by Brinda Berry
I lower my head, kissing and sucking along her belly, dipping my tongue into her navel, until I reach her core. She smells of scented soap and musk. I trail my fingers along the skin of her inner thigh, and she squeezes her legs against me.
I give a tentative lick and she trembles. My tongue darts in and out, while I place wet, wide kisses on her center.
She’s wiggling her ass, her fingers digging into my shoulders, alternating between pushing me away and pulling me against her folds. “Gun…Gun.”
I love the desperation and affirmation in her voice. The connection between us fills me with pride and longing to make her lose control.
Her body is slick and ready, the workings of my fingers in time with the increasing movements of her body. “I need you inside,” she says in a high tone.
I pull away and whisper against the satin skin of her thigh. “Let yourself go.”
This moment is about her, not me. She needs to know she’s desirable. I’ve wanted her since I laid eyes on her the other day.
Who am I kidding? My infatuation goes back to fucking middle school.
I return to my ministrations—hell, my worship of her body—until she shudders and makes a sultry sound of pure ecstasy. A thrill courses through me, her orgasm more pleasurable than mine could be.
Her body continues to quake, her short nails biting into the flesh of my shoulders. Finally, she stills and there’s only the sound of her quick intakes of air.
I stand and run my knuckles across her flushed cheek. Her wide eyes search mine.
“Gunner,” she pants. “That was, that was…”
“Intense?” I grin and lock my hands around her waist so I can bring her flush to my chest.
“What about you…do you want to…”
I like that she can’t quite put her thoughts together. Leaning forward, I nuzzle her neck. “Some other time. Let me hold you right now.” Words I never thought would come out of my mouth. I should feel like a pussy for saying I’m content with holding her. Should, but I don’t.
She’s offering herself to me. Why am I turning it down?
I know why. Because it’s too soon after the dickhead had his ring on her finger. She needs to be sure about me. I don’t want to be the rebound guy.
And I need to be certain I can handle her. Because as far as I know, there’s no Kiley rehab.
Uncertainty clouds my thinking. I don’t know if I’m brave enough to start up something with her.
Guys like me don’t get to keep the Kileys of the world.
Chapter Eight
Heat
Current Day
Kiley
A watched cell phone never rings. Gunner doesn’t call.
Fifteen days and I’ve waited to hear from him every flipping day. I don’t have his phone number or a way to reach him. A different guy shows up to work on the landscaping.
I’m worried that Gunner regrets everything with me. Otherwise, wouldn’t he have called?
Unless he’s not interested now. Or he thinks I’m the type who gets naked with every guy she meets.
What kind of girl breaks up with a fiancé and runs into the arms of another guy? But he’s not any guy. He’s Gunner Freaking Parrish, the boy I daydreamed about my entire sophomore year of high school.
“Kiley? What do you think?” Dad chuckles because he’s well aware that I have no idea what he’s asked me.
I scold myself for not having my mind in the right place. Dad’s agreed to talk about the show schedule and it’s time for me to get my head in the game.
He stands beside the fireplace mantle in his Armani suit, looking strangely identical to the images of him in last year’s Vanity Fair photo shoot. I’ve interrupted an informal meeting between Dad and his director, Tony Tolino.
Dad shakes his head at me. “I think some bad publicity is inevitable. The news reporters will key in on what’s happened with you and Mason. I can see the headlines now——Matchmaker Loses Her Own Man.” My dad’s matter-of-fact words clip out sportscaster style. “Not to be tactless, dear.” He adds the endearment to soften his words.
Right. My dad wouldn’t know tact if it hopscotched over and kissed his ass. Doesn’t he realize how cold he sounds? I lift my chin and form my lips into the Miss Tennessee smile that’s become second nature to me. “I don’t want to talk about Mason. I want to talk about when we begin filming and why we haven’t chosen the substitute bachelor for Forever. What’s taking so long?”
Last week, our bachelor for the season broke both legs in a skiing accident. He’s out and we need a replacement.
