Breaking the Bachelor (Entangled Lovestruck) (Smart Cupid) (7 page)

Chapter Seven

@Goodman Dating is a minefield of crazy.

@SmartCupid Matchmaking is a science, but not every match that looks perfect on paper is perfect in love. Do. Not. Panic. Refine your criteria and recalculate.

“For an experienced matchmaker, you’re awfully confused about your role here, Jane. You’re supposed to set up the dates, not go on them.” Charlie reached behind the bar for the remote, flipped over to the Rangers game, and tossed her a wink. “In case you want to watch the game while you’re on your little stakeout.”

Taking a sip of her drink, Jane eyed him sweetly over the rim of the glass. “Don’t worry, big guy. I only came by to see if you were actually wearing the Rangers T-shirt and…incredibly, you are,” she said, taking in his shirt with a look that was all double cool with ice. “Just go on with your date and pretend I’m not here.”

Yeah, right. She looked too damned good to ignore, all five-feet-sexy-something poured onto the barstool, wrapped up like an invitation in her white button-down and dark jeans, her sleek black coat thrown casually across the back of the chair. She leaned over the bar to nab the extra cherry for her drink, and inadvertently offered him a view of her cleavage that was so fantastic, Charlie thought he’d died and gone to Victoria’s Secret.

He took a pull from his beer to cool down. “And here I was thinking you’d shown up for a round of pool.”

“No, but I’m sure Summer is enjoying your talent for running the table,” she said, peering around his shoulder to scan the crowd. “Speaking of which, where is Summer?”

The über-casual, offhand smile she’d plastered on her pretty face didn’t fool him. Either she was in some serious denial regarding her feelings about his date or she’d suddenly developed an acute interest in pool-playing skills. Odds were even.

“Summer got a call she had to take, and she also wanted to touch up her lipstick. Most of it came off when she devoured my hot…” He deliberately let the reply trail away and glanced toward the back of the bar as if his date might stroll out of the ladies room any minute, all dolled up and ready to let him take her home. Jane craned her neck to see past him.

“While she devoured your…what?” she prompted, and tilted so far, she almost fell off the barstool.

The new server, Aaron, dropped off a plate piled high with honey-barbeque wings as she gamely righted herself. Then, he delivered the fries.

“While she devoured my hot wings.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, please. Did this hot wings and hockey routine ever really work for you?”

“I seem to remember it working for you once upon a time.” That’s why he’d ordered her the plate of wings. And the basket of extra crispy fries.

The eyebrow slammed down and her face settled into the give-nothing-away expression she’d inherited from the gambling branch of her family tree. Very convincing, except her gaze kept darting to the plates in front of her. A silent moment passed while she tried to pretend wings and fries didn’t seduce her as effectively as champagne and caviar did some women. One long inhale and her cool facade evaporated. She dove into the plate.

A smile got the best of him, but Charlie wasn’t ready to forfeit his hand. He leaned closer and whispered into the slim space between them, “Between you and me, angel, that dating matrix of yours is genius.”

Jane licked the honey-barbeque sauce from her fingers, having already worked her way through two drumsticks. “Genius?”

“Total genius.” For emphasis, he tapped the cotton candy colored folder sitting on the bar, the one labeled, The Cupid Report. “At first I wasn’t convinced. She was sweet and a little shy, but then we played a couple rounds of Nine Ball.” He let go a low whistle as she added a stack of fries to her plate. “A game of pool is always a nice, easy way to get up close and personal.”

“Up close and personal?”

Tilting back his bottle, he took a sip of his beer and continued, “Not too many better ways to get know each other, maybe enjoy a little playful competition.”

“Playful competition?” An adorable indentation formed between her brows as she glanced toward the back of the bar one more time.

He kept his voice low and quiet, like a secret, and said, “Figured I’d get behind her and teach her how to hold a stick. Turns out she’s got natural talent.”

Eyes wide, she pushed the appetizers to the side and pulled a toffee-nut bar out of the hidden compartment inside that wallet-type thing she carried. He fought back a grin. He’d barely started and she was already breaking into her emergency sugar stash.

“I love a woman with a slow, sexy pullback. Especially when she knows how to take it straight and smooth and steady, waiting for the exact right moment until—boom.” He tilted his beer in her direction. “Down and in.” He tossed her another wink. “Corner pocket for the win.”

The tear of the candy wrapper served as her response, and she bit into the chocolate as if her life depended on it. Maybe she didn’t recognize a serious redirection of repressed sexual need in her chocolate craving, but he sure as hell did.

