was a good trait when she was planning an event and imagining everything that could go right or wrong, but not so good when she bulldozed ahead, making assumptions and decisions based on factors she couldn’t control. After all, Justin said he wanted her to come over because he was cold, maybe that was all there was to it.

And romance with a neighbor could be complicated. Candy had inherited her late grandmother’s house here in Shorewood four years ago, bless Grandma, which meant Candy had been able to put her savings toward starting up the party business. But it also meant she wasn’t ever planning to move. Having an ex-boyfriend across the street could be awkward.

One other uneasy thought: Candy had waved hello to Justin a few times, but today was the first time he’d approached, when she was dressed like the kind of person she wasn’t. If that was all that attracted him, they had little hope of hitting it off. Her usual look—sweats and fuzzy slippers, glasses and no makeup—would make him run.

There. Reality was much more reliable than fantasy, as Chuck always had to remind her. Tonight, she’d simply celebrate that she wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life with a dormant sex drive, since seeing Justin had woken her hormones from hibernation in a big hurry.

Baby steps toward healing, maybe, but forward motion was the only way Candy would get there.

She pulled out onto Prospect Street and headed for Harry’s Bar and Grill on Oakland. Tonight she was meeting Ralph Stodges who apparently liked his women dressed to seduce, since Marie had matched him up with Sexy Glamour Girl. Despite Candy’s initial misgivings, dating as different types had so far been the perfect way to ease into the concept of new romance with an appropriate sense of fun.

Her first date, as Superwoman—coffee at Alterra by the Lake—had been … interesting. Frank was good-looking and intelligent, but seemed to feel challenged, and kept trying to prove he knew more about pretty much every topic that came up. Tedious, but she’d enjoyed indulging her sense of power and smarts even if she did have to wear that god-awful severe suit.

Her next date—lunch at The Knick as the Professor—was much more fun, probably because that personality came most naturally. Certainly more natural than the one she was trying out tonight. Sam had been thoughtful, interesting and funny, though there was a decided lack of sizzle between them.

Fine by her. She needed to enjoy this experimentation and continue the process of accepting that she and Chuck weren’t going to end up together forever. Admittedly, there were times, home alone in bed, when she still had hope he’d come back, and still times she thought resuming a dating life was a mistake, that she was merely looking for second-best after she’d already had the love of her life. What was the point?

Maybe the point was that second-best would turn out to be better than nothing? She should count herself lucky that she’d loved so deeply. Many people never did.

Somehow that didn’t make her feel much better.

Her late arrival at the bar was made later when it took ten minutes circling blocks before she found a place to park. Then she couldn’t resist calling her best friend since fourth grade, Abigail Glucklich, because God forbid anything should happen the two of them didn’t share immediately.

“It’s quarter after six, you’re supposed to be on your date. Why are you calling me? Is Ralph horrible?”

“I haven’t met him yet.” She got out, locked the car and started toward the bar.

“Losing your nerve? You were a mess when we were picking outfits, no matter how often I told you how gorgeous you were.”

Candy grinned. Abigail had provided clothes, shoes, makeup and advice to bring Sexy Glamour Girl to life, since Candy’s wardrobe definitely wouldn’t suit. And yes, Candy had been squirmingly uncomfortable no matter what the mirror said. She kept hearing Chuck’s voice assuring her she was pretty and sexy without artificial trappings. “No, not losing my nerve.”

“Then …?”

“I met a guy.” Her voice turned girlish and giggly without her permission.

“What?” Abigail’s normal sleepy tone rose an octave. “Where? How? When?”

“Just now. My neighbor across the street.”

“The Bakers’ old house?”

“That’s the one.”

“What happened? You went over and jumped in bed with him?”

“I said I met him. As in ‘Hi, how are you, I’m Candy.’”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. That was Abigail. In Candy’s place she would have accepted Justin’s invitation for coffee and made sure they drank it in the bedroom, leaving poor Ralph at Harry’s glancing at his watch, wondering what had happened to his date. “What is so momentous about meeting your neighbor? Though of course I can guess.”

