The Candy Bar Complete - 4 book box set: Candy Bar Series Read online

  Four Book Box Set

  The Candy Bar Series

  Replacing Barnie

  Where Wishes Come True

  Night Music

  For the Love of Candy

  Patrice Wilton

  Four Book Box Set

  The Candy Bar Series

  Replacing Barnie

  Copyright © 2011 by Patrice Wilton

  Where Wishes Come True

  Copyright © 2011 by Patrice Wilton

  Night Music

  Copyright © 2012 by Patrice Wilton

  For the Love of Candy

  Copyright © 2014 by Patrice Wilton

  Published by Dreamscape Press

  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—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Other Books by Patrice Wilton

  WHERE WISHES COME TRUE

  book 2 in the successful Candy Bar series

  NIGHT MUSIC

  book 3 in the Candy Bar series

  REVENGE IS SWEET

  single title Women’s Fiction

  CHAMPAGNE FOR TWO

  single title Contemporary Romance

  ALL OF ME

  single title Women’s Fiction

  CATERED AFFAIR

  Contemporary Romance

  A HERO LIES WITHIN

  Contemporary Romance

  HANDLE WITH CARE

  Contemporary Romance

  AT FIRST SIGHT

  Contemporary Romance

  SERENDIPITY FALLS

  Romantic comedy – 1st in the new series

  WEDDING FEVER

  Romantic comedy – 2nd in the series

  A COUGAR FOR KYLE

  book 3 in the Serendipity Falls series

  http://patricewilton.com/books

  Table of Contents

  Replacing Barnie

  Where Wishes Come True

  Night Music

  For the Love of Candy

  A Note from the Author

  Replacing Barnie

  Patrice Wilton

  PROLOGUE

  I’d been sleeping with Barnie for more than a year, off and on. He wasn’t much for talking, but so what? He was reliable, faithful, and good in bed. I knew exactly where he was most of the time; he didn’t look at my girlfriends, didn’t have a mother, never argued, didn’t expect me to cook and clean, and performed at my command. What more could a girl ask?

  More importantly, I was sure he’d never hurt me, and perhaps that was why I chose to spend my nights with him. But I learned the hard way; nothing is ever perfect. The damn thing malfunctioned, went into overdrive and I could barely sit down for a week. Cheap Asian product—I bought it through eBay too.

  There you have it. It was fun while it lasted, but as in any good relationship that sadly ends, it takes awhile to move on. I’m proud to say that I have done so. Yes, I replaced my old toy Barnie, and now I have something warm and wonderful beside me in bed. This required a great deal of courage and lack of negativity on my part. I had to learn to trust, and to open my heart, and not to be afraid. And it’s still a whole lot scary.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Lydia, you are the best damned divorce attorney in Miami—no, the state of Florida, maybe the country,” Terri slurred, sloshing champagne. “I should remarry just so I can get another divorce.” The Candy Bar was crowded so she shouted to make herself heard. “Hey, anybody want to get married this weekend? I’m free, free, free…”

  She was waving her full glass around, and laughing as people ducked from the spillage. I cringed with embarrassment and tried to take the glass out of her hand, but no way was she letting go.

  “Thanks, Terri, but you only got what you deserved,” I said quietly, hoping my serious tone of voice would be enough to subdue her, without having to wrestle her to the ground.

  She had ordered the magnum of Dom before I showed up, and I wondered how much of it she had consumed. A little too much, I was thinking. I signaled to Candy, bartender extraordinaire and sole owner of this happening South Beach bar, and whispered in her ear. “We need some food, ice water, and two cups of coffee.”

  “You’ve got it.” Candy nodded, then hustled off to the kitchen. I turned to Terri. “You need to take a breather between men. You’ve already had two husbands since I’ve known you.”

  “Spoil sport.” She gulped her drink. “I just so happen to like men.”

  “I know you do, and so do I. The difference is that I don’t marry every guy who gets my hormones hopping.”

  Her laugh was infectious. “Oh, poor you. The wedding is the best part. How often do you get to wear the most beautiful gown in the room, and be the center of attention for the entire evening? And later open all those lovely gifts. Why, what girl in her right head wouldn’t want to get married?”

  I shrugged. “Me?”

  “Then you’re just plumb dumb.” Terri looked around and nodded toward a guy sitting at the end of the bar, staring morosely into his beer. “Now, if he’s not a candidate for husband number three, I don’t know who is.”

  I checked him out, and he was seriously hot, with a hard, muscular body, and a face I could easily get used to. I laughed and fanned myself. “Please don’t tell me I’m menopausal, but I just got a hot flash.”

  She eyed me curiously as I gulped a sip of champagne. “Your face is flushed.”

  “Too many bodies, not enough air. So,” I said looking at the guy, “getting back to him. I’d skip the damn wedding, and fast forward to the honeymoon.” I lowered my voice, “And then I’d give him the ride of my life.”

  The lights in the bar flickered, and the candles on the tables grew dim. I thought they were having a power outage, until I heard Candy laugh and clap her hands. “Magic’s in the air,” she told her customers.

