Make Me a Match (The Soul Mate Tree Book 5)

by Mackenzie Lucas

  “Good.” She nodded at him. “First, we’ll enhance your curb-appeal and get you ready to go on a few dates. See how you do.”

  “I don’t think I like being described as a fixer-upper.”

  Her mouth twitched. “We’re all fixer-uppers, Mr. Cage. No worries. Work in progress. I’m not fixing you. Only enhancing your natural qualities.”

  “I like that better.” He grinned. Maybe we could get along.

  Her eyes softened and a smile played at the corner of her mouth. “Ah, and you need to smile more often.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s panty-melting.”

  He squared his shoulders and hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets. “I definitely like the sound of that one.”

  She contemplated her watch. “Meet me back here at one o’clock. We’re going shopping.”

  “What?” He stared at her. “I’m not shopping. I hate to shop.”

  Athena stepped around the desk and stood toe-to-toe with him. She was maybe five-eight or five-nine. He liked tall women. “Remember? You do what I say and this will go the way you want. You don’t, and it’s a waste of your daughter’s hard-earned money.” She pinned him with those fabulous eyes.

  “Damn. Low blow, lady.”

  “I use what I’ve got to get the results I want.”

  “Is that right?” He took a step closer. “And what results do you want?”

  “Today? I want you . . .” She drew out the long, seductive pause as she ran a finger down his chest. “. . . to update your wardrobe. You will shop with me. This afternoon. You need different clothes if you want to date Miss Moore. She’s attracted to a particular type of man.” She looked him up and down. “And she doesn’t go for He-Man grungy.”

  Her touch short-circuited his brain.

  “What do you go for?” Mark wasn’t sure where that question came from, but he was suddenly curious.

  “I’m not looking.” She met his gaze. “But if I were, it’s grungy. Tough scruff.”

  His dick pulsed. He couldn’t help noticing—on a basic, animal level—she certainly had sex appeal, whether he liked her or not.

  “Why aren’t you searching for a man?”

  “Long story, Mr. Cage.”

  “I like long stories.”

  She stared back at him, silent.

  “Come on. Wouldn’t it help us to get to know each other? Maybe I’d even start to like you a little bit.”

  Athena tsked. “My, my. Now we couldn’t have that, could we?”

  She straightened the stack of papers in front of her. “I’ve given up right now, Mr. Cage, because men fall in love with me too easily. It’s the way I look. My sex appeal. I’m a bimbo to be fucked. That’s all. That’s all they see. And their hearts follow their dicks.”

  He had to laugh at that.

  “What? You don’t believe me?”

  “Sounds ridiculous. Isn’t that what you want? Men to fall head over heels in love with you? Isn’t that what every woman wants?”

  “They say they love me, when in reality they lust after me. Hard. And only think they love me.” Her voice caught in her throat. She cleared it. “No, I do not want all men to fall in love with me. I want a special man—one certain, right man—to fall in love with me, the real me. Someone who knows me deep down and loves me for here.” She touched the spot above her heart.

  “You just stopped hunting?”

  “Yep. Figure he’ll find me one day when the time is right.”

  He offered her a small smirk. “I’m sure he will. If he can get past all of that . . .” He waved his hand in the general direction of her body.

  “All of what?” Her tone rose a smidgeon.

  “You are a sexy woman.”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “Men are attracted to you.”

  “Yes, there’s nothing I can do about attraction.”

  “Hell, yes, there is. You can dress different. Act different. Be normal.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “What, dress dowdy? Maybe act dumb? Be meek and mild? No thank you, Mr. Cage. I make myself smaller for no one. I dress for me. I like the way it makes me feel. The man I’d want will be able to cope with anything I dish out, whether it’s sass, sex, or plain old sex appeal.”

  He had to admire her self-awareness and the way she stood up for herself.

  She made her way to the door and held it open. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another client in two minutes.”

  He’d forgotten he was a client. Nothing more than a paycheck. “Right.”

  He turned to go.

  “One o’clock?”

  “Do I have a choice?” He peered back at her.

  “No.”

  “Then you have your answer.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Bye.”

  Mark left.

  She called out behind him, “Men usually acknowledge a good-bye, Mr. Cage. Not just disappear without a word.”

  “I’m not all men, Ms. Sullivan.”

  She snickered. “True enough. See you later.”

  “Bye,” he offered grudgingly.

  And damned if the music of her laughter didn’t follow him as he walked out of Essence.

  ~ ~ ~

  By one-fifteen, they were sitting in her sports car outside a trendy boutique called L’homme.

  “What is this place?” Mark turned in the seat to consider her. “Looks kind of girly.”

  “Boutique. The Man in French. Fits, right?”

  “No, doesn’t seem like my kind of store. Appears frou frou.”

  “Hush. You’ll see. You’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Trust me.”

  “I don’t.”

  She snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know. Let’s go, Macho. No insulting the owner. He’s a good friend.”

  “You sure have a lot of friends. How good a friend?” There was an edge to his voice he didn’t like.

