A Matchless Romance

by Christi Barth

  Grasping her ankle, Drew lifted her right leg. Hooked it behind the ornate wooden knot on the backrest of the divan. Wrapped his hands around her wrists and pinned them to the arm rest above her head. Took her mouth, and in one glorious stroke, filled her.

  Tabitha bucked up to meet him. She couldn’t get close enough. Wanted to touch him everywhere, and yet didn’t want to move at all. Didn’t want to do anything to change the sensations melting her body from the inside out. So she curled the toes of her left foot into the carpet and matched him. Stroke for stroke. Pant for moan. Their hips lifted and fell in a rhythm that grew faster every minute. The heat between them grew exponentially.

  She opened her eyes to discover Drew staring at her. Open and unguarded. Full of need, yes, but also tenderness. A sweet sizzle that amped her up even higher. Unable to resist, she wrenched away from his kiss and smiled up at him. Drew smiled back. And she broke apart into a million pieces of joy.

  Chapter Seven

  The four cups of coffee required to combat three sleepless might be the explanation behind the tremor in Tabitha’s hand. Or it could be a combination of nerves and the difficulty in climbing down the stairs to A Fine Romance in her spikiest and highest stilettos. Because when she felt blue or insecure, Tabitha dressed to impress. So she’d pulled a bold, black and white geometric print dress out, paired it with a tight blazer and black patent leather pumps. Might as well look good on her last day. Go out with a fashionable bang.

  “Tabby, look who’s back!” Milo lifted a steaming mug of coffee in a toast to Mira, on a stool behind the checkout counter. She glowed with vacation tan—and probably the afterglow of vacation sex, come to think of it. The loose, pink peasant shirt looked like a souvenir from her week in a private villa on a Caribbean island.

  But this was no time for pleasantries. Chatting about the awesomeness of Mira’s trip might derail Tabitha from the inner resolve she’d so carefully built up, brick by emotional brick, in order to do the right thing. “Here.” She handed her boss a folded sheet of letterhead.

  “What’s this?” asked Mira with an expectant smile.

  “My resignation.”

  “Like hell it is,” the brunette snapped back. Without looking, she ripped it in half and dropped it into the wicker wastebasket. Then she took Tabitha’s hand and sat her on as tool by the small kitchen. “Forget whatever planned speech you worked up. Tell me what’s really wrong.”

  Milo perched on a stool as well. Took Tabitha’s other hand as if to anchor her in place. The problem with working with your friends was that you couldn’t bullshit them. Tabitha blinked twice, fast, hoping to stem the tide of wholly unprofessional tears that threatened to burst out any second.

  “I screwed up. I’ve become…involved with Drew.” Yeah. Involved was a nice umbrella term for naked and sweaty and crushing like crazy on him. On the guy who, just like Tabitha herself, had disappointed his parents and forged his own path in life. She was wild about the sweet man who planned to hand over all his money to save his grandmother. And was fan girl nuts about the genius who designed her favorite video game. Tabitha had a raging, feverish case of I-want-Drew-it is.

  “And?”

  Wasn’t that enough? Tabitha really didn’t want to have to give a play-by-play of Drew’s toe-curling moves. It was enough they’d replayed in her mind on an endless loop since the moment he left her Friday night.

  “It crosses a line for me to get involved with a client from A Matchless Romance.” A line made completely invisible by Drew’s first kiss. But a line, nonetheless, that she’d sworn never to cross. Never to mirror her mother’s line of work even the faintest bit. Never to give anyone reason to wonder if she was crossing that ethical line. So she’d been drowning in regret and shame pretty much from the moment she’d pulled her panties back on in that dressing room.

  “But he’s not. Not really.” Milo tugged at the thick lapels of his lime green cardigan. “Drew didn’t come to you for help finding a date. You were more of a life-coach.”

  “His company’s paying me for my services.” Tabitha couldn’t look Mira in the eye. Didn’t want to see the inevitable disappointment cloud her blue eyes. Instead, she stared at the circle of cheese wedges in the display case. Wondered if she should just cave right now and buy a couple hunks for dinner. Dinner for one. Let the pity party begin. “That makes him a client in my book.”

