“What am I going to do with you?” She shook her head, as if he were a kid who’d overdone it with the birthday cake.

He was a charity case to her, he realized. The networking lessons and tomorrow’s makeover were her attempt to rescue him from terminal dorkdom. That sucked.

To distract himself from that gloomy idea, he danced closer to the crowd forming near the stage. A sign above a table announced a karaoke contest and people seemed to be signing up.

“Those poor idiots,” Matt said. He wouldn’t be caught dead singing in public, not even drunk.

“You know, I always thought SyncUp should create karaoke software,” Candy said. “What’s missing is good background videos so it feels like a real performance, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.” He considered the idea, studying the stage, wondering about rear projection and stock footage, possible markets, development costs…

He was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice Candy had moved away until she was back. Grinning.

Uh-oh. Dread filled him. “You didn’t do what I think you did, did you?”

“I signed us up for a duet!” She beamed triumphantly.

“Yeah, but I was the silent bass player, remember?”

“You’ll be fine. I’ll carry us. We’re doing ‘You’re the One That I Want.’ From Grease? I was in the musical in high school.”

“So, I’m supposed to be John Travolta? God.”

“You’ll do great.”

He should back out, he knew, but he didn’t want to disappoint her. She’d made him feel as though he could dance. She could probably make him feel as though he could sing, too. Candy made him want to let go, let whatever happened, happen.

Well, Candy and that massive tiki drink.

The first few performers weren’t bad. A couple of ’faced frat boys sang “Shout.” A trio of girls sang a Bangles song. And a guy with a huge cowboy hat wobbled through a sad country tune.

When it was their turn, Matt’s gut twisted with anxiety, but he led Candy to the stage, forcing a smile. He found that if he closed one eye, he could just about read the lyrics from the prompter.

The song kicked off and Candy carried him, just as she’d promised, her voice clear and crisp and perfectly in tune. She danced around him in a way that seemed choreographed. For his part, he managed a well-timed dip here and there.

She sang the chorus-the title of the song-right at him, her eyes bright, her face glowing, her body warm in his arms.

He was overheated, buzzed from the booze, and all he wanted to do was stay on this stupid stage singing away, just to hold her a while longer.

He sang the chorus and realized he meant the words. And for a beat of time, he saw in her eyes that she meant them, too.

The song ended and the crowd applauded wildly, whistling and bellowing and pounding the tables. He helped Candy off the stage, shaken by what he’d felt. They watched the rest of the performers, arms at each other’s waists, glancing at each other from time to time, not speaking. She seemed as startled as he.

After the last singer, they were called up with the other contestants so the crowd could choose the winner by drunken applause.

He wasn’t surprised when the audience went nuts for them. It was all Candy, he knew, and they walked away with the grand prize, a trophy shaped like a microphone, ten free dinners-for-two at a Santa Monica restaurant and a voucher for five hundred festival points. Whatever that was.

Once they were off stage, Candy threw her arms around his neck. “We did it, Matt! We won!”

“It was all you.” The title of the song said it all. His desire for her thundered through him, overpowering what was left of his inhibitions and he decided to kiss her. He leaned over and-

Candy jerked back, surprised. She looked left, then patted the speaker on a stand beside them. “Just making sure I wasn’t about to knock it over.”

She was easing the tension with a joke, he could tell, so he went along. “That was my fault. I knocked you down.” He cringed at the memory of his oafish move.

“No, sir. You tried to keep me from falling. It was my fault. I thought you wanted to kiss me, so I reached up.”

“I was trying to kiss you.”

“But there was margarita on my chin.”

“An excuse.”

“Too bad it didn’t work out.” Her breathing was uneven and her eyes flew across his face, unsure whether to run or stay.

“I always regretted I didn’t get to show you my moves,” he joked, but his throat was dry and he was sweating buckets.

“You have moves?” Her words were breathless.

Without another thought, he lowered his mouth to hers.

A quiver passed through her body, then she held very still. He went for her tongue and she made a soft sound and let go, her body sagging so that he had to hold her up.

The crowd roared around him, his blood pulsed in his ears and all he wanted was Candy’s sweet mouth.

It was crazy, he knew, but at the moment, good sense was just so much white noise in his head. They wobbled together, almost tipping over. He didn’t care. He’d take the speaker out this time if he had to. He wasn’t letting go of Candy until they were done.

MATT’S KISS WENT FROM playful to hot like that. Candy felt as though she’d leaned in for a sip from a water fountain and gotten a blast from a fire hose. She could barely stand and couldn’t breathe at all.

She held the karaoke trophy in one hand and wrapped the other around Matt’s neck, holding on tight, fighting to keep from falling, wanting more of Matt’s mouth, his tongue, feeling his erection against her body, his fingers on her bottom.

She heard moans, too. Low, desperate sounds they were both making, a sweet duet of heat and need.

She wanted to crawl clear inside the man.

Matt was drunk, not himself, to be kissing her this wildly in public. So what was her excuse?

It was how much he wanted her. His fierce kiss made her woozy and weak. Her sex was so tight she thought it might snap-she hoped it would to ease the agony she felt.

In the background, music pounded and people yelled and laughed and carried on, wild for a good time. She and Matt were smack-dab in the spirit of things, surfing this wave of heedless pleasure…

Until a cold trickle of good sense drizzled into her awareness. Making out in a bar was pure party girl, a page from her PQ2 report. Her job-hell, her future-was on the line.

She’d learned that lesson, hadn’t she? Sex at work was a bad idea. Look at what happened to her reputation after she kissed poor Jared. She had to put the brakes on. Now.

She managed to pry her lips away and grab Matt’s shoulders. “You…don’t…want…this,” she said between gasps.

“Oh, yes, I do,” he said, pulling her back by her ass.

“You’re drunk, Matt.”

“Not that drunk.” He hiccupped. “What stays in Malibu, happens in Malibu…Er, whatever happens, stays…You know what I mean.”

“If you can’t even say it, you can hardly do it.” She backed away, giving herself space. “At least not with me. Try Jaycee, Matt.” She searched the bar for the bouncy blonde.

“I don’t want Jaycee. I want you.” His eyes grabbed her and held on. The words from their song vibrated in her head. Insane and stupid and pointless.

“Let’s get some air,” she said, pushing out of his arms, starting toward the door.

Matt grabbed her by the waist to guide her through the crowd, which had become denser by the minute.

As soon as they got outside, Matt pulled her to him. “I need your mouth.” Having this no-nonsense engineer so hot for her was such a rush, but she knew it was wrong.

“What you need is to sleep it off,” she said, breaking away. She’d never before said no to something she wanted this badly. “Let’s walk,” she said shakily, needing a distraction. She shoved the trophy into her bag and kicked off her sandals.

Matt gave in, took her hand and led her toward the ebbing tide. A light breeze lifted her hair and cooled her body.