  The guy looked up and it was like being caught in headlights. Our eyes locked, and I couldn’t break contact, while my body temperature continued to soar. I don’t know how long we would have continued to stare at one another if Terri hadn’t shot up out of her seat.

  I watched Terri grab the magnum and teeter off to the end of the bar. Here was a woman who’d had two husbands, neither of them loveable, and was willing to take a chance on a third, while I would rather jump off a cliff than step down the aisle. I preferred my battery operated friend to getting my heart broken. After all, I was batting two for two.

  Terri bumped the guy’s arm and said too loudly, “Hey, my friend and I are celebrating. Wanna join us?”

  He shook his head no. “Oh, come on,” Terri gushed, “at least one drink.” He looked over at me and I made an apologetic face. He grinned and I found myself grinning back. The guy was seriously cute and looked like he needed some cheering up.

  “That’s better.” I heard Terri say. “I thought your face was permanently frozen in a sour mash. You’d be a real lady killer if you smiled a bit more.”

  She grabbed one of the girls behind the bar. “Hey, give this guy a champagne flute. He’s joining us for a drink.”

  He started to say something, then stopped. Terri was leaning all over him with her impressive and very expensive breasts pressed against his shoulder.
He looked at them, and then at me, raising an eyebrow as if we were sharing a common joke. I saluted him with my sparkling, golden flute, and he saluted me back with his flat beer.

  Terri linked arms with him and dragged him back to where we were sitting. “Lydia, this is…this is… I don’t know.” She giggled, “You look like that guy in Message In A Bottle. Washisname?”

  “Kevin Costner?” I said helpfully.

  “Yeah. That’s the one.” She burped, and put down her drink. “’Scuse me.” She covered her mouth as if to take back the burp. “I think I’m getting a little tipsy.”

  I gave her a quick smile and an affirmative nod. “Don’t worry. Help has arrived.” Candy dropped a big plate of nachos on the table, some calamari and conch fritters. She handed us ice waters and two cups of coffee.

  “Thanks, Candy. You’re a life saver.”

  “Anytime, doll.”

  Candy’s about thirty-something and looks a little hard around the edges, but still sweet, if you know what I mean. Tonight she was wearing jean shorts, a tight fitting white T-shirt that had The Candy Bar splashed across the front in pink sequins, cowboy boots, and a straw hat on her Dolly Parton styled hair.

  “Hey, which one of you is driving?” she asked.

  “Terri isn’t,” I assured her. “Would you mind calling her a cab when she’s ready to leave?”

  “Of course not. I’ll be happy to.” She hitched her thumbs into her hipster shorts, and glanced down at my drink. “How about you?”

  “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.” I handed my still full glass of champagne over to her. “You can do me a favor and take it away before I drink it all. Terri’s been generously refilling it, and I’m getting a buzz.” I looked at the guy she had dragged over. “I might have to leave her in your hands,” I told him. “I have to work tomorrow.”

  He gave me an alarmed look. “No way. You can’t leave yet.”

  “I’m going to have a bite to eat and sober up first. Stay and join us, we have so much food, and still half a magnum of good champagne.”

  The guy looked toward the doorway, and checked out the crowded bar. “I’m waiting for someone, so if and when she shows up, I’m going to have to leave you ladies, if you don’t mind.”

  The disappointment I felt was like a splash of cool water, but it reminded me that I’m not into relationships. I have zero interest in meeting a hot guy, not now, not ever.

  “I mind,” Terri gushed. “I wanna take you home and have my way with you.” She straightened her back to give him a full frontal view, and winked. “I’m going to start by sucking on your toes, and working my way north.”

  Terri was about forty, but extremely fit and pretty in a Texas kind of way. Both she, and Candy, had the idea that big was better—big hair, big boobs, everything but clothes—they both tried to squeeze their size six bodies into a size two.

  The hot dude flashed a shy smile. “You don’t want to do that. You don’t even know my name.”

  “No matter.” She ran long slender fingers through her platinum hair. “I’ll call you Kev.”

  “I’m Jed,” he said to me and offered his hand.

  “Lydia O’Reilley,” I answered with a smile.

  * * *

  When I woke the next morning, I felt as relaxed as if I’d slept for a week, or resuscitated good old Barnie. But hopefully he was at peace in some dildo heaven, maybe next to a mammoth pile of recycled socks. I was pondering that possibility when I felt a warm body cuddle up to mine and something silky smooth move against my thigh.

  Feeling it, remembering it, brought a hot flush to my cheeks and a tingling down under. How I could still tingle after what that man had done to me, I don’t know. His love making skills had been completely off the charts, not that I had much to compare it to lately. But still, he had been sensational. Jed told me earlier in the night, when we were still talking, that he was in the construction business. I’m betting he’s good at his job, considering that with the few materials on hand he’d turned the sheets into a high-rise.

  I sneaked a glance at him, thinking how cute he looked even with his face all munched up in the pillow. His blonde hair was tousled, his well-shaped body lean and tanned, not unappealing by any stretch of the imagination. Still I inched away, sliding my butt toward the edge of the bed, trying hard not to wake him.