  “I don’t care whether he hired you to find him a date or shine his shoes or train his parrot to sing “The Star Spangled Banner.” It doesn’t matter,” Mira said with a tone of finality.

  Surprised, Tabitha popped her head up. “Of course it does. We’re a brand new business. One that’s struggling like crazy to make a mark. Heck, just to survive. A Matchless Romance can’t afford the slightest hint of impropriety.”

  “It doesn’t matter, and here’s why.” Mira hooked her feet onto the rungs of the stool, then propped her elbows on her knees. “Love happens.”

  “I didn’t say I was in love,” Tabitha screeched. She stood up, her stool grating loudly against the floor. Milo’s quick hands were all that kept it from toppling over. Why would Mira even think that? Geez, it wasn’t like Tabitha was waving around their used condom like a trophy. The fact that Drew had pounded her into a state of utter, orgasmic bliss didn’t mean she’d fallen head over heels for him. Not necessarily. Not that Mira could prove, anyway.

  “You just tried to quit your job. People don’t do that over a simple hook-up,” Milo pointed out.

  “Milo, why don’t you run next door and get Tabitha a cherry fritter.” With a pointed glare, Mira all but pushed him through the connecting door to the bakery. Then she shut it behind him. Sat Tabitha back down with a gentle push on her shoulders.

  “He’s right. You might not be ready to call it love—and probably shouldn’t after little more than a week—but even a blind monk could see there are sparks between you two. An intrinsic tugging toward each other. You wouldn’t try to quit if he was just a warm body to help you split dessert.”

  Geez. Tabitha didn’t need to be hit over the head with facts of which she was already intimately aware. So she tried to evade the issue with humor. “I’d quit wanting to hang out with him if Drew made me split dessert. Don’t ever send a questing spoon toward my dessert.”

  “So noted.” Mira sat back down. Crossed her long legs clad in brown leather lace-up boots over cream skinny jeans. “I know your background is a sensitive subject for you. But no one’s accusing you of impropriety, are they?”

  Philip’s cutting words, that the act of matchmaking made Tabitha no better than her brothel-owning mother, had sunk their ugly pincers deep into her psyche. Yes, she knew there were differences. Big moral and legal differences, despite Philip trying to lump it all together. Tabitha didn’t want to give up on matchmaking. But she’d tarnished her image here. Even if Drew technically wasn’t the one cutting her a check, it felt ethically squishy.

  “Nobody important,” she said in a near whisper. Because Philip wasn’t. He was a bitter, mean-spirited man. A social-climbing snob, which was why she’d been ready to break up with him in the first place. Until he beat her to the punch once she refused to sleep with him. “But I don’t want to give anyone the chance. This business is new and fragile. I don’t want my stupidity to be what sinks it.”

  “Love isn’t stupid. It’s inescapable. Irrefutable. Irritating,” Mira finished with a wry grin.

  “Will you stop throwing around the L word, please?”

  “Fine.” She tapped a finger to her lips, clearly thinking of how to speak her piece without annoying Tabitha further. “Those strong feelings of admiration and interest, lustiness and chemistry you have toward Drew are rare. Precious. Not to be ignored because of bad timing or even a far-from-perfect situation. They’re a gift. Maybe a complication, as well, but still a gift.”

  So said the least objective person in the world. There should be a law preventing brides-to-be from commenting on other people’s rel
ationships until after the wedding furor abated. “You’re getting married in October. There’s a strong chance your engagement bliss is coloring your world view right now.”

  “Doesn’t make what I’m saying any less true.”

  “It makes it less relevant. Especially since Drew hasn’t deigned to call me since….since we ratcheted things up a notch.” And didn’t that just sting worse than lemon juice on a paper cut. Knowing she shouldn’t be with him didn’t stop Tabitha from wanting to be wanted. No matter how contraindicatory that yearning might be.

  Mira leaned back, crossed her arms with a wry grin. “Enough with the euphemisms. We can’t properly solve this problem with all the facts. So just tell me—did you have sex with Drew?”