She closed her eyes, chewed slowly, and swallowed, then ran her tongue along her lower lip, licking away some residual chocolate. He took a sip of his beer and inwardly winced. Touché on redirection of repressed sexual need. How long would it take to un-repress it?

At least one thing was clear. No matter what she said, Jane didn’t like the idea of him playing it dirty with another woman. And he was fine with that. He was getting under her skin and he wanted to find out exactly how far he could push.

He took another pull from his beer and tapped into his inner Salt n’ Peppa.
Time to push it.
“Dinner’s on the house, Jane. It’s the least I can do to thank you and your compatibility matrix for sending Summer my way. Do you know she used to be a gymnast? Yep.” He nodded and grinned. “She’s double jointed. All kinds of bendy. Apparently there’s this little trick she can do where she—”

“Can I get a piece of that double chocolate cheesecake, please?” she asked, grabbing Aaron’s shirt as he passed by on his way to the end of the bar.

Charlie hooked his foot underneath her barstool and dragged it close enough to bump up against his own. “She’s also a gourmet cook, too. Breakfast is her specialty.” Her bourbon eyes stared back at him, wide and tinged with green. Oh yeah, there was no denying the bit of good old-fashioned jealousy at the edge of those eyes. Hell, if she was getting this riled up thinking about him playing pool with another woman, it was only a matter of time before he had her.
Hook. Line. Sinker.

“Charlie, I’m sorry about the cocktail napkin.” Her gaze dropped to her red sneakers, the right one half-tied as it dangled over the bottom rung of the barstool.

Damn those red sneakers.
She’d gone and turned the tables on him. He’d been loving this God-given opportunity to awaken her little green monster and now those untied red sneakers were about to become his Kryptonite, a reminder of their past and what he owed her family, a cue to lay off, do the right thing, and forget about settling old scores.

After a sip of her drink, she continued. “Taking off the way I did, not returning your calls…” She shook her head and looked over at him. “The point is, you deserved better and I’m glad my matrix found the perfect woman for you.”

Yeah, his whole revenge plan had just Schwarzenegger’d it out of the building.

Hasta la vista, payback. Epa chamo, friendship.

Charlie held up his hand. “I didn’t say she’s the perfect woman for me. She’s gorgeous. We have loads of chemistry, and a shared interest in…gymnastics. But is she ‘The One’? Way too soon to tell. I don’t care how positive your matrix is.”

“Don’t dis the matrix because you can’t commit. Your date tonight was a ninety-six point match.” The toe of her sneaker tapped a staccato rhythm against the bottom rung of the barstool. “A ninety-six point match is statistically perfect.”

“She’s hot and everything, but let’s face it, any woman who refuses to eat hot wings—”

“I arrange a dinner date for you with a woman who fits your criteria perfectly, and you feed her hot wings at the bar and you’re not sure about her?”

“She’s a vegetarian, for Christ sakes. Even if there’s a lot of chemistry, that’s got to be a serious consideration.”

“Matchmaking might not be enough for you,” she said, in obvious frustration. “You might need some kind of dating surgery. A brand new amygdala.”

“An amygdala?”

She nodded. “The subcortical structure central to the limbic system. The emotional circuit center of the brain.”

He stared at her and said nothing for a full minute. “Why do you know this stuff?”

“I’m in the business of emotions. Did you think I had a box of matchmaking tips under my bed? Some kind of starter kit?” Jane worked her way back to the wings and fries. “Love is a serious business. New York is full of brokenhearted people with crushed amygdalae,” she continued. “People whose steamrolled limbic systems suffer like beaten-up cartoon piñatas.” She lowered her voice and shot a look toward the back of the bar. “And I am not about to let Summer become one of them all because of your fascination with chemistry.”

“I’m not about to do anything with Summer’s limbic system…not unless she asks me to.”

The muscles in her jaw worked, an obvious indication that he’d moved under her skin. “Listen, if you want a match to stick, you need to offer up some romance. Not just chemistry and bendy gymnastic tricks.” She emptied half the ketchup bottle onto the basket of fries, sorted them by salt coverage, and shoved a few into her mouth. “In your Casanova days, you would’ve known that instinctively. Like a baby mobster knows about a shake down.”

“What are you talking about? You love hockey.” Charlie motioned toward the television. “Besides, as far as women and romance go, I don’t remember any complaints.” He leaned in extra-close. “Certainly not tonight.”

She shoveled in a few more fries. “Seriously, what happened to your amygdala?”

Charlie swirled a piece of her celery into the ranch—not bleu cheese—that she preferred. “Some woman wrapped it up for me in a cocktail napkin.”