“He’s gorgeous.”

“Now we’re talking.”

“And from what I can tell, available.”

“Even better.”

“So what do I do next?”

“Take him cookies.”

Candy stopped on the sidewalk and burst out laughing. “Do what now?”

“Cookies. A plate of homemade cookies says, ‘Hello and welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Candy and I can bake. What’s more, in bed I can cook. Let’s get married.’”

Candy snorted and kept walking. “Oh, that’s subtle.”

“That’s how I got Ron. All the other women after him dressed like bimbos and acted as if all they brought to the table was sex and permission for him to spend millions on them. On our first date, I brought to the table a bag of sugar-oatmeal cookies I baked. He never saw what hit him.”

“True enough.”

Abigail had grown up in West Allis, one of five boisterous siblings in a house without enough love or money, and had decided the latter was more important, therefore she got herself engaged to the first gazillionaire she could find. He ducked out—the infamous Valentine’s Day non-wedding—but she married the next one, Ron Glucklich. They lived in a mansion overlooking Lake Michigan with a three-car garage the size of Candy’s house. Until the start of her pregnancy four months earlier, Abigail was always rushing off to this or that country, resort, beach, et al, and was hardly ever around long enough for her house to feel like home, at least as Candy saw it. Now that Abigail had finally stopped throwing up, she and Ron would be off again soon, to Jamaica. Candy wouldn’t want her life for anything.

Okay, maybe for a month. Or two. Abigail didn’t have to dress up and pretend to be Sexy Glamour Girl, she lived it.

“Where are you?”

“On my way to meet Ralph.” She stopped outside the restaurant entrance. “I’m here, in fact. He’s probably thinking by now that I’m not going to show.”

“My, my, you are certainly rolling in men.” Abigail sounded wistful. “Those were the days.”

“Like you’d trade what you have now?” She snorted. Though there were times Candy suspected Abigail missed having the kind of love Candy had found with Chuck, she and Ron got along well and were both thrilled about the coming baby. “I’ll let you know how it goes. What are you doing tonight?”

“Ron’s traveling. I’m going to hang out, watch TV and try not to eat Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Those miniature ones are so cute you think they don’t count, then you reach the end of the bag and realize that’s a whole day’s allotment of calories and none of them were good for the little one.” She let out a groan of exasperation that couldn’t hide her joy. “This baby-making is a major responsibility.”

“Worth it, though?”

“Oh, yeah.” She sighed blissfully. “The little nugget has me already. I’m a goner.”

“I knew that about you.” Candy grinned over a twinge of envy. Abigail was finally looking out for someone other than herself. That was worth grinning over. The envy … well, Candy had thought that by now she and Chuck would be married and starting a family, too.

“So go. Have fun. I’ll fret about calories and you have wild sex.”

“We’ll see.”

“Oh, and I was serious about baking Neighbor Guy cookies, Candy. Make those chocolate chunk ones I nearly gained forty pounds on once I stopped wanting to throw up every hour. He’ll fall like bricks.”

“Will do.”

“And call me the second you’re done with the Ralph-date. If he doesn’t get a stiffy at the sight of you, he’s gay.”

Candy giggled. “Thanks, Abby. I promise I’ll call right away.”

She clicked off the phone, tucked it in her bag, and felt suddenly faint with nerves. She’d have to walk into a bar full of people who would take one look and make all kinds of assumptions about her character. Same for the other dates, yes, but this character seemed so false …

She squared her shoulders and strode into the bar, trying to act as confident and sexual as she knew she looked. No backing out now.

Inside, she gritted her teeth against the rush of warmth and noise, and made herself look around. Ralph was pretty hot in his picture, though Marie said he’d put on a few pounds.

A huge man lumbered toward her. Much taller than she expected. A regular elephant bull. He’d put on, yes, a few pounds. No, several pounds. And shaved his head. And added an earring. And grown one of those soul patches which made Candy itch for a razor. He looked like David Draiman, the lead singer of the band Disturbed, minus the giant, scary lip ring. “Candy?”

