Breaking the Bachelor (Entangled Lovestruck) (Smart Cupid)

by Maggie Kelley

Hands stalled above the digital keyboard, she looked over at his six-feet of provocative in total disbelief. “Shy?”

  “Oh, yeah. I love to watch a sweet, shy woman tremble when I touch her, see her blush as my hands caress her skin.” Reaching out, he skimmed the curve of her hips with his fingertips, burning a red-hot trail she feared would leave a mark. Rational thought needed to kick in—right now. “Is this the kind of touch you think a sweet, shy woman might like?”

  She shifted her hip away from his touch. “Not bad.”

  “Maybe I need to be more specific.” He moved closer and she stumbled back a step.

  “You’ve got specifics?”

  “Oh, I’ve got specifics.” His teasing expression morphed into a don’t-dare-doubt-me look that wreaked havoc with her diminishing equilibrium. “A pretty blonde with a sweet Southern accent and a knack for making a man feel wanted in a dozen different ways.” He took a step forward and her backside bumped up against the Maytag. “Laid-back and easy, but with depth.” He inched closer, crowding her with his length until she dragged her body on top of the oversized machine. Even with her sitting atop the washer, he still topped her by several inches.

  She shoved the tablet into the slim space between them. “Got it. Sweet, easy, and deep.”

  Sweeping the tablet to one side, he set his hands on top of the washing machine and leaned in close. “And she needs to be a good kisser.”

  “A good kisser.”

  “And enjoy really great sex.”

  She nodded, avoiding his eyes. “Really great sex.”

  “Like on top of a washing machine…in the middle of the day…smoking hot sex.” He stepped between her legs and her thoughts drifted to a rainy, island morning and those hips working their magic. Her fingers gripped the edges of the tablet as she hugged it against her chest like a shield, some kind of chemistry-proof vest.

  “Got it. A sweet, shy blonde who wants to rock out some smoking hot sex on a Maytag.” Not exactly a tough-talking brunette from a back street in the Heights, but if sweet and shy turned him on…

  “Oh, and glasses. She’s got to wear glasses.”

  “Since when have you liked glasses?” Her brows knit together in confusion. All of a sudden, he’d developed some kind of naughty librarian fantasy?

  “Kinda goes with the sweet and easy.”

  Jane white-knuckled the tablet, fighting for some semblance of professional distance, but his voice was an invitation to sin and considering the last year without sex—sans her six days in heaven—she wondered how long she could hold out.

  No way would she make the same mistake twice. She wanted to win this bet and save her ass. And her company. And her best friend’s job. And it wasn’t just their reputations on the line. This was NY. The competition was fierce. If she wanted Smart Cupid to continue to grow and thrive, she couldn’t afford to lose this wager. She couldn’t afford another lapse in judgment.

  Come on, Jane, get it together.

  “Next question.” She tapped to a different screen on the tablet. “How would you describe yourself: searching for a good party, career-focused, a Wingman, or just your average guy?”

  “Just your average guy.”

  As he spoke, he traced the line of her jaw with his fingers. She lifted her gaze and watched the way his eyes darkened from a smoky gray to a warm, dark coal. Average, my ass.

  “Are you going to do that after every question?” she asked. “Because as far as flirting goes, yours is a little over-the-top and I’m trying to obtain some serious, scientific answers here.”

  “Just wondering what kind of touch my dates will enjoy. Think this is good?” His thumb grazed across her cheek. “Or maybe this kind is better.” He angled closer and dropped his hands to her knees, running his thumbs along the inside of her thighs. She’d taken to higher ground to avoid him, but with him so close there was nowhere to go.

  She slapped his hand and drew a line in the air between them with her index finger. “Don’t cross this line.”

  A low chuckle rumbled up from his chest as he leaned closer, way past the line. He brushed a curl away from her cheek. The simple touch made her tremble.

  “No crossing the line…”

  “Kinda fun, don’t you think?”

  My goodness, she never should’ve insisted on rules. He’d seek to break them just on principle.

  “I think we need to skip to the lightning round.” Holding onto sanity by a thread, she tapped violently through several screens to a series of shorter questions. “First answer that comes to your mind—Nirvana or The Beatles?”