“We have five contenders for screen testing tomorrow.”
“Oh.” I sigh in relief. For a few seconds, I was afraid he might want to discuss postponing the season.
Tony studies me from his seat in the wingback chair to my right. He’s always liked me, and I know he generally agrees with my opinions. He’s closer in age to me than to my dad, and he’s been around for years.
Once, I had a crush on Tony. He was an intern with my dad at Rolling Hills Productions. I was a senior in high school and he a senior in college—an older man.
Those days are long past
He turns away from me to look at my dad. “Forever is in its eighth season,” he says. “The ratings still bring in the advertisers, but it’s not what it has been. We need something different this season. More challenging.”
“What if we change the rules?” I ask. “How about this: let’s give the guy a dilemma—choose love or money. Offer him either the perfect girl or cold, hard cash.”
Tony narrows his eyes and nods slowly. “I like it. It makes it a challenge for both the Matchmaker and the contestant.”
“How much do you have in mind?” Dad asks.
I shrug. “A million?”
Dad laughs. “You’re feeling pretty confident if you think you can tempt a man away from that.”
“I can do it.”
Tony taps fingers on his knee, looking as if he’s doing some mental calculation. “It’s not a bad idea. But what’s to say the guy won’t cut a deal with the match? He could promise her half the money if she waits for him.”
“No,” I answer quickly. Some people think beauty contestants can’t think on their feet. Wrong! As a former pageant queen, I can fix a high heel broken minutes before walking on stage or answer a question about solving world hunger. Each equally high pressure. “The show contract would have to be clear. If he chooses the money, the couple cannot have a relationship of any kind with each other for five years.”
“Five, huh. You think that’s long enough?”
I smile. “Sure. Would you stay away from the woman of your dreams for five years so you could keep the money?”
Tony and my dad give each other that look that says I’m naive.
“You would think you guys don’t even believe in soul mates or true love,” I say.
“I believe in ratings,” Dad says. “If you keep our audience engaged, I’ll let you have your own show next season.” Dad moves to the window. “If you two will excuse me for a minute. One of my contractors has pulled into the drive. Let me take care of him, and we’ll continue.” He strides across the room and disappears into the foyer.
Tony gets to his feet. “I’m on your side. I think the show needs something different. Viewers aren’t satisfied with the same thing every season.”
“That’s what I’m saying. Thanks, Tony.”
“I’m on the same page. You’re more than a pretty face.” He looks away from me to the doorway.
I hear the voice I’ve wanted to hear for days. Gunner.
He steps inside and the air whooshes from my lungs as if I’ve been punched. I didn’t expect him to be so gorgeous. So tall. So beefcake. Dad follows a couple of steps behind him, coming into full view. “Let’s see what an unbiased person thinks.” He motions at me. “My daughter has my director twisted around her little finger. I’d like to know what someone else thinks.”
Gunner nod
s, still staring at me. My belly continues to flip at the sight of him. His dark blond hair gleams with some highlights from the sun. His white, starched, cotton shirt stretches across a wide chest and tucks into dark jeans. He’s a Greek god wearing clothes—all muscle and power. If I were a model scout, I’d have a pen and contract in his hand faster than he could blink.
My gaze travels back up to meet his and there’s a glint in his eye. My appreciation doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Oh, is this necessary?” I murmur. I don’t want to talk about Forever right now. I want to grab Gunner by the arm and haul him outside to find out why I haven’t seen him for days. I want to know why he hasn’t called. I want his phone number because maybe he thinks we had a one-time thing and he doesn’t know how I feel.
I want him.
“If a man were given the choice between a woman and a million bucks, do you think he’d ever choose the woman? Would romance win over money?” Dad asks.
Gunner’s brow furrows. “Well, Ed. I don’t know much about romance.” He shifts a little and folds his arms uncomfortably.
