The Billionaire's Matchmaker: An Indulgence Anthology (Entangled Indulgence)

by Barbara Wallace

  Without missing a beat, he slid his hands to the back of her neck under the waterfall of her hair and lifted her head as his descended to kiss her.

  Their mouths met deliciously. Before she realized what was happening their tongues were twining. Her blood raced through her veins. All solidity left her body.

  As if realizing she was about to fall into a puddle of desire at his feet, he moved his hands from her neck, down her back. One stopped at her waist. One slid to her bottom.

  The intimate touch of his hand sent a shot of need straight to her femininity. As their mouths mated and he kneaded the supple flesh of her behind, his other hand slowly drifted to the spot just beneath her breast.

  Red-hot desire exploded in her core. When his hand covered her breast, it was all she could do to control a whimper. He massaged for a second then found her nipple.

  “What do you say we get rid of your sweater?”

  The words whispered against her mouth were every bit as sensual as the request. He didn’t give her time to think, though. He reached for the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head. Her red lace bra greeted him.

  He smiled. Caught her gaze. “Pretty.”

  Then he kissed her again. One hand held her head. One hand breezed along her skin, to her back, and snapped open her bra as if it were no trouble, no challenge, at all. Her breasts fell free, and he broke the kiss to take one straining nipple into his mouth.

  Her knees buckled. He slid his arm around her back to brace her as he moved them toward the black sofa. After that, everything became a blur. As his tongue twirled around her other nipple, he reached for the snap of her jeans. He released her to get rid of her jeans and panties but when he returned to kiss her again, his jeans were also gone. His erection pressed against her thigh.

  Nothing had ever felt so wonderful, and she was abundantly glad she was on the pill. Just the thought of him naked above her sent arousal careening through her veins. Through her sexual haze, she felt him push her thighs apart and enter her.

  Sweet bliss filled her. Her swollen femininity wept with welcome for him. He moved in and out, intensifying the heavenly tension, and suddenly her insides exploded in an orgasm that sent ripples to her toes.

  He cried out in his own release.

  They lay there for thirty seconds before Marney came down to earth. She couldn’t remember how the seduction began or much of anything about it except that she’d never felt that kind of arousal in her life.

  And that she hadn’t done anything—hadn’t even had the presence of mind to touch him.

  He pushed himself off her, left for a few seconds then returned to the sofa and sat beside her. Blissfully naked, he reached for the ladle and dished out a bowl of soup for each of them, and then handed her a spoon.

  “Thank you.” Her voice squeaked. Every muscle and bone and tendon and ligament of her body felt different. They hummed with life and energy, as if they hadn’t really been alive before.

  He dug into his soup. She slid her spoon into hers. She wasn’t exactly mad at herself. Who could be angry after the best sex of their life? But she hadn’t done what she’d come here to do. Find out about him. And she wasn’t entirely sure how they’d ended up having sex…except maybe that she’d been ogling him again. He’d known she wanted him, so he’d taken her.

  Although, it wasn’t as if she’d put up a fight.

  She ate five bites of soup. Naked. Sitting on a couch with a guy with whom she’d already made love, but didn’t really know.

  “This soup is excellent.” He finished a whole bowl and dished out another.

  Sex obviously gave him an appetite. Who said she hadn’t found out anything about him?

  Damn it. Stop. You can’t be an idiot about this. You have to do what you came here to do.

  “So…Um…” She set her bowl on the coffee table, glanced up into his perfect blue eyes, and totally lost her train of thought.

  He smiled at her. “So…um…what?”

  The little hum she now recognized as acute arousal started up in her again. She had to talk fast if she was going to talk at all.

  “I actually wanted to talk a little bit. I brought the soup over to be neighborly, but I came here to talk.”

  He frowned. “I thought you’d considered what I’d said last night and made up your mind to sleep with me.” He pointed at the soup pot. “I assumed you’d used the soup as an icebreaker.”