  “Beatles.”

  “Beatles or Stones?”

  He ran his hands ran alongside her hips, definitely over the line. “Can’t always get what you want.” She gazed up at his lips as he answered, but all she heard was, “Want, want, want.”

  The next question was damned near a whisper. “The Dark Side or The Light Side of the Force?”

  A small smile touched his lips. “Oh, I love the Dark Side.”

  She tried to speak, but nothing filtered down from her dopamine-addled brain. And then he was kissing her. Tenderly, at first, his kiss seemed to test its limits, equal parts bitter and sweet, like a Manhattan. His hands moved up her back and tangled in the curls at the nape of her neck. He deepened his kiss slowly, adding intensity with her every soft sigh of encouragement. Her heart pounded against the tablet she held against her chest as his lips traveled her skin, gliding across her collarbone, burrowing in her neck, moving to lick at her earlobe, until finally coming back to capture her mouth, biting and nibbling at her bottom lip, exploring the depths of her. Logical or not, she loved the rhythm of his mouth against hers, light and tender, slow and passionate, playful and teasing. How much she’d missed the feel of him—the feel of his strong, rangy body, the taste of his lips, the citrus and spice scent of his skin—all of him threatening her ability to stick to her own damned rules.

  The Laundromat’s red neon sign blinked in the window.

  Wash. Fold. Oh, yes, Charlie, put your lips on me.

  Wash. Fold. Kiss me.

  Wash. Fold. Do not stop kissing me.

  Her pulse rushed ahead, but despite her body’s longing for this man who was singularly bad for her psyche, her brain fought back for some control. No matter how good she felt right now, he was still the same Charlie…sexy, impulsive, rule-breaking Charlie, kissing her senseless in the middle of a Laundromat. Yes, the way the fresh, soapy scent of Tide mixed with the deep spice of him made her want to stay in the Fluff ’N Fold kissing him until all of New York stood still. But she’d created her list of must-haves for a reason, to ensure her relationships would be risk-free, to protect her heart, so if she was smart, she was going to stop kissing him right now.

  Like this very second.

  As if he could read her mind, he pulled his lips away, lingering for a moment before ending the mind-blowing kiss. “Definitely a good kisser.”

  She released her hold on his shirt and blinked up at him. “A good kisser?”

  “My criteria—a good kisser,” he said, reaching past her for the Downy. “My easy-going blonde needs to be a good kisser.” He tossed a capful of fabric softener into the machine next to them. “And she needs to like dogs…and kids…oh, and pizza.”

  Blindsided. That’s how she felt. By seeing him again, by her reaction to him. “A good kisser who likes dogs and kids and pizza,” she repeated numbly.

  “Exactly. Everyday stuff.”

  She dropped her gaze to the linoleum. “Charlie, if I’m going to find you a blonde who likes dogs and pizza, we can’t—”

  But before she could explain all the reasons why Laundromat kisses were not a good idea—the risk to her company, her renewed dedication to her man criteria, and the undeniable fact that his lips on her skin made her tingle from the center of her body to its fraying edges, a feeling that scared the hell out of her—he went and played the candy card.

  “Wild cherry,” he said, holding up
a red and silver roll of the best Life Savers ever. “Your favorite.”

  A lump rose in her throat and she swallowed past it, mustering a short smile and a nod at his memory. She’d met Charlie when she was eight years old and he was ten. Her brothers, Nick and Jake, brought him home to Brooklyn for macaroni and cheese one night after lacrosse practice. They’d all made some citywide team, and Jane still remembered the way her breath caught in her throat at the sight of uptown Charlie Goodman. Rebellious, sad, beautiful. Hard not to love.

  When they got a little older, if her mom was on a date with another less-than-great guy and her brothers were off studying, Charlie would show up on her doorstep and they’d walk down to the corner store together, buy some Bull’s-eyes, a pack of wild cherry Life Savers, and a couple of Cokes.

  By the time they were in junior high, he’d carried the candies in his pockets, occasionally played hooky from his uptown school to hide a few in her downtown locker. Charlie had certainly felt safe then. She reached for the sweet candy and wondered why great sex ruined everything.

