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Matched to Her Rival
Kat Cantrell






Dax’s gaze drifted lower and focused on Elise’s 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, soul mates. 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.

Had she lost her mind?

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 five hundred thousand dollars and pretended to misunderstand her questions or refused to answer them strictly to prevent it—despite all that, she wanted him to kiss her.

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

* * *

Matched to Her Rival is part of the Happily Ever After, Inc. trilogy: Their business is makeovers and matchmaking, but love doesn’t always go according to plan!


Matched to Her Rival

Kat Cantrell




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


KAT CANTRELL read her first Mills & Boon® novel in third grade and has been scribbling in notebooks since she learned to spell. What else would she write but romance? She majored in literature, officially with the intent to teach, but somehow ended up buried in middle management in corporate America, until she became a stay-at-home mom and full-time writer.

Kat, her husband and their two boys live in north Texas. When she’s not writing about characters on the journey to happily-ever-after, she can be found at a soccer game, watching the TV show Friends or listening to ‘80s music.

Kat was the 2011 Harlequin So You Think You Can Write winner and a 2012 RWA Golden Heart finalist for best unpublished series contemporary manuscript.


To Jill Marsal, agent extraordinaire, because you stuck with me through all the revisions of this book and together, we made it great. And because this one was your favorite of the three.


Contents

Cover (#uc1a17f29-b891-54d8-af4d-b9c660d406cd)

Introduction (#u94f6ad77-b049-5a69-940a-99f59e28e8a0)

Title Page (#ucece3a0f-ffc3-56db-9985-6444ea220ab6)

About the Author (#ub992b352-0bae-5374-a598-ec84f5cbd9dc)

Dedication (#u863ccdc8-1c76-55ae-8e7c-d4004b36a729)

Chapter One (#u01ec688b-e4e3-5b64-8b7d-bc22c2df9846)

Chapter Two (#u695e6c3e-e224-5750-8def-3f8a98239733)

Chapter Three (#ufb40b572-ccd7-551a-ae13-395f1809587f)

Chapter Four (#u647126af-4445-5889-b892-8fdbfadc28a7)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#u59f14349-7df2-521c-9e05-d20f9ff18df0)

In the media business—and in life—presentation trumped everything else, and Dax Wakefield never underestimated the value of putting on a good show.

Careful attention to every detail was the reason his far-flung media empire had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. So why was KDLS, the former jewel of his crown, turning in such dismal ratings?

Dax stopped at the receptionist’s desk in the lobby of the news station he’d come to fix. “Hey, Rebecca. How’s Brian’s math grade this semester?”

The receptionist’s smile widened as she fluffed her hair and threw her shoulders back to make sure he noticed her impressive figure.

He noticed. A man who enjoyed the female form as much as Dax always noticed.

“Good morning, Mr. Wakefield,” Rebecca chirped. “He made a C on his last report card. Such an improvement. It’s been like six months since I mentioned his grades. How on earth did you remember?”

Because Dax made it a point to keep at least one personal detail about all his employees front and center when speaking to them. The mark of success wasn’t simply who had the most money, but who had the best-run business, and no one could do it all by themselves. If people liked working for you, they stuck around, and turned themselves inside out to perform.

Usually. Dax had a few questions for Robert Smith, the station manager, about the latest ratings. Someone was tripping up somewhere.

Dax tapped his temple and grinned. “My mama encourages me to use this bad boy for good instead of evil. Is Robert around?”

The receptionist nodded and buzzed the lock on the security door. “They’re taping a segment. I’m sure he’s hovering near the set.”

“Say hi to Brian for me,” Dax called as he sailed through the frosted glass door and into the greatest show on earth—the morning news.

Cameramen and gaffers mixed it up, harried producers with electronic tablets stepped over thick cables on their way to the sound booth, and in the middle of it all sat KDLS’s star anchor, Monica McCreary. She was conversing on camera with a petite dark-haired woman who had great legs, despite being on the shorter side. She’d done a lot with what she had and he appreciated the effort.

Dax paused at the edge of the organized chaos and crossed his arms, locking gazes with the station manager. With a nod, Robert scurried across the ocean of people and equipment to join him.

“Saw the ratings, huh?” Robert murmured.

That was a quality Dax fully appreciated in his employees—the ability to read his mind.

Low ratings irritated him because there was no excuse. Sensationalism was key, and if nothing newsworthy happened, it was their job to create something worth watching, and ensure that something had Wakefield Media stamped on it.

“Yep.” Dax left it at that, for now. He had all day and the crew was in the middle of taping. “What’s this segment?”

“Dallas business owners. We feature one a week. Local interest stuff.”

Great Legs owned her own business? Interesting. Smart women equaled a huge turn-on.

“What’s she do? Cupcakes?”

Even from this distance, the woman exuded energy—a perky little cheerleader type who never met a curlicue or excess of decoration she didn’t like. He could see her dolloping frosting on a cupcake and charging an exorbitant price for it.

Dax could go for a cupcake. Literally and figuratively. Maybe even at the same time.

“Nah. She runs a dating service.” Robert nodded at the pair of women under the spotlight. “EA International. Caters to exclusive clients.”

The back of Dax’s neck heated instantly and all thoughts of cupcakes went out the window.

“I’m familiar with the company.”

Through narrowed eyes, Dax zeroed in on the Dallas business owner who had cost him his oldest friend. Someone who called herself a matchmaker should be withered and stooped, with gray hair. It was such an antiquated notion. And it should be against the law.

The anchor laughed at something the matchmaker said and leaned forward. “So you’re Dallas’s answer to a fairy godmother?”

“I like to think of myself as one. Who doesn’t need a bit of magic in their lives?” Her sleek dark hair swung freely as she talked with her hands, expression animated.

“You recently matched the Delamerian prince with his fiancée, right?” Monica winked. “Women everywhere are cursing that, I’m sure.”

“I can’t take credit.” The matchmaker smiled and it transformed her entire demeanor. “Prince Alain—Finn—and Juliet had a previous relationship. I just helped them realize it wasn’t over.”

Dax couldn’t stop watching her.

As much as he hated to admit it, the matchmaker lit up the set. KDLS’s star news anchor was more of a minor celestial body compared to the matchmaker’s sun.

And Dax was never one to underestimate star power.

Or the element of surprise.

He strode onto the set and dismissed the anchor with a jerk of his head. “I’ll take over from here, Monica. Thanks.”

Despite the unusual request, Monica smiled and vacated her chair without comment. No one else so much as blinked. No one who worked for him, anyway.

As he parked in Monica’s still-warm chair, the petite dynamo opposite him nearly bowled him over when she blurted out, “What’s going on? Who are you?”

A man who recognized a golden opportunity for improved ratings.

“Dax Wakefield. I own the station,” he said smoothly. “And this interview has officially started over. It’s Elise, right?”

Her confusion leveled out and she crossed her spectacular legs, easing back in the chair carefully. “Yes, but you can call me Ms. Arundel.”

Ah, so she recognized his name. Let the fun begin.

He chuckled darkly. “How about if I call you Ms. Hocus-Pocus instead? Isn’t that your gig, pulling fast ones on unsuspecting clients? You bibbidi-bobbidi-boo women into relationships with wealthy men.”

This interview had also officially become the best way to dish up a side of revenge—served cold. If this ratings gold mine led to discrediting EA International, so much the better. Someone had to save the world from this matchmaker’s mercenary female clients.

“That’s not what I do.” Elise’s gaze cut from his face to his torso and her expression did not melt into the typical sensuous smile that said she’d be happy to further discuss whatever he wanted to talk about over drinks. Unlike most women.

It whetted his appetite to get sparks on the screen another way.