“Yes. Ralph. Hi.” She stuck out her hand with a bright smile, forgetting she was supposed to smolder, then tried to smolder, but probably looked like she had something in her eye.

This was a mistake. What had been natural with Abigail, and even with Justin, was foreign and ridiculous with this intimidating mountain of a person. A person she didn’t know, a person to whom she was broadcasting messages about herself that weren’t true.

“Well, we-e-ell.” He gave her a long, slow once-over that was like getting rubbed with used engine oil. “You are one very hot woman. Am I in luck or what?”

What. Candy kept her smile going, tried to arrange her body in a suitably seductive pose, feeling naked, a ludicrous pretender.

She wanted to go home, change into sweats, bake those cookies, deliver them to Justin and spend the evening consuming them in his kitchen over coffee and conversation. What kind of sex kitten did that make her?

Not one. By the end of this evening Ralph would find that out. And who knew what Justin would say to the cookies if they were delivered by a woman in baggy fleece?

Candy should have listened to Chuck who knew her better than she knew herself. Sexy Glamour Girl was only part of her personality in her dreams.

Marie walked down the stairs into the Cellar at Roots Restaurant, her favorite after-work place for a drink and occasionally a reasonably priced and excellent dinner. The restaurant was located in the up-and-coming Brewers Hill neighborhood where Marie had bought a small fixer-upper Victorian. She’d hired a friend to do renovations on the cheap, resulting in a cozy, colorful home that said “Marie” everywhere one looked, and which Marie adored. She and her ex-husband, Grant, had lived in a beautiful Tudor in Whitefish Bay on the east side by the lake, a place she’d decorated the way she thought a wife should decorate a house for her husband. After the divorce, while she’d wanted to stay in Milwaukee where she’d lived all her life, she needed to live somewhere that felt like a new start. Here in Brewers Hill, she wasn’t constantly running into Grant or his new hot-young-babe wife, nor did she risk encountering mutual friends with their tsk-tsk sympathy. This part of the city had come to feel like hers.

“Hey, Marie, how are you doing this evening? What’ll it be today?”

“I’m fine, Joe.” She sat in a tall chair at the long wooden bar set under a dimly lit canopy of tangled brown metal, evoking roots, for obvious reasons, and grinned at the handsome young bartender with the eyes of a doe, the mouth of a young girl and the body of an Olympic swimmer. “Let me see. How about a Prufrock tonight?”

“You got it.” He grabbed the bottle of pear vodka which he’d mix with gin, chartreuse and a splash of sour mix at lightning speed. Cellar cocktails were inventive and changed with the seasons. Never a dull moment.

Marie looked around the room, white lights strung in a scattered pattern from the bar overhang, early patrons sitting at some of the tables already, many more to come soon she knew.

“Here you go, one Prufrock.”

“Thanks, Joe.” She unfolded the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel, dreading the world’s depressing news, and took a sip of the icy liquid, fruity and not too sweet. Mmm. Her favorite way to unwind at the end of a long day, especially at the end of a long week. Sometimes a lonely person came in, a close or distant neighbor, or someone needing escape to a place with delicious food, great service and a restful view over the Milwaukee River to the city skyline. If that person was in the mood to chat, Marie would have company. Sometimes during the week Joe wasn’t too busy and she’d talk to him—or listen more like it—but most of the time she enjoyed sitting in the bustle of a thriving business within walking distance of her house, indulging in a pleasant buffer between the hectic work day and the emptiness of her home.

She’d adjusted pretty quickly to not being married, but going home to an empty house—even an empty house she adored—still felt hollow and unsatisfying, though after the trauma of her divorce, and the initial joy of her subsequent freedom, she wasn’t looking for a replacement husband yet. If she weren’t violently allergic, she’d get a pet. Pets loved you no matter what, didn’t criticize, were always supportive, and never left you for a younger version.

Halfway through her drink, while Marie skimmed articles in the business section, a dark suit sat down three chairs away.

