“You’re sabotaging your chances of meeting the right woman,” she said without preamble.
“And hello to you, too,” he said with lazy amusement.
She felt the telltale tingling along her nerve endings and charged ahead to avoid thinking about how much he made her conscious of being a woman.
“Don’t try to sidestep the discussion.”
“I’m not sidestepping anything,” he said in a mild voice.
She folded her arms. “You told Monica that if she wanted to catch a husband, she’d be better off enrolling in a degree program, instead of majoring at Salon U. to keep her hair a precise shade of champagne blonde.”
He arched a brow. “You disagree?”
She threw up her hands. “She’s an heiress. She can afford it.”
“Obviously not, if she needed to hire you. There’s usually no shortage of guys who’d be happy to marry an heiress.”
“Not you, however.”
“I don’t need the money.”
He looked calm and unperturbed, and at the same time, radiated sex appeal. The observation riled her even more.
“In any case,” he said, “I believe my requirements included being down-to-earth. How does Monica qualify?”
“Down-to-earth socialites are a bit thin on the ground,” she replied tartly.
“You know, I don’t recollect listing socialite among my requirements.”
Of course, she thought, that requirement went without saying. His type wanted to marry well, and not to some nobody from Sacramento with schoolteacher parents who were strictly middle class.
“You said you were looking for someone with the acumen for business entertainment,” she countered.
“Business being the operative word there.”
“What about Sarah then? Her father was a surgeon, but she’s as down-to-earth as you can get. She started a handmade soaps business. She should have suited the entrepreneurial side of you.”
“Too back-to-nature.” He shrugged. “Besides, there was no chemistry. We talked shop all night.”
“How about Lily? What was wrong with her?”
He arched a brow. “Save me from fashionistas.”
“Amanda?”
“She was a public relations executive. I got the impression she was less interested in me than in a job as a spokesperson at Whittaker Enterprises.”
She folded her arms. “What about Peyton?”
“Advertising. She took one look at me and saw a potential client.”
“Pamela?” She’d been sure she had a hit there. “She’s a TV anchor, and she’s as polished as they come.”
“Too interested in herself.”
She bit back a sigh of exasperation.
He contemplated her for a second. “You’ve tried to set me up with umpteen candidates and failed. You know there’s only one thing left for you to do, don’t you?”
“And that would be?” she asked coolly, dropping her arms.
“Date me yourself.”
Caught off-guard, she retorted, “Don’t be absurd.”
He sized her up. “Why? What’s wrong with you?”
“It appears you’ve misunderstood the nature of the services we offer in this office,” she said, her words coated with frost. “I’m in the business of finding you a lifetime partner, not providing you with a fling.”
“Who said anything about a fling? I’m talking about mutual enjoyment.”
“You want sexual services in exchange for my fee.”
“No,” he drawled, “just suggesting we see where things lead.”
She knew where things would lead, and she didn’t have to sleep with him to find out. She was incapable of satisfying him, but was determined he never know. Her heart was retired, and her sexual prowess nonexistent.
She affected an expression of cool disdain. “Well, that’s an approach I haven’t heard before. Just come out and ask for sex.”
“You’re deliberately misunderstanding me. I’m suggesting we explore the attraction simmering between us.”
“Maybe on your part, but I don’t know what you mean.”
“Liar,” he said softly. “Don’t you think we should talk about that kiss?”
“I’m your matchmaker.” They were not having this conversation.
“And isn’t your job to know if my sexual technique is lacking?” he asked, sauntering closer.
“I’m sorry,” she said repressively, “but my services don’t go beyond general advice in that department.”
“I recall signing up for the total package—the works.”
As he came closer, she took an involuntary step back, then another.
The glittering intent in his eyes spoke of want…need…desire.
“Keep moving, sweetness.”
“This is ridiculous,” she said, her voice carrying a note of breathlessness. “You can’t chase me around my office.”
“Really? Isn’t that what I’m doing?”
He trapped her against the reception desk, and she leaned back, perched on the smooth mahogany edge.
He set his hands down on either side of her, bracing himself on his arms.
Her heart beat faster. “This is ridiculous.”
“You already said that,” he murmured.
This close, he was overpowering. She felt as if she were drowning in his blue eyes. Then her gaze dropped to his mouth, and she thought of that mouth on hers and shuddered.
