9781631050275TheirPerfectMatchMarshNC (5 page)

“Isn’t this better?” he murmured against her skin. She nodded, the crisp ends of her hair tickling the razor stubble on his cheek. Her breathing grew quick and shallow. Zane felt his own excitement rise along with hers as the conjunction of their bodies sparked his hormones in a way he hadn’t predicted.

Ten minutes ago, he thought he’d figured out how Alaric had gotten sucked into a crazy scheme like Lovelines. His half-brother would be only too happy to consider love a piece of merchandise that could be ordered through a computer, paid for, and picked up at the buyer’s convenience. Now, he suspected, there was a little more to it. Molly Grayson’s unaffected charm had taken him completely by surprise. Already he sensed a simmering warmth that, given the right encouragement, could easily blossom into full-bodied heat between them.

“So…why were you coming to see me?”

He was so absorbed in the feel of her body against his that it took a moment for her words to register.

“Sorry?”

“You said you were on your way to the office when you saw me come in here. You followed me. What was so urgent?”

He could hardly admit that he’d followed her into The Grapevine hoping to catch her working the room, reeling the lonely guys in like a shark fisherman with a barrel of chum.

“Oh, that. I…just wanted to know if I’d been approved as a Lovelines client yet. And if you said no, I was prepared to charm you into changing your mind.”

Molly frowned. “Is there some reason you’re in such a hurry?”

“Not really. But another weekend is right around the corner, and I’m a little tired of spending them alone.”

 Suddenly, she stiffened and tugged against him, breaking the easy rhythm they’d settled into. “Now that you mention it, Mr. Bishop, I probably shouldn’t be getting so informal with a client. Remember what we were just talking about? Professional ethics?”

Incorporating the move into a dance step, Zane tightened his embrace and prevented her from breaking free. “Actually, Miss Grayson, you should want to spend as much time with me as possible.”

He’d used the formal mode of address playfully, but Molly’s frown only deepened. “I should?”

“Sure. A few forms and credit checks, however thoroughly filled out and cross-referenced, can only tell you so much. Isn’t going out on a date the best—maybe the only—way to tell if someone really is a great catch?”

“I hope not, because I don’t intend to date every man that comes through our door. In fact, as I’ve already explained, I don’t intend to date any of them. That includes you, I’m afraid.”

“But don’t forget, I’m not officially a client yet. I haven’t signed anything except an application form. I don’t even have a video. So tonight, it seems to me, you’re off the hook as far as that objection goes. You said yourself you’re on a mission to have a good time. I can only speak for myself, but this feels pretty good so far.”

She was weakening. Zane could see it in the way she nibbled at her lower lip, and he could feel it when she stopped trying to escape from his arms.

Or was that just what she wanted him to think?

“Maybe you’re right,” she said doubtfully.

“Of course I am. What could be more convenient? We’re already here, we’re both of legal drinking age, and we’ve already gotten past that whole physical contact thing.” He gave her arms a playful squeeze and then paused. For a moment, his uncertain scowl matched hers. “Er…you are single, aren’t you? I just assumed….”

“You assume correctly.”

His smile returned. “There, see? We even have something in common.”

She seemed to be considering her reply when the last notes of the slow song faded into another loud, hard-driving rock tune. Zane clasped her hand and pulled her out of the way as a fresh wave of dancers surged onto the floor.

“Come on,” he murmured into her ear. “Let’s get out of the way. These white-collar types can be dangerous when they party.”

“Or do you mean white-boy types?” she asked jokingly, but was immediately mortified. The wine must have gone directly to her head.

To her relief, Zane laughed. “I hope you don’t include me in that category. I’m about as unlike those stuffed shirts as anyone could be, aside from my complexion.”

“Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Not offended. Trust me on that score.” His smile widened, melting something inside her.

They returned to their table to find it commandeered by another group of laughing patrons, so Zane steered them back to the bar instead. Finding only one vacant stool at the far end of the counter, he helped Molly onto it and remained standing himself.

“How about another glass of wine?”

“Maybe I should stick to ginger ale. I do have to drive myself home eventually.”

“Not for a couple of hours, I hope. I figure that should be enough time to get our date underway.”