Her eyes flashed with an emotion that looked a hell of a lot like guilt. Or jealousy. Or just sheer pissed-offed-ness. “You cannot hold me responsible for the defunct nuclei in your temporal lobes. Because I’m pretty sure it wasn’t fully functional long before me. We could go through the phone book and catch up on a few of your former flames—”

He leaned over the bar to grab his cell phone. “Only if you really want to.”

She groaned and waved a hand at the game on the television. “You can’t just offer up hot wings, hockey, and incredible sex to a perfect ninety-six match, along with a ‘let’s have some fun,’ attitude! No woman—no matter how sweet or double-jointed—wants to date Fanatical Sports Guy, the guy every dating manual says to steer clear of unless she wants to end up living in her in-law’s basement.”

He pocketed his phone and turned his attention to the game. “Janey, give me a break here. The Rangers are looking at the playoffs.”

“And I’m looking at a guy with a damaged amygdala, that’s all I’m saying.”

He shifted closer, a smile edging across his face. “Nothing’s wrong with my amygdala, angel, and I’m not a Fanatical Sports Guy. I just like sports. All. Kinds. Of. Sports.” He raised his eyebrows and let his implication brew in her overactive imagination before turning his attention back to the game, only half watching, the other half of him still plotting a coup d’état of chemistry over logic. “Holy Mother of Christ, did you see that hit?” He looked back at Janey who, for the first time since she’d swayed back into his life, looked uncertain.

“Where’s Summer?” Her hushed words called his bluff.

He grinned back because he’d been expecting the question. “Nice girl, but I called her a taxi about an hour ago.”

She grabbed a hold of his collar and gave it a little tug. “So this was a setup?”

“You’re the one who was snooping.”

“Did you play nine ball?”

“No.” He leaned in close, until his mouth hovered mere inches away from hers.

“Did you kiss her?”

“No.” He smiled down at her. “Right now, the only woman I want to kiss is you.”

Chapter Eight

@smartCupid Ending a successful first date with a goodnight kiss is absolutely fine.

Jane’s common sense unraveled in a mad dash of kissing as she dragged him out the front door of the bar.

Charlie Goodman.

She was kissing her sexy, rule-breaking, drive-me-wild ex. Even though he wasn’t technically her ex. She drew him into a dimly lit corner of the art deco building and kissed him as if her life depended on it. The flickering streetlamp across the alleyway egged her on, telling her to “go for it.” But she dragged her lips away before her brain short-circuited completely.

“I’m not about to fall for you,” she said.

“I’m not asking you to fall.” His voice was an invitation to sin and she wondered if holding out was the smart move. But he was leaning. And hovering. And so close to kissing her.

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

And then she was kissing him again. And again. As they stumbled to the curb to hail a taxi. Up against the vinyl backseat of the cab as it sped across town. Until they spilled out of the cab onto the sidewalk in front of her building, all lip-locked and breathless.

She was giving into a jealousy-fueled and highly territorial impulse to stake her claim, and while she knew it was wrong on so many levels, to stop kissing him right now would shatter her heart into a million broken little pieces, so she was going to go along for the ride. She needed to keep her heart intact. The rest of it she’d figure out tomorrow.

Tonight had felt like her pre-fantasy island days with Charlie. Talking pool at Temptation. Listening while he confessed all the missteps of his dating life. Hockey. Hot wings.

Everything.

But better. She was kissing Charlie Goodman.

As the taxi sped away from the curb, she took his hand and drew him up the snow-covered steps outside her front door, ready for a post-date, goodnight kiss. Her eyelids dropped to half-mast as she sank her fingers into his hair and pulled his mouth down hard on hers.

He pulled back, his gray eyes dark with curiosity and heat, but—and maybe it was her imagination—almost tentative at their edges. “What about the no kissing rule?”

Jane bit her bottom lip. His low, husky voice uttering the word “kissing” caused her stomach to do a world-class somersault as she remembered their two amazing weeks of fun in the sun…and the shade…and pretty much everywhere in-between. Sweet, hopeful memories of Charlie’s hands—hands that had previously explored all the secret places of her body—flooded her system. Making love with Charlie Goodman had been like setting off a string of fireworks, watching them explode into the night sky. All color and heat…and illegal in a few states. And she wanted to feel that way again.

The thought of Charlie taking his date home tonight, sharing Belgian waffles and special dark roast coffee in the morning was a freaking wake-up call. And as for playing pool…well, pool was their game. Her game with Charlie, and logical or not, she didn’t want to share. “Rules are made to be broken.”

A possessive shiver ran through her body and he raised her collar, mistakenly protecting her from an uptake of cold night air.

