Sweet as Candy - Karla Doyle Page 0,1

them.”

Brandy and Candy? He would’ve laughed at the cheesiness if he weren’t here for a serious reason. “Not interested in them,” he said, keeping his eyes on Sara. “I choose you.”

“I’m the receptionist. I don’t do massages.”

“Come on, I know how it works.” He reached across to stroke her jawline. “Everything’s available here. Everything and everybody. And I want your body.”

She didn’t flinch at his touch, but her nostrils flared and daggers practically flew from her eyes—until her gaze shifted to the authoritative, middle-aged woman entering through the front.

Sara edged back, out of Jake’s reach. “As I said, I’m not a massage attendant. Let me introduce you to Candy. She’s the best and I know she’d love to show you everything Lucky’s has to offer.”

At the mention of what was obviously her call name, the blonde from the next room joined them by the desk. “Hiya, handsome. I’m Candy.” Despite her miniscule bikini top and ultra-short shorts, she offered her hand in a way that implied he ought to bow his head and kiss her fingertips, as a gentleman would with a proper lady.

And he was tempted to take that delicate hand. So damn tempted to kiss any and every inch of silky-looking skin she offered.

When he failed to take the bait, she simply smiled and trailed her fingers down the front of his t-shirt to his belt buckle, where she added a little tug. “No need to be shy, honey. Let me take you to my room and help you unwind. You’re going to love the way I make you feel.”

A bomb went off in his gut, sending a riot of sparks ricocheting through his veins. Didn’t matter that she was a sex worker. That she was putting on an act. That more men than he could probably count had stood in his place before this moment, then taken Candy into one of those private rooms and done God knows what to her.

She was a fucking bombshell. Pretty face and hair, rockin’ body, voice of an angel. Ten out of ten didn’t do her justice. Unfortunately, Candy wasn’t the reason for his visit.

“Appreciate the offer, but I already made my choice.” He shifted, causing her hand to fall away, then tore his gaze from Candy to focus on his target—Sara. “I choose you. I want you to show me everything Lucky’s has to offer in one of those private rooms.”

Sara’s cheeks turned a heated shade of red. “That’s not going to happen. For the final time, I’m the receptionist. I don’t do massages.”

“No more front desk,” the middle-aged woman snapped, stepping behind the counter. She pointed at Sara, then at Jake. “He wants you, you go with him.”

“No.”

The woman’s eyes opened wide. “You want to work here? You do massage. All girls do massage. Move up or move out.”

Sara stood her ground, not backing up a single inch as the woman, who was clearly her boss, got utterly in her space. Stormy gaze locked on the woman’s face, Sara opened a drawer beneath the countertop and reached inside.

Subtly, Jake slid his cell phone from his pocket. He’d come here as a personal favor, not as an undercover cop, but if shit got out of hand and he had to call for backup, he would. Even if Curtis’s girlfriend got burned in the process.

Sara withdrew her hand from the drawer and tucked a handbag under her arm. “I’m moving up, Nuwa. Up and out. I quit.” Then she walked out, vacating the premises without looking back. Kind of an anticlimactic ending, given Curtis’s description of Sara’s volatile personality. But an ending it was, one that Curtis would be relieved to hear about.

“Forget about her,” Nuwa said, drawing his attention back to the desk. “You go with this girl. Candy is sweet, like her name. Candy will make you forget about the sour girl with dark hair.”

Now he had a situation to deal with. One he’d created. He’d accomplished his purpose and didn’t regret that his mission had forced Sara to quit her job. Hell, he couldn’t have better news to tell his buddy. But what to do about the tempting blonde? Turn her down and walk out the door, obviously. Except he was still standing here. Staring. Considering actions he would undoubtedly regret if pursued.

The shrill screech of an alarm pierced the air.

“Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” a glassy-eyed brunette called, as she rushed into the front room wearing a dress that could’ve been painted on, without using much