Dirty Deal (Perfectly Matched 2)

Bryan took a long gulp of his champagne and refreshed their glasses. To her surprise, she’d sipped her glass empty throughout the course of their conversation. Worse yet, her soup was already half gone too. Double time on the treadmill tomorrow.

“Who knows?” His answer was more reserved than his previous had been, and he swished the golden liquid in his flute before continuing. “She worries that I need someone to take care of me. Someone to be here when I come home.” He pushed her bowl of soup toward her. “You should eat your soup before it gets cold.”

She wasn’t sure if that marked the end of the conversation for him or if that was an indicator that he was one of those men who liked to see their women eat.

Not that she was his woman.

Though, she had to admit, after listening to his stories, she was walking a fine line between wanting to never be around him again and trying to find out what exactly he was doing to drive all these women clinically insane.

Based on the quiet but ever-present confidence about him, she was pretty sure that the answer to that question lay somewhere between the sheets. What would those big, strong hands feel like on her body? Before she got too deep into her fantasies of what his superpower might be, she shut them down. Time to move the focus back to where it should be for the evening.

“Grace is always trying to get me to settle down, too. And as persistent as she is, it’s super irritating,” she said with a commiserating nod.

She finished her soup, and the fourth dish appeared. It was the largest yet, with mounds of seafood hidden under ribbons of fresh fettuccini with butter sauce. She’d already let herself get way out of control and vowed not to touch these last two courses more than politeness dictated. She’d had more than enough.

No matter how crazy good it smelled.

Or how good Bryan made it look as he savored every morsel.

“I don’t know if the wedding planning is making her more demanding or what the deal is. It’s weird to me that she was so pushy with you. I’m usually the one she recruits for stuff like that.” She shot him a smile and picked at the side of her plate.

One bite. Because manners.

“Ah, so you’re the enforcer? I have to admit, you don’t look so tough.”

“I don’t use brute force. I tend to rely on my…negotiating skills.” She plucked the ribbon of pasta from her fork and barely held back a groan. So good.

“And how do you think negotiations are going tonight?” he asked, a bemused smile tipping his lips.

“I think I’m doing just fine.” Judging by the way he was trying so hard not to stare at her boobs, anyway. She set her fork down and took a sip of her champagne, eying him over the glass.

“We haven’t talked business at all. I’m not sure why you think you’ve got the upper hand,” he said before biting into his Alfredo like it was a challenge.

“I don’t think I do. I know it.”

“Do tell.” He spread his hands, palm up, in front of him, begging her to continue.

“We might not have discussed it out loud, but facts are facts. You’ve got something I want.” She leaned in close, making sure her cleavage was at just the right angle. “I’ve got something you want. So let’s make a deal, Doc.”

Chapter Three

Fuck, he hoped they were talking about the same thing: the two of them working off some of this tension between the sheets. Watching her face as she ate was killing him one bite at a time.

He should probably be wary of the possibility of her offering her body in trade for his mug on some billboard, but that didn’t bother him in the least. They were both red-blooded adults, and there was clearly a mutual attraction there. Who was he to judge if she wanted to get a little something extra out of the deal? Only the crafty glint in her eye kept his libido in check. Thinking over their evening so far, her sudden, full-court press didn’t quite make sense. Her flirting had been just as subtle as his own. A slide of her sweet pink tongue across her lips, a brush of her high-heeled foot again his shin. Now, out of the blue, she was laying it out there.

So let’s make a deal.

He chose his words carefully, not wanting to jinx it but also not wanting to dive headfirst into the gutter and embarrass either of them if he was wrong. “I have something you want, you have something I want. And what would those things be, exactly?” he asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? We need a spokesperson and you need a fake girlfriend.”

He stared at her, trying not to focus too hard on her sexy mouth as she spoke. “Come again?”

“I mean, you’ve got a reunion to go to and a wedding, both of which, as far as I can tell, will be positively infested by insane exes. Obviously your crazy magnet won’t let you find a real date who won’t flip her shit and start making life-size dolls in your likeness or something, so why don’t you let me stand in?”