  She reddened to the roots of her hair. If that wasn’t proof that they had communications issues, she didn’t know what was.

  He set his bowl on the coffee table and slid his thumb across her chin. “You had a little bit of soup there.”

  His voice was deep and husky. His blue eyes warm and seductive. Her gaze fell to his chest and followed the trail of soft black hair to his brand new erection. She swallowed. It looked as if he was feeling exactly the same thing she was…a need for more.

  She bought her gaze to his and he slid his hands to her nape, tilted her face, and kissed her again.

  This time there was no hesitation. And this time she wasn’t going to be a rag doll. Her hands fell to his chest and slid down to his navel, simply enjoying the silky feel of the dusting of black hair and firm muscle. As if playing a game of follow the leader, he slid his hands from her breasts to her lower abdomen.

  She slid her hands up.

  He slid his hand up.

  Sweet desire rippled through her. And so did an unexpected burst of boldness. They’d already made love once. Why be shy? Why deny herself?

  Her hands moved down again, but this time they didn’t stop. She smoothed both along the sides of his erection and back up to the top. She bent down and traced her tongue along the tip.

  He groaned and skimmed his hands down her torso. Following her lead, he didn’t stop at her tummy, but traced a line to the fluffy mound of hair beneath it. He found her sensitive nub, circled it, then lowered his head and glided his tongue over it.

  She about shot off the sofa, but he didn’t linger. He shifted and brought both hands to the sides of her face and kissed her again, long and deep. Somehow she ended up straddling him on the sofa as they kissed, her hands at his shoulders, his hands cupping her behind. But one of his hands slipped from her butt to her sex. He slid one finger inside her, then two. When she groaned with ecstasy, he rolled them onto the sofa and entered her again.

  …

  Two hours later, she sneaked into her house through the kitchen door, not entirely clear why she felt guilty. Not only had the sex been great but they were clearly very good at it. Sure, he’d gotten her to go beyond a few of her inhibitions, but who really needed inhibitions?

  She tiptoed to the sink and lowered her crockpot inside. When she turned away, Charlie was at her feet, wagging his tail.

  “Don’t be so thrilled. We didn’t talk, and I didn’t care. I really might only want sex from this guy. And what does that make me?”

  Guilty and confused?

  Or sated and happy?

  Really? Was she allowed to be sated and happy over a one-night stand?

  Because that’s all this was. A one-night stand. They might not have talked much tonight, but he’d made himself abundantly clear. He didn’t want a relationship.

  Chapter Five

  Though the following afternoon was just as boring as the two days before had been, Marney forced herself to stay at the shop. She hadn’t just made love with Dell O’Neil on a misconception. She’d done it three times the day before at his house.

  And kissed him passionately at his door.

  Because he was gorgeous and an excellent lover—but she hadn’t made a conscious decision. He’d sort of taken the decision out of her hands by seducing her…because she’d made soup.

  So, no soup tonight. No fettuccini. No nothing. She was getting back her bearings.

  She locked the shop door at her usual five-thirty quitting time, then drove home determined not to be embarrassed that she’d slept with a man she barely knew a
nd equally determined not to be glad she’d slept with him. Even if she only wanted him for a lover, she should know him.

  Tossing her keys on the hall table, she made her way to the stairway, strode to her bedroom, and changed out of her purple pantsuit into threadbare jeans and a ripped pink T-shirt. These were not clothes to be seen in public. They were laundry day clothes. That would keep her home.

  Satisfied she’d gotten her wits back, she jogged down the stairs. Just as she hit the last step, her doorbell rang.

  Remembering it was about time for the piece of art she’d ordered at the Heart Association fund raiser to be delivered, she swung open the door, and there stood Dell, dressed the same way she was, in jeans and a scruffy T-shirt. The weather had warmed, and even though the sun had gone down, he didn’t need a jacket. Sweet spring air wafted into her foyer.