“Enlighten us then,” he allowed magnanimously with a wave of his hand.

“I match soul mates.” Elise, pardon-me-Ms.-Arundel, cleared her throat and recrossed her legs as if she couldn’t find a comfortable pose. “Some people need more help than others. Successful men seldom have time or the patience to sort through potential love interests. I do it for them. At the same time, a man with means needs a certain kind of mate, one not easily found. I widen the potential pool by polishing a few of my female clients into diamonds worthy of the highest social circles.”

“Oh, come now. You’re training these women to be gold diggers.”

That was certainly what she’d done with Daniella White, whose last name was now Reynolds because she’d managed to snare Dax’s college friend Leo. Who then promptly screwed Dax over in favor of his wife. A fifteen-year friendship down the drain. Over a woman.

Elise’s smile hardened. “You’re suggesting women need a class on how to marry a man for his money? I doubt anyone with that goal needs help honing her strategy. I’m in the business of making women’s lives better by introducing them to their soul mates.”

“Why not pay for them to go to college and let them find their own dates?” Dax countered swiftly.

The onlookers shifted and murmured but neither Dax nor Elise so much as glanced away from their staring contest. An indefinable crackle sliced through the air between them. It was going to be beautiful on camera.

“There are scholarship opportunities out there already. I’m filling another niche, helping people connect. I’m good at what I do. You of all people should know that.”

Oh, she had not just gone there. Nearly nose to nose now, he smiled, the best method to keep ’em guessing. “Why would I know that? Because you single-handedly ruined both a business venture and a long-standing friendship when you introduced Leo to his gold digger?”

So, apparently that wound was still raw.

College roommates who’d seen the world through the same lens, he and Leo believed wholeheartedly in the power of success and brotherhood. Females were to be appreciated until they outlived their usefulness. Until Daniella, who somehow got Leo to fall in love with her and then she’d brainwashed his oldest friend into losing his ruthless business edge.

Not that he believed Daniella was 100 percent at fault. She’d been the instigator but Leo had pulled the plug on the deal with Dax. Both he and Leo had suffered a seven-figure loss. Then Leo ended their friendship for no reason.

The pain of his friend’s betrayal still had the power to punch quite a hole through his stomach. That was why it never paid to trust people. Anyone you let in eventually stomped all over you.

“No!” She huffed a sigh of frustration and shut her eyes for a beat, clearly trying to come up with a snappy response. Good luck with that. There wasn’t one.

But she tried anyway. “Because I single-handedly helped two people find each other and fall in love. Something real and lasting happened before your eyes and you had a front-row seat. Leo and Dannie are remarkably compatible and share values. That’s what my computer does. Matches people according to who they are.”

“The magic you alluded to earlier,” Dax commented with raised eyebrows. “Right? It’s all smoke and mirrors, though. You tell these people they’re compatible and they fall for it. The power of suggestion. Quite brilliant, actually.”

And he meant it. If anyone knew the benefit of smoke and mirrors, he did. It kept everyone distracted from what was really going on behind the curtain, where the mess was.

A red stain spilled across Elise’s cheeks, but she didn’t back down. “You’re a cynical man, Dax Wakefield. Just because you don’t believe in happily ever after doesn’t mean it can’t happen.”

“True.” He conceded the point with a nod. “And false. I readily admit to being cynical but happily ever after is a myth. Long-term relationships consist of two people who’ve agreed to put up with each other. No ridiculous lies about loving each other forever required.”

“That’s...” Apparently she couldn’t come up with a word to describe it. So he helped her out.

“Reality?”

His mother had proven it by walking out on his father when Dax was seven. His father had never recovered from the hope she’d eventually come back. Poor sap.

“Sad,” she corrected with a brittle smile. “You must be so lonely.”

He blinked. “That’s one I’ve never been called before. I could have five different dates lined up for tonight in about thirty seconds.”

“Oh, you’re in worse shape than I thought.” With another slide of her legs that Dax couldn’t quite ignore, she leaned toward him. “You need to meet the love of your life. Immediately. I can help you.”

His own bark of laughter startled him. Because it wasn’t funny. “Which part wasn’t clear? The part where I said you were a phony or the part where I don’t believe in love?”

“It was all very clear,” she said quietly. “You’re trying to prove my business, my life’s work, is a sham. You can’t, because I can find the darkest of hearts a match. Even yours. You want to prove something? Put your name in my computer.”

Double ouch. He’d been bamboozled. And he’d never seen it coming.

Against all odds, he dredged up a healthy amount of respect for Elise Arundel.

Hell. He actually kind of liked her style.

* * *

Elise wiped her clammy hands on her skirt and prayed the pompous Mr. Wakefield didn’t notice. This was not the scripted, safe interview she’d been promised or she never would have agreed to sit on this stage under all these burning hot lights, with what felt like a million pairs of eyes boring a hole through her.

Thinking on her feet was not her strong suit.

Neither was dealing with wealthy, spoiled, too-handsome, arrogant playboys who despised everything she believed in.

And she’d just invited him to test her skills. Had she accidentally inhaled paint thinner?

It hardly mattered. He’d never take her up on it. Guys like Dax didn’t darken the door of a matchmaker. Shallow, unemotional relationships were a snap to find, especially for someone who clearly had a lot of practice enticing women into bed. And was likely an ace at keeping them there.

Dax stroked his jaw absently and contemplated her. “Are you offering to find me a match?”

“Not just a match,” she corrected immediately and tore her gaze from the thumb running under his chiseled cheekbone. “True love. My gig is happily ever after.”

Yes. It was, and she hadn’t failed one single couple yet. She wasn’t about to start today.

Matching hearts fulfilled her in so many ways. It almost made up for not finding her own match. But hope sprang eternal. If her mother’s five marriages and dozens of affairs hadn’t squeezed optimism and a belief in the power of love out of her, Dax Wakefield couldn’t kill them either.

“So tell me about your own happily ever after. Is Mr. Arundel your one true love?”

“I’m single,” she admitted readily. It was a common question from clients who wanted her credentials and the standard answer came easily now. “But it’s not a commentary on my services. You don’t decide against using a travel agent just because she hasn’t been to the resort you’re booking, right?”

“Right. But I would wonder why she became a travel agent if she doesn’t ever get on a plane.”

The crowd snickered and the muscles in her legs tensed. Oh, spotlight how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways...

She’d be happy to get on a plane if the right man came along. But clients were always right for someone else, not her, and well...she wasn’t the best at walking up to interesting men in public and introducing herself. Friday nights with a chick flick always seemed safer than battling the doubts that she wasn’t quite good enough, successful enough, or thin enough for dating.

She’d only agreed to this interview to promote her business. It was a necessary evil, and nothing other than EA International’s success could entice her into making such a public spectacle.

“I always fly first class myself, Mr. Wakefield,” she responded and if only her voice hadn’t squeaked, the delivery would have been perfect. “As soon as you’re ready to board, see me and I’ll put you on the right plane in the right seat to the right destination.

“What do I have to do?” he asked. “Fill out a profile online?”

Was he actually considering it? She swallowed and the really bad feeling she’d tamped down earlier roared back into her chest.

Talk him out of it.

It was a stupid idea in the first place. But how else could she have responded? He was disparaging not only her profession but a company with her name on it.

“Online profiles don’t work,” she said. “In order to find your soul mate, I have to know you. Personally.”

Dax’s eyelids drifted lower and he flashed a slumberous smile that absolutely should not have sent a zing through her stomach. “That sounds intriguing. Just how personal does this get, Ms. Arundel?”

Was he flirting? Well, she wasn’t. This was cold, hard business. “Very. I ask a series of intensive questions. By the time I’m finished, I’ll know you better than your own mother.”

