Chapter One
Interior designer Candace Steele stood on the cracked and pitted sidewalk fringing the unsightly Victorian inn, which was unquestionably defacing the quaint town of Mason Creek, a small community on the outskirts of Connecticut. As she examined the array of landscapers and painters all milling about in an effort to return the insect-infested yard as well as the paint-chipped cedar shingles to their natural beautiful state, she stretched out her legs in preparation for her habitual early-morning run.
Just because she was on a job, hired by a strange mystical-like woman named Pamina, and was on a tight deadline, it didn’t mean she was about to give up her regular exercise routine—partly due to the upcoming fall triathlon and partly because the exercise filled her sex-deprived body with endorphins. Since she and her colleagues, Lindsay and Anna, childhood friends and co-owners of the bustling interior design shop, Styles for Living, had all recently sworn off men, she damn well had to get her “natural high” from somewhere.
Candace lunged forward, preparing her thigh muscles for a strenuous workout. While she stretched, she thought about the job ahead and the fantasy-inspired theme room each designer had been hired to create. Lindsay had gone for a BDSM theme, Anna for sweet romance. Candace, however, drawing on her experience as a competitive runner, had decided to create a fantasy room for those interested in a little marathon sex. Talk about a room doing double duty for the actively inclined.
She lunged again and stretched her legs as she considered the props she’d need for her project. But her thoughts suddenly careened off-track when she caught sight of a stripper—a paint stripper, that is—who nearly turned said legs to mush.
Shirtless and sexy in a pair of running shorts, he turned her way, giving her a frontal view, and she took in his bronzed skin as it glistened with perspiration beneath the early-morning autumn sun. With those sculpted chest muscles, tight abdominals and long strong legs, it was clear to Candace that he had the body of an athlete, a man straight out of her erotic fantasies. As she perused him longer, taking pleasure in his short, almost military-cut hairstyle, firm square jaw, dark eyes and commanding presence, she wondered if he had the stamina to keep up with her on the track.
Or in the bedroom.
Damned if she didn’t want to go for a test run with him in her soon-to-be-created fantasy-inspired theme room and find out.
Why was it again she’d sworn off men?
As she pondered that a moment longer, wondering if Lindsay and Anna were also questioning the logic behind their pact, her cell phone rang. She pulled it from her zippered pocket and when she glanced at the display name, every reason she had for renouncing the opposite sex came rushing back to her.
Candace didn’t approve of nepotism and believed in making it on her own, which was why she’d pursued a career in design instead of working for her father, Jason Krane, a successful New York movie director who could easily make or break the careers of aspiring actors.
Whereas Lindsay attracted lazy good-for-nothing guys who wanted to separate her from her hard-earned money, Candace attracted the opposite: aggressive, career-driven men who would wine, dine and bed her in an effort to get closer to her father. When some guy seemed too good to be true, he usually was. She’d learned the hard way that men didn’t covet her for who she was, but for who she could introduce them to. The last thing she wanted was for her father to give these guys preference over others or to show favoritism simply because they were dating her.
She flipped open her cell phone. “Hi, Dad.”
“Candace, this is Olive. Your father asked me to connect to you. One moment please and I’ll transfer the call.”
As her father’s secretary put her through, she stole another glace at the sexy paint stripper and the way he carefully worked
Interior designer Candace Steele stood on the cracked and pitted sidewalk fringing the unsightly Victorian inn, which was unquestionably defacing the quaint town of Mason Creek, a small community on the outskirts of Connecticut. As she examined the array of landscapers and painters all milling about in an effort to return the insect-infested yard as well as the paint-chipped cedar shingles to their natural beautiful state, she stretched out her legs in preparation for her habitual early-morning run.
Just because she was on a job, hired by a strange mystical-like woman named Pamina, and was on a tight deadline, it didn’t mean she was about to give up her regular exercise routine—partly due to the upcoming fall triathlon and partly because the exercise filled her sex-deprived body with endorphins. Since she and her colleagues, Lindsay and Anna, childhood friends and co-owners of the bustling interior design shop, Styles for Living, had all recently sworn off men, she damn well had to get her “natural high” from somewhere.
Candace lunged forward, preparing her thigh muscles for a strenuous workout. While she stretched, she thought about the job ahead and the fantasy-inspired theme room each designer had been hired to create. Lindsay had gone for a BDSM theme, Anna for sweet romance. Candace, however, drawing on her experience as a competitive runner, had decided to create a fantasy room for those interested in a little marathon sex. Talk about a room doing double duty for the actively inclined.
She lunged again and stretched her legs as she considered the props she’d need for her project. But her thoughts suddenly careened off-track when she caught sight of a stripper—a paint stripper, that is—who nearly turned said legs to mush.
Shirtless and sexy in a pair of running shorts, he turned her way, giving her a frontal view, and she took in his bronzed skin as it glistened with perspiration beneath the early-morning autumn sun. With those sculpted chest muscles, tight abdominals and long strong legs, it was clear to Candace that he had the body of an athlete, a man straight out of her erotic fantasies. As she perused him longer, taking pleasure in his short, almost military-cut hairstyle, firm square jaw, dark eyes and commanding presence, she wondered if he had the stamina to keep up with her on the track.
Or in the bedroom.
Damned if she didn’t want to go for a test run with him in her soon-to-be-created fantasy-inspired theme room and find out.
Why was it again she’d sworn off men?
As she pondered that a moment longer, wondering if Lindsay and Anna were also questioning the logic behind their pact, her cell phone rang. She pulled it from her zippered pocket and when she glanced at the display name, every reason she had for renouncing the opposite sex came rushing back to her.
Candace didn’t approve of nepotism and believed in making it on her own, which was why she’d pursued a career in design instead of working for her father, Jason Krane, a successful New York movie director who could easily make or break the careers of aspiring actors.
Whereas Lindsay attracted lazy good-for-nothing guys who wanted to separate her from her hard-earned money, Candace attracted the opposite: aggressive, career-driven men who would wine, dine and bed her in an effort to get closer to her father. When some guy seemed too good to be true, he usually was. She’d learned the hard way that men didn’t covet her for who she was, but for who she could introduce them to. The last thing she wanted was for her father to give these guys preference over others or to show favoritism simply because they were dating her.
She flipped open her cell phone. “Hi, Dad.”
“Candace, this is Olive. Your father asked me to connect to you. One moment please and I’ll transfer the call.”
As her father’s secretary put her through, she stole another glace at the sexy paint stripper and the way he carefully worked
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