A Matchless Romance Page 3

  It took him a second to wade through the fortune cookie-ness of her statement. Then it all made sense. And relief washed over him. “That’s why you held me up for more money. Not because you think I’m a pathetic loser. Just to see if I truly want to change?”

  “Yep. See how well that worked? And don’t let me ever hear you call yourself a pathetic loser again. People are like snowflakes. Each beautiful in their own, individual way. All we have to do is reveal your inner snowflake.”

  “Uh huh.” Just when he’d started to think this process might not be painful, she’d gone all woo-woo on him. Drew rasped a hand across a couple of days’ worth of stubble. “I’ll be blunt with you, Tabitha.”

  “That doesn’t shock me a bit,” she said with a toss of her autumn-colored hair. The individual strands ranged from brown to cherry to bright red. Her hair absolutely fascinated him. Drew had to blink to stop staring at it.

  “I’m not going to do well at channeling my inner snowflake.”

  “Of course not. Finding it is my job.”

  Good. A job had expectations, finite results. Drew could handle that. “So what do I have to do?”

  “Hmm.” Tabitha leaned forward, crossing her arms. The position pushed her breasts together, straining against her top. She held it for a moment, then leaned back with another one of those laughs that made her sound naked. Maybe even naked and on satin sheets. “Well, we know you’re attracted to women.”

  Crap. He hadn’t meant to stare. Drew flicked his eyes up to meet her laughing green gaze. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It was my fault. I didn’t think.” She tugged her shirt a little higher, though. “Do you get the chance to interact with women a lot?”

  Drew rolled his eyes. “No. I went to an all-boys prep school. Then I went to MIT. Finished up my degree, and then took a few years to train for the U.S. track team.”

  “Get out. You were in the Summer Games?”

  “Yeah.”

  She plopped her elbows on the table to put her face right next to his. “Do you have a medal?”

  Drew was all about precision. “Two, actually.” The scent of grapefruit and flowers mixed together hung around her like an aromatic necklace. One he wanted to twine around his hands and rip off. Then bury his face in the hollow of her throat….crap. He’d need to run an extra mile or two tonight to work the lust she’d ramped up out of his system.

  Tabitha straightened up. “Are you comfortable talking to me?”

  “Sure. I guess.” As long as he ignored the discomfort where his dick pressed hard against the seam of his pants.

  She took his hand and pulled him out of his seat, toward the stairs. “I think we just need to expose you to more women. Get you out of your head. I’ll work up a plan and call you tomorrow.”

  “That’s it? No homework or anything? Not sure I’m getting my money’s worth out of you,” he joked.

  “I get the feeling part of what puts people off about you is the immediacy of your speaking. Lesson number two: don’t say every last thought that crosses your mind out loud.”

  Drew tightened his grip on her hand. Looked down at her. Really looked, deep into those pools of her eyes like a plasma ball. He shuffled a step closer, till he could breathe in her perfume once more. Till he caged her against the wall with his arms. Until he was close enough to feel her chest brush against his with every breath. “Trust me, I don’t.”

  She licked her lips. Breathed more than a little harder, a little faster. “Duly noted.”

  Dropping his arms, he stepped back. Proximity was eight kinds of dangerous. Drew had a new job—and had already pissed off his boss. No time for sexy distractions. Especially not with a woman who had access to any man who walked in the door of her dating service. She had her pick. Which meant Tabitha would certainly never pick him. Nobody picked the geeky programmers, except fellow geeks.

  “A chest full of medals and a sexy sense of humor. See, your special snowflake qualities are shining through already.”

  Right. Then how come with every passing second he spent with Tabitha, Drew felt like he was burning up?

  Chapter Two

  A lacy purple thong whipped straight at Tabitha’s face. “Finders keepers?” she asked, pretending to pocket the underwear with a laugh. Only one pitcher of margaritas drunk so far, and yet the condo with its pale lavender walls had echoed with laughter for the past hour.

  “Hardly.” Mira Parrish, the awesome woman who hired her to be a matchmaker, snatched them away.

  “But that would’ve made a great bachelorette party favor. Now I’m pissed at myself for not thinking of it.” Daphne Moore thrust her arm back into the bag of barbecue potato chips—incongruous with her granola-girl beauty that would look right with flower chains running through her long, blond hair.

