An Unlikely Match (The Match Series - Book #1)

by Dunlop, Barbara

  If that wasn’t enough, they’d thrown in housing, providing him with a brand new condo that overlooked the Pasadena cityscape on one side and a golf course on the other. It was compact, with two bedrooms on the second floor. The main floor held a small kitchen and a combination dining and living room that opened on to a stone patio with a splash pool and a hot tub, surrounded by a small lawn.

  After a hectic two weeks of moving, he now stood on the patio and drew a deep breath of satisfaction. There was a high privacy hedge on one side. On the other was a low, white fence dividing his yard from the one next door. The back of the yard was open to a hillside that fell away into a steep ravine with the city beyond.

  “Hello?” came a soft, female voice from a distance.

  Morgan turned to find a twentysomething woman emerging from the doorway of the neighboring condo. She wore faded, cutoff jeans and a khaki green tank top that clung to her perfectly rounded breasts. The thick braid of her auburn hair had probably started out neat, but it had worked its way loose around her face, blowing messily in the slight breeze, wispy, sexy.

  He swallowed, instantly losing the power of speech.

  “Hi,” she greeted a second time, stepping toward the fence. Her shapely, coltish legs ended in bare feet. “I’m Amelia Camden.”

  “Morgan Holbrook,” he managed then cleared his throat because his voice had come out unnaturally high. “I’m just moving in.”

  “You, too?” she asked, and her lips curved into a gleaming smile. “I’m just moving in over here.” From the opposite side of the fence, she reached out her hand.

  He had to order his feet to move the few steps to meet her.

  “It’s good to meet you, Morgan.” His name rolled off her tongue, and he felt a megawatt of energy pass through his system.

  “Good to meet you, too.”

  Reaching the fence, he held out his own hand, congratulating himself on regaining his composure. And then their hands touched. The megawatt turned into a gigawatt, and the shock ran all the way from his palm to his toes.

  “I only arrived in Pasadena this morning,” she told him, still shaking his hand. “I spent the last four years at the University of Arizona. Liberal arts, mostly theatrical arts, some film.” She laughed and finally let him go. “Even some poetry and creative writing.”

  Morgan focused on steadying his heartbeat.

  “I’m planning to go into acting,” she continued breezily, turning to gaze at the view. “I think I can see LA in the distance. Can you see it? Right out there.”

  He realized he had to answer that one.

  “Maybe,” he managed. Though he was pretty sure the view faded off into smog before you could actually see LA.

  “I realize we’ve just met.” She swiveled to face him again, her smile dazzling white. “And I don’t mean to impose. But there are a couple of boxes in my hallway that need to go upstairs. Do you suppose...”

  She blinked her big, green eyes, clear and deep in the lengthening sun rays. It was obvious she expected him to say yes. No surprise there. He doubted any man had ever said no to her, especially a nerd like Morgan.

  When he looked at her, he saw a goddess. When she looked at him, she saw an easy mark, a susceptible geek she could bend to her will.

  And she was right.

  There was no point in either of them pretending otherwise.

  “Sure,” he answered. “Happy to help out.”

  Her smile widened. “Great. Right this way.”

  He stepped over the low fence and followed her through a sliding door that was identical to his. As they walked, he let his gaze skim her back, over the thin strip of bare skin, coming to rest on the play of her tight buttocks.

  He figured he’d earned the right to ogle for a moment. Or at least, he was about to earn that right.

  “The cabby brought them this far,” she chatted. “But I didn’t really want a strange man going up to the bedrooms. Not that he offered.”

  It was on the tip of Morgan’s tongue to point out that he was also a strange man, but he decided to let that one lie.

  He glanced around the interior and was struck by how empty it was. He understood that she was just moving in, but aside from a single box on the kitchen counter and the three in the entry hall, he didn’t see any belongings.

  “Are your movers coming tomorrow?” he asked.