Something dark skittered through Dax’s eyes but he covered it swiftly. “Tall order. But I don’t kiss and tell, especially not to my mama. If I do this, what happens if I don’t find true love? You’ll be exposed as a fraud. Are you sure you’re up for that?”

“I’m not worried,” she lied. “The only thing I ask is that you take this seriously. No cheating. If you commit to the process and don’t find true love, do your best to spread word far and wide that I’m not as good as I say I am.”

But she was that good. She’d written the matching algorithm herself, pouring countless hours into the code until it was bulletproof. People often perplexed her, but a program either worked or it didn’t, and she never gave up until she fixed the bug. Numbers were her refuge, her place of peace.

A well-written line of code didn’t care how many chocolate bars she ate. Or how easily chocolate settled on her hips.

“That’s quite a deal.” His gaze narrowed. “But it’s too easy. There’s no way I can lose.”

Because he believed she was pulling a fast one on her clients and that he’d never fall for it. “You’re right. You don’t lose either way. If you don’t find love, you get to tear my business apart in whatever way makes sense to you. If you do find love, well...” She shrugged. “You’ll be happy. And you’ll owe me.”

One brow quirked up and she refused to find it charming.

“Love isn’t its own reward?”

He was toying with her. And he wasn’t going to get away with it. “I run a business, Mr. Wakefield. Surely you can appreciate that I have expenses. Smoke and mirrors aren’t free.”

His rich laugh hit her crossways. Yeah, he had a nice laugh. It was the only nice anything he had that she’d admit to noticing. Dannie had certainly hit the mark when she described Dax Wakefield to Elise as “yummy with an extra helping of cocky and a side of reptile.”

“Careful, Ms. Arundel. You don’t want to give away all your secrets on the morning news.”

He shook his head, and his carefully coiffed hair bounced back into place. A guy as well put-together as Dax Wakefield hadn’t even needed an hour with a makeup artist to be camera-ready. It was so unfair.

“I’m not giving anything away. Especially not my matchmaking abilities.” Elise sat back in her chair. The farther away she was from Pretty Boy, the better. “So if you find true love, you’ll agree to advertise my business. As a satisfied client.”

His eyebrows shot up and the evidence of surprise gave her a little thrill that she wasn’t at all ashamed to wallow in.

If this had been about anything other than EA International, the company she’d breathed life into for seven years, she’d have been at a loss for words, stumbling around looking for the exit.

But attacking her business made it personal. And for what? Because his friend had broken the guy code? Dax needed someone to blame for Leo’s falling in love with Dannie, obviously, not that he’d admit it. Elise made a convenient scapegoat.

“You want me to advertise your services?” Incredulity laced his deep voice.

“If you find love, sure. I should get something out of this experiment, too. A satisfied client is the best reference.” A satisfied client who’d previously denounced her skill set in public was worth more than a million dollars in advertising. “I’ll even waive my fee if you do.”

“Now you’ve got me curious. What’s the going rate for true love these days?”

“Five hundred thousand dollars,” she said flatly.

“That’s outrageous.” But he looked impressed nonetheless. About time she got his attention.

“I have dozens of clients who disagree. I guarantee my fees, too. If you don’t find your soul mate, I refund your money. Well, not yours,” she conceded with a nod. “You get to put me out of business.”

That’s when she realized her mistake. You could only find a soul mate for someone who had a soul. Dax Wakefield had obviously sold his a long time ago. This was never going to work. Her code would probably chew him up and spit him out.

She had to get off this stage before all these eyes and lights and camera lenses baked her like a pie.

Rubbing his hands together with something resembling glee, he winked. “A proposition I can’t lose. I’m so on board with that, I’ll even do you one better than a simple reference. Five hundred K buys a fifteen-second spot during the Super Bowl. If you pull a rabbit out of your hat and match me with my true love, I’ll sing your praises right before halftime in a commercial starring moi.”

“You will not.” She let her gaze travel over his smooth, too-handsome face, searching for a clue to his real intentions.

Nothing but sincerity radiated back. “I will. Except I won’t have to. You’ll need a lot more than smoke and mirrors to win.”

Win. As though this was a race.

“Why, because even if you fall in love, you’ll pretend you haven’t?”

A lethal edge sharpened his expression. “I gave you my word, Ms. Arundel. I might be a cynic, but I’m not a liar.”

She’d offended him. His edges smoothed out so quickly, she would have thought she’d imagined it. But she knew what she’d seen. Dax Wakefield would not allow himself to win any other way than fair and square. And that decided it.

This...contest between them was about her as much as it was about EA International. As much about Dax’s views on love and relationships versus hers. If she matched him with his soul mate—not if, when—she’d prove once and for all that it didn’t matter what she looked like on the outside. Matching people who wanted to fall in love was easy. Finding a match for a self-professed cynic would be a stellar achievement worthy of everyone’s praise.

Her brain was her best asset and she’d demonstrate it publicly. The short fat girl inside who wanted her mother to love her regardless of Elise’s weight and height would finally be vanquished.

“Then it’s a deal.” Without hesitation, she slid her hand into his and shook on it.

Something bold and electric passed between them, but she refused to even glance at their joined fingers. Unfortunately, whatever it was that felt dangerous and the slightest bit thrilling came from deep inside her and needed only Dax’s dark gaze to intensify it.

Oh, goodness. What had she just agreed to?


Two (#u59f14349-7df2-521c-9e05-d20f9ff18df0)

The uncut footage was exceptional. Elise Arundel glowed on camera, just as Dax thought she would. The woman was stunning, animated. A real live wire. He peered at the monitor over the producer’s shoulder and earned a withering glare from the man trying to do his job.

“Fine,” Dax conceded with a nod to the producer. “Finish editing it and air the interview. It’s solid.”

Dallas’s answer to a fairy godmother was going to wave her magic wand and give KDLS the highest ratings the news show had seen in two weeks. Maybe even in this whole fiscal year.

It was totally worth having to go through the motions of whatever ridiculous process Ms. Arundel cooked up. The failure to find him a soul mate would be so humiliating, Dax might not even go through with denouncing her company afterward.

But that all depended on how miserable Elise deliberately tried to make him. He had no doubt she’d give it her best shot.

Within fifteen minutes, the producer had the interview clip queued and ready. The station crew watched it unfold on the monitors. As Dax hammered the matchmaker, she held her own. The camera even captured the one instance she’d caught him off balance.

Okay, so it had happened twice, but no one other than Dax would notice—he was nothing if not a master at ensuring that everyone saw him precisely as he meant for them to.

Elise Arundel was something else, he’d give her that.

Shame those great legs were attached to such a misguided romantic, whom he should hate a lot more than he actually did. She’d refused to take any crap and the one-up she’d laid on him with the satisfied client bit...well, she’d done exactly what he’d have done in her shoes.

It had been kind of awesome. Or it would have been if he’d escaped without agreeing to put his name in her computer.

Dax spent the rest of the day immersed in meetings with the station crew, hammering each department as easily as he had Elise. They had some preliminary numbers by lunch on the fairy godmother interview—and they were very good indeed—but one stellar day of ratings would not begin to make up for the last quarter.

As Dax slid into the driver’s seat of his Audi, his phone beeped and he thumbed up the text message.

Jenna: You could have dates lined up with five different women? Since you’re about to meet the love of your life...which is apparently not me...let’s make it four. I never want to see you again.

Dax cursed. How bad was it that he’d forgotten Jenna would most assuredly watch the program? Maybe the worse crime was the fact that he’d forgotten entirely about the redhead he’d been dating for four—no, five—weeks. Or was it closer to six?

