by Jane Graves
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’ll keep at it until I make it work out. Okay?”
The second the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to kick himself. Why had he said that? He might not even be around long enough to keep a promise like that, no matter how much he wished he could.
She tilted her head. “I’ve never met a man like you before.”
“Yeah? What makes me so different?”
A dreamy smile crossed her lips. “A lot of men don’t believe in love. But you do.”
Brandon didn’t know what to say to that, because anything that left his mouth now would be a lie.
“But not just for yourself,” she went on. “You want as many people as you can to find it. I mean, God, Brandon. You’ve dedicated your whole life to it. Do you know how amazing that is?”
Now he officially felt like crap. She was looking at him as if he was some kind of saint, when really he was about as opportunistic as a man got. If he hadn’t gotten to know her, he’d say she was a gullible fool. But as he looked at her now, all he saw was a trusting soul who deserved a far better man than the ones he’d set her up with.
“I know how you can find me the right man,” Alison said.
“How’s that?”
She smiled. “Make sure he’s just like you.”
Brandon shook his head. “No. You don’t want a guy like me. Trust me on that.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” she said. “What’s not to like?”
“Plenty.”
“You’re modest, too,” she said. “Add that to the list. Course, if I found a guy like you, he’d have to want a girl like me.”
“A girl like you? Of course he’d want you. What’s not to like?”
He hadn’t meant anything at all by that. He’d merely intended it as an offhand compliment that mirrored the one she’d given him, and he figured that was the way she’d take it.
Until he felt her hand on his leg.
When she flexed her fingers against him, he realized he might have started something he was going to have a hard time getting out of.
“Alison,” he said warily. “I’m not the man you think I am.”
“Oh, no. You are.” Her voice fell to a grainy whisper. “You are.”
No, he wasn’t. Not even close. And no matter how many times he’d had borderline carnal thoughts about her, nothing was going to happen here. Nothing. He was a self‑serving man in any number of ways, but he drew the line at taking advantage of helpless women. And right now, Alison was about as helpless as a woman got, which meant he needed to get up and get out of there now.
He eased away. “Uh, Alison, I don’t think—”
But before he could get all of I don’t think we should do this out of his mouth, she grabbed a double handful of his shirt, pulled him down to her, and kissed him.
Alison was kissing him.
Alison?
It happened so quickly he was stunned into submission. But it wasn’t just the speed of her kiss that froze him where he sat. It was the quality of it. The sheer abandonment of it. The softness of her mouth. The way she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer with a sweet insistence that made him want to melt right into her.
And for several long, heavenly moments, that was exactly what he did.
Gradually the kiss that had started so abruptly dissolved into a slow, hot feast for the senses. She might not have much luck when it came to finding a husband, but it wasn’t her talent for kissing that was holding her back. A little voice in the back of his mind was shouting at him to stop, but it was almost impossible to hear when blood was pounding through his ears with every heartbeat. Instead he listened to an even louder voice that was shouting more, more, more. He angled his mouth and dove deeper, until his nerves were raw with pleasure and stars exploded behind his eyelids.
Then the first voice got louder.
Brandon knew this didn’t compute. The Alison he knew would never grab a man and kiss him like this, which meant that the vodka that had started talking earlier was now screaming at the top of its lungs. So he put his hand against her arm, intending to ease her away from him, but the moment his palm met her bare flesh, it turned into a caress instead.
No. Stop it right now. Don’t touch what you can’t have.
But the truth was that he could have her. He had no doubt he could seduce her any time he wanted to, because she thought he was a completely different man than the man he really was. But he knew exactly who she was. He’d kissed a lot of women in his life, but never one whose heart seemed to flow from her lips to his. And that was the problem. He could practically feel all that love bubbling up inside her now, dying to be released, and it wasn’t fair to her if he took even the tiniest bit of it. She needed to save it for the man who could give her forever.
He took her by the shoulders and managed to ease her away from him. She lay back against the pillow and stared up at him with a heavy‑lidded expression of total bliss. It was all he could do not to dive right in again.
“We really shouldn’t do this,” he said.
She blinked lazily. “No?”
“No.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, soft, silky hair that seemed to glide along his fingers. “As nice as that kiss was, you’re my client, so I don’t think it would be right if you and I…”
He realized her eyes were drifting closed, so he let his voice trail off. Several seconds passed, and soon the steady rise and fall of her chest told him she’d fallen asleep.
Amazing.
He had no idea what she’d done at the state fair, but if it was anywhere nearly as impulsive as the kiss she’d just laid on him, it must have really been something. Fortunately, there was a chance she wouldn’t even remember this in the morning, which meant they could proceed as if nothing had ever happened. Then tomorrow he’d redouble his efforts to find her the kind of man who didn’t drive her straight into a twelve step program.
Just as he was getting ready to leave, though, he heard something behind him. When he turned around, he got a most unpleasant surprise.
Heather was coming through the front door.