  Better just to slip away. He knew where I lived. He could call me. But did I want him to? Yes! No. I don’t know. I’ll have to go home and think about it.

  Glancing up I spotted something I thought was weird, until I realized it was my Victoria Secret push-up bra, dangling from the overhead fan. Exactly how did it end up there, I wanted to know? We’d been tearing at each other’s clothes—desperate for each other, and more than once, if I remembered correctly. It was the most explosive sex I’d ever had—if we forget all about Barnie. Behaving with such wild abandonment, well it is so not me.

  I don’t date. I don’t party. And I don’t get laid. I like the idea of marriage for some people, like my mother and my father, but for nearly everybody else, it’s just not smart. Truthfully, my idea of a good fuck is nailing cheating husbands to the proverbial cross. I’m not mean or malicious, I simply provide a service. I help women get rid of their spouses, and I’m good at it. They like me because I always, well, except for that one time, get them loads of money. And men hate me for the same reason.

  I have a motto. Men that can’t keep their dicks where they belong deserve to get screwed. I also feel the same way about women who cheat. It’s just wrong on every level. Whether you are the screwer, or the screwee, everyone gets screwed. Speaking of which, it’s time to split. I’ve had my pep-me-up for the season and it beats the hell out of a flu shot.

  With one leg out, I was ready to make my move when he turned, flinging his arm across my chest. I resisted the urge to fling it back, wanting to sneak out before he gave me a further reason to stay.

  Hearing him softly snore, I stopped to watch the rise and fall of his tanned, smooth chest. It took a great deal of willpower not to run my fingers over that flat stomach and wait for a reaction. But the night of passion was over, and as much as I enjoyed being neighborly, having sex with someone who lived a few floors above you was more trouble than it was worth.

  I don’t exactly know why it happened. I do remember that Terri was getting louder by the minute, and once I confirmed she was taking a cab, I said my goodbyes and left. As I got half way to my car, the sky opened up, and I could feel these great big wet drops hitting my chest and trailing into my boobs. I swear they were the size of golf balls—the drops, not my boobs. My boobs are more the size and shape of a tennis ball, minus the fuzz.

  I sprinted to my car in my new Jimmy Choo shoes, slipping and sliding because stilettos weren’t made for the rain, or sprinting for that matter, and when I got to my car, I found that I’d left my door slightly ajar and my interior light was on. I had an expired Triple A card, and a dead battery, which meant I had to run back through the torrential downpour into that crowded bar to find someone to jump start me.

  While I was debating whether to wade back and ruin my shoes, or sit it out in the car, I heard a deep male voice behind me.

  “Need some help?” Jed asked.

  Hearing a crack of thunder, I jumped toward him and felt some sort of electric charge. I nodded. “Sure do.”

  He’d got my motor running all right. But the big surprise came when I arrived home and found him waiting for the elevator in my apartment building. I asked him what he was doing there, if he was a stalker, and he flicked me a grin, and said he’d moved in last week. Then he invited me up for a drink, I said yes, one thing led to another, and as they say, the rest is history.

  We’d sipped on coffee laced with Sambuca, and then at the stroke of midnight I turned forty. I didn’t get depressed, or grow fangs, or anything as I’d half expected. Actually it was rather nice. Very liberating. Being that age allows you to do things you’d never dream of doing, say, in your twenties
. I recommend it to everyone at least once. So maybe I’d look him up on my forty-first, but right now I had to go.

  Gently, I lifted his hand off my chest.

  His eyes opened, and he smiled that slow, sexy smile, I remembered so well. The feel of his hand on my skin was sending messages to parts of my body that I didn’t want to receive. (I need an inner remote control switch—I wonder if they sell them at Brookstone or Sharper Image. Turned on, turned off—how cool would that be?)

  “Stop that.”

  “What?”

  I looked into his grey-blue eyes. “You know what.”

  “I know we had a great time. No regrets, right?”

  “None. But I have to get out of here.” I tried to talk without breathing. I didn’t want him to expire from the fumes of my morning breath. “I have a full schedule today, and I’m running late.”

  He looked at the radio alarm on the night stand. “It’s only six o’clock.” He took hold of my hand, and gave it a squeeze. “What’s really bothering you?”

  “I don’t usually wake up in bed with strange men.” I mumbled, “Not even with men that aren’t strange.” I pulled the comforter up to my chin. “You must think I’m easy, a real push-over.”

  “You’re a sweetheart, that’s what you are.” He tugged at the comforter, but I was holding on to it for all it was worth. “You told me all about some creep who moved to Washington, and said you hadn’t been with anybody since, and I kissed you…”

  Oh, yeah. The Kiss. It was like this giant flame of desire jumped into my belly the moment our lips met. Anyone who doesn’t know what I’m talking about is kissing the wrong men. I’d felt every nerve end light up like a fire-cracker when he deepened his kiss and his hands roamed over my flesh. The power of that one kiss…