LITMIR.BIZ

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beyond his door.

      She crossed her thighs against the ache she felt and strove for good sense. “While we’re at it, we should do something about your look.”

      “My look?”

      “You’re a hot software designer, Matt. You need an edge. A haircut, for one thing. And definitely new clothes.”

      “What’s wrong with my clothes?” He looked down at his blue oxford shirt and khaki shorts. “They’re clean. They match.”

      “For one thing, this is not beachwear.” She let her eyes travel down his body. “You need a tank top.” She eyed his arms, envisioning bared shoulders, fanned deltoids. “A Hawaiian shirt, maybe—” she kept looking down “—and some board shorts.” She realized she was staring at his zipper, so she jerked up her eyes and met his curious gaze.

      Embarrassed, she babbled on. “New business clothes, too. What you wear is too traditional. We can do it at the mall here. It’ll be kind of a makeover.”

      “A makeover? You mean one of those Queer Eye-Straight Guy deals? No way am I shoving up my sleeves or layering.” He held up his hands in a stop gesture.

      “Nothing major. We’ll just give you some verve.”

      “Verve? That’s way too gay.”

      “Forget verve, then. Think of it as a software update. Matt, version 2.0.”

      “I don’t know…”

      “Sure you do. A new image is half the battle with Scott. We update your look, teach you to network and—poof—you’re the fabulous marketing VP Scott wants.”

      “That’s pretty superficial, don’t you think?”

      “Everything’s perception, Matt. We both know that. Shaping opinions, creating an image is part of our craft.”

      “So, we’re marketing me to Scott?”

      “Exactly.”

      “You make it sound easy.”

      “It is. You said it yourself. I’m good.” Which is why you want me as a team leader. Hell, before the trip was over, he might just offer her the job. “So, are you with me?”

      “I guess so.” He hesitated, then tried to smile. “You seem to know what you’re doing.”

      “I promise you won’t be sorry,” she said softly, vowing to do her very best for him, to help him without pushing him too far out of his comfort range.

      She slid his glasses back in place, grateful for the barrier between them, aware they were both holding their breath. She noticed the beauty mark high on his right cheek, the crinkles that fanned out from both eyes, hinting at the humor behind his seriousness.

      “I’ll pull up the mall’s Web site and see about morning appointments. Sound good?”

      “I guess I’m just grateful you’re not suggesting I get my teeth bonded.”

      “You mean fix that chip? Oh, never. That’s proof you’ve got some bad boy in you.”

      “Oh, I’m bad, all right. I write code without off-site backup and drink milk straight from the carton.”

      She laughed. “I didn’t realize how funny you are.”

      “You bring it out in me.” He hesitated, as if he’d said more than he’d intended. “In everyone, I mean.”

      “Thanks,” she said, warmed by his words, by this admission that she’d affected him in a good way. Again she was imbued with the determination to help him, to do this right, to prove herself in this new way.

      “So, back to the festival,” she said, staring down at the flyer, shy about her surge of pride. Aware, also, of Matt’s close gaze, the way he studied her. It was unnerving and reassuring at the same time.

      “So, what else can we do? You say you played basketball, so let’s see what sports are going on. Ah, here we go. Beach volleyball. Starting in—” she looked at her watch “—half an hour. Let’s do that. We’ll meet some people, which will be good practice for you. After that, we can come back here and I’ll show you my stuff.”

      “Beg your pardon?” His eyes dropped to her bikini, which peeked from the sides of her blouse.

      “My marketing stuff, Matt.”

      He turned bright red. “Sorry.”

      “It’s okay. You’re human.” She pushed at his arm in a friendly way, but her fingers stayed a moment too long. Having such a polite guy unable to keep from staring at her chest was dead sexy.

      “I’m not usually so rude. Around you…I don’t know. You’re so…lively.”

      “Lively?” Was that code for her being blatantly sexual? A party girl, in other words? That thought was a cold stab. “I’m more than you think I am,” she said lightly, not wanting to reveal her hurt. She usually didn’t take such quick offense, but the whole PQ2 thing and the promotion pressure had thrown off her confidence.

      “That’s true of most of us, isn’t it?”

      “Sure. I guess.” Everyone got pigeonholed to some degree, but not everyone got padlocked in as she’d been by her family. And not everyone could lose credibility at work over their reputation, either. She’d had enough of false impressions and she needed her time with Matt to fix this for good.

      “Do you want to change?” Matt asked.

      “What’s wrong with how I am?” Had he seen her PQ2 already?

      “I mean for the volleyball game?” He nodded at her outfit.

      “Oh. Change my clothes. Sorry.” She laughed, feeling foolish. Lighten up. “We haven’t got time really. I’ll just get more comfortable.” She took off her blouse, since it would constrict her arms, then crouched into a block to test her pants. “Too tight,” she concluded and undid the zipper to step out of her capris.

      Afterward, Matt seemed to have to drag his gaze up to her face. She’d just changed in front of him, after all. “Better?” he asked, swallowing over what must have been a dry throat.

      “Sure,” she said, flattered that he seemed to have to struggle to stop staring at her. The bottom of her bikini wasn’t cut particularly high and the top barely showed the curve of her breasts, but Matt seemed utterly stunned.

      “You’ll want to lose the shirt,” she said, nodding at him.

      He took it off and tossed it to the couch.

      Now it was her turn to stare. Definitely buff, with an attractive line of dark hair that began low on his chest and pointed toward glory.

      “Candy? You okay?”

      “Yeah. Just checking.” She pretended to consider his biceps. “You’ve got a faint tan line, but your olive skin means you’ll only need a kiss of sun.”

      “You’re worried about my tan?”

      “A spray-on touch-up wouldn’t hurt.”

      “What?”

      She grinned. “Kidding! Nothing extreme. Maybe just a chemical peel? Kidding,” she added before he could object.

      “I have the feeling I’m going to regret this,” he said, but his eyes twinkled. “I look okay for the game?” He stood back so she could check him out.

      Naked to the waist, he was awe-inspiring. Even wearing boring khaki shorts. “Lose the belt,” was all she said.

      He whipped the leather smoothly from the loops, his eyes on her the entire time, and her body went electric. Don’t stop, she wanted to say. Take it all off.

      “Shoes, too,” she breathed, kicking off her own sandals.

      He

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