Matched to Her Rival

How in the world had he figured that out? Somehow, that fact alone made it easy to admit the truth. She probably couldn’t have hidden it anyway. “It’s hard to have a mother known for her looks when you’re so average, you know?”

He shifted closer, though she would have sworn there wasn’t much space between them in the first place.

“You’re the least average woman I’ve ever met, and you know what else? Beauty fades. That’s why it’s important to use what’s up here.” He circled an index finger around her temple, oh so slowly, and the electrified feel of his touch on her skin spread through her entire body.

“That’s my line,” she murmured. “I went to college and started my own business because I never wanted a life where my looks mattered.”

After watching her mother crash and burn with Mistake Number Two and then Three without finding the happiness she seemed to want so desperately, Elise learned early on that a relationship built on physical attraction didn’t work. It also taught her that outward appearance hardly factored in matters of the heart.

Compatibility and striving to find someone who made you better were the keys to a relationship. She’d built EA International on those principles, and it hadn’t failed yet.

Dax was so close; she inhaled his exotic scent on her next breath. It screamed male—and how.

“Me, too. Unlike your mother, I never wanted to make a career out of modeling.” When her eyebrows shot up, he chuckled. “Figured you checked up on me and knew that Calvin Klein put me through college. Guess you’ll be looking me up when you get home.”

A lit stick of dynamite between her and the laptop couldn’t stop that from happening. “My mother put me through college. Reluctantly, but I insisted.”

Funny how they’d both paid for college with modeling dollars and then took similar paths to chart their own destinies. She never would have guessed they had anything in common, let alone such important guiding experiences.

Dax’s gaze drifted lower and focused on her mouth. Because he was thinking about kissing her. She could read it all over his expression.

Emergency. This wasn’t a date. She’d led him on somehow. They didn’t like each other, and worse, he shied away from everything she desired—love, marriage, a soul mate. She was supposed to be matching him with one of her clients.

First and foremost, she’d given him permission to ruin her business if he didn’t find the love of his life. And she was compromising the entire thing.

All of it swirled into a big black burst of panic. Had she lost her mind?

Ducking clumsily out of his semi-embrace, she smiled brightly. “So I’ll call you to schedule the next session. Ready to go?”

His expression shuttered and he nodded. “Sure. I’ll leave you my card with my number.”

In awkward silence, they rode back to EA International where Dax’s car was parked.

Despite knowing he thought happily ever after was a myth, despite knowing he faked interest in her as a method of distraction, despite knowing he stood to lose $500,000 and pretended to misunderstand her questions or refused to answer them strictly to prevent it—despite all that, she’d wanted him to kiss her.

Dax Wakefield was better at seducing a woman than she’d credited.

* * *

When Elise got to her office, she locked the door and sank into the chair. Her head fell forward into her cupped palms, too wined-and-Daxed to stay upright any longer. If he flipped her out this much without laying those gorgeously defined lips on hers, how much worse would it be if he’d actually done it?

She couldn’t take another session with him.

Match him now.

She had enough information. Dax might have thought he was being sneaky by probing her for answers to the questions in kind but he’d revealed more about himself in the getting there than he likely realized.

While the match program booted up, Elise stuck a stick of gum in her mouth in hopes it would stave off the intense desire for chocolate. She always craved chocolate, but it was worse when she was under stress.

Maybe she should take a page from Dax and relieve her stress with sex.

But not with him. No sir.

Almost of their own accord, her fingers keyed his name into the browser. Provocative photos spilled onto the screen of a younger Dax with washboard abs and formfitting briefs scarcely covering the good parts. Her mouth went dry. The man was a former underwear model with a psychology degree, a wicked sense of humor and a multibillion-dollar media empire.