A Matchless Romance Page 6

  What got him through was the promise of cake. Not just any cake. Supposedly the best cake he’d ever eat in his entire life. When Mira told him all the flavors her husband had baked, Drew decided maybe weddings were worth all the fuss. His sweet tooth was on high alert. One layer of almond cake with amaretto mousse filling, another of champagne cake, strawberries and whipped cream. But the layer he most couldn’t wait to taste was chocolate cake with caramel crème brulee filling.

  So he’d staked out a spot on the dance floor, right next to the multi-tiered cake. Its matte white frosting was smoother than a freshly poured cement running path. Pompom flower things that Drew hoped were made of frosting in three shades of purple trickled down the sides. The moment Ivy and Ben cut it, he’d be ready to snag a piece.

  Dancing was easy. A lot like running. Drew just kept everything loose and let his muscles take charge. Kind of shocked him that Tabitha had taken a break from siccing every unattached woman in the joint on him. Of course, she was probably too busy fighting off the advances of all the handsome men who’d followed her around like bloodhounds all night. Their presence reminded him just how far the redhead was out of his league.

  “Need aaaaall the single women in the middle of the room.” The DJ’s overly smooth, radio-voice patter broke through the happy buzz of well-fed and almost drunk guests. The music still pulsed, so Drew kept bopping along. “Time to duke it out for the bouquet. Let’s find out who’ll be off the market next!”

  A veritable tsunami of women rushed to the center of the dance floor. Elbows, shoulders, hips—all sorts of body parts collided with Drew. Silly, in his opinion. If someone was about to be engaged, wouldn’t they know it? Leaving their future happiness up to the trajectory of an imperfectly shaped bundle of flowers verged on the ridiculous.

  Another hip check sent Drew reeling toward the cake table. Christ. Daphne had practically burst a blood vessel at the thought of him bruising a single petal on Mira’s bouquet. If he got so much as a thumbprint on the cake—or, you know, accidentally knocked it entirely off the table—Drew didn’t think his chances were good of making it out of the ballroom alive. With a mighty twist to his core, he lunged left, hands outstretched.

  Which sent him, hands first, straight into the bony ass of a tall, older woman. One who tightened up, screeched, then whipped around to slap him. Already off-balance, Drew reached out to keep from lurching to the floor. It worked. It also meant he ended up with a not-quite-handful of saggy breasts. Belonging to the same woman whose ass he’d just grabbed.

  As if that weren’t bad enough, the moment turned slow-motion. Enough for him to see Tabitha standing behind Ms. Bony Ass. Her arms were crossed. Her carefully expressionless face let him know she didn’t realize he was flailing for balance. Nope, all she saw was a guy getting his grope on.

  Drew never cared what people thought of him. Usually. Years as the class nerd developed his thick skin in that arena to roughly the hardness of the calluson his big toe. Yet the thought of Tabitha being disappointed in him rankled. For all of six seconds. Until the woman beneath his hands grabbed a glass of wine off a passing waiter’s tray and upended it over Drew’s head. Who knew that would be what threw Tabitha into action?

  “Such a rush to catch the bouquet. It’s a shame all those girls pushed you off balance and made you spill your drink on my friend.” Tabitha signaled to the waiter, who was rooted to the spot, gawking with the morbid glee of a passing motorist at a three-car pileup. She snatched another glass of chardonnay—well chilled, as Drew was now able to attest—and handed it to the woman. “Here you go. Enjoy your drink. We’re going to ponder the choices at the coffee bar. I heard there are chocolate chips and whipped cream to mix in!”

  As she finished babbling, Tabitha edged Drew away from the cake, away from the people, and down the hallway leading to the kitchen. He rubbed the sting of the wine from his eyes.

  “Thanks for rescuing me.”

  “Guess I called it right the day we met. Apparently a quick grab and grope is your lame signature move. Although I certainly never expected you to try it on a cougar.” Amazingly, she didn’t look mad. A slight smile, one eyebrow raised—if anything, Tabitha looked supremely amused. Hands planted on hips, she asked, “What were you thinking?”

  Tabitha must’ve missed the contortions he’d done to prevent the worst. Just his luck. “That it would piss you…and Daphne…and Mira…and Ivy off less if I fell into a person than if I fell into the cake.”