He cursed again. That relationship had stretched past its expiration date, but he’d been reluctant to give it up. Obviously Jenna had read more into it than she should have. They’d been having fun and he’d told her that was the extent of it. Regardless, she deserved better than to find out she had more of an investment than Dax from a TV program.

He was officially the worst sort of dog and should be shot.

Next time, he’d be clearer up front—Dax Wakefield subscribed to the Pleasure Principle. He liked his women fun, sexy and above all, unattached. Anything deeper than that was work, which he had enough of. Women should be about decadent indulgence. If it didn’t feel good, why do it?

He drove home to the loft he’d bought in Deep Ellum before it was trendy and mentally scrolled through his contacts for just such a woman. Not one name jumped out. Probably every woman he’d ever spoken to had seen the clip. Didn’t seem as if there were much point in getting shot down a few more times tonight.

But jeez, spending the night alone sucked.

Stomach growling, Dax dumped his messenger bag at the door and strode to the stainless-steel-and-black-granite kitchen to survey the contents of his cupboard.

While pasta boiled, he amused himself by recalling Elise’s diabolical smile as she suggested Dax put his name in her computer. Sweet dreams were made of dark-haired, petite women.

He wasn’t looking forward to being grilled about his favorite color and where he went to college so Ms. Arundel could pull a random woman’s name out of her computer. But he was, oddly enough, looking forward to sparring with her some more.

* * *

The next morning, Dax opted to drive to his office downtown. He usually walked, both to get in the exercise and to avoid dealing with Dallas traffic, but Elise had scheduled their first session at the mutually agreed-upon time of 10:00 a.m.

By nine forty-seven, he’d participated in three conference calls, signed a contract for the purchase of a regional newspaper, read and replied to an in-box full of emails, and drunk two cups of coffee. Dax lived for Wakefield Media.

And now he’d have to sacrifice some of his day to the Fairy Godmother. Because he said he would.

Dax’s mother was a coldhearted, untrustworthy woman, but in leaving, had taught him the importance of living up to your word. That was why he rarely promised anything.

EA International resided in a tasteful two-story office building in Uptown. The clean, low-key logo on the door spoke of elegance and sophistication, exactly the right tone to strike when your clients were high-powered executives and entrepreneurs.

The receptionist took his name. Dax proceeded to wait until finally she showed him to a room with two leather chairs and a low table strewn with picture books, one sporting a blue-and-gold fish on the cover and another, a waterfall.

Boring. Did Ms. Arundel hope to lull her clients into a semi-stupor while she let them cool their heels? Looked as though he was about to find out.

Elise clacked into the room, high heels against the hardwood floor announcing her presence. He glanced up slowly, taking in her heels, those well-built legs, her form-fitting scarlet skirt and jacket. Normally he liked taller women, but couldn’t remember why just then. He kept going, thoroughly enjoying the trip to her face, which he’d forgotten was so arresting.

Her energy swept across him and prickled his skin, unnerving him for a moment. “You’re late.”

Her composed expression didn’t waver. “You were late first.”

Not that late. Ten minutes. Maybe. Regardless, she’d made him wait in this pseudo dentist’s office on purpose. Score one for the matchmaker. “Trying to teach me a lesson?”

“I assumed you weren’t going to show and took a call. I am running a business here.” She settled into the second chair and her knee grazed his.

She didn’t even seem to notice. His knee tingled but she simply crossed her legs and bounced one siren-red pump casually.

Just as casually, Dax tossed the fish book back on the table. “Busy day. The show does not go on without a lot of hands-on from yours truly.”

But that didn’t really excuse his tardiness. They were both business owners and he’d disrespected her. Unintentionally, but point taken.

“You committed to this. The profile session takes several hours. Put up or shut up.”

Hours? He nearly groaned. How could it possibly take that long to find out he liked football, hated the Dallas Cowboys, drank beer but only dark and imported, and preferred the beach to the mountains?

Dax drew out his phone. “Give me your cell phone number.” One of her eyebrows lowered and it was so cute, he laughed. “I’m not going to prank call you. If this is going to take hours, we’ll have to split up the sessions. Then I can text you if I’m going to be late to the next one.”

“Really?”

He shrugged, not certain why the derision in her tone raised his hackles. “Most women think it’s considerate to let them know if you’re held up. My apologies for assuming you fell into the category of females who appreciate a considerate man.”

“Apology accepted. Now you know I’m in the category of woman who thinks texting is a cop-out. Try an actual phone call sometime.” She smiled, baring her teeth, which softened the message not at all. “Better yet, just be punctual. Period.”

She’d accepted his quasi-apology, as if he’d meant to really convey regret instead of sarcasm.

“Personal questions and punctuality?” He tsked to cover what he suspected might be another laugh trying to get out. When was the last time he’d been taken to task so expertly? Like never. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Arundel.”

And she’d managed to evade giving out her digits. Slick. Not that he really wanted to call her. But still. It was kind of an amusing turnabout to be refused an attractive woman’s phone number.

“You can call me Elise.”

“Really?” It was petty repetition of her earlier succinct response. But in his shock, he’d let it slip.

“We’re going to be working together. I’d like it if you were more comfortable with me. Hopefully it’ll help you be more honest when answering the profile questions.”

What was it about her and the truth? Did he look that much like a guy who skated the edge between black and white? “I told you I’m not a liar, whether I call you Elise, Ms. Arundel or sweetheart.”

The hardness in her gaze melted, turning her irises a gooey shade of chocolate, and she sighed. “My turn to apologize. I can tell you don’t want to be here and I’m a little touchy about it.”

It was a rare woman who saw something other than what he meant for her to, and he did not want Elise to know anything about him, let alone against his will. Time for a little damage control.

“My turn to be confused. I do want to be here or I wouldn’t have agreed to our deal. Why would you think otherwise?”

She evaluated his expression for a moment and tucked the straight fall of dark hair behind her ear, revealing a pale column of neck he had an unexplainable urge to explore. See if he could melt those hard eyes a little more. Unadulterated need coiled in his belly.

Down, boy.

Elise hated him. He didn’t like her or anything she stood for. He was here to be matched with a woman who would be the next in a long line of ex-girlfriends and then declare EA International fraudulent. Because there was no way he’d lose this wager.

“Usually when someone is late, it’s psychological,” she said with a small tilt of her head, as if she’d found a puzzle to solve but couldn’t quite get the right angle to view it.

“Are you trying to analyze me?”

She scowled. “It’s not bargain-basement analysis. I have a degree in psychology.”

“Yeah? Me, too.”

They stared at each other for a moment, long enough for the intense spike in his abdomen to kick-start his perverse gene.

What was it about a smart woman that never failed to intrigue the hell out of him?

She broke eye contact and scribbled furiously in her notebook, color in her cheeks heightened.

She’d been affected by the heat, too.

He wanted to know more about Elise Arundel without divulging anything about himself that wasn’t surface-level inanity.

“The information about my major was a freebie,” he said. “Anything else personal you want to know is going to cost you.”

If they were talking about Elise—and didn’t every woman on the planet prefer to talk about herself?—Dax wouldn’t inadvertently reveal privileged information. That curtain was closed, and no one got to see backstage.

* * *

Elise was almost afraid to ask. “Cost me what?”

When Dax’s smoke-colored eyes zeroed in on her, she was positive she should be both afraid and sorry. His irises weren’t the black smoke of an angry forest fire, but the wispy gray of a late November hearth fire that had just begun to blaze. The kind of fire that promised many delicious, warm things to come. And could easily burn down the entire block if left unchecked.

“It’ll cost you a response in kind. Whatever you ask me, you have to answer, too.”

