Dirty Little Midlife Mistake by Lilian Monroe
Blake
My knuckles rapon the cabana door, a cardboard tray holding two coffees balanced in my other hand. I listen for a few moments, then knock again.
It’s eight o’clock, and Candice wasn’t at the café. Maybe she’s not awake yet?
“Blake?”
I turn to see Candice padding toward me, floral yoga pants hugging her shapely legs, matching sports bra leaving very little to the imagination, feet clad in black flip-flops, hair undone and flowing around her shoulders. Damn.
I lift the tray. “I brought coffees. Our evening got interrupted yesterday, so I thought…”
Candice looks surprised, then a smile lights up her whole face. “You do know I get those coffees for free, right? I’m one of the owners of that café.”
“I support small businesses.” Grabbing one of the coffees, I extend it to her. “Medium latte, one sugar. They said it was your usual.”
“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” Candice grumbles as she accepts the coffee, her lips tilting up. “The whole town will think we’re sleeping together.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.” I arch a brow.
Laughing, Candice smacks my arm. She moves to touch the sweatpants and cardigan laid out on the chairs next to her door but leaves them there. Probably still damp. She takes a sip of her coffee and sighs, happy.
My heart squeezes at the sight of it, and I have the sudden urge to make her sigh like that again. I want to be the one who gives that to her. Who makes her feel content. Who makes her melt.
Being around this woman sets my head spinning. One minute, I see her in those tight yoga clothes and I want to bend her over the bed and fuck her blind. The next, she smiles at me and I’d do anything to make it happen again.
This isn’t normal. It’s not how things usually go.
Am I really ready to do this again? To commit to something like this?
“Do you do yoga?” I ask, nodding to her outfit and shamelessly letting my eyes sweep over her petite body again. Just above the waist of her yoga pants, across her stomach, there are a few white stretch marks that make my mouth water. I’ve never been attracted to stretch marks before, but damn. I want to trace them with my fingers, then my tongue. See where they lead when they disappear beneath those spandex tights.
“I teach it, actually.” Candice points her coffee cup toward the back of the hotel, and I tear my eyes away from her body. “I have a studio space back there. My original space flooded.”
“Seems to be a lot of property damage in this town.”
Candice laughs, and another spark of happiness ignites in my chest. I like making her laugh. A lot. More than I should.
Maybe my mother is right—not that I’d ever admit that to her. I’ve been dating models that are waif-thin and twenty years younger than me. It’s easy to keep them at arm’s length. The last time I met a woman who made me think of anything except myself was my second wife, and that ended just as badly as my first marriage.
But Candice…she’s strong. Physically strong, as far as I can tell by the lean, shapely muscles of her shoulders, arms, and the slight shadow of her abs. But mentally strong, too. Her house caught fire yesterday, and she’s still able to function today. To laugh today.
I gesture to the pool chairs and arch a brow, a silent invitation to sit with me. “Unless you’re worried you’ll need another rescue?”
Candice’s answering grin is a little self-deprecating and a lot adorable. She plops herself down on a chair and kicks her legs out, staring up at the cloudless blue sky. “She didn’t buy a word of my explanation, did she?”
“Who, Veronica?”
“Mm.”
“I don’t think so, no.” I sit sideways across the other lounge chair, knees toward Candice. “But it was entertaining to see the expression on her face.”
I love the way Candice blushes. How she flicks her eyes away, then back to me. How her gaze grows warmer as her smile spreads. Then, her smile fades again. “I’m sorry if I interrupted…” Candice drifts off and takes a sip of her coffee.
“Interrupted what?”
“You know. The two of you. Reading your lines, or whatever the kids are calling it these days.”
I snort. “You weren’t the one doing the interrupting, Candice.” It comes out as a growl, and Candice’s eyes lift to mine. Hazel eyes with flecks of green in them. Beautiful. I tilt my head. “Will you let me take you out to dinner?”
“Okay,” she says instantly, then jerks, as if she hadn’t meant to speak.
