The Man She Shouldn't Crave

‘All I wanted to do since I was a little girl was get married.’

Plato wondered if he’d groaned aloud. How in the hell had he got himself into this? If he had a working brain cell left he’d turn this car around…

‘I’m kinda famous at home as a matchmaker,’ Rose continued cheerfully. ‘I mean, I was doing it there before I made it my profession. I matched up my daddy with my favourite schoolteacher when I was eight years old.’

She glanced at him and began to laugh, the sound so sweet and infectious he couldn’t not look at her. She bit her lip. ‘Your face. It’s okay, cowboy. I’m certainly not looking for a husband, and even if I was you wouldn’t be it.’

‘Excellent news, detka.’

She gave his shoulder a little shove. ‘You don’t have to sound so pleased about it.’

‘I’m devastated. Is that better?’

She gave him a wise look and opened her handbag, retrieved her lipstick and began to apply it using a little compact, chatting as she did so. Telling him about her practice, her private clients, her hopes to open an office in the city for Date with Destiny once it took off.

Everything she said spelt out her intention of building a life in Toronto, hammering down his certainty that this was just a weekend out of her busy schedule. Plato began to relax, to allow himself to enjoy her again.

There was a lot to enjoy. Somehow Rose had turned the simple application of lipstick into an erotic act with a few slow strokes, a little rub of those lips and the barest hint of her pink tongue over the gleam of her teeth. Plato felt his body respond with predictable speed.

‘How did you end up in Toronto?’ he asked, his thoughts pleasantly engaged by those ruby lips.

‘I stuck a pin in a map.’ She grinned at him, as if knowing how unexpected that sounded. ‘I hit a riverbed, but Toronto was the closest major city, so here I am. There’s a young population, the dating scene is surprisingly diverse, and I saw an opening for a marriage brokering business.’

The dating scene? Plato’s imagined use of those sweet lips came to a screeching halt as he had an unwelcome flashback to Rose sashaying around that reception room with her little bag and curving ruby mouth, moving from athlete to athlete until she turned those big blue eyes on him.

‘You date a lot, Rose?’ His virtual growl brought her head around in surprise.

‘I do my share,’ she said with a little shrug.

What in the hell did that mean? He caught the dawning look of uncertainty in her eyes and tamped down his unwarranted surge of jealousy. What on earth was wrong with him? She was a beautiful single woman in a populous city. It would be impossible for her to step outside that front door of hers and not trip over a line of eager guys all ready to do whatever it took to take her to dinner…to bed.

Just like him.

‘How in the hell are you still single?’

‘I don’t know how to answer that,’ she said, looking a bit taken aback.

He couldn’t blame her; he had no idea why he was making a big deal out of this. His reputation was hardly spotless.

Rose tried to think of something to say, because she did know how to answer him—it was just he would never believe her.

She thought of her teenage years when she should have been dating, the victim of four well-meaning, overprotective big brothers. Years she’d spent matchmaking for other people instead. Then had come her college years, when her social life had consisted of dinner parties, fundraisers and functions on the arm of the wrong man—a man she’d chosen specifically to avoid her brothers’ interference. A man who along with his family had bullied her and chipped away at her self-esteem until her confidence in herself as a woman had been at an all-time low. Her gradual climb back to normality over the last couple of years had been hard, until now she could date and socialise like any other girl. Yet somehow she was still single.

She wasn’t about to tell Mr Bored, Built and Between Blondes any of that. Except she wasn’t really thinking of him that way any more. He was Plato to her now. Plato with the gentle hands and deep voice and protective instincts.

‘I’m very busy with work,’ she prevaricated, which made a mockery of how easily she’d dropped everything to leap into this car with him. Nor did he look convinced.

‘Da, the destiny date,’ he said slowly, as if considering it. ‘And you make a comfortable living from this?’

It was a sore point. ‘Not really. I have a small client list I brought from the practice I worked in when I first came to Toronto and I see them on a private basis. It pays the bills.’

‘You prefer this matchmaking?’

‘It’s an honourable profession.’ She hated the defensiveness she could hear trickling into her tone.

‘You like happy endings?’

‘I like to give people the tools to make smarter decisions about who they love,’ she corrected, telling herself he wasn’t being patronising. Telling herself not to lose her temper. She’d already done too much of that around this man.