Sultry Escapes. Leslie Kelly

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      “Damn it, Candace,” he muttered, grabbing himself, squeezing, pumping. His hand was in no way as good—wet, hot—as she would be, but it was all he had. All he would allow himself.

      It didn’t take long. No longer than it had taken the previous night when he’d gone to bed and let himself replay the moments he’d spent with her on the couch. He came in a hot gush, spewing his essence over his hand, knowing he’d give a year off his life if he could do it in her instead.

      “But you can’t,” he told himself, feeling even more sexually frustrated than he had before his second jacking-off session of the past twenty-four hours.

      His hand just didn’t cut it. He wanted her hand. Her body. Her mouth. More than he’d ever wanted anything.

      He tried to forget his sexual needs as he drove down to the rehab center. He definitely tried to disguise his desire as he visited with Buddy and gauged how the elderly man was doing with his new hip. Fortunately, he’d been right about guessing Candace wouldn’t be there. She’d apparently stayed until dinnertime, leaving shortly before he’d arrived, so he wouldn’t have to pretend he hadn’t spent the past twenty hours fucking her senseless in his mind. Hopefully he would get home late, find her rental car in the driveway, see all the lights were out and go to bed, having managed one more day of resisting her.

      To make sure of that, he intended to go out for a bite to eat and maybe have a few beers at a local watering hole before heading back. He’d even picked the place.

      After they’d spent a half hour talking about the amazing find in the wine cellar, Buddy said something that made him wonder if fate was conspiring to bring him and Candace together.

      “You ought to see if you can catch up with Candace at Wilhelm’s. I told her they have the best burgers in town and she said she was going to stop there for dinner.”

      So she could avoid arriving home in time to see him? That was funny, considering she was dining at the very bar at which he’d intended to stop. Now, though, he figured drive-through fast food would do him just fine.

      “I should probably get home and make an early night of it. I’m going to get back to work on the old vats tomorrow, see what else we can salvage.”

      Buddy frowned. “I’d feel better if you swung by and checked on her. Tonight’s Monday. Adult softball league night.”

      “So?”

      “So we both know the teams all converge on Wilhelm’s for brewskis and wings after their games. It can get a little raucous. I’d hate to think of my girl having to fend off some guy who downs a little too much liquid courage.”

      Oliver tensed at the very thought of it. No, he didn’t have any claim on her, and had told her he didn’t want any. But damned if he wanted another man making a move, welcomed by her or otherwise. That was probably pretty selfish, but, frankly, he didn’t give a shit.

      Since he met her, Candace had been putting off some strong signals. Her body was dying for some action, she needed sex and she needed it badly. And last night, when they’d kissed and he’d stroked her into an orgasm, she had been like a cat in heat, so obviously ripe and ready that he had smelled her arousal—hence his drooling hunger to bury his face in her sex and eat her like a kid ate an icecream cone.

      He’d be damned if any guy with less-pure motives and less self-control was going to take her up on what she was silently offering.

      “Will you at least go by and check on her, make sure she’s okay?” Buddy prompted. He wore a slight frown, but Oliver saw the tiniest hint of a smile on his face, as well. The old man was matchmaking again. Under normal circumstances, that would have sent Oliver running in the other direction, away from the local pub where Candace might now be putting off those vibes he’d been picking up on since the night they’d met.

      But because of those vibes, he just couldn’t.

      “Okay, Buddy. I’ll go by and make sure she’s all right.”

      And make sure she wasn’t entering into negotiations with any other guy for one tiny innocent little kiss. After giving her that orgasm, he’d left her high and dry last night. Over his dead body would any other man get her low and wet.

      HER GRANDFATHER HAD been right. Wilhelm’s had great burgers. After Candace swallowed the last bite of hers, she wiped her mouth, reached for her tea and thought about dessert.

      Not that she was still hungry. Honestly, the burger had been huge. She never ate like that, and could almost hear her arteries screaming in protest. But she was not ready to call for her check, get up, leave and drive back to Grandpa’s place. Not while it was only eight o’clock. Not when there was a good chance Oliver would be up, the lights on in his small cottage, tempting her to find some excuse to wander over to see him.

      He’d avoided her all day today. As if his rejection last night and the finality of his goodbye hadn’t been enough, he’d made it a point to avoid coming outside at all until she’d left the house this morning.

      He had the will of a monk. Or a eunuch. The flash of her cootchie as she’d walked up the stairs hadn’t elicited more than a frustrated groan from the man. She couldn’t deny she’d slammed the door to her room because he hadn’t stormed up after her, overtaken by lust. Then, last night after their wild, erotic kiss that had involved a whole lot more than lips and tongues, he’d still stuck to his terms and walked out on her.

      She’d gone to bed full of need and hunger, dying to be filled. Thinking about it later, however, she forced herself to concede she’d been lucky. She’d already listed the million-and-one reasons why she couldn’t get involved with Oliver right now. A little wine and the offer of a kiss had made her forget them, but there was no harm done. He’d ended it, and she was glad.

      Maybe if she told herself that often enough, she would begin to believe it. “This sucks,” she mumbled.

      “What’s that sweetheart?” a voice asked.

      She looked around to see a bunch of guys in dusty gym clothes and ball caps, who had just sat down in the booth directly behind hers. One of them was leaning over the back of his seat, invading her space, and her contemplation.

      “Nothing, sorry,” she insisted, her tone polite but cool.

      “Hey, we won our game, how about joining us for a celebration?” said another of the men.

      Good grief. Did men really think single women eating alone in restaurants were just praying a table full of sweaty dudes would invite her to join their six-some? The guys looked harmless—stockbroker, businessman types, in matching gym shorts and shirts and pricey sneakers. She didn’t feel threatened. Nor, however, was she at all interested. “No, thanks.”

      Before she had to elaborate, she heard a ringing from her purse. Coming from L.A., where people’s cell phones were connected to their heads by magnetic beams or something, she’d developed a loathing for anyone who yakked on one in public. Especially in a restaurant. But now, the excuse to cut short a conversation with some overly friendly jocks was most welcome.

      When she saw the name on the caller ID, she was even more grateful. She’d talked to Tommy a few times since leaving home and he always managed to distract her from her troubles…usually by talking about his own.

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