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Authors: Melanie Harlow

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Man Candy

BOOK: Man Candy
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MAN CANDY

MELANIE HARLOW

MH PUBLISHING

CONTENTS

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Acknowledgments

Meet the Muse

Don’t miss out!

Are you an aspiring author?

About the Author

Also by Melanie Harlow

Sneak peek of PLAY MAKER, by Katie

McCoy!

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

http://dimagornovskyi.com/

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,

BOOK: Man Candy
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