 “Date? Funny, I don’t remember agreeing to anything of the kind.”

“Okay, so you haven’t—not officially, at least. But I’m confident that you’re on the road to seeing things my way. Now, how about that wine?”

She tried to hide her smile without success. “All right—but this is the last one. And I’m only committing myself to stay until it wears off.”

“And after that…?”

“After that, I hope you’ll respect whatever decision I make.”

“Fair enough. Be right back.” Zane moved down to the other end of the bar to place his order. While he waited for the drinks to arrive, he leaned an elbow on the polished black Formica and watched her from a distance.

Blissfully unaware of his scrutiny, Molly Grayson sat quietly with her hands folded on the bar, her own attention focused on a plastic card listing tonight’s drink specials. Though he realized some people were extraordinarily gifted at hiding their true thoughts, Zane still saw no sign of the cool opportunist Alaric had described. Either she was much more innocent than she wanted to appear, or she really was a con artist with the face of an angel. He couldn’t decide, and it was bugging the hell out of him.

“That’ll be eight dollars, sir.”

The arrival of the drinks startled him for a moment. He fished a twenty from his wallet, slid the bill across the bar, and let his gaze wander while he waited for his change.

He froze.

Apparently he wasn’t the only man keeping a close eye on Molly Grayson.

Zane’s back stiffened as he felt his old training kick in. Years ago, when he’d worked shipboard security, he’d learned to size up a suspicious character at a glance, mentally logging any relevant details in case they proved important later. The guy he’d zeroed in on this time wasn’t exactly the type who stood out in a crowd. Fortyish, balding, he epitomized “average” right down to his faded brown sport coat and green-and-yellow plaid tie. Every now and then, he’d lean over and sip nervously from one of the three beer bottles lined up in front of him. But his gaze never wandered far from Molly, who appeared as oblivious to his attentions as she’d been to Zane’s.

Suddenly the bartender was back, blocking Zane’s view as he counted twelve dollars into his hand. When he moved away again, the man in the green tie was still in the same place. Scowling, Zane picked up his two drinks and started back toward Molly.

“Tell me the truth,” Molly said as Zane handed over her wine. “Did you party a lot in the Navy?”

Her question caught him off guard. Zane kept one eye on the man in the plaid tie while he answered. “Well, the Merchant Marines isn’t exactly the Navy—but yeah, we got into some pretty wild scrapes. There’s something about being cooped up on board a ship for weeks, even months at a time. When they finally let you off, you tend to go a little crazy.”

“Funny, isn’t it? Men can drink and carry on all they want, and people say they’re just being men. A woman tries to break loose, just for one night, and she’s considered out of control, even pathetic. It’s not fair.”

 “I promise you, Molly—when I look at you, neither ‘pathetic’ nor ‘out of control’ spring to mind.”

She lifted a brow. “What makes you think I was talking about myself?”

“Because it strikes me that you put a good deal of stock in what other people think about you. And you probably blow even the smallest negative comment totally out of proportion. Trust me, there’s nothing wrong with going after what you want, and to hell with what everyone else thinks. I think society would be much improved if more people followed that simple principle.”

“I don’t know about that. A lot of faces might get slapped if some people were totally open about what they were after.”

“Good point.” Especially since his would be one of the first. “Not to mention the fact that it would make flirtation obsolete. And, personally, I find flirtation highly pleasurable.”

The flicker of interest on her face made the blood pulse hot and quick through his body. “Is that another skill you perfected on all those wild shore leaves?”

“Perfected? Not by a long shot. I sure tried, though.”

Discreetly, he inched closer to her and rested his arm on the bar, his crooked elbow poised at the same level as her waist. From a distance, and from the right angle, he hoped they’d look like two people who were very much together. When he shot a subtle glance back at the bar, he saw the man in the sport coat stiffen and gulp his beer.

Problem solved. He hoped.

Molly was smiling up at him now, her manner open and relaxed. “Tell me more,” she said, her body gradually relaxing into the crook of his arm. “Just what kind of flirtation do you specialize in?”

“I thought topics like that were off-limits, given the professional nature of our relationship.”

“Normally, they would be. But as you pointed out, you won’t officially become a Lovelines client until you sign a contract to that effect. Meanwhile, it seems to me that I could benefit from hearing these theories you’ve developed. Sort of like research for my business.”