That guy. He was here often when she was, more predictably on Fridays. She peeked around her paper for the enjoyment of a surreptitious eyeful. He was delicious. Mid-forties, classically handsome, solidly built, with short salt-and-pepper hair and dark brown eyes, very George Clooney-esque. Sometimes he came alone, sometimes with a woman—seldom the same one twice. Many times he didn’t leave alone, even if he came in that way. Women fell with such regularity that Marie found herself tempted to interview him and find out how he worked. She imagined he lived somewhere in Brewers Hill, though she’d never bumped into him anywhere but here.

She’d love to sign the guy up for her site, put his picture on the home page, Look what you can find here, but clearly he didn’t need help finding company. And if his behavior was anything to go by, he was more into quantity than quality, which wasn’t the type of man she’d foist on anyone looking to date seriously. Like Candy, who insisted she was out there for fun, but wasn’t, not really. Marie hoped she was having fun with Ralph tonight.

Another sip of her drink and she sat, considering. How about matching this man with someone who wasn’t looking to date seriously? Like Darcy? He could be the lure Marie needed to get Darcy to take a first step toward admitting she wanted a serious relationship, too. She was much more firmly in denial than Candy. One way or another Marie would wear down her defenses. After all, the urge to merge was basic human nature, no matter what the level of commitment. Though clearly this clone of George Clooney—George Cloney?—was more about urge than long-term merge. At least until he met the right woman.

He glanced her way, glanced again. Marie hid back behind her paper. He was so fun to observe, she didn’t want to speak to him. Especially because they were often here at the same time; if they started now, one or the other would always feel obligated to make conversation in the future. Sooner or later on any particular day, some sweet young ‘un would walk in on them chatting, and he’d excuse himself and move on to those greener pastures. Marie could do without that humiliation, thanks very much. Once with Grant was plenty.

But one of these days she wanted to be close enough that she could at least hear his pitch. Though his targets didn’t always leave with him, Marie had never seen a woman respond with anything but smiles and a readiness to talk, even briefly. Was he able to read body language with uncanny accuracy or did he have some deep instinct for who would match him, even for a few hours? How did he know which women to approach and which to leave alone? When to move in and when to move on? When to sit tight and wait until the prey approached him?

The guy was a master, and as someone for whom matching people was an obsession, Marie was shamelessly fascinated.

Maybe there was something more to her interest. Something personal. He did remind her of Grant: his confidence, his certainty in what he wanted and that he would get it. Grant had swept Marie off her feet the same way. He’d walked into the hotel bar where she was waitressing her senior year, having returned to UW–Madison after four years of active duty in the navy, to have a drink with the director of the ROTC program, with whom he’d kept in touch.

One glance at Marie and he’d turned on the charm, overwhelming her with his interest, insisting he take her out, then taking every opportunity to visit until she graduated. When she got a job in Milwaukee, where he’d also settled, it had seemed like fate. Now she thought any woman would have done for him at that stage. That was how Grant operated. Back from duty, time to get a wife, here’s one, good, check that off, next task on the to-do list …

And then, somehow, ten years later, his checklist included having an affair with a girl young enough to be their daughter. Ironic since they hadn’t been able to have children, and Grant hadn’t wanted to adopt. In retrospect, just as well. Who wanted to put a kid through an unpleasant divorce? Not that there was any other kind.

Fifteen minutes later, whaddya know, two women walked in, late twenties, dressed to be noticed. A casual observer wouldn’t have picked up on the way Mr. Cloney minutely adjusted himself on his chair for the best view. Marie wasn’t a casual observer. She waited, with all the patience and concentration of a naturalist studying animal behavior in the wild.

The women ordered drinks, spoke in loud voices, squealed with laughter. One glanced behind her friend at George, glanced again, then a third time. He appeared not to register her interest, taking a leisurely sip of his martini, of which he never had more than two in an evening, at least that Marie had seen.

He was implacably cool, yet, when he chatted up his prey there had to be warmth, or he wouldn’t do so well. You could fool some of the women some of the time …

The girl with her back to Mr. Cloney gave him a shy smile over her shoulder.

“Hello.” His deep voice carried. No stupid line, nothing suggestive in his tone, just a friendly greeting, acknowledging her smile.