  Of course, that was the moment the door opened and Milo bopped back in. He set a plateladen with a sugar-crusted fritter in front of Tabitha. “Inquiring minds really, really want to know,” he added.

  Guess they’d abandoned the business part of the discussion for the time being and had put their girlfriend hats back on. Since she now knew it wouldn’t affect her job, Tabitha didn’t mind sharing. And could frankly use a few shoulders on which to whine. “Yes.”

  “That’s all we get?” Milo straddled a stool backward, leaning his forearms on the curlicued back. “Where are the salacious details? The how and when and how many times? Not to mention the how good.”

  “Sorry we didn’t video ourselves for your amusement,” Tabitha countered. She tore off a corner from the fritter and popped in the sweet, cherry goodness.

  “Dial it back, Milo,” ordered Mira with a laugh. “You can’t expect that level of oversharing unless there’s alcohol involved. And there’s no drinking in my store at nine-thirty on a Monday morning.” She ripped off a bite of fritter for herself. Looked up with a twinkle in her eye. “Obviously Drew was spectacular, or Tabitha wouldn’t be so worked up.”

  No point denying it. “Mind-blowingly spectacular would be a more accurate description.”

  Mira put a restraining hand on Milo’s arm, whose eager expression indicated he was about to launch into an updated version of the Spanish Inquisition. “Then what happened?” she asked calmly.

  Tabitha’s heart raced as she remembered the shock of hearing Ashley’s voice coming down the hallway toward them. Until that moment, she hadn’t known it was possible to get dressed in seven seconds flat.

  “We were interrupted. It was awkward and weird and Drew left. I haven’t heard from him since.” With the signature lack of restraint of a college freshman, Tabitha had even called her cell from the office phone this morning, just to be sure it still worked. Not one of her proudest moments. Definitely not something she’d ever admit.

  “I think you’re assuming the worst.”

  “Of course I am. Growing up a hundred feet from a brothel taught me that lots of men find reasons to leave once they’ve had sex. They’re usually one orgasm away from looking for the next prettier, younger, better woman.” Not that she’d be able to date him even if he had called. Because it was wrong, right? The little voice in her head insisting that, however, was growing fainter with each repetition.

  “Now who’s got a skewed world view? Not all men cheat. Do you really believe that?”

  More than a little. “No, not that they all cheat.” Because Tabitha did believe in true love. She’d seen it at Ben and Ivy’s wedding. In the tender way Mira’s fiancé looked at her from the bakery. In the faded letters from Vietnam her grandfather had penned her grandmother every week he was deployed.

  “Good to hear. Otherwise I might have to rescind your invite to our wedding.”

  “But I do believe that many men are ready to move on after sex. The thrill of the chase vanishes, and so does their interest. As a matchmaker, I do my best to be an extra layer of protection for people. To help them weed through the detritus and find their one perfect romance. But I’m not infallible. Love is tricky. Look at all the guys who cheat on movie stars and models. If they aren’t enough…everything…for a man, what chance do I have?” Wow. Tabitha couldn’t believe she’d just admitted that out loud. This thing with Drew really did have her frazzled.

  Mira threw an arm around Tabitha’s shoulders in a loose hug. “Did you call him?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I’m dead serious, Tabitha. Both as your boss and your friend, I insist that you put aside the notion that you can’t date him. All that matters is how Drew makes you feel. Will you call him?”

  “Of course not,” she repeated. That had about as much chance of happening as Tabitha getting asked to perform an acoustic version of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” at one of next year’s music award shows.

  Milo couldn’t contain himself any longer. He threw his arms open, low and wide. His cardigan flapped open to reveal a pink and green striped tee. “Then why are you so shocked he didn’t call you? We live in an equal opportunity world nowadays. Women are astronauts. Rulers of nations. Instigators of second dates.”

  “All those women are a million times braver than me.” Tabitha ran her fingers around the chain links of her battered silver bracelet. “I know it’s cowardly. Unfeminist of me. But I can’t put myself out there to possibly be rejected. Plus, it’s tradition. Everyone knows the guy makes all the first moves.”