Chapter 17
What’s going on here?” Heather asked, her face all scrunched up with suspicion.
Brandon sighed. Could this night get any worse? Was it even possible?
“Alison had a little too much to drink,” he said, rising from the sofa. “So I walked her home.”
“That’s what Tony said. I came by to check on her.”
“She’s fine. Just sleeping.”
“Come out here,” she said, walking out to the porch. “I want to talk to you.”
Shit. He’d done something nice for Alison, walked her home so she’d be safe, and this was what he got? With a surge of irritation, he followed Heather out the door and pulled it closed behind him.
“I saw you sitting on the sofa beside her,” Heather said.
For a moment, he was afraid she’d seen that kiss, too, but if she had, she would have said so. Thank God for small favors.
“What’s wrong with sitting with her? I was just making sure she was all right.”
“And if I hadn’t shown up what would have happened?”
Brandon narrowed his eyes. “I’d be doing what I’m doing right now. Leaving.”
“Is that all?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting that if Tony hadn’t called me to come check on Alison, this night might be ending differently.”
Brandon drew back with disbelief. “Are you telling me you think I would have taken advantage of Alison when she was passed out? What kind of guy do you think I am?”
For a moment, Heather didn’t give an inch. Then she looked away with a heavy sigh. “Okay,” she said. “I’m sorry. Of course you wouldn’t do that. It’s just that there’s so much about you doesn’t add up.” She folded her arms, looking at him warily. “What’s up with you, Brandon? Really?”
“I’m just a guy trying to run
a business. And take care of his clients.”
“I think there’s something else going on. You’ve set Alison up with guys who were all wrong for her. It doesn’t sound to me as if you’re serious about your business. It sounds to me more like you build people up, take their money, and give them nothing in return.”
“Wrong. I’ve had good success with other clients.”
“So why not Alison? Tony told me the date you set her up on tonight was horrible, and that was why she was drinking so much.”
“The guy wasn’t right for her. That’s true. But in the end, she was fine with just moving on to the next one. She even laughed about it.”
“Damn it, are you blind? She’s only laughing so she doesn’t cry. Every time she goes out with a guy and it’s nothing but a dead end, it hurts her. More so every time. She’s lost so much in her life already. I don’t know how many more times she can hit the wall before she just can’t take it anymore.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s not my place to tell you about her personal life,” Heather said. “What you need to concentrate on is finding her the right man. I don’t think you can do it, but she does. Alison has a habit of putting her faith in people whether they deserve it or not because she believes the best about everybody. Please don’t make her wrong about you.”
Brandon was itching to come back at Heather, but it would get him nowhere. He told himself it was just as Alison had said—Heather was the overprotective, intrusive sister she’d never had, and her heart really was in the right place. But that didn’t make her accusations any easier to take. And really, in the end, he had to face facts. Heather was more right about him than wrong.
“Why don’t you just go?” Heather said. “I have a key to lock her door.”
With a sigh of frustration, he turned and went down the stairs, growing more irritated with every step he took. He knew he’d screwed up with the matches he’d made for her. Big-time. But he didn’t like the implication that he would do something to hurt Alison. He liked her way too much for that. And she’d helped him so much with his business that he’d never be able to repay her. Because of her, he was going to have plenty of money to invest in the deal of the century and get his real life back again.
But for the first time, that didn’t sound so wonderful.
No. It was wonderful. It was exactly what he wanted. Once he was back doing the thing he loved the most, all this would become a distant memory, just a small detour on the road back to the top. But as he strode along the deserted sidewalk, he wasn’t thinking of ways to keep his distance from Alison.
He was thinking about that kiss.
Alison opened her eyes to late-morning sunlight stabbing its way through her living room blinds, penetrating her eyeballs to lodge directly in her skull. Groaning, she snapped her eyes shut, and several disorienting seconds passed before she dared ease them open again. She blinked against the sun, then looked around without lifting her head from the pillow. Wait a minute. She’d slept on the sofa? Why had she done that?
Then, slowly, she remembered.
Gritting her teeth against the headache of the century, she got up, stumbled to the bathroom, and looked at herself in the mirror. If she hadn’t slapped both palms against her mouth, she’d have screamed so loudly her neighbors would have called the police.
The good news was that part of her hair still looked relatively smooth and untangled. The bad news was that the other side looked as if it had been hit by a tornado. And whatever mascara had once been on her lashes had congealed in dark circles beneath her eyes.
She dragged herself to the kitchen, started a pot of coffee, and by the time she got out of the shower, most of the rest of the evening was coming back to her. Zach and his lesbian dreams. Three martinis, bam, bam, bam. And then Brandon…
Brandon had walked her home?
Yes. And she’d bobbed and weaved the whole way. Once inside her apartment, she’d collapsed on the sofa. What else?