  She rolled her eyes. “You He-men types are all the same. I met Andre when I studied in Paris for a year in college.”

  “He’s French?”

  “Well, yeah. L’homme. What do you expect?”

  “I expect frou frou.”

  She snorted. “Then expect your mind to be blown. Let’s go.”

  Athena climbed out of the low-slung car in her tight skirt, which was a feat in itself. And how she drove a stick-shift in those fuck-me-heels, he had no clue. But, damn, she was a hot package.

  “Oh, and you try on what I hand you. Got it? Don’t fight me.”

  He grunted, but followed her toward the shop.

  “No.” She stopped and faced him, her high-heels dug in. “Not how we respond, Mr. Cage.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  A radiant smile lit her face. “Better. See, did that hurt?”

  “Not a lot.” He winked at her.

  Mark liked teasing her, but to his surprise, he enjoyed making her happy even more. Of course it had nothing to do with the pull her smile had on his dick.

  Nope. No way.

  She gave an almost pained smile in response and whirled back around to resume her stroll to the shop, hips swaying in a seductive invitation.

  He shook his head, trying to dislodge the slightly disoriented twang that settled there every time he noticed her luscious body. She’s got some kind of pull on me, that’s for sure. He needed to be careful.

  He followed her clicking heels into the shop. A bell tinkled above the door.

  Shit. Mark steeled himself to be blasted in the face with a woman’s version of a men’s clothing store.

  But inside, he found himself pleasantly surprised. The floors were painted concrete and t
he decor was masculine and urban.

  “See. Told you. Ye of little faith.”

  He offered her a skeptical look. “We’ll see.”

  She guffawed, rolling her eyes. “Whatever.”

  “Ma belle. Athena. There you are.” A man, over six feet tall and well-muscled, but impeccably dressed in designer jeans and an expensive T-shirt made of some fancy material, embraced Athena. He gave her a long hug and kissed her on both cheeks, then held her away from him and whistled. “Damn. Still smokin’ hot.”

  She tipped up on her toes and planted a soft kiss on his lips. “You are sweet, as ever. Thank you.” Pulling back, she turned to catch the scowl Mark didn’t bother hiding. She paused, cocking an eyebrow in query. “Problem, Mr. Cage?”

  He was not going to vocalize the bullshit tangle of something killer-like knotting in his belly.

  Fuck, no.

  Even if he could understand it, which he didn’t.

  “Nope, let’s get this over with.”

  “All right, then. Andre, my dear, this is your client, Mark Cage. We need a full workup. Mostly casual. Clothes for a nice dinner, a movie, dancing. A walk on the beach. That kind of thing. I’d like you to pick a few things, and I’ll browse around and add items which I think will fit.”

  “Pas de problème. No problem, no problem, ma douce.”

  The big, enraptured smile she gave Andre told Mark the French worked a little too well on her.

  Whatever.

  “Where’s the dressing room?” The question came out more clipped and demanding than he’d intended.

  “This way, my friend.” Andre led him into the back of the shop and through a doorway to an open area with a raised platform and mirrors. It looked much like the fitting room area where his daughter had shown off her prom dress choices to him. Shit. “You’ll dress in there.” Andre pointed to a curtained space. “Then parade out here for Mistress Athena to approve.”

  “As if I care.” He let the growl come out. Better to let this man see he was not pussy-whipped.

  “Oh, you do. It’s clear already. She has a way of wrapping a man around her pretty little finger.” The man patted Mark’s shoulder. “Join the club. And no worries, we will make sure she approves. I promise.”

  Mark glared at him. “Like I said.”

  “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself you don’t care and you might start to believe it.”

  “What do I do now?”

  “Sit.” Andre pointed to one of the oversized armchairs. “We’ll bring you items to try.”

  Mark grunted and threw himself into the nearest comfortable chair.

  Andre chuckled. “I see our dear Athena has her work cut out.”

  “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” He stared down at himself. He’d dressed pretty well today, or so he’d thought. A good button-down shirt and jeans.

  “You’ll find out soon enough.” With those words, Andre disappeared to the front of the shop.

  Then the real torture started. Athena and Andre kept up a constant parade of items. Jeans of all colors and styles. Belts. Shirts, both button-downs and fancy tees. Shoes and boots.

  Mark dutifully tried on each and marched to the dais to show off the latest fashion. Some he liked. Some he hated. And he made sure she knew which was which. What he liked didn’t matter to her. The stack of keepers kept growing.

  The last straw came an hour later when Athena brought him an array of underwear—boxers, boxer briefs, and briefs. “Seriously? You’re going to pick my underwear, too?”

  I’m done. I’ve had enough.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “There is nothing wrong with my underwear.”

  “Says you.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, a snarl forming in his chest. “Hell yes, says me.”

  “Who is the last woman who saw you in your underwear?”

  Mark stilled. It had been his wife ten years ago, if you didn’t count the occasional bar hookup—and he didn’t. Because there was no noticing underwear—his or hers—in the drunken, frenzied, clothes-ripping sex he usually preferred these days. Sex was just sex. Not a real relationship. He wasn’t about to tell this woman it had been ten years since a woman had been with him long enough to notice his underwear. Or had spent more than one night with him. Fuck. Pathetic.