“That’s not how this works. I’m not trying to match myself.”

Though she’d been in the system for seven years.

She’d entered her profile first, building the code around the questions and answers. On the off chance a match came through, well, there was nothing wrong with finding her soul mate with her own process, was there?

“Come on. Be a sport. It’ll help me be more comfortable with baring my soul to you.”

She shook her head hard enough to flip the ends of her hair into her mouth. “The questions are not all that soul-baring.”

Scrambling wasn’t her forte any more than thinking on her feet, because that was a total misrepresentation. The questions were designed to strip away surface-level BS and find the real person underneath. If that wasn’t soul-baring, she didn’t know what was. How else could the algorithm find a perfect match? The devil was in the details, and she had a feeling Dax’s details could upstage Satan himself.

“Let’s find out,” he said easily. “What’s the first one?”

“Name,” she croaked.

“Daxton Ryan Wakefield. Daxton is my grandmother’s maiden name. Ryan is my father’s name.” He shuddered in mock terror. “I feel exposed sharing my history with a virtual stranger. Help a guy out. Your turn.”

This was so not a good idea. But he’d threatened her business, her livelihood. To prove her skills, his profile had to be right. Otherwise, he might be matched with an almost–soul mate or worse, someone completely incompatible. Dax wasn’t a typical paying client, and she couldn’t treat him like one. What was the harm in throwing him one bone? It wasn’t as if she had to answer all of the questions, just enough to get him talking.

“Shannon Elise Arundel.”

How in the world had that slipped out? She hadn’t told anyone that her real first name was Shannon in years. Her shudder of terror wasn’t faked.

Shannon, put down that cake. Shannon, have you weighed yourself today? Shannon, you might be vertically challenged but you don’t have to be horizontally challenged too.

The words were always delivered with the disapproving frown her mother saved for occasions of great disappointment. Frowning caused wrinkles and Brenna Burke hated wrinkles more than photographers.

Dax circled his finger in a get-on-with-the-rest motion. “No comment about how your father was Irish and wanted to make sure you had a bit of the old country in your name?”

“Nope. My name is very boring.”

Her mother was the Irish one, with milky skin and glowing red hair that graced magazine covers and runways for twenty years. Brenna Burke, one of the world’s original supermodels, had given birth to a short Black Irish daughter prone to gaining weight by simply looking at cookies. It was a sin of the highest order in Brenna’s mind that Elise had a brain instead of beauty.

Dax quirked his mouth in feigned disappointment. “That’s okay. We can’t all have interesting stories attached to our names. Where did you grow up?”

“This is not a date.” The eye roll happened involuntarily, but the exasperation in her voice was deliberate. “I’m asking the questions.”

“It’s kind of like a date,” he mused brightly as if the thought fascinated him. “Getting to know each other. Awkward silences. Both of us dressed just a little bit more carefully than normal.”

She glanced down at her BCBG suit, which she’d snipped the tags from that morning. Because red made her feel strong and fierce, and a session with Dax called for both. So what? “This is how I dress every day.”

Now she felt self-conscious. Did the suit and five-inch stilettos seem as though she was trying too hard?

“Then I’m really looking forward to seeing what you look like tomorrow.” He waggled his brows.

“Let’s move on,” she said before Dax drove her insane. “This is not a date, nor is it kind of like a date, and I’m getting to know you, not the other way around. So I can find you a match.”

“Too bad. A date is the best place to see me in action.” When she snorted, he inclined his head with a mischievous smile. “That’s not what I meant, but since you started it, my favorite part of dates is anticipating the first kiss. What’s yours?”

She lifted her gaze from his parted lips and blinked at the rising heat in his expression. The man had no shame. Flirting with his matchmaker, whose business he was also trying to destroy.

“Jedi mind tricks only work on the weak-minded. Tell me more about what you like about dating. It’s a great place to start.”

He grinned and winked. “Deflection only works on those who graduated at the bottom of their class. But I’ll let it pass this time. I like long walks on the beach, hot tubs and dinner for two on the terrace.”

Clearly this was slated to be the battle of who had the better psychology degree. Fine. You want to play, let’s play.

“Why don’t you try again, but this time without the Love Connection sound bite? I didn’t ask what you liked to do on dates. I asked what you like about dating.”

“I like sex,” he said flatly. “In order to get that, dating is a tiresome requirement. Is that what you’re looking for?”

“Not really. Plus it’s not true.” His irises flashed from hearth-fire smoke to forest-fire smoke instantly and she backpedaled. “I don’t mean you’re lying. Get a grip. I mean, you don’t have to date someone to have sex. Lots of women would gladly line up for a roll in the sheets with a successful, sophisticated man.”

Who had a face too beautiful to be real, the physique of an elite athlete and eyelashes her mother would kill for. Not that she’d noticed.

“Would you?”

“I don’t do one-night stands.”

She frowned. When was the last time she’d even been on a date? Oh, yeah, six months ago—Kory, with a K. She should have known that one wouldn’t work out the instant he’d introduced himself as such.

“There you go. A woman who would isn’t worth my time.”

Her head snapped back. Was that a compliment? More flirting? The truth?

“So you aren’t just looking for sex. You want to put some effort into a relationship. Have drinks, spend some time together. And you want to know things about the women you date, their history, their likes and dislikes. Why?”

He contemplated her as he sat back in his chair, thumb to his jaw, a habit she’d noticed he fell into when she made the wheels in his convoluted head turn. Good.

“You’re much more talented than I imagined,” he allowed with a jerk of his chin. “I’m so impressed, I’m going to tell you why. It’s so I can buy her something she’d genuinely appreciate and give it to her on our next date.”

So the woman in question would sleep with him, no doubt. And it probably never failed. “Another example of a considerate man?”

“Sure. Women like to be treated well. I like women. Ergo, it’s no chore to do my best to make them happy.”

There had to be something wrong with that, but she couldn’t find the fault to save her life. Plus, the glow from his compliment still burned brightly. “If only all men subscribed to that theory. What do you find attractive in a woman?”

“Brains,” he said instantly and she didn’t even bother to write that down.

“You can’t tell if a woman has brains from across the room,” she responded drily. “If you walk into a bar, who catches your eye?”

“I don’t meet women in bars, and last time I walked into one, I got four stitches right here.” He tapped his left eyebrow, which was bisected by a faint line, and his chagrined smile was so infectious, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, you win that round. But I have to note something. Redhead, blonde? Voluptuous, athletic?”

“Would you believe it if I said I have no preference? Or at least that used to be true.” He swept her with a sizzling once-over that curled her toes involuntarily. “I might be reconsidering.”

“The more you try to unsettle me, the less it works,” she advised him and cursed the catch in her throat that told him her actual state far better than her words. This was ridiculous and getting them nowhere. “You promised to take this seriously and all I know about you so far is that distraction and verbal sleight of hand are your standard operating procedure. What are you hiding?”

The flicker of astonishment darting through his expression vanished when a knock sounded on the door. Dang it. She’d hardly begun to dig into the good stuff.

Elise’s assistant, Angie, stuck her head in and said, “Your next appointment is here.”

Both she and Dax shot startled glances at their watches. When he hadn’t shown, she’d scheduled another appointment. How had the minutes vanished so quickly?

He stood immediately. “I’m late for a meeting.”

What did it say that they’d both lost track of the hour? She nodded. “Tomorrow, then. Same time, same bat channel?”

He grinned. “You’ve got yourself a date, Ms. Arundel.”


Three (#u59f14349-7df2-521c-9e05-d20f9ff18df0)

Dax whistled a nameless tune as he pulled open the door to EA International. Deliberately late, and not at all sorry.