  She stopped next to the boxes in the small entry, shaking her head as she turned. “I’ve lived in a room at the sorority house for the past few years. So, no furniture of my own.”

  “I guess you’ll be going shopping.”

  She struck him as the type who’d enjoy shopping. He hoisted the closest box into his arms. It wasn’t too heavy, maybe thirty-five pounds.

  “I would if I had any money. I’m going to have to work for a while before I buy anything. But I’ve got an air mattress and a sleeping bag.” She led the way up the narrow staircase.

  “So, you moved to Pasadena to take a job?”

  “That’s the grand plan. But I don’t have one yet.” She rounded the corner at the top of the stairs and pointed. “That can go in the big bedroom.”

  He moved down the short hallway in a condo that was the reverse of his. In both condos, the master bedroom took up most of the top floor, with a cheater en-suite bathroom that opened into the bedroom but also into the hall. Her bedroom was back to back with his. Each of them had a small balcony that overlooked the backyard and the view.

  “My great-aunt owns this place,” Amelia continued. “She’s letting me stay here while I find a job.”

  “She sounds like a very nice aunt.”

  “She’s a peach.”

  Since there was nowhere else to put it, he set the box down on the floor.

  Her voice went husky. “You’re a peach too, Morgan Holbrook.”

  The sultry tone strummed across his nervous system, sending pings of arousal to every corner of his body. The reaction was both predictable and annoying. And it was such an obvious ploy that it was an insult to his intelligence. She didn’t need to play tricks to manipulate him.

  “You don’t have to flirt with me,” he told her.

  His blunt words obviously took her by surprise. It was a moment before she answered. “I’m not flirting with you.”

  He didn’t call her directly on the lie. “I’ll still move the rest of your boxes.”

  “This isn’t flirting,” she insisted, the sultry note disappearing from her voice.

  He folded his arms across his chest, telling himself he was too smart for these kinds of games. “Then what do you call it?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “I call it conversation.”

  “Sure. We’ll pretend it wasn’t persuasion.” He turned to walk toward the bedroom door.

  “Hey,” she hop-stepped behind him. “You can’t just walk away.”

  Yeah, he imagined she wasn’t used to that. “I’m getting the next box.”

  “We were having a conversation.”

  “I thought I was moving boxes.”

  “Are you always this contrary?”

  He made his way down the stairs. “Do you always argue with people who are helping you?”

  “Who’s arguing?”

  He shook his head as he reached the front hall, chuckling coldly at both himself and at her. Human beings were such ridiculously predictable creatures. He stacked the last two boxes together and lifted them.

  “Are you laughing at me?” she asked.

  “No,” he lied.

  She followed him to the top of the stairs. “Why are you laughing at me?”

  “Because I find you entertaining.” Which was another lie. What he found her was alluring and captivating, and it annoyed him to be such a slave to his base hormones.

  “What? Like a trained monkey?” she asked.

  His grin widened.

  “Stop that,” she demanded.

  “You said it, I didn’t.”

  “You could have disagreed with me.”


  “I could have,” he said. He avoided looking at her as he set the other two boxes down. It was easier to stay grounded when he was battling only her voice and her scent. He moved the top box onto the floor so that she could more easily unpack them.

  “I’m not a trained monkey,” she insisted.

  “I agree. Back at Berkeley, we’d have called you a Pavlovian blon—” He couldn’t seem to stop himself from glancing at her. “But, no, your hair is auburn. Doesn’t have quite the same ring, though, does it?”

  Her brow furrowed. He couldn’t tell if she was hurt or confused.

  He felt like a prize jerk for insulting her. His moronic libido wasn’t her fault. With an IQ bordering on two hundred, you’d think he’d be able to control himself. But when it came to beautiful women, he was no smarter than the next guy.

  “Were you going to call me a Pavlovian blonde?”