  Suddenly he figured out how to turn the conversation to his advantage. “All right.” He grinned, unbuckling the double tines on the belt he’d modeled with the black jeans. “Why don’t you judge for yourself.”

  “Wait.” She held up a hand.

  Mark ignored her. “You find it necessary to assume I can’t pick my own underwear. I plan to show you differently.” He unzipped the jeans and pushed them over his hips so they dropped around his ankles. He kicked the jeans off. Standing in his sock feet and a button-down which still covered his briefs, he kept his eyes on hers as he unbuttoned his shirt. One slow button at a time.

  Something flickered in her eyes. Fear? Or desire? When he reached his navel, her chest hitched as if she were holding her breath.

  “I think this is a really bad idea.” Her voice sounded a little raspy, as if she were having trouble breathing. Sexy as hell.

  Damn. Maybe this isn’t a good idea.

  Then the expression in her eyes, a little wild and trapped, had him pushing ahead. Egging her on. The power differential had shifted. She was no longer in charge. And he liked it.

  He snickered. “Now who’s backing down?”

  She raised a brow, squared her shoulders, and took a step closer to him. “You’ll learn, buddy, I don’t back down on anything.”

  They were almost toe-to-toe, her sexy, strappy high heels and pink toenails in contrast to his black crew socks.

  “I’ll have to keep that in mind.” His words were soft. He watched the colors shift in her eyes, the swirling aqua depths of a stormy sea. She was a beautiful woman. All sun-streaked blond hair, angles, and curves. Enticing. Bewitching. He finished unbuttoning his shirt. Cool air from the overhead fan hit his chest. But he felt hot. Almost burning up. And way too tight in his own skin. Like she was a refreshing drink and he a man parched in the desert. Only she would do. Only she could quench his thirst.

  Dangerous.

  That’s what she was.

  Fucking dangerous.

  He took a step back, put his hands on his hips, and tried hard not to let her see the shuddering breath he sucked in to regain his hard-won control. “So? Are my skivvies up to standard?”

  Her mouth opened. Then she closed it. Licked her lips. Cocked her head. “Turn.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I need to see the full package if I’m to judge the worthiness of your choice in undergarments.” She motioned a circle with her finger.

  One side of his mouth twitched. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

  He did a slow pivot and lifted the back of his shirt. He had nothing to be ashamed of, he knew. Even at forty, he still had it going on. He was active. Took care of himself. Went to the gym three times a week. He’d been told once or twice he had a great ass.

  “Mmmm.” It sounded like a hum of appreciation. He watched her face in the mirror.

  Color had flushed her cheeks. Her eyes were bright. Her pupils big.

  Her nipples beaded under the almost sheer top she wore. Fuck.

  He hardened instantly, desire pumping through his veins.

  Nothing he could do about it.

  He was a man, not a monk.

  Mark turned back around. Her eyes flew to his bulging cock, then to his face.

  “Meet your approval?”

  She bit her bottom lip, then her tongue flicked out. And, damn, if his dick didn’t twitch, wanting her sweet mouth around him. Sucking. Stroking.

 
; Christ. Why couldn’t he control his wild thoughts around her?

  She lowered her eyes, shuttering the desire he saw there, and cleared her throat. “Yes, you’ll do.” Then she turned her back on him, intent on returning to the shop. She paused, pivoted slowly, taking her time as her gaze traveled his full length. “However, if you’d like to try a different fashion statement, Mr. Cage, I suggest you try the boxer briefs or boxers.”

  Bold. Brassy. She didn’t back down from his challenge. A thrill of pleasure blazed through him. She was definitely growing on him.

  “You won’t stay to watch the show? Give me your opinion?”

  She fanned herself as she walked through the curtain. “No, you got this. Daphne will like them all, I’m sure.”

  Like a cold splash of water, he remembered why he was shopping in the first place. Date-with-Daphne.

  Shit. Right. Athena wasn’t the woman for him. He was prepping for Daphne.

  Mark rubbed his neck and ground his back teeth together. He had to remember his priorities. The reason he needed Athena in the first place. Daphne. The sweet schoolteacher.

  Yes, Daphne.

  You need Athena for other, more important reasons, his cock seemed to whisper to him.

  He jammed his legs into his jeans and yanked up his zipper, ignoring the voice in his head. No. It was Daphne for him. All the way. Not Athena.

  Not the sexy relationship coach who’d just eyed his package, stroking it with her eyes, to make him harder than he’d been in years. But, no. Not her.

  Never her.

  Because Athena Sullivan was not safe. She was fucking dangerous.

  Chapter 5

  Mixing It Up

  Later that night, Mark entered Essence dressed in one of the new outfits he’d purchased at L’homme earlier in the day.

  People swarmed the spa resort, much like every other time he visited, usually to drop his order of beer at the bar.

  Tonight, he was at Essence for a much different reason. A social reason.