He settled back against his chair and let the words sink in. So, not a proposal of hot sex in exchange for promoting their company then. Visions of Serena, legs spread beneath him, hair a wild mass around her shoulders as he thrust his cock in and out of her, faded, and he took a deep gulp from his champagne glass to wash down the bitter disappointment.

That was a damned shame, but this idea had merit as well. He let it marinate while the waiter cleared their emptied plates again and replaced them with the final course, a sampling of exotic cheeses, spreads, and crackers. Serena began picking absently at the selection, and he marveled at how much food this woman could store in her tiny frame. It was damned impressive.

“Are you just too in awe of my brilliant plan to speak, or…?” She raised a brow at him as she refilled his champagne flute, leaning the slightest bit too far over the table until he could see the hint of a lacy red bra.

Hot.

She’d been doing it all night, and he was starting to wonder whether it was really an accident. Had he imagined the flirting, or was it all a part of her master plan to soften him up? Either way, it didn’t change the fact that it was nearly impossible to tear his eyes away from that creamy swatch of skin.

“Just think about it,” she said, eyes bright with banked enthusiasm. “What’s the worst that could happen? There’s literally no downside. You can avoid Piper and any other crazy chick who happens to be on your jock and still enjoy the upcoming events. All you’d need to do in return is sit through a couple photo shoots and, down the line, be open to doing a commercial. That’s it. Probably ten hours of your life total, and then you’re home free.”

“It’s crazy.”

“You know what’s crazy? The thought of what your reunion is going to be like if you go solo.” She hoisted her glass into the air, tilting it toward him. “Now come on, don’t be a baby, let’s toast to a deal well struck.”

He tried to be objective and look at the possible solution from all angles, but it was damned hard—in more ways than one—when it was presented by the hottest woman he’d ever seen in the flesh. The longer he looked into her smiling, china-blue eyes, the more reasons he came up with to agree. He’d have Grace Love off his back. He’d have a buffer between him and Piper. And who knew? Maybe once they got this business out of the way, he’d have a chance to see if the attraction he’d felt was one-sided or if she actually wanted him the way he wanted her.

He clinked his glass against hers and sipped the ice-cold bubbly. “You have yourself a deal.”

“I thought I might,” she said with a triumphant smile.

“All that training as the enforcer gave you confidence?”

“No, the fact that you can’t take your eyes off my boobs gave me confidence. The enforcer stuff is a bonus.” She stood and strutted across the empty floor to the wide, glass doors that led to the restaurant’s beachside patio.

Before he even rose to join her, she marched back to the table and grabbed the bottle of champagne.

“You know, it’s really lovely tonight, and I need to walk off this food. Why don’t you come with me and help finish this bubbly

while we talk terms?”

She swung the bottle back and forth between thumb and forefinger like the pendulum of a hypnotist, and was every bit as mesmerizing.

Without a second thought, he stood and made his way over to where Serena stood, sleek figure draped against the doorjamb like an old Hollywood starlet, all legs and sex appeal. She crooked a finger at him to follow her and stepped into the warm night air. He trailed behind her onto the sprawling wooden patio. The sun had almost set, the very last of its rays making the water of the Atlantic gleam.

“Hold this.” At the edge of the patio, Serena handed him the champagne bottle and kicked off her spiky heels. Then she jumped into the sand and squished her toes deep into the grains.

“Much better.” She reached for the bottle again.

“That’s all right. I’ll hold it.”

“A true gentleman.” In the fading light, her beaming face caught him, and he couldn’t help but return the grin.

Her straight blond hair was blown back by the sea breeze, and she looked almost painfully beautiful. She turned and that lacy red bra strap slid off her shoulder, snagging his attention again. His fingers itched to reach for it, slip it back onto her delicate shoulder. To let his fingertips graze the silky-looking skin…

“So, I do have a question about our setup,” she started, and he snapped back to attention.

He clenched and unclenched his hands in an effort to satiate the need to touch her. Fake girlfriend. That didn’t mean they were going to actually sleep together.

But a guy could hope.