Matched

by Kelli Ireland

  Her hand settled on his forearm. “Isaac?”

  He had begun to crave the intimacy of her voice. So much so, in fact, that he found himself circling the reality of his feelings like a wounded animal. “I don’t care for crowds.” That was all he could manage.

  “Why not?” She rubbed his arm with slow, gentle strokes. “It’s not much different than addressing employees in the workplace.”

  He couldn’t help but shake his head. “Not in that number or that proximity.”

  Her hand stalled, resting lightly near his wrist. “You don’t talk to your employees in company meetings?”

  “Never en masse, no.”

  “Huh. Who does, then?”

  “Whoever is most appropriate for the topic at hand. It’s usually not me.” He took her hand and tried to pull her in the direction of a restaurant he favored. “Let’s go—”

  “There,” she said, pointing to someplace over his shoulder...and in the opposite direction than he’d intended to go.

  He glanced back and had to fight to keep from groaning. “O’Sullivan’s Public House? No, Rachel. Please, no. Let me take you somewhere there aren’t grease stains on the menu.”

  She tilted her face up to his and beamed. “C’mon, Isaac. Please? Pretty please? We can go somewhere nice for brunch tomorrow. You can pick anywhere you want and I’ll go, no questions asked. But this may be my only chance to experience an Irish pub on a Saturday night. I don’t want to miss it. I am absolutely craving something fresh off the local fisherman’s boat and an expertly built Guinness. Maybe three.” She batted her eyes playfully, trying to win him over.

  What she didn’t know?

  She already had.

  All she had to do was make her wishes known, throw in a little flirting and he would move mountains just to lay the world at her feet. If all she wanted was dinner in a pub? He’d buy the damn pub if need be.

  “Damn it,” he grumbled for the sheer sake of appearing to balk. “This is ridiculous.”

  “Please?” she asked again, her enthusiasm as contagious as the viral flu.

  Grabbing her hand, he ducked his head against the increasingly heavy downpour and pulled her along toward the pub’s entrance.

  They were thoroughly soaked by the time they crossed the threshold. Both laughing and cursing under his breath at not having thought to buy an umbrella, he shook like a dog exiting a lake before pushing his hair off his forehead, taking a fortifying breath and entering the melee, Rachel in tow.

  People were crammed into O’Sullivan’s tighter than sardines in a can. He scanned the pub and quickly found what he was after.

  The bar.

  Working his way through the crowd proved more difficult than he’d anticipated. It had been so long since he’d been in such tight quarters, surrounded and unable to move freely. His chest tightened as if a vise had been twisted around it, forcing him to breathe through his mouth just to get air. He shouldered past a man and received a shove back. Isaac didn’t care. He just needed to get to Rachel and the bar, sit down and order a drink. Then this feeling would subside.

  It had to.

  The bar seemed to get farther away instead of closer as he worked his way through the crowd. He was stronger than this, could get her there safely. It wasn’t like she was in imminent danger.

  They made it with one last push forward, and his luck seemed to have changed—two barstools were vacated at the same time. Isaac guided her onto the nearest one and then slid onto the stool beside her, scooting his seat closer to her at the same time.

  “This is the experience you wanted?” he asked, forced to nearly shout over the din.

  She beamed at him and nodded.

  The man next to her draped an arm over her shoulder and drunkenly slurred, “Well, hello, lass. This bloke you’re with?” He gestured toward Isaac with his pint glass. “Guarantee I’ll do you better.”

  Before Isaac could react, Rachel turned to the man, said something quietly and gave a little finger wave when the man took off as if he’d been told the devil was here and refused to leave without him.

  Isaac shook his head slowly, staring at Rachel as she turned back to the bar. “What did you say to him?”

  “I told him we should run away together, and the faster the better seeing as I’d just discovered you were a serial killer.”

  “You didn’t.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, he won’t be hanging around trying to befriend at least one of us tonight.”

  Again, Isaac found himself shaking his head. “I don’t know whether to take you seriously or not.”

  She shrugged and then waved at the bartender, made a random hand signal he acknowledged before pointing to a table currently being wiped down. Then she took Isaac’s hand. “C’mon. There’s a table opening up.”

  “I feel like there’s a whole different language being spoken, and I’m not at all fluent.”

  She tossed back a grin. “I took a chance and mimicked the signal I saw that resulted in a Guinness being delivered. I made it two. Or I ordered a double shot of whiskey. Either way? It ought to be good.”

  They slipped into chairs, but not before Isaac helped Rachel with her coat. Sitting in the chair nearest her, he asked, “I don’t suppose you saw a hand signal that would get us something to snack on?”

  “I did.” She flagged down a server. “Could we get two menus?”

  “Right. Two seconds while I drop off these drinks and I’ll be with you.” Then the girl sped off.

  “You’re making me feel like I have zero experience in a city I’ve been to more times than I can count.”

  Again, she shrugged. “Seems bar language is universal.” Then her brow furrowed. “But I’d be willing to bet you don’t often ‘end up’ in this part of town on any given Saturday night with a woman you hardly know on a trip that wasn’t planned. Cut yourself some slack.”