  He nodded toward the vending machine near the front of the Laundromat. “I’ll treat you to a Hershey bar, too.”

  She gave him a smile, the best one she could safely offer. “How about a pack of Twizzlers? Since you’re buying.”

  “My ex loves Twizzlers.”

  “Charlie—”

  “Don’t worry, Janey,” he said, his hands buried deep in his pockets, “Twizzlers aren’t on my list anymore.”

  “Okay, then. Good.” The words were exactly what she wanted to hear, so why did she feel so…sad? “We’ll be playing it strictly by the rules from now on.” She ran down the updated list. “No kissing. No flirting. No laundry. No candy.”

  Reaching out, he tucked a curl behind her ear. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  She pushed him back a few inches with the edge of the tablet. “I need to go back to the office and set up your first date. My assistant will call you with the details and help you finish your criteria matrix. She’ll be your contact now. Better for us to keep everything professional.”

  He rolled back on his heels and let her pass. “You bet.”

  Like the driver of a getaway car, she grabbed her parka, purse, and tablet, and made a break for the door. The digital bell clanged repeatedly as she burst through the threshold onto the sidewalk.

  Despite the bracing air, she felt rattled and off-kilter. Damn, she hated feeling off-kilter. Off-kilter left little room for logic. She dragged her coat across her shoulders and stepped to the curb to hail a cab.

  Her cell chimed inside the pocket—My Funny Valentine, the Sinatra version.

  She fished the phone from her coat and answered without thinking. “Jane Wright.”

  “Janey?” The sound of her name on his lips re-lit the maddening fire burning inside her, a fire she refused to ignite again. “Yes?” She struggled to keep her tone even and calm.

  Rattled.

  Off-kilter.

  Finding the right match for an ex-friend was not as easy as it sounded. Yellow tape was everywhere. Even his voice reminded her to proceed with caution.

  “Don’t forget,” he said, “a good kisser and a blonde.”

  “A good kisser, a blonde, a Beatles fan.” She turned to give him a short wave and the storefront sign blinked back at her like a neon warning. “Check, check, and check.”

  She ended the call with a swift stab at the end call button and prayed for a cab. The Laundromat had made one thing clear. She needed to hunker down and find that man true love, and fast. Because Charlie Goodman was the only man who’d ever gotten in the way of her commitment to love by criteria. The only one.

  Six months of distance should’ve made their chemistry fizzle, but that kiss in the Fluff ‘N Fold told a different story. Good thing she was still in charge of how that story ended.

  She pivoted away from the window to hail a yellow cab careening to her rescue.

  Breathing room.

  Starts.

  Now.

  Chapter Five

  @smartCupid Don’t check out the cutie in the corner when you’re on a date with someone else. Ever. No take-backs. No do-overs.

  @AdamDatesRUs Kiss enough frogs, and eventually, one of them will say, I love you.

  Jane opened the top drawer of her desk and wrinkled her nose at the candy selection. One laundry cycle and she had been this close to giving it up faster than a quick rinse. One laundry cycle and she’d become an addict, strung out on Charlie all over again. All that kissing on top of the Maytag? Exactly why she’d been avoiding him. Passion led straight to unadulterated anguish, the kind ready to kick a girl in her teeth when love deserted her, and she wasn’t going to end up like her mother—on a love high until she was alone. Not. Going. To. Happen.

  She took a deep breath closed the desk drawer. It was only chemistry. She was smart enough to recognize the signs, the hypnotic pull. And, same way she’d put on the breaks six months ago, she could apply the e-break now. Granted, she hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be to see him again, or how so many memories—a lifetime of them, really—would come crashing back. But awareness was ninety-nine percent of the battle. They called her SmartCupid for a reason, damn it.

  Her phone chimed and she snatched it up, glad of the distraction. “Morning, Smart Cupid. Smart choices, real love.”

  “You ready to admit defeat?” Adam Walters’ smug tone snaked its way through the phone line. It took everything she had not to slam down the receiver.

  “How the hell did you know I was here?”

  “I can see the light in your office. I’m outside your building.”