He leaned forward, his legs brushing against hers and she felt the hard, unyielding muscle beneath the veneer of civility lent by his business suit.
“What’s the matter?” he said. “Finding it hard to deny the attraction?”
“No,” she snapped, because he’d hit too close to the truth. “Just prepared to prove how wrong you are.”
His eyes glinted as he took up the challenge. “I guess you’re ready to put it to the test.”
As he leaned in, his eyes held hers and then lowered, zeroing in on her mouth as she did on his.
When his lips touched hers, the kiss was all heat. She was surrounded by the male scent that clung to him.
His lips moved over hers, plumping her lips, then soothing and smoothing, drawing a reaction from her.
The feel of him was intoxicating. She raised her hands to place them on his chest and gave a tentative nip at his lips.
His response was swift as he took the kiss deeper.
Their mouths clung, the kiss long and searching, and his hands came up to caress her back and mold her to him.
And she went—willingly.
She was swamped by sensation. Her breasts, pressed against his chest, felt tight and sensitive. Warmth spread low in her abdomen and settled at the juncture of her legs.
Dimly, she wondered at his affect on her. He was a glorified accountant and Parker’s would-be groomsman. He couldn’t be having this affect on her.
But he was.
Gradually, he brought them up from the depths, drawing back until he was feathering light kisses across her lips.
His lips wandered from her mouth to her jaw and to the soft spot behind her ear, then traveled downward.
Bending her backwards, he leaned in to kiss the hollow of her throat. She clung to his shoulders, her leg rubbing against him, the need to be closer to him overwhelming.
His hand began to work at the buttons of her blouse to give them what they both wanted.
“Oops, sorry!”
Lauren jumped and broke away from Matt.
Glancing over, she discovered Candace standing inside the office’s front door.
Lauren wasn’t sure who was more surprised or embarrassed. Actually, she amended after a beat, Candace looked more intrigued than anything.
She, on the other hand, was mortified. She sat perched on the edge of her desk, one leg wedged between Matt’s, and the other bent, his hand grasping her thigh where her skirt had ridden up. Her white blouse gaped open, revealing her lacy, beige-color bra, and her lips still felt puffy from his kisses.
She stole a look at Matt. He managed to look cool and unflappable even with mussed hair and a visible arousal—though only she had evidence of the latter from the bulge resting against her thigh.
Candace spoke first. “Don’t mind me. I just came back to look for an umbrella.” When they all continued to remain immobile, she added, “It’s raining out.”
Lauren placed her hands on Matt’s chest and pushed, but when he took a step back, she knew it was only because he wanted to. Still, she took the opportunity to hop off her desk and fumble with the buttons of her blouse, attempting to restore some order to her clothes.
“Here, let me help.” Matt’s voice—deep and amused—sounded beside her.
She glared at him. She’d worked hard to cultivate a certain professional image, and now it was going up in a puff of smoke, even if it was just Candace who’d stumbled upon them.
More importantly, the stolen moment of passion was going to cost her in terms of her own self-respect.
“Oh, look! Found it!” Candace made a show of spotting and grabbing a small umbrella that was lying on a mahogany file cabinet. Then grinning, she backed out of the room, pulling the office door shut as she went. “Don’t stop on my account.”
When the door clicked shut, the room was silent again.
She continued to concentrate on fixing her disheveled appearance.
“If she’d given us another minute,” Matt said finally, “we’d have been tangled up together on the rug.”
“That was a mistake,” she managed.
“One that bears repeating.”
“No,” she said flatly, looking up at him.
Matt, the passionate lover of moments ago was gone, replaced by a cool observer who revealed nothing of his thoughts.
“No,” she said more firmly. “That should never have happened.”
“You blame me.” He said it without inflection.
She shook her head. “I’m not going to take the easy way out. We were both willing participants.”
“So you admit you enjoyed it.” This time there was a note of satisfaction in his tone.
She waved her hand. “Whether I did or not doesn’t matter. I’m not on the menu.”
His brows came together. “That’s a cop out. What are you afraid of?”
“Nothing!” Fear had nothing to do with it, practicality did.
Still, he was hitting close to home, so she rushed to shift the conversation. “Why are we talking about me? The real issue here is you and the way you’re acting.”
His jaw hardened. He looked as if wanted to continue arguing with her but thought better of it.
“If I need pointers,” he said, his eyes glittering, “you’ll just have to give me some more lessons.”