  “It was a joke back in grad school. It means a woman who’s so beautiful she’s learned the world will give her anything.” He didn’t add that it also meant a woman who was socially conditioned to use her beauty for personal gain. He had absolutely no reason to assume Amelia flirted her way to free drinks or anything else.

  “You think the world will give me anything?” she asked, looking genuinely surprised.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to admit that he would give her anything.

  “I have no furniture,” she continued, gesturing around the empty room. Then she called out in a loud voice. “Hey, world, where’s my furniture?”

  He couldn’t help but grin again. He wished she wasn’t so delightful.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me,” she ordered.

  He forcibly straightened his expression.

  “You don’t know a thing about me,” she accused.

  “Maybe not,” he conceded. “But before you get all high-and-mighty, ask yourself when you last paid for a drink in a bar.”

  She immediately looked guilty, and he knew he’d hit the nail on the head. Then her expression changed to hurt, and he felt like a jerk all over again.

  What the hell was the matter with him?

  “I better go,” he told her, moving toward the door.

  He’d probably done enough damage for one night.

  o o o o

  In the bare living room, Amelia dug through her carry-on bag, working on not feeling sorry for herself. She had a roof over her head, a warm sleeping bag and an air mattress for a bed. Well, at least she would have an air mattress for a bed once she blew it up. She wished she’d thought to ask Morgan to blow it up for her before he—

  She caught herself.

  Was she really thinking she should have batted her eyelashes and persuaded him to blow up her air mattress? That would have validated his low opinion of her—which didn’t deserve to be validated.

  In the bottom of the bag, she located a leftover granola bar from the trip. She rocked back on her heels in triumph. Forget needing a man. She was set. She had water in the tap, an almond oat bar for dinner, and she’d have a comfy bed just as soon as she set it up. For herself. Because she was an independent woman.

  She pushed back until she was leaning against the wall, legs stretched out on the thick carpet. She retrieved her cell phone, scrolling through a list of text messages.

  “Pavlovian blonde,” she repeated out loud.

  But even as she worked up an appropriate level of disdain, she was forced to fight a smile. It was kind of funny. And, the truth was, she and her sorority friends would have called Morgan a geek, a dweeb or a FE-PWAPP: Four-Eyes, Probably-Wears-a-Pocket-Protector.

  Okay, so maybe Morgan wasn’t your typical geek. Truth was, he was quite attractive, at least he was if you looked past the shaggy hair, glasses and that god-awful, plaid golf shirt. He certainly seemed fit enough. He’d carried the heavy boxes up the stairs as if they were nothing.

  And she certainly did appreciate his help.

  She opened up a text message from Krista. Krista was with a group of their friends at a bar in Tucson, and it sounded like they were having a blast.

  Out of curiosity, she texted back, asking if they’d bought any of their own drinks.

  Krista immediately responded with a winky face and an emphatic, “No way.” Free drinks, and it was only Wednesday.

  Amelia groaned and banged her head back against the wall. There was a chance she owed Morgan an apology.

  Her phone chimed in her hand, showing an unknown number.

  For some reason, her thoughts went straight to Morgan.

  She raised it to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Amelia, honey? It’s Auntie Hannah.”

  Amelia’s heart immediately warmed. “Hi, Auntie Hannah. Mom was going to text me your number so I could call. I’m here. I’m in the condo.”

  “That’s great news, honey. What do you think of it? Is it nice? Are you warm enough?”

  “I’m more than warm enough.” The words made her realize the condo had grown quite hot. She came to her feet and moved to open a window to her backyard. “The place is fantastic. The view’s spectacular. I can’t thank you enough for letting me stay.”

  “Oh, pooh,” sang Hannah. “If I can’t help my nieces and nephews, what’s the point of being alive?”

  “You’re very good to us.”

  “Now that you’re settled, what are you going to do first?” asked Hannah.

  “I’ll be looking for a job tomorrow.”

  “An acting job?”