  She glanced at the window overlooking the Greenmarket and wondered if she should consider a restraining order. “You need therapy.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I met a prospective client in the District, figured I’d check on the competition. Any luck with the true love deal?”

  She opened the candy drawer again, raced down to the R’s, and ripped open a two-pack of peanut butter cups with her teeth.

  “I take it your silence means no?”

  “Take it however you want.”

  “I brought you coffee.”

  “One of the signs of the Apocalypse?” She walked over to the window. There he was on the sidewalk, holding two Dunkin’ Donuts cups in hand. The big oaf. Did the devil have no shame?

  “Funny.” He held up an orange and pink lettered cup. “Congratulate me. I’ve got six matches on the books already this morning.”

  More silence, followed by a little extra squint in the death stare she reserved just for him.

  “No coffee then?”

  “I’m a Starbucks girl.”

  “I’ll remember that. Keep me posted on the whole true love thing, Cupid.” He ended the call with a short salute and moved down the street. Watching him turn the corner, Jane swore violently under her breath. If she’d had a bow and arrow, he’d have taken one right in his camel-coat-covered backside.

  She dropped the phone on her desk and it skittered across the wood, stopping in front of the framed photo on the corner. Her thirtieth birthday party. Group shot, birthday girl, happy and smiling, front and center, and yet, as usual, the guy standing second from left drew her attention. Charlie smiled wickedly into the camera as if to say, “Meet me in the coatroom in three minutes.”

  Damn, she really needed to change out that picture.

  A sharp series of five knocks on the door interrupted her thoughts. She glanced up and smiled. Nick stood in the doorway, dressed to the nines in a blue-pinstripe suit, his jet-black hair neat, as always. He flashed a quick smile, full of fun, teasing charm. He was all kinds of trouble, a man with commitment issues so deep, the matrix didn’t apply. A matchmaker’s worst nightmare. But whether or not he’d ever cop to it, her brother had a heart of gold.

  “Always thought you were the go big or go home type,” Nick said, moseying into her office. “But even I didn’t see that o
ne coming.”

  “Guess you watched The Today Show this morning.” Like most of New York City.

  “DVR’d it, too.” His phone pinged. A text from his current friend with benefits, no doubt. “Not every day my baby sister goes down in the annals of television history.”

  Another ping. She tried not to roll her eyes. “Don’t you think that’s a little much?”

  “After the whopper you pulled? No, no, I don’t.”

  “I meant the texts. Your phone is literally going to explode one day.”

  He threw out a fast grin and a wink. “Can I help it if I’m just that charming?”

  This time, she did roll her eyes, saved from commenting by the appearance of Smart Cupid’s match recruiter and hard-core numbers girl, Marianne McBride. She’d only joined the company five months ago, but they’d grown close and she’d been a better friend than she could’ve ever hoped for. “Got the match analysis for…” M.A. stopped mid-sentence and blinked at Nick, her blue eyes wide behind her glasses.

  Jane sighed into the silence and pulled back the wrapper on the Reese’s. Mid-sentence speech deficiency. Her brother had that effect.

  “Hello, new girl,” he said, reflexively offering that full-wattage smile. “I’m Nick.”

  She shot her brother a pointed look. “Don’t you have a case to go win, Romeo?” Another ping of his damned phone. Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe a phone call to return?”

  He cruised over and planted a fast kiss on her cheek before leaving. “I am due in mediation actually, but I wanted to stop by and remind you.”

  “Remind me?” she asked.

  He stopped briefly in the doorway. “To go big or go home,” he said with a mischievous grin. He winked at M.A., who blushed a bright Crayola pink, smoothed her A-line skirt, and watched as he disappeared down the hallway.

  Jane sighed and bit into a peanut butter cup. Didn’t she have enough trouble?

  A minute later, the recruiter blinked her way back to the office and turned around all aflutter, waving her ubiquitous tablet. “Omigosh, Jane, where was I? Oh, right, the match analysis for your ex.” She strode fully into the office. “With his photograph splashed across the newsstands, clients are calling in, begging for a date. The online response is incredible, too. An early morning thread about his bachelor status crashed the NY Singles page on Facebook.”