Man Candy
MAN CANDY
MELANIE HARLOW
MH PUBLISHING
CONTENTS
Sneak peek of PLAY MAKER, by Katie
Copyright © 2016 by Melanie Harlow
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information
storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use
of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design: Letitia Hasser, Romantic Book
Affairs
http://designs.romanticbookaffairs.com/
Cover Model: Dima Gornovskyi
Cover Photography: Kaspar Jack
http://www.kasparjackphotography.com/
Editing: Bethany Hagen, Nancy Smay
https://nancysmay.wordpress.com/
Publicity: Social Butterfly PR
http://www.socialbutterflypr.net/
Proofreading: Laura Foster Franks, Amanda
Maria, Angie Owens
To Jenn, Kayti, Laurelin, and Sierra,
for knowing the title of this book before
I did and for understanding my need to
touch the stove even after you’ve told
me it’s hot.
To the PQs…Crimson, Dena, Jaime,
Laura, LeAnn, Margaret, Melanie,
Melissa, and Rachel, for friendship,
laughs, and delicious inspiration every
day.
To my Harlots, who appreciate a nice
piece of man candy.
And to Dima, for being so sweet.
One ne voit bien
qu’avec le coeur.
L’essentiel
est invisible
pour les yeux.
A NTOINE DE SA INT
E XU P E R Y
ONE
JAIME
I WAS IN THE CLOSET.
That’s not a metaphor, by the way—I
was literally, physically trapped in a
closet. It wasn’t even my closet; it was
his. And it had that guy-closet smell, you
know? Leather and cologne up front,
base notes of sweat and testosterone
lingering beneath. It wasn’t entirely
unpleasant. Actually, it was kind of hot
in its uniquely masculine way, but I was
in no mood and certainly no position to
be turned on, crouched like a frog on top
of some sneakers. My thighs were
aching, I’d failed at pulling the hinged
bi-fold doors all the way shut so I was
totally visible through the crack, and I
had the hiccups.
Did I mention I was drunk?
Oh, Jesus.
I’d set my wine glass
down somewhere, hadn’t I? What the
hell had I been thinking? And why on
earth had I gone for the fucking
closet
instead of the back door when he came
in? I could have easily climbed the back
steps to my balcony by now or even
snuck around and come in the front door
like I was just getting home from work
or something. He didn’t know I took the
day off.
God, I was so
dumb
.
And it’s not like I’d learned anything
that interesting for all my sleuthing,
except that there were two condoms
missing from the twelve-count box of
Trojans (size XL, if you’re interested) in
his nightstand drawer. I couldn’t help but
wonder if he’d used those since he’d
moved in two weeks ago. I lived in the
upper flat, so my bedroom was right
above his, and I hadn’t
heard
any sex
noises coming through the floor, but then
again, I worked all day long and
sometimes well into the night…maybe
he was the afternoon delight type.
He looked like that type. A meal you
could enjoy morning, noon, or night.
Like pigs in a blanket from The Pancake
House.
Jealousy surged in me as I imagined
him sticking his pig in some gorgeous
blonde’s blanket, whispering dirty things
in her ear, making the bedsprings creak
while the grown-ups of the world, the
ones with real jobs, were hard at work.
Stop it. You have way bigger
problems than who he fucks while
you’re at the office. Like how you’re
going to get out of here.
Hiccup!
Oh, God.
If he came into the
bedroom, I was busted for sure.
Why was he home this early
anyway? I happened to know he had a
late class on Thursdays. Had it been
canceled because of the weather? Did he
skip it because he didn’t want to drive in
the snow? What a pansy. We were only
supposed to get, like, nine or ten inches.
Practically nothing in Michigan!
California must have softened him.
Hiccup!
Oh, fuck. Here he comes.
I heard him enter the room, and I
tried to scoot back from the crack a little
but fell onto his shoes and my foot
bumped the door.
Shit!
Had he heard it?
I held my breath as he walked past the
closet and into the bathroom. A moment
later I heard a belt being unbuckled. A
zipper being lowered.
I rolled my eyes.
Jesus. Who doesn’t
shut the door when they pee? Men are
such pigs.
The toilet flushed, and I heard the
faucet run.
At least he washes his hands.
“So. How about a hot shower,
gorgeous?”
His voice startled me and I gasped,
my heart whacking against my ribs. Was
someone else here? Jesus, the only thing
worse than being discovered by Quinn
Rusek alone would be getting caught in
his closet in front of some girl he’d
brought home to fork in the shower. But I
hadn’t seen anyone else—was he talking
to me?