Today, he was in charge, and Elise would not get the drop on him again. He’d give her enough information to make it seem that he was going along willingly, simultaneously dragging out their interaction a little longer. Long enough to figure out what about Elise got under his skin, anyway. Then he was done here.

“Morning, Angie.” Dax smiled at the receptionist and handed her the vase of stargazer lilies he’d brought. “For you. Is Ms. Arundel’s calendar free?”

Angie moistened her lips and smiled in return. “Cleared, just as you requested yesterday. Thanks for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

“I’ll show myself to Ms. Arundel’s office.” He winked. “Don’t tell her I’m coming. It’s a surprise.”

When Dax blew through the door of Elise’s office, the location of which he’d noted yesterday on his way out, the look on her face was more wary disbelief than surprise.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” was all she said and ignored him in favor of typing on her laptop. The clacking was too rhythmic to produce actual comprehensible sentences.

Faking it. For him. Warmed his heart.

“I’m taking you to lunch,” he informed her. “Get your handbag and shut that thing down.”

That earned her attention. She pierced him with that laser-sharp gaze he suspected had the power to drill right through his skull and read his mind like a book. “Are you this egotistical with all women? I’m shocked you ever get a second date.”

“Yet I do. Have lunch with me and you’ll find out why.” He quirked a brow at her and pulled out the big guns. “Unless you’re afraid.”

She didn’t scowl, didn’t immediately negate the statement. Instead, she smiled and clicked the laptop closed. “Can’t stand being under the spotlight, can you? If you don’t like the setting I use to walk through the profile questions, just tell me.”

A spontaneous and unexpected laugh shot from his mouth. Why was it such a surprise that she was on to him?

He held up both hands. “I surrender. You’re right. That little room with the fish book is like being in therapy. Restaurants are more relaxed.”

Elise opened a desk drawer and withdrew a brown leather bag. “Since my schedule is mysteriously clear, lunch it is. On one condition.” She cocked her head, sending her dark hair swinging against her chin. “Don’t evade, change the subject or try to outsmart me. Answer the questions so we can be done.”

“Aww. You’re not enjoying this?” He was. It was the most fun he’d had with a woman he wasn’t dating in his life.

“You’re quite honestly the most difficult, disturbing, contrary client I’ve ever dealt with.” She swept passed him in a cloud of unidentifiable perfume that hit him in the solar plexus, and then she shot back over her shoulder, “Which means you’re paying. But I’m driving.”

He grinned and followed her to the parking lot, then slid into the passenger seat of the sleek Corvette she motioned to. He would have opened her door, but she beat him to it.

New car smell wrapped around him. “Nice ride. I pegged you for more of a Toyota girl.”

She shrugged. “Even fairy godmothers like to arrive at the ball in style.”

“I’m not threatened by a woman driving, by the way.” He crossed his arms so he didn’t accidentally brush shoulders with Elise. The seats were really close together. Perfect for lovers. Not so good for business associates. “Just in case you were worried.”

Elise selected an out-of-the-way bistro-type place without asking him and told the hostess they’d prefer to sit outside, also without his input. The wrought iron chairs and tables on the terrace added French charm and the wine list was passable, so he didn’t mind. But two could play that game, so he ordered a bottle of Chianti and nodded to the waiter to pour Elise a glass whether she wanted one or not.

“To loosen you up?” she asked pertly and picked up her glass to sniff the bloodred wine with appreciation.

“Nah. To loosen you up.” He dinged their rims together and watched her drink. Elise liked red wine. He filed that tidbit away. “I didn’t actually agree to your condition, you know.”

“I noticed. I’m banking on the fact that you’re a busy man and can’t continually take time away from work to finish something you don’t want to be doing in the first place. So don’t disappoint me. What’s the difference between love, romance and sex?”

Dax choked on the wine he’d just swallowed and spent his time recovering. “Give a guy a warning before you lay that kind of question on him.”

“Warning. Question imminent. Warning. Question imminent,” she intoned in such a perfect robot voice, he sputtered over a second sip, laughing this time.

For an uptight matchmaker, she had an offbeat sense of humor. He liked it. More than he should. It was starting to affect his focus and the more Elise charmed him, the less he remembered why it was important to punish her for Leo’s defection.

“Let’s see,” he said brusquely. “Fiction, Sade and yes, please.”

“Excuse me?”

“The answer to your question. Love equals fiction, Sade is romantic music and critical to set the mood, and I would assume ‘yes, please’ is self-explanatory in relation to sex.”

“That’s not precisely what I was looking for.”

“Then tell me what you would say. So I have an example to go by.”

“You never give up, do you?”

“Took you long enough to figure that out. So?” he prompted with raised eyebrows.

She sighed. “They’re intertwined so closely you can’t remove one without destroying the value of the other two.”

“That’s a loaded statement. Tell me more before I proceed to tear it apart.” He propped his chin on his hand and ignored the halibut a waiter placed in front of him, which he scarcely recalled ordering.

Her lips mushed together in apparent indecision. Or frustration. Hard to tell with her.

“You can have sex without being in love or putting on romantic music. But it’s so much better with both. Without love and romance, sex is meaningless and empty.”

As she warmed to the topic, her expression softened and that, plus the provocative subject matter, plus the warm breeze playing with her hair, plus...whatever it was about her that drew him all swirled together and spread like a sip of very old, very rare cognac in his chest. “Go on.”

“On the flip side, you can certainly make a romantic gesture toward someone you’re in love with and not end up in bed. But the fact that you’ve been intimate magnifies it. Makes it more romantic. See what I mean?”

“Philosophy.” He nodded sagely and wondered if the thing going on inside might be a heart attack. “I see. You want to understand how I feel about the three, not give you examples. Rookie mistake. Won’t happen again.”

“Ha. You did it on purpose so you could probe me.”

That was so close to the truth, the back of his neck heated. Next his ears would turn red and no woman got to have that strong of an effect on him. “Yeah, well, guess what? I like the spotlight. When you accused me of that earlier, it was nothing but a classic case of projection. You don’t like the spotlight so you assumed that was the reason I didn’t want to sit under yours.”

She didn’t so much as flinch. “Then what is the reason you went to such great lengths to get me out of the office?”

The shrewd glint in the depths of those chocolaty irises tipped him off that he hadn’t been as slick with the schedule-clearing as he believed. Odds were, she’d also figured out that she’d hit a couple of nerves yesterday and lunch was designed to prevent that from happening again.

“That’s your turf.” He waved at the crowd of tables, people and ambiance. “This is mine.”

“And I’m on it, with nary a peep. Cut me some slack. Tell me what your ideal mate brings to the relationship.”

“A lack of interest in what’s behind the curtain,” he said instantly as if the answer had been there all along. Though he’d never so much as thought about the question, not once, and certainly wouldn’t have told her if she hadn’t made the excellent point about the turf change.

But lack of interest wasn’t quite right. It was more the ability to turn a blind eye. Someone who saw through the curtain and didn’t care that backstage resembled post-tornado wreckage.

Was that why he broke up with women after the standard four weeks—none thus far had that X-ray-vision-slash-blind-eye quality?

“Good.” Elise scribbled in her ever-present notebook. “Now tell me what you bring to her.”

When she’d called the questions intensive, she wasn’t kidding. “What, presents aren’t enough?”

“Don’t be flip. Unless you want me to assume you bring nothing to a relationship and that’s why you shy away from them.” A light dawned in her eyes. “Oh. That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t think you have anything to offer.”

“Wait a minute. That’s not what I said.” This conversation had veered way too far off the rails for comfort.