  “Thanks for that.” His dry tone said more than the few words.

  The waitress returned and slipped laminated, single-sheet menus in front of them.

  Rachel glanced at it briefly before turning to the waitress. “I ordered something to drink from the bar, so I’m ready for a meal.” She rubbed her hands together. “What’s the special tonight?”

  The young woman appeared harried as she flipped through her order pad and rambled off the day’s catch as well as a soup of the day and the night’s signature drink.

  Rachel leaned in, listening closely, and repeated back everything she’d said. The young woman looked up, eyes wide, and then burst out laughing. Rachel smiled, and Isaac had the feeling the two had just had one of the mystifying female-bonding moments that automatically excluded all men in the vicinity. He waited and was proven right.

  “No one listens that closely. You’re not from around here, to be sure.”

  “The United States.”

  The girl’s eye lit. “Where?”

  “New York City,” Rachel answered.

  “Oh, man. I’ve always dreamed of going to New York.” A dreamy smile slowed the girl’s whirlwind demeanor.

  Rachel smiled in return. “Ironically, I’ve always dreamed of coming here.”

  Isaac was mesmerized, watching as Rachel connected with a total stranger in a strange land. The woman had a gift for making others feel at ease, as if they’d known her far longer than they had and far more intimately than was warranted by the few words they’d exchanged. She was incredible with people.

  Including him. Even though he had been intent on keeping her at arm’s length, she’d managed to get past his first-line defenses and become a comfortable piece of his private life. But what had changed between the Power Match meet and greet and now? Truly, the answer was “nothing.” The last thing Isaac needed was the complication of any type of relationship. He wasn’t built for commitment, didn’t have
the emotional capital he would need to invest to ensure any relationship he entered into would thrive. And if he couldn’t ensure any investment would perform above and beyond the mean, he didn’t invest.

  Period.

  Yet having spent only two nights with Rachel, having taken a spontaneous trip with her, he had to wonder where his head was. It certainly wasn’t screwed on straight. Had it been, he wouldn’t be sitting in Ireland with a woman he hardly knew, marveling at her ability to charm complete strangers. Things hadn’t been terribly difficult between them, and he knew she was the reason. Had he been solely responsible for making things between them work? He’d have ended up going home alone, again, that night. And every night thereafter. He wouldn’t have had Thursday and Friday night to revel in her companionship, wouldn’t have tonight...perhaps even more...to look forward to.

  Yet recognizing that he was the problem in this equation didn’t sit well.

  At all.

  But what was he supposed to do—change who he was to suit another person? How could she come in and make him consider upending his whole life?

  Because that’s what he’d done. He looked around. No. That’s what he was doing. Actively.

  As he saw it, he had two choices. He could either let the weekend play out and then do his level best to walk away without a backward glance, having enjoyed the woman’s company and their shared sexual experiences before parting ways with a friendly but final farewell. Or, more realistically, he could see the weekend through and find a way to see Rachel again.

  Isaac’s temple began to throb, the headache striking him without warning.

  Having a woman in his life would complicate things, add to the list of people he was responsible for keeping safe. Did he want that? Did he want the additional responsibility that came with opening one’s life?

  More troubling, did he want to give up the control over himself he’d fought so hard to master? Because there was no doubt that Rachel threatened his control. An epiphany hit, and he realized that she hadn’t just threatened it. She’d taken some of it away from him without trying. That the act was an unconscious one didn’t matter at all. She did what she did, was who she was, and that was good and well for her. But for him?

  No.

  Glancing around, he realized this wasn’t who he was. Not this pub, not this place, not this spontaneous decision-making, not yesterday’s shopping excursion. None of it.

  “None of it.”

  “Pardon?”

  He looked up and realized the waitress waited on his order. “I apologize. I’ll have what she’s having, drink and meal alike.”

  The waitress jotted down a couple of notes before promising to have their drinks back quickly. Then she turned and was swallowed by the crowd.

  Isaac knew the feeling of being consumed, swallowed whole and lost in a familiar place. That’s exactly what he was experiencing right now.

  Truth? He didn’t want to change his life. He didn’t want to see things uprooted, didn’t want the threat of loss added to his emotional baggage. To bring in Rachel would be to ask her to change who she was seeing as Isaac was pretty damn sure he, himself, wouldn’t change.

  So he would do what he did best. He would build a plan around logic and then execute the plan to the satisfactory end—an end where he and his lover would bid each other goodbye. Then he would go back to the life he’d created for himself, the life that he knew, the life that had structure. That was predictable. That was safe.

  But for the first time in as long as he could remember, the safe thing didn’t feel safe at all.