  He gave her a hopeful look and held out the pot in his hands. “I made soup.”

  Soup.

  Heat enveloped her, a need so sharp and sweet, she swayed.

  Still, she told herself to behave. To get her dignity back. “I hope soup hasn’t become our code word for sex.”

  He laughed. “No. Actually, it’s apology soup.”

  “Apology from Dell O’Neil?”

  “We had such a…good time…yesterday that it didn’t dawn on me until this morning that the way I handled our miscommunication wasn’t exactly gentlemanly.”

  She remembered every detail of how he’d “handled” things the night before, and she swallowed. Her gaze rose to meet his. “I didn’t exactly correct you.”

  He displayed the pot again. “So, apology soup?”

  She laughed. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

  …

  Dell forced himself not to breathe a sigh of relief until she turned to lead him to her kitchen. Then he let it out in a slow stream of air.

  He really had misinterpreted her gesture the night before, but the second time they’d had sex he couldn’t plead that excuse. The third time…well, what could he say? They were good at it. But tonight would be different.

  Not that he didn’t want to have sex with her again. He just wanted it to be her idea this time so he’d know for sure she was okay with it.

  She patted her granite countertop as she passed it. “Put the soup here.” Then she reached into a cupboard and retrieved bowls. Setting them on the countertop by the pot of soup, she said, “I have beer, if you want one.”

  He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets because he itched to touch her. She’d been gorgeous at the gala in the red dress, adorable in her jeans and sweater the night before. But casual, in a T-shirt with a few holes and jeans so well worn they caressed her ass, she made his mouth water.

  She handed him a beer. He pulled one of his hands out of his pocket so he could take it.

  “Want to eat here or on the couch?”

  The couch had definitely gotten them into trouble the night before. He pointed at the tall chairs by the counter on which the soup sat. “Right here is good.”

  She ladled out the chicken noodle soup and set a bowl in front of him before she ladled a bowl for herself. She took the seat across the counter from him and heat crawled up his neck. She wouldn’t even sit by him. He really had gone too far too fast the night before.

  She took a bite of soup and groaned. “This is fantastic. Why didn’t you tell me you could cook?”

  “I can’t. I got the soup from my mother. Her housekeeper is a gem.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “You went to Chicago today?”

  “It was my day off.”

  Her lips quirked a little. “I can’t say I’m not glad.” She smiled. “So this means we can talk about your other life?”

  He glanced down at his soup then up at her. “It’s not really another life. It’s part of my life.” He shrugged, feeling weirdly okay with this. “I just don’t advertise it, and I asked my family not to, either. But you already know about it. So, yeah. I guess if we’re going to be friends we can talk about my parents…my past.”

  “The bad divorce?”

  “The abysmal divorce.”

  She laughed. “Honestly, mine was no cake walk, either. My super-charming husband didn’t just end up with our condo, he got custody of our friends, and if my parents weren’t bound by blood, I think they would have kept him instead of me.”

  “Really?” He chuckled. “That’s not right.”

  “Well, he is an attorney. Though my brother, sister and I all went to college, none of us became a professional. Mom and Dad loved thinking Doug somehow got them into society or something.”

  “But you’re successful now.”

  “Yeah. And I could probably get them into more places than Doug ever could…but he was their first. And you know how that is.”

  He laughed. “You make it all sound so funny.”

  “Why not?” She shrugged. “You have to admit, my parents’ reaction was odd by anybody’s standards. Doug getting all of our friends, even mine…? Again, odd. When I began seeing it as funny, I got over it.”

  “So I should see my wife making off with most of my money as funny?”

  “Was it odd?”

  “Odd?”

  “Was there something unusual about the way she got the money?”

  “Actually, she sort of stole it.”

  “That’s promising.”

  “When we began negotiating, we had to present financial statements, and I discovered she’d been siphoning money practically since our wedding day.”

  “So you married a thief?”

  “Technically, yes.”

