Now things were complicated.

Candy had avoided him the rest of the day, and he had been unable to work because of all the confusing feelings tumbling around inside him. Feelings that were about as welcome as the stomach flu.

Feelings that had him standing outside her door sweating in his wool coat like it was July.

As he rang the doorbell to her apartment, he wondered exactly why Candy had agreed to meet him tonight. He also wondered exactly why he had agreed to meet Candy tonight. He didn't know what he wanted any more than he knew what she wanted.

Aside from sex, that is. If she even wanted any more of that. And just why in the hell did he care so much?

Candy opened the door and smiled shyly at him. "Hi."

Oh, damn, she was wearing jeans that hugged every inch of her hips and rounded ass. A red turtleneck sweater stretched optimistically across her breasts and pulled northward toward her belly button when she reached up to run a hand through her hair.

The flash of skin left him dazed and hard. And possessive. He didn't want anyone else to see Candy's skin but him.

That sweater was the same one she'd been wearing the day they met, and it made her face glow golden. She'd put some kind of shiny wet-looking stuff on her lips and he wanted to eat it off, one little nibble at a time.

After an embarrassing pause, he managed to say, "Hi. You look great."

Oh, now there was an original compliment.

"Thanks. Do you want to come in or did you have plans to go somewhere?" Candy tucked her hands behind her back and rocked on the balls of her feet in sexy little black boots.

"Actually, we should get going. I made dinner plans."

Alarm crossed her face. "I'm not dressed for dinner."

"Don't worry, this place is casual." And blissfully close. His place was only twenty minutes from Candy's.

"Oh, okay. Let me get my coat. Come on in." She turned and disappeared into her apartment. "Do I need the Chunk o' Chocolate file? Or do you have copies?"

Naive girl. She actually thought they were going to do work? He'd been called a lot of things over the years, but never stupid. Any man asinine enough to discuss how to market chocolate when he had Candy Appleton alone in his condo was… not Jared.

"I have copies." In his desk back at the office.

Jared stepped into her living room and was immediately assaulted by an excess of floral patterns. Jesus, Candy had a whole meadow growing in there, various rioting prints covering a sofa, a loveseat, and an overstuffed chair.

Violent red poppies danced across her curtains, and every table was littered with little things that he wouldn't even claim to know the name of. Things like little tiny wicker chairs with plants growing out of their seats, and wooden cats. The coffee table held a bowl full of lemons on it, and a round ball of orange fur that was probably a live cat was sleeping next to it.

He pictured those poppy curtains hanging in his apartment and shuddered. Not that he wanted Candy to live with him or anything. But love did not extend to ugly drapes.

The L word brought him up short. What the hell was he thinking? He did not love her. He was interested in her. He wanted to get to know her. He had great admiration for her brain and her breasts, but that had nothing whatsoever to do with love.

Did it?

Candy stuffed her arms into a very fluffy camel-colored coat, with huge quantities of white fur pluming around her face.

He didn't even know her.

She smiled. "I'm ready," she said in a breathless siren voice.

He did know she was trouble. But sometimes getting into trouble was so much fun.

"Is something wrong, Jared?"

"No, not at all. Why do you ask?"

She shrugged and the fur nearly swallowed her face. "You just look a little serious. I was worried that maybe you're embarrassed because we diddled around in Harold's office."

Diddled? He was pretty sure he'd just been insulted.

"Diddling is not what I would call it. And I'm not embarrassed. I don't get embarrassed. Especially not when I enjoyed being with you and would do it again in a heartbeat." He was conscious his voice was rising, but shit, he couldn't help it.

Diddled, for God's sake.

Candy reached out, put her warm little hand on his cheek, and stroked with her thumb. "I'd do it again too."

His anger vanished along with the last of his futile resistance. "Good," he said gruffly.

Candy was starting to figure out that Jared was a whole lot of masculine bluster. Beneath the cool stare and the cutting words he sometimes tossed off, he had feelings.

Twenty minutes later when she walked into his condo, she realized those feelings included being really doggone romantic.

He had recreated her idea of a perfect evening, right down to his own addition of a fire popping warmly in the fireplace.

Oh, Lord. If she hadn't been on the edge before, taking in the table set for two, the chilling wine, and the scented candles burning did her in for sure. It felt almost like she was falling in love with Jared.

Which was insane, since she was supposed to be using him just for the purpose of having some romping good sex. But the stupid man had gone and actually listened to what she had said when she'd been talking. She wasn't sure any man besides her stepfather had ever actually heard a single word she'd said outside of work-related topics.

Dean, her ex-husband, sure in the heck never had.

"Oh, Jared, you didn't have to go to so much trouble." But she was sure glad he had.

"It wasn't any trouble."

For a man who claimed not to get embarrassed, he was doing a pretty good imitation of just that.

It just made him all the more gorgeous.

Jared was wearing casual black pants and a sky blue shirt, which made his blue eyes even lighter against his dark hair. He had a smooth, understated style, always looking good but never veering into the female world of primping.

He picked up a remote control and turned the stereo on. Jazz music started playing softly. Her legs threatened to give way. He'd even remembered the jazz.

When he held her chair out for her, she looked at the pasta sitting in a covered bowl ready to be served. If he had cooked food that was edible, she might just never want to leave. "Did you cook this?"

He snorted. "Hell, no. I don't cook. I ordered it from an Italian restaurant around the corner."

Then he sat down across from her. He sounded oddly eager when he said, "Do you cook?"

"Not unless you call PB and J sandwiches cooking."

"I can make omelets," he said.

She was impressed. Scrambled was the most she could manage. "I can boil hot dogs and heat up canned corn."

They both laughed while he poured the wine and served them pasta and bread. She took a steaming bite and silently thanked the unknown chef. Having spent a good portion of her lunch hour holed up in the ladies' room, she was now starving.

After a few bites, Candy said, "We're not going to get to any work on Chunk o' Chocolate, are we?"

Jared looked up from his plate. "We'll get to it." He grinned. "Sometime before it's due on Harold's desk."

She was afraid he would say that. Or really damn pleased was probably the more honest answer.

"Jared, we should at least try and work on it." Candy tried to sound firm, but she knew she was failing miserably.

He kept smiling. Geez, she loved his smile. He didn't ever look so relaxed at work, and she felt a giddy pleasure that she could bring that grin to his face.

"Alright, let's think up some slogans while we eat." Jared took a sip of his wine. "What rhymes with chunk?"

"Monk. Punk. Funk." She leaned back in her chair and nibbled on her bread. "So, how about a monk at a disco eating chocolate?"

He shot her a withering look.