“Cold?” he asked.

A whispered, “no”, served as her response.

He didn’t know she couldn’t feel the chill in the February air. Couldn’t hear the noise filling the Manhattan streets. All she could hear was the blood rushing through her veins, clamoring in her mind, its heat infusing every inch of her body. Even as her brain repeated the criteria on her sensible list, his hands curved around her waist to hold her steady on the snow-covered steps, and she accepted the fact that she loved kissing this man. And she wanted more.

She grabbed the collar of his coat and brought his mouth crashing back down on hers. All the pent-up emotion of the last six months erupted between them, making the kiss grow insistent, full of all the desperate longing of the past. Her heart raced as he deepened the kiss, and a soft moan rose from her throat.

Kaboom.

Fireworks exploded inside her, like New Year’s in Times Square, falling from the center of her body to its rapidly unraveling edges as she eagerly returned his kiss. She tugged on the collar of his jacket, coaxing him closer, her body seeking out his warmth, his sexy vitality. She felt so alive with this man.
So free.
When was the last time she’d felt so free? She couldn’t remember. Back in Brooklyn, maybe. Hot damn, he’d promised he could still deliver one hell of a goodnight kiss. And deliver he did.

Now she was going to do him one better.

As her heart raced ahead of her brain, she leaned into him, her mouth clinging to his lips, ready to give as good as she got. Her mouth moved under his, silently demanding, passionately insistent. If this was what a chemical meltdown felt like, she was ready for it. Not willing to wait another moment, she wrapped her elbows around his neck, entwining her fingers deep into his dark hair, climbing his body until her toes dangled above the snowy steps. She was just getting started, just settling in, when he pulled his lips away slowly.

A quiet moan of protest escaped her and she pulled him back against her, her body melting into his, the space between them disappearing into the moonlight, their shared heartbeat pounding in time with the familiar rhythm of the city street. Everything felt so right. The taste of him, the feel of his mouth as it traveled the hollows of her throat. In this moment, she no longer cared about criteria lists or dating applications. All she cared about was kissing Charlie Goodman to within an inch of his natural life.

A light flickered inside the lobby, illuminating the now slightly wicked smile that crossed his face as he pressed her up against the stone portico. He held her gently for a moment before loosening his grip enough to allow her body to slide slowly down the hard length of him until she was back on the snow-covered, semi-solid ground.

With an unspoken agreement between them, her hands dug inside her pockets, fumbling for the keys as his hands perused her hips. A wave of lusty relief flooded her system as she put the key in the lock and stumbled into the building still wrapped in his arms, falling back against the door and closing it with a bang.

Inside the small tiled foyer, she kissed him…dragging him alongside the wrought-iron banister, pulling him up against the line of bronze mailboxes, secreting him into the dark, hidden corner…kissing him until she thought her heart would burst from the joy of it.

When she finally came up for air—nearly breathless, buzzing with passion, her cheeks flushed, blood rushing through her veins—the look in his eyes told her there was so much more on the line than a simple wager. She pressed her face against his throat, unable to deal with all the silent emotion building between them.

Even through her slight whiskey haze, she knew she’d be crazy to let him pull the rock-steady ground from beneath her feet. She wanted that safe life, all neat, tidy, and without risky wagers and emotional roller coasters. She did. She wanted that life—with a man who met all her criteria at its center. But tonight? Right now? She wanted Charlie.

Could she handle one night with her friend, or rather her ex-friend turned lover, now ex-lover turned current bachelor? Or if she tumbled into bed with him again, would the fallout destroy her for a safe, reliable man? And what about Charlie? He’d played the role of confirmed bachelor to the hilt, but she knew she’d hurt him by bolting from their relationship.

Before their sexcapade, he’d been one of her closest friends, practically family. Not wanting to analyze her feelings, she leaned into him, and let all the noise in her mind disappear. Giving in to their chemistry was kicking caution to the curb, and yes, Charlie was all risk and heat, and yet, standing there in the circle of his arms, he felt so damned honest, so familiar…so
right
.

If only she could trust him to stay. If only that was how love worked. But tonight wasn’t about long-term love or compatibility.

Never gamble on love.

Yeah, well, to hell with self-preservation. At least for tonight.

She shoved away her warring thoughts and focused on the strong planes of Charlie’s face, letting her gaze linger, etching his expression in her mind. If this was going to be the only time she’d kiss him, she wanted to make it last, to write every moment of her passionate time with him on her heart and soul so that when tomorrow came, a part of him would always be with her. She grabbed the edge of his black leather jacket and dragged him up the stairs.

As far as tonight, she’d take everything she could.