“You don’t have to. Simply answer from your gut instincts,” Dad says. “If my daughter tried to find your soulmate, the one woman you are meant to be with, do you think she could?”
Gunner glances from me to my dad and then to Tony. “Definitely not. I don’t believe in that soulmate stuff or love.”
My heart shatters inside my chest, piercing my chest wall with tiny barbs. He doesn’t believe in love. I swear it’s blasphemy. Of all the things in my life that I hold tight, it’s the belief that I’ll find someone who’ll love me with his entire being.
“I could find someone for any man. But him,” I say with a motion toward Gunner, “he’s not the ideal guy to ask. I, um…”
Dad grins. “So, Kiley, you’re saying you couldn’t.”
“Not for him. We have to find someone in the market for love. Someone who…” Gunner’s dark gaze doesn’t break from mine for a second. If looks could kill, I’d be ten feet under. “Can we use anyone else as an example?”
“Let’s stick with Gunner,” Dad says. “The unbeliever. Could you find a woman he could walk down the aisle with or not?”
Fixing Gunner up with another woman is about as appetizing as week-old leftovers after Thanksgiving.
I shake my head. “Nope. Not him.”
“Are you saying something is wrong with me?” He folds his muscular arms across his chest and tilts his head. His beautiful eyes narrow into disgruntled slits.
I swallow and choose to nip this in the bud. I will not, cannot, won’t fix Gunner up with a woman. “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”
“Are you gay?” Dad asks Gunner.
“Dad! He’s not gay. I can assure you.”
They all look at me as if waiting for me to say more. I press my lips together.
“Not as far as I know.” Gunner says, still staring at me.
“Nothing wrong with being gay or straight or bi,” Dad says to him. Then he glances over at Tony as if I don’t even exist in the room. “We could do something exciting on the show with that.”
“No, Dad. He’s not the right material for a reality show. He’s…he’s…” I search for the word. I wave my hand in the air. “He’s a confirmed bachelor. He’s not really the type you normally have on the show.”
Gunner shoves his hands into his worn jeans pockets. “Type?”
Dad studies me. “I think I see what she means. Last season, we had a brain surgeon who put me to sleep every time I tuned in. You’d be intriguing to the audience. A man who isn’t afraid of hard work.”
“So, you mean I’m too blue collar,” Gunner says, his unhappy gaze flicking to me. “Is that what you mean?” He directs the question at me.
“Well, no. That’s not exactly what I meant.” I fidget, something I never do.
“This show sounds more interesting all the time. Does it involve women throwing themselves at me?” Gunner asks.
“Ugh. Listen to him. Confirmed bachelor with a chauvinistic attitude.” Is that what he thought I did the other night? I scan my memory for how desperate I may have seemed.
“Then you must not be up to a challenge like me. I’m not the kind to settle for anybody. I’d need a woman who challenges me. I like to chase a little. I’d like a woman who doesn’t expect everything handed to her on a silver platter.”
My chest squeezes. If I were alone, I’d succumb to tears. But I’m not alone. The audience before me is watching this like it’s Wimbledon. My serve. “I’ve changed my mind. I could find your true love. No problem. Give me four weeks and you’ll be down on one knee proposing to your true love.”
Gunner takes a step back. “That’s never going to happen. Dream on.”
Dad’s face splits into a wide grin. I haven’t seen him this happy since the show won an Emmy. “You are exactly the type of guy we need this season.”
My dad tilts back his head in a laugh. “I love the sheer animosity between these two. Sparks are what we need. Gunner, how about being the next bachelor on Forever?”
Chapter Nine
Challenge
Current Day
Gunner
It's always best to make sure your mouth is big enough before you insert your foot in it. I hadn't intended my comment about the reality show to be taken as a challenge. But pride is a funny thing. A guy can either have too little or too much.
I'm obviously packing heavy in the pride department. Shit.