  She tossed another piece of lingerie into the air as they tried to choose the perfect wedding night outfit for Ivy Rhodes, their friend, business partner and boss. Tabitha was almost as grateful for Mira drawing her into this circle of women as she was for the job.

  Mira shook back her curtain of dark hair and crooked a finger at Tabitha. “You know men.”

  “Inside and out,” Tabitha affirmed. It was, after all, what she’d lived and breathed her entire life. Men. The good, the bad, the complex, the overly hairy—she knew them all. Understood them. Could predict their reactions with uncanny accuracy.

  “Can you convince Ivy that Ben doesn’t care about virginal white on their wedding night? That he’d rather be bowled over by sexy black lace?” Mira shook the black scrap of see-through satin high above her head.

  Talk about a no-brainer. “Nope.” Tabitha snatched the sheer white teddy and held it with care by its delicate bows at each shoulder. “There’s something to be said for tradition. Ben wouldn’t want an actual virgin, I’m quite certain—”

  “Virgins bore him,” declared Ivy, the bride to be. In lilac pajamas covered with red hearts, she was curled into the corner of the deep purple sofa. The tiara left over from her bachelorette party tipped crookedly over one ear. “He told me so our first night together.” Then she grinned a wicked, knowing smile. “Trust me, he wasn’t a bit bored that night.”

  A chorus of whoops and wolf whistles filled the room. Tabitha continued. “But deep down, the bit of feudal lord leftover in his DNA will appreciate the symbolism of ripping off the white outfit to get to his bride.” She tossed the lingerie back to Mira. “Save the black for the third night of the honeymoon.”

  “Seduce the pants right off him.” Daphne lifted the bag of chips off her stomach and rose to her knees. Gave a yank to pull her Bears jersey back up on her shoulder. “Ooh, and since you’ll be in Paris, stick a rose between your teeth. Very European.” Then she crawled forward to tickle Ivy’s leg with the tip of her long, blond ponytail. “Or maybe use it on Ben…up to you. Go with your instincts.”

  Mira rolled her eyes. “Trust the florist to suggest adding flowers into sex.”

  “Don’t knock it till you try it. Isn’t that what you told me about Sam drizzling chocolate sauce over every inch of your body?”

  Ivy leaned forward and grabbed a mojito truffle off the coffee table. No men allowed this last night before the wedding, but Mira’s fiancé had contributed a box full of gourmet truffles. With alcohol-spiked chocolate at hand, Tabitha doubted anyone missed the menfolk. “Mmm, chocolate sounds Parisian, too. Maybe we’ll have to add that to our list of honeymoon sexcapades.”

  “Speaking of sex, I’ve got a new client,” Tabitha said in a studiously nonchalant voice. She toyed with the string of her yoga pants. Then moved on to fiddle casually with the ribbing on her yellow Henley. Maybe if she acted casual enough, nobody would notice her giant, wholly unprofessional crush. “A guy who just about ran over me.”

  “Way to turn lemons into a citrus margarita.” Ivy lifted her glass in a toast.

  Mira threw a chip at her. “See, I told you business would pick up. And under your expert tutelage, he’ll be da
ting in no time.”

  “Drew isn’t trying to get a date,” Tabitha explained. “What he wants doesn’t fall within the parameters of our business plan. He thinks he needs help dealing with women. The plan is to get him to loosen up. Or relax. Or at least learn not to blurt out whatever thought flits through his brain.” The goal, that of not having Drew alienate a television news anchor or radio host, was clear. How to get him there, was not.

  “What’s his problem?” asked Ivy.

  So far, the only thing Tabitha found wrong with Drew was that he seemed to be completely oblivious to how drop-dead gorgeous he was. Impossibly broad shoulders. Full lips she desperately wanted to nibble on. Dark brows that set off the almost-navy depth of his eyes. Sucking in a deep breath, she said, “Truth be told, I didn’t see that much wrong with the guy. This is more about me spending a couple weeks with him, and then waving some certificate okaying him for female interaction at his boss. I think Drew’s just had a hard time acclimating to his new job. He’s nice.”