…

A helluva goodnight kiss
, Charlie thought, up against the front door of her apartment, reveling in the way she was kissing him with such undeniable longing.

He drew away slowly, his lips lingering against hers, feeling her soft, heated breath against his cheek. He took in her expression, her softly parted lips, her flushed skin. God, she was beautiful. Framing her face with his hands, he kissed her again, tenderly dropping his lips to the edge of her temples, the curve of her cheek, until moving finally to her waiting lips.

He kissed her the way he’d dreamed of kissing her, every day, hell, every hour, of the past six months. Kissed her slowly and thoroughly. Kissed her with the desperation he felt after months of missed opportunities. And she kissed him back with a fervor that matched his own.

If she had even one ounce of willpower left, he wanted to strip it away, to lay her bare, to show her the chemistry between them was real. But he wasn’t about to let her cop out to a cocktail and a rush of misplaced jealousy. Not tonight. Not ever. Provoking her had been fun, especially when she rose to the bait, but now he wanted to prove to her that their special brand of chemistry could last. He’d missed her and he wanted to show her exactly how much.

All the contained, endless tension between them exploded at that moment, making the kiss hungrier, like a frantic rush of craving and desire. Snatching the keys from her hand, he managed to jam the right one into the lock. He nudged her inside the door and kicked it shut behind them.

Pressing the line of her body against the inside of the door, he took a minute to slow down, to rain small, tender kisses across her mouth, nipping gently at the edges until he could wait no longer. He buried his hands in her fragrant curls, breathed her into his system, and kissed her deep and slow. He kissed her without holding back, slowly, longingly, exploring the hidden secrets of her open mouth with his tongue, savoring the smoky whiskey and sweet cherry, delicious hints of her signature drink mixed with something else that was decidedly feminine. Decidedly
Jane.

A soft moan escaped her and she arched her tightly coiled body toward him, pressing her length against his. Her mouth moved under his, suddenly fierce and demanding, as she clutched at his collar and pushed his jacket from his shoulders. The leather hit the hardwood floor and her hands were back for more, finding the hem of his T-shirt and yanking it over his head. She threw the shirt over his shoulder. Her palms roamed over his naked skin, across his shoulders, down his chest and along his stomach. Her fingers moved to the button of his jeans, but he stopped their progress and held them tight.

Jumping back into bed with Janey after his first date, match, whatever, might prove to her the out-of-control heights of their chemistry, but it wouldn’t prove there was more between them.

More.

Wherever
more
might take them.

He was the man who’d known her most of her damned life. The man who’d never been able to resist her whiskey voice and her sexy smile, the one that whispered, “I have this great idea but I’m not going to tell you.” Because damn it, he always wanted to know her great ideas. And suddenly, he wanted her to admit that he was more than just a Manhattan-fueled one-off.

Frustrated with himself, and with her, he let go of her hands and eased outside of her circle of temptation. But she reached for him, tugging him back toward her, lifting her mouth. And it was too hard to resist. His lips crashed down on hers and the rest of the world fell away as he dove inside her, kissing her with all the frustration and pent-up desire of six months—hell, more than six months.
Forever
.

He pushed away the edge of her sexy button-down shirt, once crisp and professional, now a crumpled, twisted invitation, enticing his lips to that spot just behind her left ear, the one he remembered drove her wild. He licked and kissed until she was breathless and panting.

Her fingers dug into his shoulder. “God, your tongue was my favorite part of the Cayman Islands.”

And
boom
, he was out.

“Christ, Jane.” He pushed her away roughly. The shock on her face kicked him in the solar plexus, but he was not going to let her do that to him again. “I’m not your sexual carousal.”

She blinked at him several times, the last of the dreamy haze disappearing from her expression. “What are you talking about?”

“If all I am to you is some kind of sexual serviceman I’m not going to fall into bed with you again. Hell, I’d probably wake up with a Post-it Note slapped on my forehead.”

“Is that what you think?”

“If the cocktail napkin fits…” He shot her a cold look. “My tongue was your favorite part of the Caymans?”

A sudden irritation flashed in the back of her eyes. “You’re the one who wanted to get all bendy and gymnastic.”

“And you just couldn’t wait to stake prior claim, is that it? Another good go-around with my tongue and then I’m back out in the cold for another six months.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “No thanks, Jane.” He turned and snatched his shirt from the floor.

“No thanks, Jane. No thanks, Jane?” She pinned him with a look that was all kinds of pissed-off. “You’re the one always advocating chemistry, flirting with your damned pajama pants, kissing me on top of a freaking washing machine, but now, it’s…no, thanks,
Jane
.”