We stand in the Vanderbilts’ living room. This place makes me nervous, with its off-white furniture waiting for a dirt stain and breakable stuff on every table. I only dropped in to talk with Ed and maybe secretly get a glimpse of Kiley. Now, I'm somehow trapped in this conversation with Kiley, her dad, and this stranger in their living room, who look at me with all this expectation.
“I could do the show if I didn't have to work.” I smile, hoping my backpedaling isn't too obvious. “Reality shows are for those guys who don't have jobs. I don't think my clients would appreciate me taking off.” I can’t think of anything more excruciating than being on a television show. I have better things to do.
Owning a small business at my age takes a lot of hard work and capital. Long hours and pure determination.
“Oh, come on,” Ed Vanderbilt says. “You're the boss. Surely you can make arrangements for any time we'd be filming.”
“Wait a minute. You're the boss?” Kiley couldn't sound more surprised if you'd said I was king of a small nation.
I nod and I’m positive I’m wearing the same face I do in poker when I put down the straight and rake in the winnings.
“It's his company. He can set his own schedule.” Ed gives me a smile that says we're equals in the world of business. This is why I respect the guy. Even though Ed's net worth is a couple of billion times mine, he still treats me the same as he does the suit standing next to him. “Also, you'd get paid a sum that would be well-worth time away from clients,” he says, his speech getting faster. “Or the show can help you find someone to sub-contract the jobs taking place in your absence. Not to mention the prize money if Kiley fails to find your match. A million dollars.”
The guy I haven't met, the slick-looking suit, strides across and holds out his hand. “I'm Tony Tolino, the co-producer of Forever. Maybe you could drop in the studio and we could discuss the show. Take a few test shots.”
“Gunner Parrish,” I say, taking his hand and shaking it. “I haven't agreed to anything.”
Tony has this smug air about him. No bullshit with a lot of eye contact, strong grip, but smooth hands. He's confident and well dressed. I'm not sure I like him, but I can’t isolate which part of him bothers me.
“Sure, sure,” he says. “But there's nothing wrong with considering it.”
“He doesn't want to do it.” Kiley says to Tony.
She's fighting this awfully hard. You'd think she believes I'm a lost cause. This hurts for some reason.
“I ca
n talk for myself,” I say.
She looks like a colt ready to jump the fence. “We can't use you. You're not the right sort for this kind of thing. I mean, I want someone I can find a match for and win.”
“I get it.” My voice grates in irritation. I'm not good enough for the show and certainly not good enough to be someone's husband.
“Gunner.” Ed steps between us. Somehow, Kiley and I are only feet apart, as if we're magnets pulling toward each other. “Kiley,” he says.
“What?” We answer in unison.
He faces Kiley. “If Gunner will agree to do the show, I'll leave you on as Matchmaker this season. That's my offer. There's a chemistry between you two that would work for this competition idea that Tony has. If he doesn’t agree, we’re probably going to postpone filming and I’ll put another show in the slot. I’m afraid our ratings will fall if we rush in and put just anybody in as our substitute bachelor.”
“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” Kiley mutters.
Ed gives her a patronizing smile with a consoling nod. “All I'm saying is this: If I can't find the right bachelor to co-star with you, then we may have to rethink this entire season. I know what’s best for your career.”
Damn. I’m not crazy about the way Ed treats his daughter as if she’s some kid. Also, I'm going to decline and now Ed's made it my fault that Kiley won’t get to do the show. Thanks a lot, Ed.
“Ed,” I say, avoiding Kiley's gaze. “I have to meet a client.”
Kiley's mouth purses into a little bull’s-eye of tension. Her picture could be in the dictionary beside “pissed-off woman.” Her hands ball into tight fists at her side. She’s probably not even aware she’s doing it, but I notice everything about her.
“OK,” she says. “I'll do it.” The sound of ambition is palpable.
“I won't.” I take a step back.
“Scared you might find the woman of your dreams and end up walking down the aisle?” she asks, sarcasm dripping in her tone. “Buying a house in the suburbs and having a couple of kids?”