“The ritual of courtship must interest you passionately.”

“Not passionately. Professionally. I’ve made it my career to bring people together. I feel I should understand as much about the process as I possibly can.”

“I agree.” He held his ale toward her, and she tapped the bottle playfully with her glass. At the same time, he curled his body so that his arm made contact with her waist. She didn’t pull away. “There’s no substitute for hands-on experimentation. In some cases, the more hands-on the better.”

“Well, I think judgments like that should be made on a case-by-case basis.”

“Of course. Any scientific inquiry should be undertaken with great care and preparation. You’d want the results to be conclusive.”

“I…suppose you’re right.”

She’d tilted her face toward his now. A quick, hot charge ripped through Zane’s nerves as he drank in her half-closed eyelids and her moist, parted lips. She seemed to be daring him to kiss her. Was that part of her experiment too?

Setting his drink on the bar, he eased his body into the small distance between them. His lips hovered so close to hers that the slightest movement by either of them would have brought their mouths into abrupt, fiery contact.

“So,” he challenged in a husky tone, “what conclusions have you reached about this case so far?”

 “I…” He heard the sharp intake of breath, sensed the aroused tremor that shuddered down her spine as his lips started their slow, inevitable descent toward hers. “I haven’t really…”

“Molly Grayson? It is you, isn’t it?”

The intrusion stunned him like a two-by-four to the skull.

The man in the plaid tie had pushed through the crowd and now stood a few feet away, glaring at them. One hand was still wrapped around his beer bottle, now mostly empty. The other was balled up in a fist.

“Yes?” Molly spun away from Zane and looked up, blinking in surprise. The glint of recognition came a moment later. “Oh…Mr. Westley. Hello.”

“So you do remember me,” the man slurred angrily. “I wondered if you’d admit it.”

“What? Why wouldn’t I?”

“Excuse me,” Zane quickly inserted himself between Molly and the tipsy trespasser. “Miss Grayson and I were in the middle of a conversation.”

Ignoring him, the man thrust a trembling index finger toward Molly. The veins in his fleshy neck pulsed visibly above his dingy collar. “You. You owe me an explanation.”

“She owes you nothing,” Zane said through clenched teeth. His warning had as much effect as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

“I gave you all my savings,” the man raged as a small throng of bar patrons, their curiosity piqued by his obvious anger, gathered to watch. “You promised to find someone for me. No problem, you said. Now here I am, alone, just like before. Thousands of dollars, wasted! An’ I wanna know what you have to say about that!”

“Listen, buddy, you’ve had too much to drink.” Zane instinctively moved forward, palms extended. It was a peaceful gesture that could turn into a bone-crushing defensive move if necessary. “Why don’t you pack it in for the night before someone gets hurt?”

With a loud, sarcastic laugh, the man veered out of Zane’s path, sloshing beer onto his sleeve as he half-stumbled against the stool Molly had vacated. “I see you wasted no time finding someone for yourself. Did you get him through the computer, hah? Why whuddunya do the same for me?”

“That’s enough.” Zane was about to grab for his beer-sodden sleeve when, to his surprise, Molly waved him off.

“Look, Mr. Westley,” she offered in a soothing tone, “this really isn’t the place to discuss this. Why don’t you call me on Monday and make an appointment? We can easily reopen your account and go through the files again.”

“So you can rip me off for another thousand bucks?” Westley’s voice rose to a shout. “You mus’ really think I’m crazy!”

“All right, that’s it. Molly, excuse us.”

“Zane, don’t!”

Her plea came too late to register on his adrenaline-charged system. In a quick, decisive motion, Zane slid his fingers around Molly’s wrist, guided her safely to one side, then grabbed Westley by the scruff of the neck and hustled him toward the side exit. Behind them, the crowd burst into raucous laughter and applause.

It took Zane exactly half a minute to drag him, stumbling and sputtering, through the gaggle of spectators and out The Grapevine’s back door. In the alley, Zane pushed him up against the side of the building and grabbed the empty beer bottle out of his hand. Westley let loose a string of strikingly unimaginative curse words—some directed at Molly, the rest at Zane.