He’d agreed to this ridiculous idea of being matched only because he never thought it would work. Instead, Elise challenged his deep-seated beliefs at every turn with a series of below-the-belt hits. That was not supposed to happen.

“Then say what you mean,” she suggested quietly. “For once. If you found that woman, the one who didn’t care what was behind your curtain, what do you have to offer her in return?”

“I don’t know.” It was the most honest answer he could give. And the most unsettling.

He shoveled food in his mouth in case she asked a follow-up question.

What did he have to offer in a relationship? He’d never considered it important to examine, largely because he never intended to have a relationship. But he felt deficient all at once.

“Fair enough. I get that these questions are designed to help people who are looking for love. You’re not. So we’ll move on to the lightning round.” Her sunny tone said she knew she was letting him off the hook and it was okay.

Oddly grateful, he nodded and relaxed. “I rule at lightning rounds.”

“We’ll see, Mr. Wakefield. Glass half-full, or half-empty?”

“Technically, it’s always full of both air and water.” Her laugh rumbled through him and he breathed a little easier. Things were clicking along at a much safer level now, and eating held more appeal.

“That’s a good one. Apple or banana?”

“What is that, a Freudian question? Apple, of course.”

“Actually, apples have biblical connotations. I might interpret it as you can’t stay away from the tree of knowledge,” she said with a smirk. “What relieves stress?”

“Sex.”

She rolled her eyes. “I probably didn’t need to ask that one. Do you believe in karma?”

These were easy, surface-level questions. She should have started with them. “No way. Lots of people never get what’s coming to them.”

“That is so true.” She chuckled with appreciation and shook her head.

“Don’t freak out but I do believe you’re enjoying this after all.”

Her smile slipped but she didn’t look away. This might not be a date, but he couldn’t deny that lunch with Elise was the most interesting experience he’d had with a woman, period. Even ones he was dating.

The longer this went on, the harder it was going to be to denounce her publicly. She was good—much better than he’d prepared for—and to criticize her abilities would likely reflect just as poorly on him as it did her.

Worse, he was afraid he’d started to like her. He should probably do something about that before she got too far under his skin.

* * *

By one o’clock, Elise’s side hurt from laughing. Wine at lunch should be banned. Or required. She couldn’t decide which.

“I have to get back to the office,” she said reluctantly.

Reluctantly? She had a ton of things to do. And this was lunch with Dax. Whom she hated...or rather didn’t like very much. Actually, he was pretty funny and maybe a little charming. Of course he was—he had lots of practice wooing women.

Dax made a face. “Yeah. Duty calls.”

He stood and gallantly took her hand, while simultaneously pulling her chair away. It was amazingly well-coordinated. Probably because he’d done it a million times.

They strolled to the car and she pretended that she didn’t notice how slowly, and she didn’t immediately fish her keys from her bag. Dax put his palm on the driver’s-side door, leaning against it casually, so she couldn’t have opened it anyway. Deliberately on his part, she was sure.

She should call him on it.

“Tomorrow, then?” he asked.

Elise shook her head. “I’m out of the office tomorrow. I have a thing with my mother.”

Brenna had an appointment with a plastic surgeon in Dallas because the ones in L.A. stopped living up to her expectations. Apparently she couldn’t find one who could make her look thirty again.

“All day?” Dax seemed disappointed. “You can’t squeeze in an hour for me?”

No way was he disappointed. She shook her head. The wine was affecting her more than she’d thought.

“I have to pick her up from the airport and then take her to the doctor.” Oh, that might have been too much information. “I need to ask for your discretion. She wouldn’t like it if she knew I was talking to others about her private affairs.”

“Because your mother is famous or something?”

Elise heaved a sigh. “I assumed you checked up on me and therefore already knew I was Brenna Burke’s daughter. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

Stupid wine.

“Brenna Burke is your mother?” Dax whistled. “I had a poster of her above my bed when I was a teenager. The one where she wore the bikini made of leaves. Good times.”

“Thanks, I needed the image in my head of you fantasizing about my mother.” That’s precisely why she never mentioned Brenna. Not only because of the ick factor, but also because no one ever whistled over Elise. It was demoralizing. “You know she was thirty-five in that photo, right?”

Elise called it her mother’s I’m-not-old stage, when the hot runway models were closer to her nine-year-old daughter’s age than Brenna’s, and the offers of work had all but dried up.

I should have waited to have kids, Brenna had told her. Mistake Number One talked me into it. Being pregnant and off the circuit ruined me.

Bitter, aging supermodels took out their frustration on those around them, including Elise’s father, dubbed Mistake Number One when he grew tired of Brenna’s attitude and left. Adult Elise knew all this from her psychology classes. Still hurt, even years later.

“So?” Dax sighed lustily. “I didn’t care. She was smoking hot.”

“Yeah. So I’ve been told.” She feigned sudden interest in her manicure, unable to take the appreciation for her mother in Dax’s expression.

“Elise.” His voice held a note of...warmth. Compassion.

Somehow, he’d steered her around, spine against the car, and then he was right there, sandwiching her between his masculine presence and the Vette.

He tipped her head up with a fist and locked those smoky irises on hers and she couldn’t breathe. “Tastes change. I like to think I’ve evolved since I was fourteen. Older women aren’t so appealing anymore.”

She shrugged. “Whatever. It hardly matters.”

“It does.” The screeches and hums of the parking lot and chatter of other diners faded away as he cocked his head and focused on her. “I hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”

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.

Who in the world did she have in her system to match that?

Usually she had a pretty good idea who the match would be ahead of time. One of the benefits of administering the profile sessions herself—she knew her clients very well.

A slice of fear ripped through her. What if the program couldn’t find a match? It happened occasionally. The algorithms were so precise that sometimes clients had to wait a few months, until she entered new clients.

Dax would never accept that excuse. He’d call foul and claim victory right then and there. Either he’d crow about proving Elise a sham or worse, claim she’d withheld the name on purpose to avoid the fallout when the match wasn’t the love of his life.

Newly determined, she shut down the almost-naked pictures of Dax and flipped to the profile screen. She flew through the personal information section and consulted her notes before starting on the personality questions.

That went easily, too. In fact, she didn’t even have to glance at the scribbled words in her notebook.

Do you want to be in love? She typed yes. He did, he just hadn’t found the right person yet, or he wouldn’t have agreed to be matched. Plus, she’d watched his face when he described a woman who didn’t care about whatever he hid behind his curtain. That man wanted to connect really, really badly with someone who got him.

How do you sabotage relationships? She snorted and typed “by only dating women he has no chance of falling in love with.”

When she reached the last question, she breathed a sigh of relief. Not so bad. Thank goodness she wouldn’t have to see him again. A quick phone call to set up his first meet with the match and she’d be done with Dax Wakefield.

She hit Save and ran the match algorithm. Results came back instantly. Fantastic. She might even treat herself to half a carton of Chunky Monkey as a reward. She clicked on the pop-up link and Dax’s match was...Elise Arundel.

No! She blinked, but the letters didn’t change.

That was so wrong, she couldn’t even put words together to say how wrong.

She ran the compiler again. Elise Arundel.

Stomach cramping with dread, she vised her temples. That’s what she got for not asking him all the questions. For letting her professional ethics slide away in the wake of the whirlwind named Dax.

He’d think she did it on purpose—because she’d started to fall for his slick charm. If she actually told him she was his match, he’d smirk with that knowing glint in his eyes and...

She’d skewed the results. That had to be it. Talk about your Freudian slipups—she’d been thinking about the almost-kiss and the almost-naked pictures and his laugh and thus answered the questions incorrectly.

Besides, the short, fat girl inside could never be enough to change Dax Wakefield’s mind about love. She had to match him with someone else.