“Hi.” The blonde’s blush was visible even in the low, warm light. “I’m Jill.”

The brunette swivelled to face him, giggling silently. “I’m Maura.”

“Hi, Maura. Hi, Jill. I’m Quinn.”

Quinn. Marie nodded. She loved that name.

The girls put their heads together; the blonde nodded.

“What are you drinking, Quinn?” Tipping her head coyly, the brunette extended her arm toward him, let her hand rest on the bar.

“Gin martini. Extra dry with a twist.”

“Join us? We’ll buy your next one.”

“Only if I can buy both of yours.”

Marie had to stifle laughter. Nothing scintillating in that conversation. Nothing cute, nothing enticing, no showmanship, and yet … Quinn was in once again.

He got up, moved closer, left one seat between him and the brunette, not crowding them, keeping his own space to himself. Brilliant. He struck up a conversation Marie wished she could hear, but she’d bet it was casual get-to-know-you chitchat. Where do you work, where do you live, how about them Packers/Brewers/Bucks, and will winter ever end?

The closer she got to the bottom of her drink, the more convinced she was that this man would be perfect for Darcy. Too smooth, too polished for Kim. Kim would do better with a sweet boy-next-door type. Once Candy figured out who she was and what she wanted, her guy would come along, too, someone earnest and kind, harboring an inner wild child. But Darcy needed someone with as much confidence as she had. Someone who’d let her be herself, but would never let her walk all over him.

Marie dug her cell out of her bag and dialed, knowing Darcy was at Gladiolas and wouldn’t pick up. Better that way. If she spoke to her, Darcy would blow off the suggestion.

But if Marie left a message to work on Darcy’s subconscious before she brought it up again in person … maybe.

Marie grinned, waiting for voice mail to pick up.

Darned if she wasn’t as big an operator as Mr. Quinn.




4


“HI, JUSTIN, NICE TO MEET YOU. Come on in.”

Justin shook Marie’s hand, impressed by her grip. She wasn’t what he’d expected. Her rich voice on the phone had him imagining a broad-shouldered Amazon, not this intriguing mix of elfin and elegant. Small, plump, with short auburn hair and scattered bangs above hazel eyes emphasized tastefully with makeup. She wore a stylish reddish-brown suit with a silk scarf of beige, orange and yellow, the colors combining to evoke pictures of a New England fall.

“Nice to meet you, too.” He stood looking around, hands in his pockets, portrait of a brand-new dating client nervously ready to put his ego on the line. He hoped the act was convincing. “Great office. Very inviting.”

“I’m pleased you noticed.” She leaned over her desk to make a quick note in a folder—that he appreciated decor?—and gestured to one of the two chairs in front of her desk. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” He dropped into the comfortable chair, rubbing his hands along his thighs, poor ill-at-ease dude who could barely handle the stress of putting himself out there. “So, how do we do this?”

He was having fun already. Not that he wanted the lovely Marie and the even-more-lovely Candy to be involved in anything shady, but it was great to be back to the rush of an investigation. Writing the computer book with Troy was a good idea, a great career move, satisfying in many ways, but not exactly a thrill ride.

“We ‘do this’ any way that makes you comfortable, Justin. You and I can talk, or you can fill out paperwork, or we can fill it out together. What do you think?”

“Well …” He shrugged lamely. “I’m okay talking.”

“Good.” She dimpled a smile, and instead of taking the Interviewer Seat behind her desk, came around and settled into the chair next to him. “That’s the way I like getting to know our clients, too.”

“Do I tell you my life story?”

“I’ve got some of it here.” She opened his folder; he could see part of the form he’d completed online with basic information—name, address, marital status, brief romantic history. “You’re straight, college educated, nonsmoker, never married but coming off a relationship in California. Would you mind talking about it with me?”

Oof. He hadn’t planned on this. “No, not at all.”

“How serious was it?”

“More for me than for her.” He couldn’t help the bitterness seeping into his voice. “When a job came open in Milwaukee I knew it was time to cut ties and go.”

