Dirty Deal (Perfectly Matched 2)

“Agreed. The limos are supposed to pull up down here.” He guided her to the place his sister had shown him before the auction. Just as Q said, the limo was already there.

“Nice ride.” Serena climbed into the back of the car and settled onto the leather cushions. The dim lighting made the beads on her dress shimmer, drawing that much more attention to her breasts, and he struggled not to stare.

Apparently Grace Love wasn’t messing around anymore. She’d found him at the auction and had opted to send in the A team to convince him to fall into line with her master plan. It wasn’t her fault that he wouldn’t be so easily swayed. Though the way the second-skin fabric of Serena’s dress clung to her made him seriously question the strength of his convictions.

“So, is this the new round of guerilla tactics?” he asked, opting for honesty straight out of the gate. “I hate to tell you, but I don’t think it’s going to work.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Serena ran her long, delicate fingers over the icebox beside them. A bottle of champagne sat there on ice, already popped, two glasses nestled in beside it.

“So you mean to tell me you and Grace Love, who has been hounding me daily, just happened to show up for tonight’s bachelor auction? And that you spent three thousand dollars and opened your home to a pack of strangers in order to have dinner with me tonight?”

“Correction,” she said with a snick of her tongue. “I opened my home to a pack of strangers so that you weren’t ax-murdered by Serial Killer Sally back there. Sue me for being a concerned citizen. Care to share what the deal is with that?”

“She’s an ex,” he said flatly, like that said it all.

“No kidding.” She snorted loudly, a sound totally at odds with her picture-perfect appearance. “What did you do to her to make her…that, though?” She circled her finger in the air in the international symbol for crazier than a shithouse rat.

He tilted his mouth in a half grin and raised his eyebrows. “I’m more of a show-er than a tell-er.”

And, if he was being honest with himself, he’d be happy to show her. Now. In the car, if need be. That tiny skirt and those mile-long legs were driving him nuts. Even with all the space in the limo, the smell of her perfume—vanilla and lavender—made his brain go soft and the rest of him go hard.

“Boys,” she said, rolling her beautiful eyes. “Always thinking they’ve got something extra-special working. I hate to break it to you, Doc, but a dick is a dick. I can’t even fathom what you could’ve been doing with yours that would make a woman behave the way that one did.”

“And like I said, talk is cheap. It’s more something that has to be experienced.” As much as he’d dreaded tonight’s date, this little lighthearted exchange was the most fun he’d had since he gotten back to Salem two weeks before. He wasn’t one for relationships, but banter with a bright and bawdy woman who was gorgeous on top of it? That was a pretty good way to spend a night in his book.

“I’ll take your word for it,” she sniffed, and folded her hands on her lap. “So long as we both know, I saved your ass back there.”

“Right. And you were just telling me how you did it from the goodness of your heart.” He ran a hand through his hair and groaned inwardly. Might as well get it out of the way now. Maybe they could enjoy the rest of the evening. “Look, I told you about Piper. She and I dated like nine years ago. I was barely out of high school, and she’s still stuck in the past. That’s the whole story. Now it’s your turn to tell it like it is. You want me to promote your company. That’s the only reason you’re here, right?” He sat back, fully expecting her to launch into the same song and dance he’d heard from her business partner five times over, but some little part of him hoped that just maybe…

For a second, she looked like she was about to deny it again, but then she blew out a sigh. “Frankly? Yes.”

Well, that sucked a bag of dicks, didn’t it? Visions of hot limo sex fizzled away like the bubbles in his champagne.

She pinned him with her intense blue gaze and leaned toward him. “We’ve looked over your files, and since this is a small-town operation, we think you’d be the perfect candidate. You’ve got credit with the community, a well-respected family, and your name is always plastered all over the town diner for one thing or another. Grace thinks you’ve got the face to pull in more clients, and she wants you to be our guy.”

“Let me make this clear, then. I’m not interested in getting ‘match-made’ or whatever you’re calling it. Not now or ever. My sister signed me up for your company and others like it while I was deployed, and I’ve paid the price for that ever since I stepped foot back in Salem.”

“There are no other companies like ours,” she said with a stubborn lift of her chin. “Say what you want about Grace, but she’s got something special. She’s a matchmaker right down to her soul. Surely you haven’t lived in Salem your whole life without believing a little in magic? Well, Grace is magic. I swear it.”