  * * *

  Rachel had watched a bevy of emotions play out across Isaac’s face, from fear when they’d arrived to what she could only label resoluteness as they waited on their dinner. Isaac had been dismissive when she asked if he was okay, so she’d left him be. Instead, she focused on the people funneling into the small pub, watching as several arrived with instruments and grouped themselves by type. Brass sat near the fireplace. Fiddles were closest to the bar. Handheld drums she believed were called bodhrans were near the front entrance. And two guitars were close to her and Isaac’s table. Groups of men began to move tables out of the center of the pub at the same time the waitress returned with their order.

  “What’s going on?” Rachel asked, tipping her head toward the men’s activity.

  The waitress didn’t spare a glance. “There’s a craic tonight.”

  “A...”

  “Craic,” the waitress said slowly. “It’s like...” She tapped a finger against her chin before her eyes lit with the answer. “It basically means a good time. Fun. Entertainment. See the folks scattered around with the different instruments? The players will play familiar songs, joining in on the ones they know, getting up and wandering about as the vocalists sing and patrons dance. That’s why the menfolk are moving the tables. You and your man will have to get up and give it a go around the dance floor after a bit.” With a wink and a nudge, she was off, quickly swallowed by the ever-growing crowd.

  Your man.

  Rachel’s insides fluttered at the waitress’s reference to her and Isaac. He wasn’t hers. At least, not in the traditional sense. For the weekend, though... That was a matter of opinion. She didn’t want to be tied to one man again, wouldn’t allow her life to be dictated by his wants and needs. She was reveling in her freedom, rejoicing in having just managed to reclaim her sense of self. Yes, her choices regarding Isaac were, without a doubt, one aspect of her newfound freedom—sort of an exclamation point at the end of her declarative sentence. But he was somehow more, no matter that she didn’t want him to be.

  Even though he was from society’s upper echelon, a group she had never felt entirely comfortable with, she found she actually liked him. It was the oddest thing. He was her opposite—cautious to her jump-first mentality, logical to her natural free-spiritedness and, despite his spur-of-the-moment offer to take her to Ireland for the weekend, highly structured in the face of her spontaneity.

  Rachel nearly choked on her Guinness. As if that wasn’t a massive spontaneous act—taking a weekend jaunt to Europe. She’d have to strike that off her list of differences, or at least weight it accordingly. Regardless, there was something about Isaac that called to Rachel. It was a call she didn’t want to hear and one she did not want to answer. Not when she’d just found her feet again. She’d been nothing but a pile of raw, exposed emotions after her ex-husband left. And they’d been compatible from the start. But she and Isaac? Not even close. She didn’t need to get seriously involved with a man who was, in so many ways, her opposite. That was like begging the Fates to weave trouble right into her lifeline. No, no, no. No relationships for the next year. At least. Maybe two.

  Relaxing a little on the heels of her inner pep talk, she tried to think of a neutral topic for conversation. Glancing up, she found Isaac watching her in an almost predatory way. It was a look she’d only seen in the bedroom. He seemed to be measuring her for the right size of bedsheets.

  “King,” she said without thinking, reaching for a handful of pretzels and popping a couple in her mouth. They would, after all, need room to move.

  “King?”

  She choked on her drink.

  Isaac lunged for her so fast he tipped over his chair. It had barely hit the floor when he had her in the universally approved position for assisting someone with an obstructed airway.

  “Rachel?” he said, full of authority. “Raise your hand if you can breathe.”

  She wheezed and raised her right hand.

  “Take a deeper breath.”

  Struggling past the embarrassment of the pub patrons’ watching her publicly choke to death, she managed a deeper breath that dislodged the offending pretzel, thus clearing her airway.

  “Thank God,” Isaac muttered, clutching her so close and so tight she had to struggle to breathe all over again.

>   “I’m good,” she croaked. “It’s okay, Isaac. I just choked.”

  “Things can go wrong so, so fast, and you can’t undo what happens in that blink of time,” he said against the back of her neck.

  Air rushed across her skin as he drew his own fortifying breath. “We’re good,” he said to those around them. “International incident averted.”

  Several people chuckled, and Rachel could only be grateful when the waitress shoved her way through the crowd with a glass of water. “Here you go, ma’am. Scared the evil right out of me, you did, choking like that. Good thing your man was here to intervene!” And she was off, calling back that their food should be ready “soon enough.”

  Isaac took his seat, then leaned down and swept his napkin off the floor before asking as quietly as possible over the din of the crowd, “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “Sure. Just one more time I wished a sinkhole would have opened beneath me so my actions would have gone down as heroic versus ‘died by choking on pretzel salt’ or ‘inhaled piece of lint and perished.’”

  He smiled, but the tightness around his eyes prevented her from buying the gesture as genuine.

  Anxious to discuss anything but what had just happened, she plucked the first conversational topic that passed through her mind and took off with it. “How do you think Power Match ended up putting us together? I mean, I know we sort of joked about it before, but what do you think we did differently than most of the other participants to end up with a decent match?”

  “Decent, huh?” This time, his grin reached his eyes. “I don’t know if I should be amused or insulted.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “That came out wrong.”

  “Moving along,” he said with obvious mercy. “I’m curious. Why do you think the meet and greet didn’t go well?”