I grin, arching a brow. God, I love it when she blushes. “Good. Tonight?”
She takes a deep breath. “Blake, I feel like I need to be honest with you about some stuff. You know, lay it all out.”
I pause, watching her face shut down as the warmth drains away. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
She bites her lip. “Look, you’re hot.”
“Okay, I do like the sound of that.”
Candice laughs, then shakes her head as if she’s mad at herself for doing so. She opens her mouth to speak again, but—
“Yoo-hoo, Candice! Oh!” An elderly woman with a pixie cut rounds the corner. She’s wearing a pink T-shirt with glittery writing proclaiming her a “Heart’s Cove Hottie,” a neon-pink purse slung over her shoulder. Below her dark jeans, her shoes are a matching baby pink with a big rhinestone-encrusted bow on the toe. It’s…a look. It’s definitely a look. The woman’s eyes widen when she sees me, then flick to Candice and start to sparkle. She smirks. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Mom,” Candice says in a strangled voice. She sits up, looks at me, looks at her mother, then stands on stiff legs. “What are you doing here?”
“Dorothy told me about the fire. Sweetheart, come here.” She spreads her arms and wraps Candice in a hug. When they pull away, Candice’s mother spins to me. “And who do we have here?” Her eyebrows wiggle as she exchanges a glance with Candice, who starts rubbing her temples.
I hide my grin. I know how she feels. “Blake,” I say, extending a hand.
“Well, Blake, aren’t you a handsome devil? Isn’t he handsome, Candice? And look at those arms.” She grabs my bicep and fondles it for a moment. “Call me Lottie, Blake. Well, call me anything you like, but most people call me Lottie.”
“Mom.”
“Oh, calm down, Candy Cane. I’m seventy-six years old, but I’m not blind.”
“Candy Cane?” I ask, fighting my grin and failing.
“How about we go say hi to Dorothy?” Candice says, almost frantic as she ushers her mother away from the pool. Away from me.
A squeal sounds from just behind her cabana, followed by childish giggles, and two little torpedoes fly past us and cannonball into the water.
“Toby! Katie! What did I say about running near the pool?” A woman appears on the path, hauling a bag on each shoulder, her face lined with worry. She has the same hazel eyes as Candice, the same color hair, but hers is wavy where Candice’s is straight. Taller than both other women, the new arrival drops her bags and lets out a long sigh before wrapping her arms around Candice.
“Hey, Trina,” Candice says, her voice muffled in the other woman’s shoulder.
“We got on the first flight. Are you okay?”
“I’ll be better when Mom stops flirting with Blake Harding.”
“Blake H—” Trina’s eyes finally land on me.
I give her a little wave. “Hi.”
Trina stares at me with narrowed eyes, then looks at her sister. “Why is Blake Harding at the Heart’s Cove Hotel pool?” She holds up a hand. “Wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I have too many things on my mind right now, and I can’t handle some movie star short-circuiting my brain. Toby! Don’t push your sister’s head under water!”
Candice turns to me, mouth agape, then turns to her mother. “So, Dorothy? I’m sure she wants to see you.”
“Yes, yes, sweetheart, of course. But it’s not every day I get to meet a real-life movie star!” Lottie hooks her arm through mine and drags me onto the lounge chair next to her. “Tell me, Blake, what are your intentions with my daughter?”
“I, uh…”
Lottie cackles. “I’m kidding. Although”—she looks at Candice—“I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers. Even if it isn’t true love, it would be one hell of a story, Candy Cane.”
“Mom,” Candice pleads, a little helpless.
Her rescue comes in the form of one of the movie PAs, a young, blond-haired guy who hasn’t yet been chewed up and spit out by the film industry, arriving to take me to set. I extricate myself from Lottie’s hold, grab my coffee, and move toward Candice.
Leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek, I whisper, “You still owe me dinner, Candy Cane,” and chuckle when her expression grows more panicked. I lift my paper cup toward her mother, who gives me a shit-eating grin, then ride to the movie set, smiling the whole way.