  “Nice.” Daphne blew a wet raspberry. “The kiss of death. Sounds like a puppy. A puppy with too big feet who crashes into things because it can’t get coordinated.”

  He did have big hands. Probably big feet. Tabitha could only assume that meant other parts of him were equally large. At that thought, she swigged half her margarita, needing the icy tartness to cool the heat rising in her chest. “Drew just needs to coordinate his mouth and his brain around women. Maybe get an ego-boost. And I bet I can help him.”

  “You’ve all managed to not ask the interesting question.” Ivy slammed her glass onto the coffee table. “Why?” she demanded.

  Tabitha blinked. “Why what?”

  “Why help this guy? You’re a matchmaker. Not an any-random-loser-off-the-street fixer.”

  All traces of inebriation cleared from Mira’s face, replaced by her serious, official store manager look. The one reserved for haggling with vendors and filling out tax forms. “I assume he’s paying your standard rate?”

  No concern there. Tabitha knew how to put the smile back on her boss’s face. Mira was all about the bottom line. Especially with the fledgling matchmaking business that wasn’t yet running in the black. “Plus a possible bonus.”

  “Works for me.”

  “Huh-uh.” Ivy stood, not bothering to make a grab for the tiara as it slid down her sleek, brown pageboy. “This isn’t about money. This is personal. You liiiiike him,” she said in a sing-song voice.

  Tabitha wanted to scoff. That would be the appropriately professional response. To say that being on the brink of her wedding had clouded Ivy’s judgment. The sentimental wedding planner saw everyone through love-encrusted glasses. That tonight, of all nights, Ivy could probably find a way to see a love match between the head of an oil company and an environmental lobbyist. Or a vegetarian and a butcher.

  But try as she might, no way could Tabitha refute Ivy’s accusation. Because she wanted Drew with a need that shocked her. From the moment he’d pulled her body flush against his, she’d wanted him with a strength that shocked her. Truth be told, she’d stared at Drew a little too hard and a little too long for her own liking. The baggy, unzipped hoodie hadn’t prevented her from noticing the way his well-developed pecs strained against his shirt.

  “I don’t like him, like him,” Tabitha retorted weakly. “But…well…he’s got nice eyes. Blue, that deep color of brand new jeans. And thick, dark hair. Messy.” As if he’d just stabbed his fingers through it. She’d wanted to give in to the urge to sink her own fingers into it and smooth it down.

  Daphne snickered. “Tabitha, if you fall for all the clients, A Matchless Romance will fold in a matter of weeks. And you might have to become a polygamist.”

  “I’m not falling for him. He caught my eye. I’ll blink and move on.” An insta-crush didn’t mean anything. The man was eye candy. Smart, passionate eye candy. No need to indulge. She’d never been tempted by any of her clients before. Her attraction to Drew was a blip. An anomaly, like he said. Like an unexplained rash that heated her skin but would disappear in a few days.

  “For now, I need to watch him somewhere to figure out what, if anything, makes him uncomfortable with women. I thought you all could brainstorm with me to figure out a good scenario.”

  “I’ve got it.” Ivy slammed her glass onto the coffee table. Again. Either for emphasis or because she wanted her umpteenth refill. “Bring him to the wedding.”

  “You’re kidding, right? How could you even consider bringing in an unknown quantity? I saw the printouts for tomorrow.” Daphne spread her fingers wide as she ticked off points. “Two copies of the schedule, all the vendor contracts, phone numbers for everyone in the wedding party, schematics for every room, the list of photographer shots, even the breakdown by guest of ginger-scallion glazed salmon or prime rib.”

  Mira nodded. “This is the most ruthlessly regimented, over-planned wedding in Chicago history. I’m surprised you didn’t schedule our bathroom breaks.”

  Thorough didn’t begin to describe Ivy’s approach to planning the weddings of her Aisle Bound clients. So planning her own had sent her into an almost unquantifiable level of meticulousness. The way some pitches were so high only dogs could hear them? That’s how jacked up Ivy was about her wedding.