Hiccup!
I clapped a hand over my mouth,
frantically trying to think of an excuse
for myself. My older brother Alex
owned the house, and I was
sort of
the
manager of the two apartments in it, so it
wasn’t
totally
unreasonable that I would
be there. If only there were some kind of
problem…
My brother asked me to check on
the…um—
The heat. It’s going to get really
cold tonight.
The fridge. Is it still making that
humming noise?
The plumbing. My sink is draining
slowly.
Yeah, that was it. The plumbing
thing.
And I heard someone come in, and I
knew you had a late class so it scared
me. I ran into the closet, completely
freaked out!
Even better. Then he’d feel bad for
scaring me. He was Alex’s friend,
though, so I could get caught in this lie if
I wasn’t careful. I’d have to call Alex
right away. And I needed to get rid of
these fucking hiccups.
“Yeah,” Quinn went on. “I think
getting hot, naked, and wet right now
sounds like a good plan for a cold
afternoon.”
Smothering the squeal threatening to
escape the back of my throat, I got on my
hands and knees and poked my head out,
solely
for the purpose of ascertaining
when it would be safe to make my
escape,
not
because I was hoping to
catch a glimpse of bare chest. Chiseled
abs. XL dick.
Suddenly the navy blue Henley he’d
been wearing flew out of the bathroom
and landed on the floor in front of me.
What the fuck? Was he getting
undressed? He’d shut the bathroom door
if he was going to get naked, right?
I leaned out farther.
“Fuck, this is gonna feel
goooooood
.”
And then it hit me—first his white T-
shirt, square in the face, before landing
atop the Henley—and second, the
realization that he was messing with me.
I scrambled back into the closet.
That asshole knows I’m here. He’s
playing a game.
It was chicken—just like we used to
play in my backyard pool, only with
even less clothing. Well, if he thought I
was going to give myself up just because
he threatened to get naked, he could think
again. I could do this all day.
I peeked out.
Oh. My. God.
My mouth fell open. There he was—
shirtless, jeans undone,
posing
in front
of the mirror. Flexing his biceps. His
pecs. His abs.
Every curve and line was perfection
—the muscular thighs, the round ass, the
narrow waist, the sculpted arms. Not
that I was surprised. He’d quit modeling
months ago, but he still worked out
every day like it was his job. Then there
were the gifts he was given—the things
he didn’t even have to work for. The
brain-melting blue eyes, the unforgivable
symmetry of his features, the angle of his
jaw, the flawless skin.
After dropping a kiss onto each of
his biceps—for fuck’s sake, seriously?
—he rubbed the back of his neck with
one hand, then left it there while the
other slid down his rippled abdomen
and into the front of his underwear.
My breath caught.
Oh God, oh God, oh God. Would he
really go that far?
I was sweating, my entire body on
edge. (At least my hiccups were gone.)
But what should I do? Give myself
up?
A good person would,
said my
conscience
.
Was I a good person?
You’re a drunk peeping Tom. All
signs point to no.
So then I might as well see it
through, right? After all, I’d made it this
far. If I gave up now, he’d have
something on me.
And
he’d have the
upper hand. So maybe I’d call his bluff
—see how far he’d actually go.
Great, now you’re a perv as well as
a snoop.
Maybe I was, because when he
moved behind the half-open bathroom
door and turned the water on, I crawled
out a little bit farther to try for a better
look. Could I catch his reflection in the
mirror? Or see him through the crack?
Suddenly his jeans came sailing out,
landing with a dull thump right in front
of me.
And then his blue boxer briefs.
But I had no time to freak out,
because the door opened wide and
Quinn appeared, holding his hands over
his crotch like a fucking fig leaf.
I gasped.
“So,” he said, those blue eyes
dancing. “Now what?”
Oh my fucking god.
The game of chicken…suddenly
involved a cock.
TWO
JAIME
YOU MIGHT WONDER how a
perfectly sane, well-educated,
completely logical woman such as
myself ended up trapped in a man’s
closet.
I can explain.
When my brother Alex called and
said he needed a favor, I thought he
meant something for his upcoming
nuptials, or as he liked to call it, “my big
fat gay wedding.” He’s sort of like me in
that he doesn’t like a lot of fuss or
fanfare, but his boyfriend Nolan had his
heart set on a huge, splashy spring affair,