  “And you don’t see the humor in that?”

  He hadn’t, but now that all was said and done, he supposed there was a bit of humor in that. His lips quirked. They rose into a full blown smile. Then a laugh escaped.

  “See? Stick with me. I’ll show you how to make anything funny.”

  They finished their soup and drank another beer in her living room, talking for hours about her business, which intrigued him.

  “So you basically do nothing now?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t say nothing. I outsource the production. There’s some monitoring involved. And I still design. I have a new collection for every season.”

  “So why aren’t you busy with that?”

  “Designing isn’t a nine-to-five job. I design when inspired. But when I get inspired, look out. I could work for days without sleep or food.”

  “Interesting.”

  The conversation died. Which also intrigued him. Normally he had about five minutes worth of conversation with anybody and then he didn’t want to talk anymore. They’d basically talked for hours. And he would continue talking if he could think of something to say.

  Thirty seconds clicked by, and Marney yawned.

  He’d accomplished what he’d set out to accomplish. He’d proven himself to be a normal, decent guy, which basically took them back to the place where they were on fettuccini night. Very attracted friends. The decision to have a sexual relationship was back in her hands.

  He rose. Just thinking sexual relationship had started his engines. Watching her rise, dressed in her scruffy jeans and even scruffier T-shirt, revved them. From this point, he could go from zero to sixty in under five seconds, but this wasn’t his call. This was hers. If she wanted nothing tonight, that would be fine. He wouldn’t consider the relationship over. He’d be a gentleman.

  He headed for the door. She followed him.

  Okay. Think date. What would I do right now on a date?

  “I had a really nice time tonight.”

  She smiled. “I did, too.” She clasped her hands together and looked up into his eyes. “But we forgot something.”

  Oh, alleluia. He wasn’t leaving after all.

  “Your pot.”

  “What?”

  “Your soup pot.”

  “Oh.”

  Damn.

  “I’ll get it.”

  She turned to run into her kitchen, a
nd he swore her hips swayed more provocatively than he’d ever seen a woman’s hips sway before. The foyer got hot. His humming engines revved again.

  She returned with his soup pot, smiling as she handed it to him. “Here you go.”

  Either he had a very vivid imagination or her voice had become incredibly breathy and sexy in the twenty seconds it took to get the pot.

  His hand twitched.

  She shook her head, and her dark hair shimmered around her. If that wasn’t a mating call, he didn’t know what was.

  As if in slow motion, he took the pot.

  Seconds ticked off the clock.

  She didn’t make another move after the hair, so he was going to have to leave. But the least he should get is a goodnight kiss.

  Holding the pot, he leaned down and kissed her. His lips brushed against hers softly at first, but that only left him hungrier than having no kiss at all, so he pressed his mouth against her lips and they opened for him. His tongue drifted inside, and sweet arousal poured through him.

  Wanting to draw her closer, he nearly raised his hands, but they were holding a pot. He couldn’t remember why, so he stepped away, set the pot on her foyer table, and reached for her. She came into his arms willingly, and that was all the invitation his body needed.

  They kissed again, and he made short order of her shirt and white lace bra. This time, though, she lifted his T-shirt off. She also went for the snap of his jeans. He barely noticed. Her soft skin seduced his hands, filled his fingers with curiosity and the need to touch and explore.

  So he did. He let his hands glide along her arms, down her back, while his tongue laved her nipples. She groaned and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. A few of his more magical moves popped into his head but she shifted seductively against him and instinct snapped inside him. He grabbed her bottom, levered her against the wall and pushed himself into her.

  He didn’t bother to stop a moan of pleasure. She was perfect, wet and every bit as hungry as he was. He thrust only a few times before her orgasm overtook her. And that nearly pushed him over the edge, but he held on. He wanted her to come again. So he slowed his pace, ran his lips along her jawline, kneaded her breasts until her breath hitched. Then he thrust into her again and again, until she cried out his name.