  “Probably waitressing to start with.” Amelia played with a bank of switches on the back wall, discovering one of them turned on some recessed lights in the garden. “It’s mostly evening work. That’ll leave my days open to go to auditions.”

  “Do you need any money, dear?”

  “No, no.” Amelia brushed away the offer. “I’m fine. And I’ll start getting tips right away.”

  “Make sure you don’t work too hard.”

  “I will.” Amelia flipped another switch, lighting up the tiny pool and the in-ground hot tub. It was the cutest little yard ever. As soon as she earned enough in tips, she was buying herself a bottle of wine and lounging out there.

  There was a slight pause on the line. “So, Amelia, have you met anyone there yet?”

  “In Pasadena? I just got here today.”

  “In the neighborhood, maybe?”

  Amelia’s chest gave a strange tingle as Morgan flooded into her mind. Guilt, she concluded. She really would have to apologize.

  “The guy next door,” she told her aunt.

  “Oh, that’s nice.” Hannah sounded delighted. “What did you think of him?”

  “We really just said hello.”

  “Is he attractive?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a little.” Amelia didn’t want to say anything derogatory. “He’s a little...he comes across... I don’t know, kinda brainy, maybe.”

  “So, intelligent. Intelligent is good.”

  “How are you, Auntie? How are things in Florida?”

  “Talk about more than warm enough,” laughed Hannah. “I spent the morning baking bread and the afternoon in the pool.”

  “Are you feeling well? Mom said your knee was bothering you.”

  “Oh, that old thing. It’s just my age. A little whisky fixes it right up.”

  Amelia smiled to herself. “What did you bake?”

  “Those tiny pecan tarts, with the Chantilly cream. My neighbors like them with a bit of bourbon.”

  “Yum,” said Amelia, realizing she was hungry and wishing she had something more substantial than a granola bar for dinner.

  “You’ll keep me posted on the handsome neighbor?” Hannah asked.

  “Absolutely,” Amelia agreed, thinking there wouldn’t be much to tell. After their argument today, he’d probably avoid her as much as possible.

  Just then, she caught a whiff of barbecue on the breeze.

  She squinted out the window and realized he was out there, grilling something in his yard. Burgers
? Steak, maybe? Man, it smelled delicious.

  “Well, I’m off to bed,” said Hannah.

  “Goodnight, Auntie.”

  “Goodnight, honey.”

  Amelia hit the end button and stepped back from the window. The last thing she wanted was for Morgan to think she was spying on him.

  She returned to her seat on the floor and munched her way through the granola bar while checking the social-media statuses of her friends. Then, tired of smelling Morgan’s barbecue, she decided to take a long bath and listen to some music. It was only eight o’clock. She’d have plenty of time to blow up the air mattress later.

  Chapter Three

  Sunday afternoon, Morgan heard a sudden, sharp crash in his front yard. He jumped up from his computer to fling open the front door, fearing somebody might be hurt.

  No sign of injuries, but a rental van was backed halfway into the shared driveway, Amelia at the wheel. Judging by the scattered dirt and the crushed flowers, she’d driven up onto the brick garden, then dropped back down again.

  He struggled not to grin at her antics as she glanced frantically into the side mirrors, first rocking the steering wheel one way, then frowning and moving it the other. She was clearly thrown by the reverse images.

  He closed his door behind him, intending to help out. Before he could make his move, he caught sight of two men striding across the street. The pair were obviously intent on becoming her white knights.

  He hung back. After his boorish behavior the night she’d moved in, he’d been doing his best to avoid her. On balance, it was probably better to let the strangers step in instead. Plus, the two would probably appreciate a shot at flirting. Even if they were a little old. Even if Morgan didn’t know a thing about them. Even if they might hang around, talk their way inside her condo...

  Forget that. He might only be acquainted with Amelia, but that didn’t mean he should leave her to these two strangers. He followed the short path to their shared driveway. Better too many white knights than not enough.