Meeting His Match (Single In the City 1)

She took in a shuddering breath as she tried to orient herself, to maintain some semblance of control in a situation where she had clearly just lost all of it.

He pulled out his phone and checked the screen, and she realized in her post-kiss haze it had been the source of the sound.

“Crap.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m on call. A patient’s in labor.”

He tucked the phone back in his pocket and met her gaze. “You have to go,” she said for him.

He nodded, if not regretfully, then reached out and helped her to a seated position, much to her mortification.

He stood and headed for the door as she followed him like a lost puppy.

“I have a meeting with Baby Co. tomorrow. We’re supposed to sign some paperwork on our deal, but then I’ll call you, set up a time to pick you up.”

“Right. Sure,” she said. The big endorsement for his foundation. The entire reason he was there in the first place—doing this, dating her.

She saw him out, closing the door behind him with a hollow thud to match the one in her chest.

Turning, she put her back to the door, reminding herself where her priorities lay. “This is just a game, McBride.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

MARTI

THE KNOCK ON THE DOOR came before she was ready.

Crap.

Marti stared futilely at the makeup she had yet to apply, then down at her bare feet. She wasn’t ready, which was mostly due to spending too much time with the girls in the freebie closet before she left work, languishing over her situation with Loga

n.

Another knock and she rushed out of her bedroom.

“Don’t screw this up,” she reminded herself, repeating Blue’s words back to herself. This was professional. She needed to remember that. Their last encounter got out of hand.

She flung open the door, and without a second glance, turned, waving him inside, rambling about needing to finish getting ready.

“Marti . . .”

She did a double take at the sound of his voice. He stood there, in the entryway to her apartment, looking like he stepped off the cover of GQ in a perfectly tailored black suit and a crisp, white dress shirt, sans tie. It was open slightly at the chest, revealing a triangle of tanned skin her eyes were inexplicably drawn to.

He rubbed the heavy stubble over his jaw as his green eyes glittered, and he held out a bouquet of the most exquisite yellow roses she had ever seen.

She caught her breath and her gaze snagged on his mouth.

Don’t think of the kiss.

Don’t think of the kiss.

“Red seemed too cliché,” he said by way of explanation.

Marti’s chest tightened as she stood in place, feet frozen. She swallowed. “Oh,” she said, taken aback. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He arched a brow and took a step forward. “I wanted to,” he said softly.

As a rule, she loved flowers. But she didn’t often accept them from men, and accepting them from Logan seemed . . . dangerous. First, they kissed last night, and now this.

If all of this was for show, then why did he keep doing things that proved otherwise? Like he wasn’t just acting anymore? It was confusing and irritating and . . .