  “Even your somewhat-socially-inhibited client? The guy who had to research the expected social conventions of a wedding?” Milo’s disbelief came through loud and clear in his tone. The dramatically furrowed brow, well, that was just plain overkill in Tabitha’s estimation.

  “Yes.” Then she reconsidered. “Maybe. But even if he doesn’t realize he’s supposed to call me, he should’ve wanted to call me by now.”

  “Wow. You’ve really worked yourself into a lather.”

  “I know.” Tabitha got up to pace. She didn’t normally pace. But she also didn’t normally have the pivotal week of her new job colliding with a man discarding her like week-old kitty litter. It was either scarf down the rest of the fritter—and go next door to get two more along with some cupcakes—or pace. Maybe Mira was right. Maybe it would be akin to turning her back on fate and a solid chance at happiness to brush Drew off.

  On the other hand, the fact he hadn’t made an effort to reach out to her after their amazing lovemaking burbled like acid in her heart. Right on top of the roiling, panicked nausea Tabitha had about her looming event. No, damn it. Drew owed her a follow-up text, at the very least. Some indication that she wasn’t a notch on his bedpost. So she’d wait until he made a move. And try to smother any errant thoughts of him with constant work.

  “I’m too busy prepping for the event tomorrow night to be this much of a basket case. I spent all weekend doing promo about the live video podcast we’re doing from the event. It’s different enough that I didn’t have any trouble lining up spots. Even people who didn’t bother to cover the opening of one more dating service are interested in the podcast. Three radio interviews, two basic cable, five blogs and even one mention in a good, old-fashioned newspaper. Hopefully a ton of people will watch it and word of mouth will spread from there.”

  “The Match-n-Mingle events are well planned. You picked up a good percentage of clients who wanted full matchmaking services. Everyone had a great time at the first four.”

  “Everyone who showed up had a great time,” she corrected. “Getting bodies in the door is the problem. Attendance doesn’t meet the projections in our business plan. It dropped off after our big opening. I’m hoping the video podcast will help people all over Chicago see just how much fun these events can be.” Because Tabitha believed in this business. Believed that she could truly help people find happiness. Maybe not for herself, but she sure had a track record that proved she could do it for others. “I’ve checked the numbers for tomorrow night, and it’s the same problem as last month. Not nearly enough men to go around.”

  “Is that all you need? A few good men?” Milo snickered.

  “At this point I’d settle for a few ha
lf-decent men. Just to flesh out the room for the podcast. If, on the other hand, the only interesting factoid the podcast manages to broadcast to all of Chicagoland is the dearth of men, it’ll sink the event. And then the business.”

  “If I promise to get you at least, oh, a dozen men, will you sit down? Or at least stop pacing?”

  Mira pursed her lips. “Milo, I appreciate your zeal to help, but a dozen men who have zero interest in flirting with the women won’t do us any good.”

  “You think I’d raid Boy Town for this? Please.” He tossed his head artfully so his hair waved left, and then right, like a sailboat tacking on Lake Michigan. “I do venture outside the gay community. It doesn’t even require a visa.”

  “Sorry.”

  Tabitha stopped in front of Milo. “I’m not even going to ask how you plan to magically make a dozen men appear. I’ll just be very, very grateful if it happens. You’d restore my faith in your gender.”

  “That’s exactly what I plan to do.”

  * * *

  Drew paced the confines of Tabitha’s small office. Two long strides from the file cabinet to the door. Four and a half to the opposite wall. Then back. He knew because he’d been counting off his steps for almost ten minutes. If he hid in here all night, he’d probably cramp up. But that was still better than the alternative.

  The door flew open with a bang. “What are you doing in here?” Tabitha said in a voice entirely devoid of any warmth.

  The heat he felt looking at her more than made up for it. Her red hair was piled on top of her head with black chopsticks holding it in place. A red dress with an Asian design and a high collar technically covered up all the curves he’d so recently discovered. But the gold-embroidered fabric clung to every dip and hollow and only ratcheted higher the raging state of lust he’d been in since Friday night.

  “I’m hiding,” Drew stated.

  “That’s obvious.”