She eyed him and crossed her arms over her chest, pressing her breasts to swell against the neckline.

He swallowed hard and tore his gaze away to meet hers, ignoring the insistent pull in his groin that wouldn’t seem to quit.

“I may live in Salem, but I sure as shit don’t believe in magic, or matchmakers. And the last thing I want to do is spend my evening listening to the reasons I should let love into my heart and allow you guys to fix me up.”

She shrugged. “Fair enough. If I hadn’t seen Grace work, I don’t know that I would’ve believed it myself.” She plucked up her glass and took a sip of champagne before facing him again. “Look, what do you say we meet halfway? We have a fun, easy night, and then, when it’s over, you give me fifteen minutes of your time. Fifteen minutes of open-minded discussion. That’s all I’m asking. And we’ll never bug you again.”

As the limo pulled up outside a dimly lit Italian bistro right on the Massachusetts Bay, he didn’t even think about his response. It was a no-brainer. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

It sounded like the perfect solution to an otherwise wasted evening. He’d give her the requested fifteen minutes, but it wouldn’t do any good. He’d made his mind up long ago—sex and companionship when he needed it was more than enough to fuel him until he was free of the military. Nobody could convince him otherwise. Not Q, and certainly not this woman, no matter how great her ass looked as she bent over to climb out of the car.

He followed her out and hurried ahead to open the door to the restaurant for her. If he played his cards right, maybe he could even avoid that conversation altogether. A little wining and dining, and some of the old Metcalf charm, and she’d be too focused on him to think about anything else.

He’d make sure of it.

…

Piece. Of. Cake.

Serena had planned on doing whatever she had to in order to get the job done, but she had no idea it would be this easy. Bryan hadn’t taken his eyes off her the whole ride over, and damn if he had even bothered to try.

So what if he didn’t believe in their service? She hadn’t either, at first. It was only after seeing Grace’s unerring tingles in action that she’d bought in. Even now, she wasn’t a total convert. Grace believed everyone had a match, but Serena knew better. Love wasn’t for everyone. Her own personal life was evidence of that. She preferred to keep her relationships short and to the point. Too bad a little short and to the point wasn’t on the menu with Dr. Metcalf tonight. Grace would kill her for muddying the waters with him, but she could sure use a physical.

She bit back a grin and followed him into the little barn-style room. There sat only one table and two chairs on the wide-planked oak floor. A single candle lit the table, while twinkling lights created a charming ambience. Damn if that hospital crew didn’t know how to plan a date.

There was even another bottle of champagne chilling beside their table. She walked toward it and hardly noticed that he was standing there, waiting for her,

chair already pulled out.

Nice.

He popped open the bottle and poured some champagne into each of their glasses. By the time he sat, a waiter appeared, as if from nowhere, with their first course.

“Roasted quail with a plum reduction.” The maître d’, all trussed up in a penguin suit with a fancy handlebar mustache to top it off, flourished a hand toward their dishes then turned on his heel and left.

“They don’t joke around here.” She poked a finger at the toasted golden skin of the delicate bird, and her mouth watered. She’d grown up seeing food like this served to the men around her, but had been trained at an early age to look but not touch. Even now, after breaking free from the influence of her parents, she typically ate bran flakes from a box or super-bland foods like poached chicken breast and steamed veggies.

Taste equals calories, Serena. Food is a necessity, not a pleasure.

She shoved her mother’s tinny admonishment from her head, but still didn’t pick up a fork, focusing instead on Bryan.

“Everything looks lovely.”

“Yeah. This is one of my favorite places, actually.” Bryan was already tearing into the meat, and the juices glistened in the dim lighting like a still from a Food Network commercial.

“Oh, you’ve been here before? So do the owners make all the employees dress that way? Like, do they provide fake mustaches if your natural one isn’t as glorious? And do they have casual Fridays where people don’t have to wear their monocles?”

“Actually, they do. And they also have top hat Tuesdays.” Bryan gave her a crooked smile that could have charmed the habit off of a nun.

What was it about guys with crooked smiles that was so damn appealing?

“Good to know. Next time I come here, I’ll have to take mine out of storage.”

“Will there be a next time? You’ve hardly touched your food.” He pointed his fork toward her plate.

She hadn’t hardly touched anything. She simply hadn’t touched it at all.