Her fingers shook and she could hardly type, but those answers had to change. He didn’t want to be in love. Total projection on her part to say that he did, exactly as he’d accused her of earlier. She fixed that one, then the next one and eventually worked her way back through the profile

There. She clicked Run and shut her eyes.

This time, the pop-up opened to reveal...Candace Waters.

Perfect. Candy was a gorgeous blonde with a high-school education. Dax would love running intellectual circles around her and Candy liked football. They’d get along famously.

No one ever had to know Elise had nearly screwed up.


Four (#u59f14349-7df2-521c-9e05-d20f9ff18df0)

When an unrecognized number flashed on Dax’s phone, he almost didn’t answer it.

Instead of working, as he should be, he’d been watching his phone, hoping Elise might call today.

He couldn’t get that moment against the car out of his head, that brief flicker in her gaze that said she didn’t hate him anymore and better yet, didn’t see him as a match to be pawned off on some other female. Before he’d had time to explore what she did feel, she’d bolted, leaving him to wonder if he’d imagined it.

He should call her already. It was only a conversation to schedule the next session, which would likely be the last. What was the big deal about calling? It wasn’t as if she’d answer the main line at EA International anyway. He could schedule the appointment through Angie and go on with his day.

The quicker they finished the sessions, the closer Elise would be to be finding him a match, at which point he’d prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Elise’s matchmaking service fronted as a school for gold diggers. Then, the cold place inside that had developed during the rift with Leo could be warmed nicely by the flames of EA International roasting on the morning news.

A prospect that held less and less appeal the more time he spent with Elise.

The dilemma ate at him, and if he didn’t see her again, he didn’t have to think about it. That’s why he didn’t call.

But Dax answered his phone, mentally preparing to spiel off a contract’s status or sales figures—pending the caller’s identification. “Wakefield.”

“It’s Elise Arundel.” The smooth syllables hit him in all the right places. “Do you have a few minutes?”

He should have called her. Elise had a sexy phone voice.

Grinning like a loon for who knew what reason, Dax settled back in his chair and put his feet out. “Depends on what for. If it’s lightning round two, yes.”

Elise’s chuckle was a little on the nervous side. “I’m afraid that’s not the reason for my call. Actually, I have good news on that front. More sessions aren’t required after all. I’ve got your match.”

Oh, wow. This thing had just become nauseatingly real.

“Already? That is good news,” Dax said heartily. It was good news. The best. He didn’t have to see Elise again, exactly as he wanted.

And a little voice inside was singing, Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“So,” Elise chimed in quickly, “I’m calling to set up your first meet with your match, Candace. She prefers to be called Candy, though.”

“Candy.” That was something you ate, not someone you dated, and sounded suspiciously like a name for a coed. “She’s legal, right?”

“You mean is she over the age of eighteen?” Elise’s withering tone put the grin back on his face. “What kind of matchmaker do you take me for? She’s twenty-eight and works as a paralegal for Browne and Morgan.”

“Just checking. What’s the drill? I’m supposed to call her and set up a date or something?”

“That’s up to you. I’ve emailed her picture to you, and I’ve sent yours to her. If you’re both agreeable to meeting, I’d be happy to coordinate or you can go it alone from here.”

Curiosity got the best of him and he shouldered the phone to his ear so he could click through his email. There it was—“Sender: Elise Arundel, Subject: Candace Waters.” He opened it and a picture of Candy popped onto the screen.

Holy hell. She was gorgeous. Like men-falling-over-themselves-to-get-her-a-drink gorgeous. Not at all what he was expecting. “Is she one of your makeover success stories?”

If so, Elise might have a bit more magic in her wand than he’d credited.

“Not everyone is in need of a makeover. Candy came to me as is.”

Nice. Not a gold digger then. He took a closer look. She was blonde-with-a-capital-B, wearing a wicked smile that promised she had the moves to back it up. He would have noticed her across the room in a heartbeat.

For the first time, he got an inkling that this whole deal might be legitimate. “She’ll do.”

Then he returned to planet earth. There was a much greater chance that Candy had something really wrong with her if she’d resorted to a matchmaker to find a date.

“I had a feeling you’d like her,” Elise said wryly. “She’s perfect for you.”

Because something was really wrong with him too?

Elise was obviously running around wielding her psychology degree like a blunt instrument. She’d probably come up with all kinds of bogus analyses about his inability to commit and his mama issues—bogus because he didn’t have a problem committing as long as the thing had Wakefield Media stamped on it. Females were a different story. He’d die before letting a woman down the way his mother had let down his father, and he’d never met someone worth making that kind of promise to.

No doubt Elise had warned Candy about what she’d gotten herself into. Maybe she’d given Candy hints about how to get under his skin. Elise certainly had figured out how to do that well enough. And of course Elise had a vested interest in making sure Candy made him happy. This woman he’d been matched with might even be a plant. Some actress Elise had paid to get him to fall in love with her.

That...schemer.

Thank God he never had to see Elise again. A paralegal sounded like a blessed reprieve from razor-sharp matchmakers with great legs.

“I’ll call her. Then I expect you’ll want a full report afterward, right?”

The line went dead silent.

“Still there, Elise?”

“Not a full report.”

“About whether she’s my soul mate. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

For some reason, that made Elise laugh and muscles he hadn’t realized were tense relaxed.

“Yeah, I do want that report. I guess we never really laid down the ground rules of how this deal was going to go. Do we need an unbiased third party to verify the results?”

A judge? Suddenly, he felt like a bug pinned to cork. “The fewer people involved in this, the better. I’ll call you afterward and we’ll go from there. How’s that?”

“Uncomplicated. I can get on board with that. Have a good time with Candy. Talk to you later.”

The line went dead for the second time and Dax immediately saved Elise’s number to his contacts. It gave him a dark little kick to have the matchmaker’s phone number when she’d been so adamantly against giving it to him.

Then he dialed Candy’s number, which Elise had included with the picture. His perverse gene wanted to find out if Candy was on the up-and-up. If Elise had hired someone to date him, he’d cry foul so fast it would make her head spin. And he’d never admit it was exactly what he’d have done.

* * *

Dax handed the valet his Audi’s key fob and strolled into the wine bar Candy had selected for their first meet. She wasn’t difficult to find—every eye in the room was on the sultry blonde perched on a bar stool.

Then every eye in the room turned to fixate on him as he moved forward to buss Candy on the cheek. “Hi. Nice place.”

They’d conversed on the phone a couple of times. She had a pleasant voice and seemed sane, so here they were.

She peered up at him out of china doll–blue eyes that were a little less electric in person than they’d been on his laptop screen. No big deal. Her sensual vibe definitely worked for his Pleasure Principle—she’d feel good, all right, and better the second time.

“You look exactly like your picture,” she said, her voice a touch breathier than it had been on the phone. “I thought you’d swiped it from a magazine and you’d turn out to be average-looking. I’m glad I was wrong.”

Dax knew what reflected back at him in the mirror; he wasn’t blind, and time had been kind to his features. It was stupid to be disappointed that she’d commented on his looks first. But why did his cheekbones have to be the first thing women noticed about him?

Most women. He could have been wearing a paper bag over his head for all the notice Elise had taken of his outward appearance. One of the first things she’d said to him was that he was lonely.

And as Candy blinked at him with a hint of coquettishness, he experienced an odd sense of what Elise meant. Until a woman ripped that curtain back and saw the man underneath the skin, it was all just going through the motions. And Dax dated women incapable of penetrating his cynical hide.

How had he just realized that?

And how dare Elise make him question his dating philosophy? If she was so smart, why hadn’t she figured out he was dating the wrong women?




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