  “Well, that’s true.” She bit her bottom lip. “Straight up, Drew. I won’t judge you one way or the other. You weren’t trying to cop a feel of that woman?”

  Hell, no. Too skinny for his taste. Nothing to grab on the top or bottom. And way too freaking old. Did Tabitha think he was really that desperate? “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you’re a man, and she’s a woman?” A waiter walked by carrying a tray of heart-shaped cream puffs. His passage made Tabitha flatten to the wall, but she didn’t bother to lower her voice. “Men like tits and ass.” Her tone had flattened out, too.

  Drew shook his head. “You’ve got a messed-up world view. I like watching a fire crackle, but I’m no arsonist.”

  “If a beautiful woman passes you her room key tonight, you wouldn’t race her to the elevator?”

  It felt like a very, very important pop quiz. “No.” Drew left the hallway and stopped in front of the coffee station. The table held a selection of liqueurs, rock candy swizzle sticks, chocolate shavings, cinnamon sticks, chocolate dipped spoons and a heaping bowl of whipped cream. Drew planned to have enough cups of coffee to try it all. Didn’t matter if the caffeine kept him up all night—just meant he’d get in a few solid, uninterrupted hours on Quest. Amazing how much less he got done in the office than at home.

  At his elbow, Tabitha handed him a cup and saucer. “You expect me to believe that you’d turn down sex?”

  “Yes.” Well, not with her. That was a chance he’d jump at. But Drew was quite sure Tabitha wasn’t offering. He grabbed a napkin and wiped the rest of the wine off his jacket. “I pretty much only hook up at gaming conventions. Nerds like me don’t get a lot of shots in the dating world. Cons are a level playing field for us.” Drew loaded the first cup with a shot of Kahlua and a cinnamon stick. One night in the Athletes Village, a Mexican high jumper showed him how to make coffee like this, and Drew loved it. “Besides, sex is a distraction I can’t afford, especially right now.”

  Tabitha swished away a few steps, paused, then swished back. “If this was you, trying your hardest, then I’ve gotta say—I’m pretty close to giving up on you. It isn’t going well.”

  Drew jerked, sloshing coffee all over the pristine white tablecloth. It had only been one day. And she was his only hope. He couldn’t let her call it quits. “But it wasn’t. The only thing I did different was get dressed up. You told me to be myself.”

  “True.” Her eyes narrowed and her tiny nose crinkled. Drew ignored the total cuteness of her expression. Mostly. After all, he was focused, not blind. He barreled on.

  “And this is the worst possible place to do that. I’ve never been to a wedding before. I don’t go to fancy dinners and make small talk. You tossed me into this without any hints at how to survive. Basically,” he set his legs wide and crossed his arms, “you set me up for failure.”

  “So what do you suggest?” she asked, drumming long purple nails that matched the flowers in the centerpieces. “I should come and watch you in your natural habitat? Like doing a photo safari of a leopard on the savannah?”

  Tabitha might be teasing, but Drew seized on her words. “Exactly. Come watch me at marathon training tomorrow. It’s co-ed. You can see how I interact with women there. Then you’ll have enough information to figure out a plan to get me up to snuff. Just don’t give up on me yet.”

  He realized he’d grabbed her hands at some point. Her soft, small hands that fit inside his. And that she was close enough he smelled her perfume. Something flowery an
d sultry at the same time. The scent burrowed straight from his nose down to his dick. He’d need to run an extra half mile tomorrow. Hell, considering all the times he’d looked at her tonight and batted back a surge of lust, he’d need to leave his car here and run all the way home to clear his brain. Instead, Drew lowered his head for another sniff.

  Tabitha’s eyelids flared wide, as if she sensed danger. For a split second, Drew contemplated tossing his pride out the window. Risking the inevitable rejection just for the chance to steal a single kiss. Wondered if there was a chance she might just kiss him back. Then she pulled her hands out of his and took a step back. “Fine. I’ll meet you tomorrow. But stay off the dance floor. And keep out of trouble.”

  Only way to do that would be to keep away from the all-too-tempting Tabitha.