“You’re a writer …”

“I was a journalism major, did technical writing and some reporting on the side in California. Now I’m writing a non-fiction book with a friend and hoping to get back into the print-media business as well.”

“Interesting career.” She made a note. Rating him on the Great Catch vs. Loser scale? “How long have you been single, Justin?”

“Oh …” He rubbed his hands together, not having to fake the nerves and reluctance any more. Single? Calculations were hard, since as a couple he and Angie had been on-and-off and off-and-on for the better part of a year since he’d met her at a friend’s beach party. Finally last fall he’d left her apartment swearing it was over for good that time, and though he got suckered into one more night with her—saying no to sex with Angie was a skill he took a while to master—he’d never felt the same way about her again. You could only kick a dog so many times. “About five months.”

“Five months.” Marie was watching him carefully, probably taking in more signals than he knew he was sending. He unclenched his hands, which he hadn’t noticed were fisted until Marie glanced at them. Bizarre interview, both of them talking on one level while searching for a deeper, possibly contradictory story lurking underneath. “And you feel ready to move on?”

“I am ready to move on.” That much he could state firmly and with absolute honesty.

“Good to hear.” Another note in his folder. “Are you comfortable talking about why the relationship didn’t work out?”

“You don’t pull punches.”

“No, I don’t.” She leaned toward him, eyes earnest. “This is what sets Milwaukeedates.com apart from other sites. I want my clients to find partners who can give them what they need. If you don’t understand what you need, or keep reliving destructive patterns by choosing and discarding the same type of person, you’re going to have trouble finding happy-ever-after. The best way to ensure future romantic success is to dig into the whys and whats of past relationships and sort those out before you meet someone new. This is why I always ask this question, even though it can be difficult and emotional to answer. That said, if you’re not comfortable with it, that’s entirely fine.”

Justin nodded as if he were considering her words, keeping his face blank while internal chemistry urged him to run far and fast. He’d thought he’d be able to walk into Marie’s office, answer a few superficial questions, gather some evidence as to whether she threw Candy at every first-timer, then get out. He wasn’t expecting to have to eviscerate himself and lay his entrails out for her inspection.

“The relationship didn’t work because …” He couldn’t say she was a man-eater and I was dinner, because it was more complicated than that. Angie had been a beautiful, sexual, vulnerable mess. She was a cheater and I was a sap didn’t work either. He needed a more balanced and less angry sound bite. “I was willing to commit to an exclusive dating arrangement and she wasn’t.”

“She was seeing other men.”

“Compulsively.” Justin resettled in the chair, beginning to perspire. He’d thought he’d be doing the investigating here.

“You think her behavior was beyond her control?”

“No. But it was her way of coping with baggage and avoiding commitment. She was trying to fill a black hole of need for reassurance that she was desirable and worthy of love.”

Marie sent him a sympathetic look that stopped short of pity. “It sounds as if you have a good handle on the dynamic. How long did you date her?”

He gritted his teeth. “Nearly a year.”

“Was she dating other men that whole time?” Marie asked the question as if she wanted to know what was available for lunch, while he was using all forces at his disposal not to writhe too obviously.

“I knew of one at the beginning. One at the end. I strongly suspect there were others. Flirtations certainly.”

Marie pressed her lips together and let the silence settle for several seconds. Letting him relax? Building more tension? “Did you think that by staying with her you could save her, Justin? Fix her?”

There it was, the sucker punch. He hated being dragged through this Dr. Phil torture. “I hoped … that what we had would be enough, yeah.”

Marie let more time go by. Which probably meant he had another killer question to look forward to. He relaxed his diaphragm, made sure his hands stayed open.

“Do you think there was something you could have done differently that would have affected the relationship’s outcome?”

Boom. Marie knew her stuff. He felt like squirming in his chair, the schoolboy asked the tough question in front of the class, wanting to avoid answering at all costs. But he’d come this far; he had to fight on to the payoff—when he was matched up with Candy … or not.