She sat down at her kitchen table and sipped her coffee, thinking about it. Now she remembered. She remembered Brandon sitting beside her, staring down at her with those beautiful dark eyes and that handsome face. He’d apologized for setting her up with another bad date. She’d told him…uh…what was it? Oh, yeah. How wonderful he was. And then…
OH MY GOD.
All at once what happened next came back to her in Technicolor splendor, practically knocking her off her chair with the sheer humiliation of it.
No. Please God. Tell me I didn’t do what I think I did.
But she had done it. She’d kissed Brandon. And it hadn’t been just any old kiss. It had been the kiss of a woman who gave new meaning to the words immodest, immoral, and shameful. She put her hand to her chest, feeling as if she was on the verge of hyperventilating. Why the hell had she done that?
She remembered thinking how wonderful he was, and how nice it was that he’d taken her home, and how he’d dedicated his life to finding love for other people, and then suddenly the matchmaker seemed way better than any match he could set her up with. Then she did something she’d thought about doing approximately a hundred times since she’d met him, but never, ever would have done without the benefit of three martinis.
It was a state fair moment all over again.
Up to now, that incident had singlehandedly ruled as her life’s most humiliating experience. This beat that by a mile. Note to self: you have a one-drink limit, now and forever.
She had to apologize to Brandon and hope he didn’t hate her forever. And she had to do it now.
She got dressed, put on enough makeup that she didn’t look like a cadaver, and, when half a bottle of Visine didn’t help her bloodshot eyes, slipped on a pair of sunglasses. She still looked like hell, but she didn’t intend to hang around long. Just long enough to apologize, squirm with embarrassment, and leave.
Ten minutes later, she pulled up in front of his house. The Matchmaking by Rochelle sign was still in his front yard, and that bugged her. Yeah, he needed something to direct prospective clients around to the back of the house, but it was definitely going to cause some confusion for people who knew his business by its new name. He needed a new sign, and she made a mental note to bribe Lois to design one on Monday morning.
But first things first.
She climbed the porch steps, cringing as she knocked on the door. It took a long time, but he finally opened it, and she was treated to the Saturday morning version of Brandon. It nearly stopped her heart.
He had on a pair of jeans. Nothing else. Bare feet, bare chest—a big, broad expanse of bare chest that seemed to go on forever. His hair was sleep‑mussed in a way that should have looked scruffy and unkempt but looked outrageously sexy instead. He rubbed his left eye with the heel of his hand and blew out a breath.
“Hey, Alison,” he said. “Long time, no see.”
“Can I come in? Just for a minute?”
“Why not? I’m up.” He paused. “Now.”
He stepped aside, and she walked into the house. He closed the door behind her.
“First of all,” she said, “I want you to know that I hardly ever drink like I did last night. Like, almost never. So when I said on your questionnaire that I’m a light drinker, I didn’t lie. It really is true.”
“I know. If it wasn’t, three martinis wouldn’t have put you under the table.”
“Secondly, I want to thank you for walking me home.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And thirdly, I want to apologize for something.”
She thought she saw a tiny smile of amusement curl the corner of his mouth, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“Tony was right. I can’t hold my alcohol. When I’ve had too much to drink, I do stupid things.”
“Like what you did at the state fair?”
“You will never hear that story.”
“I don’t know. If I get Tony alone sometime, he might—”
“
If he does, he’s a dead man.”
“Okay. Go on.”
She exhaled. “I don’t know why I did what I did. But I did, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You know what.”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Will you stop playing dumb? I got drunk and kissed you, Brandon. You were kind enough to walk me home, and I practically attacked you. I’ve never done anything like that in my life!”
“Well, there was the state fair incident.”
“Will you stop?” She sighed miserably. “I just came here to say I was out of line, and I’m so sorry. And I know it wouldn’t be right for me to say, ‘Hey, I was drunk. It wasn’t my fault.’ Because it was my fault for getting drunk. So everything I did after that was my fault, too.”
“Is there anything else you’d like to accept blame for? The state of the economy? The wars in the Middle East?”
“Can I trade this for one of those?”
“Will you stop worrying? I once got drunk and woke up on a commuter train in Atlanta.”
“You lived in Atlanta?”
“Nope.”
Alison blinked. “Oh, my.”
“Feel better now?”
“I don’t know. When you were on that commuter train, did you come on to a woman in a highly inappropriate manner?”
“Not that I know of.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it, Brandon. It wasn’t personal.”
“So I was just a placeholder guy? If any other guy had taken you home, he’d have gotten a kiss, too?”
“No! I mean, yes.” She closed her eyes. “Oh, hell. I don’t know what I mean.”
And he was still smiling.
“That’s the last thing I remember.” She winced a little, hating to ask. “What happened after that?”
“You fell asleep.”
“Nothing else?”
“That’s about it.” He paused. “Well, I guess Heather showed up.”
“Oh, no. Heather was there? Did she see me kiss you?”
“Nope. She just gave me the evil eye and sent me on my way, then locked up your condo.”
“Thank God.” She rubbed her temples.