  “Ivy, I appreciate the way you’re standing behind A Matchless Romance, but this is too big a gesture. We don’t even have a place to put him. I’m at the Morticia and Gomez table, and it’s full.” Naming tables after famous couples was a little too cutesy for Tabitha’s taste. But it fit Ivy. The woman exuded romance from her pores.

  “There’s room at the Jane and Rochester table, and an extra seat at the Han and Leia table, too. We can switch people around and find a way to make this work.” Ivy gave a snappy head bob that probably owed more to tequila than her actual faith in the plan coming together. “It’ll be fun.”

  If anyone but Ivy had suggested it, Tabitha would’ve laughed off the idea. But if the bride was truly willing…“I do need to observe Drew.”

  “Well, liquor, low-cut dresses and the eau de desperation that clings to single women at weddings should at least make them easily approachable.” Mira spoke from the smugly safe pedestal of a woman weighed down by a gorgeous engagement ring.

  Daphne surged to her feet, arms crossed. “No. No way. Ivy’s planned her whole life for the perfect wedding. You can’t bring Captain Awkward in to ruin it.”

  “I planned for the perfect guy. And I’ve got him, so nothing else matters.” Ivy reached over and patted Daphne’s arm. “Thanks for watching out for me. But frankly, it sounds like this guy needs to see a wedding. Drew needs to see the power of true love. He needs to see that every man needs a woman in his life. That women aren’t scary, or off-putting. That they’re meant to partner with a man, in the very best way. The beauty of our wedding could smooth out his awkwardness on the entire female race. And then turn him into a real client who wants to find a date. Two fees, one guy. It’s brilliant.”

  Was there anything in the world sappier than a bride-to-be? Tabitha resisted the urge to make a gagging sound. Ivy might think of love as a happy virus. Tabitha knew that often one quick orgasm was all the emotional antibiotic needed to get it out of a guy’s system. “Thanks, Ivy. You won’t regret this.”

  Chances were good that Drew had simply panicked after losing his company that investor. She didn’t blame him one bit. His boss sounded like a ball-buster. But he wanted to change, wanted to better himself. No different, really, than when someone came to her to spruce up their personality before trying to find their one true match. With his intentions in the right place, Tabitha expected he’d do great at the wedding. Her bigger concern was not dissolving into a puddle of drool when she saw him in his tux.

  * * *

  Milo pranced toward Tabitha across the length of the expansive, twelfth-floor bridal suite. Yes, there was no other word for it but pranced, from the waving frosted lilac tips of his otherwise blond hair dow
n to his shiny purple patent leather dress shoes. To blend in—as if that was remotely possible—with the groomsmen in his role as usher, he sported a deep purple and black paisley tuxedo. With a ruffled shirt in a slightly paler shade. She had no trouble believing that he’d bought the whole outfit years ago, just hoping for an occasion to wear it.

  “I think you’re confused, Tabby,” he said. “You’re supposed to bring a wedding present for the bride and groom, not for their loyal and fabulous friend.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she snapped out of more habit than heat. Not that it did any good. At their first meeting, Aisle Bound’s office manager had decided to shorten her name. Said her eyes gleamed like a tabby cat. No matter how often she sniped—or threatened harm to his favorite green velvet smoking jacket. “And what are you talking about?”

  “There is a hunka hunka hottie outside. Dressed,” he paused and rolled his eyes appreciatively. As if he’d just taken a bite of the out-of-this-world Kahlua cheesecake from Lyons Bakery. After whipping a pale lilac handkerchief out to dab at his brow, Milo continued. “Well, I don’t want to spoil the wow factor, but the way he’s dressed? With that luxurious, thick hair? It’s like you took all my favorite fantasies and rolled them up into six feet, two inches of perfection.”

  Uh oh. Tabitha’s stomach knotted up. It wasn’t making too much of a leap to worry that it might be Drew, since she’d arranged to meet him here. She glanced across to the closed bedroom door. Behind it, Ivy was getting dressed. Tabitha only had as long as it took the bride to pull on thousands of dollars of couture gown to clear this up. And maybe an extra five minutes while Mrs. Rhodes waved her fingers in front of her eyes, trying not to cry. A stronger frisson of worry shivered down her spine. When someone in a ruffled shirt that belonged under a disco ball labeled another outfit as having a wow factor, it could only spell disaster.