He forced himself to consider her question seriously, to think back carefully through a jumble of hot nights, cold mornings, laughter, heartache, jealousy, passion …

“No.” He laced his fingers together, resting his forearms on his thighs, not sure his current relief was from coming up with an answer, or from finding a truth that freed something inside him. “No, I don’t think anything I could have done would have made us right for each other.”

“It doesn’t sound as if she was willing to stop and look at her behavior.”

“It was all she knew how to be.” He tried to grin, but his voice cracked, and only half his mouth seemed able to function. He’d spent months brooding over this relationship, and in ten minutes Marie had gotten to the essence of why he was right to leave it behind.

“Looking forward now.” Her voice was gentle. “You are searching for someone who knows herself.”

“Yes.”

“Someone who wants a serious relationship?”

“Not necessarily.” Justin rubbed his forehead. He’d never been this rattled in an undercover situation. He’d met with bank vice presidents, calmly requesting loans with collateral he didn’t have. He’d visited hospitals and funeral homes, pretending to be a grieving relative. He’d shadowed people, staked out homes and businesses, eavesdropped on conversations, rifled through private filing cabinets—all with more poise and cool than he was able to summon talking about women. “I mean I’m not looking to get married …”

“Why not?” The question was sincere, not challenging.

“Well, not soon.”

“Even if you meet the right person?”

“Uh … yeah, if she’s the right person. I guess.” He wanted either to laugh or bellow in frustration. He’d lost track of which were honest answers and which he’d decided to give when planning this meeting. “I’m not against getting married in the big picture. It’s just not on my radar right now.”

Marie made a note. “So you’re looking to meet someone, with the possibility of marriage down the road.”

“Yeah. Sure. If it seems right.” Marriage? He’d come in looking for a piece of Candy and was being offered a whole cake.

“What would she be like, this person?”

Finally. Solid ground. He’d prepared for this. “Someone honest. No head games.”

“Is appearance important to you?”

“Some. But it’s what’s inside that really counts, right?” He wanted to cringe at his Boy Scout sweetness.

“We can’t help being attracted to some looks and turned off by others.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I am a guy.” He shrugged as if it were the most obvious conclusion in the world. “I do want a woman who cares about her appearance.”

Marie nodded. “Understood. Beyond the facade, do you want a risk-taker? A homebody? What type?”

“A little of each. Someone happy to be alive, someone who throws herself into each day, who’s grateful for what she has but works hard to get more. A woman comfortable with her body, with a healthy attitude toward sex.”

“‘Healthy’ meaning …”

“Uninhibited. With a good appetite.” He winked, again covering his discomfort. The best way not to get caught in a lie was to tell as much truth as possible, but as he kept talking about what he wanted, he kept seeing Candy’s face, not merely as a target of this investigation, and kept having to tamp down excitement he hadn’t felt in a while.

Which was nuts. He didn’t know Candy at all. She could be a prime manipulator, using men to pad her friend’s coffers and her own. He was out of his element, that was all—displaced from his old home, not yet comfortable in his new one. Of course he’d latch on to someone he could conceivably belong with because belonging was something everyone wanted. Because he’d never belonged with Angie, no matter how much he wanted her or how much he tried.

Half an hour later, hallelujah, Marie finally closed her folder, apparently out of questions, leaving Justin drained, as if she’d sucked out several pounds of his self. No wonder they called psychologists shrinks. “What do you think, Marie, is there hope?”

“Absolutely. Come see.” She reached eagerly for her laptop, eyes dancing. He stood next to her, found himself oddly nervous as she logged on to the Milwaukeedates.com site. “You’ll have your own username and password to look through profiles, but I always start people off with a suggested match since I know my clientele pretty well. Someone came to mind when you were talking, and I thought you’d like to see her.”

“Sure.” Here it came, the moment of at least partial truth. Had someone really “come to mind” or was she offering Candy to all strangers?

“She’s fun, energetic, but a good solid person underneath. Like you, she had a serious relationship that didn’t work out, and while she wants marriage, right now she’s more interested in easing back into dating than in going for the perfect fit first try. However, I guarantee if you hit it off, you’ll find she’s strictly a one-man woman.” She pressed a few more keys. “Let me pull up her profile.”




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