  Chapter Four

  Milo dropped into a crouch, his butt almost touching the white sand of the Ohio Street Beach. “Tabby, make it stop,” he moaned.

  “Which? Your pounding headache? The feeling of fur crawling across your tongue?” She looked down at his obvious bedhead in disbelief. It said a lot about his level of misery that Milo would leave the house looking so disheveled. For God’s sake, the man was wearing sweatpants and a faded Wicked sweatshirt. “Or the borderline nausea induced by the last two rounds of berry vodka shots you insisted would ‘seal Ivy and Ben’s love forever’?”

  “All of it.” He ground the heels of his hands against his eyes. “The sunshine feels like a fire-tipped whip on my eyeballs.”

  “How very melodramatic of you. Here’s a novel approach. Put these on.” Tabitha pushed his sunglasses off the top of his head—where he’d insisted they looked sportier nestled in his lilac-tipped hair—to land on the bridge of his nose. Neither of them looked anything above exhausted and uber-casual. Not that it mattered at nine on a Sunday morning at the deserted lakeshore. In an attempt to soothe her danced-out feet, Tabitha wore sneakers with her yoga pants and ancient UNLV sweatshirt.

  “You’re very unsympathetic,” he huffed.

  Yep. Because she’d missed out on a second piece of cake while she tried to convince him not to do those shots. Karma, even for the little things, always came around to bite the most deserving in the ass. “You brought this misery on yourself. Besides, you invited yourself along on this little field trip.”

  “Are you kidding?” Milo popped back up to his feet. “A whole swarm of sexy men running down the road? Holy highway of hotties. Of course I had to come with you. I might find my soul mate. Or at least someone hot enough to take me to brunch.”

  She sipped from her extra-large coffee. Just because she was hangover free didn’t mean she wasn’t dragging after last night’s fantastic party. Well, fantastic once Drew went home and she could stop holding her breath and bracing for whatever faux pas he’d make next. Not to mention digging her fingernails into her palms over and over again to keep from pushing her fingers through all his luxurious hair. Tabitha so wanted to feel it. Actually, she wanted to feel a lot more of Drew. But those thoughts were off-limits.

  “This isn’t a Match-n-Mingle event, Milo. These people are pushing themselves to the limit. Do you know they practice every day? Weights, and cardio, and then a crazy amount of flat out running every week?”

  Yup. She’d browsed the Internet at two in the morning. Wanted to know just what to expect today, in order to avoid feeling as clueless as she must’ve made Drew feel last night. Tabitha had also wanted to search for pictures of Drew in the Summer Games. Instead, she’d fallen asleep with her laptop still propped on her stomach. Probably for the best. She’d never searched for pictures of her other clients in only shorts and a tank top. No reason to start now.

  “Of course I do. After putting in all that hard work, don’t you think they’d be grateful that I’m ready and willing to ogle—I mean, appreciate—their tight and toned results?” He grabbed his own giant, whipped-cream-and-syrup-laden coffee from her. “I’m ready to be some lucky guy’s most ardent fan.”

  “Good luck with that.” Getting Milo a date zoomed to the top of her priority list. His frustration with the single life had crossed the line from amusing to flat-out desperate. Hard to call herself a worthwhile matchmaker if she didn’t take care of her friends’ dating needs first. It might be good to do a Match-n-Mingle event in conjunction with the Gay Pride Festival and Parade in June. Get a more focused crowd, and a room full of appropriate choices for Milo to take his pick.

  A woman in head to toe orange Lycra ran by, kicking up little spurts of sand. Then two more, followed by an older and much slower man in layered running tights, shorts and three shirts who pulled up the rear.

  “We must be in the right place.” Tabitha angled them off the beach, into the park with its triangular, connected walking paths. Except she and Milo were the only two walking. Each short path—ranging from about ten steps long up to fifty—connected to a circular hub, and every one had a runner going full tilt on it. Tabitha had absorbed enough info last night to recognize it as sprint training.

  “God, it exhausts me just to watch them,” said Milo. But genuine awe tinged his voice. These people broadcast determination. Their gritted teeth betrayed the physical pain they ran right through. And yet, a convivial spirit came off of those gathered at the hubs, not currently running. Shouts of encouragement rang through the park, along with sporadic applause. The only competition they seemed to be in was with themselves, not each other.

  One man drew Tabitha’s eye. One half-naked man, to be precise. Tan legs, noteworthy enough for early April in Chicago, pumped beneath tight navy shorts. Tight enough she could admire each flex of his ass cheeks as he ran. A perfectly muscled back. The kind of perfection that made a woman want to run her hands down its hard length and just sigh in anticipation of what else might be long and hard about him.

  “You’re staring.” Milo angled to follow her line of sight just as the gorgeous guy put on a burst of speed as he came to a hub. The smooth, muscled gait put her in mind of a champion racehorse. “Ah. Good spotting. With a view this exciting, I may not even need to finish my coffee.”

  “Holy smoking six-packs.” The words slipped out as the runner turned to race in their direction.

  “You took the words right out of my drooling mouth,” sighed Milo.

  “That’s Drew.” She’d had the hots for him ever since she’d pressed against his rock-hard chest at their first meeting. But that was through the buffer of her clothes as well as his. Now? Half-naked? Well, there was simply no other way to put it. Drew Weston was ripped. Sure, international track star and all that. But…Tabitha finally exhaled the breath she didn’t remember holding. Seeing that muscled perfection up close and personal was waaay different than ogling a guy on television—even on a sixty-inch plasma screen in HD.

  “Your boy’s a looker.”

  “He’s not my boy.” She meant to snap out the retort. Instead, it came out sort of wistful. The way a shy oboe player in the marching band sighs over the unattainable quarterback’s nearness at every Friday night game. “I’m assessing his assets.”

  Milo choked on a combination of his coffee and a snicker. “Assets? That’s the new euphemism for super sexy stud parts?”

  Apparently. “We’ll call it the professional term for things that make me melt.”

  Drew stopped on a dime in front of them. His skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. Just enough to make Tabitha imagine him lying on top of her, arms corded next to her shoulders, hips flexing and sweat slicking the strip of dark hair bisecting his chest. God. If she didn’t get a hold of herself, she’d have to overlook the inevitable hypothermia and walk straight into Lake Michigan.

  “Hey there. Glad you came out so early.” Drew cracked his neck and shook out his arms. “Did you see me run?”

  Milo’s eyes almost popped out of his head as he nodded. “Did we ever.”

  “Not the same guy who almost toppled over the wedding cake, right?” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. Drew th
rew his arm behind his head, grabbed an elbow and pulled. The movement tightened his abs, popped out his pecs, and soared Tabitha’s heartrate into the triple digits. “I’m in my element here. Slap on a pair of running shoes and everything else falls away.”

  Interesting choice of words. Seeing as how whenever she looked at Drew everything else fell away. Especially her previously rock-solid professionalism.

  “So, what did you think?”

  Tabitha finally unstuck her tongue from her suddenly dry mouth. “I think if your boss watched you run, she’d stop picking on you. Promote you immediately. Maybe even strategize a way to make you president. Not of your company. Of the whole, freaking country.”

  “I don’t want to be president.” Bending at the waist, he tucked his fingers beneath his toes with the same ease as Tabitha’s Gumby-esqueyoga teacher. “Even given the gender gap in Congress and the Cabinet heavily weighted toward men, the Secret Service is employing many more females. I’d definitely have to interact with more women than I do in my current job. Probably wouldn’t go well.”

  “Delightfully literal as always,” she murmured. Drew’s adherence to the literal was her personal version of Kryptonite. It rendered her defenseless against his unaffected and probably unintentional charm. Damn it. In order to recover her equanimity, Tabitha really needed him to do something off-putting. Right now. Maybe make a big gesture and spill Milo’s coffee all over him. Accidentally kick gravel in her face as he ran away. Blurt out that his favorite food was liver and onions.

  Two young-ish women in matching ponytails and red warm-up suits jogged up. Tabitha started to smile in greeting. Then she realized they weren’t here for her. They each latched on to one of Drew’s arms and glommed against him from shoulders to toes, like Velcro-ed bookends. Years of experience told her at a glance their generous D-cups were fake. The orange tinge to their cheeks pointed to equally fake tans. Her protective instincts toward her client—protective, not jealous, Tabitha was almost certain—surged.