Match Me If You Can

She loaded up her fork with a scoop of golden, garlicky polenta. 'Remind me how it's to my advantage to help Portia Powers make this match because I've forgotten that part.'

He picked up his knife. 'We're cutting a new deal.' With one efficient motion, he split a chunk of sausage in half. 'That ten thousand dollars you wanted to charge me was nothing more than a fishing expedition, and we both know it.'

'It wasn't a-'

'I paid you five thousand instead and promised the balance only if you made the match. As it turns out, this is your lucky day because I've decided to write you the full check, whether the match comes from you or from Portia. As long as I have a wife and you've been part of the process, you'll get your money.' He toasted her with his beer mug. 'Congratulations.'

She put down her fork. 'Why would you do that?'

'Because it's efficient.'

'Not as efficient as having Powers handle her own introductions. You're paying her a fortune to do exactly that.'

'I'd rather have you.'

Her pulse kicked. 'Why?'

He gave her the melty smile he must have been practicing since the cradle, one that made her feel as though she was the only woman in the world. 'Because you're easier to bully. Do we have a deal or not?'

'You don't want a matchmaker. You want a lackey.'

'Semantics. My hours are erratic, and my schedule changes without warning. It'll be your job to cope with all that. You'll soothe ruffled feathers when I need to cancel at the last minute. You'll keep my dates company when I'm going to be late, entertain them if I have to take a call. If things are going well, you'll disappear. If not, you'll make the woman disappear. I told you before. I work hard at my job. I don't want to have to work hard at this, too.'

'Basically, you expect me to find your bride, court her, and hand her over at the altar. Or do I have to come on the honeymoon, too?'

'Definitely not.' He gave her a lazy smile. 'I can take care of that all by myself.'

Something sizzled in the air between them, something that felt heady and seductive, at least in her sex-starved imagination. She took a sip of water and absorbed the dismaying realization that she was attracted to him, even though she wanted to hit him in the head with that beer bottle. Well, so what? He was a natural charmer, and she was only human. This wouldn't be a problem unless she let it be.

She took her time thinking it over. Although she hated the idea of being at his beck and call, this arrangement would give her more control, as well as potentially doubling her money. Power Matches only signed contracts with men, but Perfect for You signed both men and women, so she might be able to pick up some great female clients out of Heath's rejects. Melanie, for example, could be a match for Shirley Miller's godson, Jerry. He was nice looking, moderately successful, and they had children about the same age. Just because Jerry wasn't currently a client didn't mean Annabelle couldn't land him as one.

'Portia Powers will never agree to this,' she said.

'She won't have a choice.'

Just like I don't, Annabelle thought. But that wasn't entirely true. She had a choice, all right. Unfortunately, making it would be self-defeating. 'You should cancel your contract with her and let me take care of everything.'

'She has access to women you don't,' he replied. 'Odds are, she'll find the one I end up choosing.'

'Tonight being a sterling example of her good judgment?'

'Tonight being a sterling example of yours?'

He had her there. She toyed with a mushroom. 'You understand, don't you, that it's in my best interest to sabotage her candidates. As much as I need the money, I need to build the reputation of Perfect for You even more.'

'I stand warned, Mata Hari.'

'You're not taking me seriously.'

He cocked an eyebrow. 'You told me to see Melanie again.'

'Only because my blood glucose was out of whack. Now that I've eaten it's clear to me that she's way too decent for you.'

'Give it a rest, Annabelle.' He offered up his snake's smile. 'You're one of those people who was cursed with personal integrity. And I'm one of those people who's smart enough to take advantage of it.'

There wasn't much she could say to that, so she returned her attention to the scallops.

It had been a long time since Heath had enjoyed watching a woman eat, but Annabelle knew how to appreciate a good meal. A blissful expression came over her face as she slipped another mushroom into her mouth. The tip of her tongue picked up a dab of leftover sauce at the bow of her lip. His eyes drifted along her throat to her collarbone and down to those small, guinea-fowl breasts…

'What?' Her fork hung in midair, and tiny frown lines creased her forehead.

He quickly rearranged his expression. 'I was wondering about your next candidate. Do you really have one lined up?'

She smiled and propped an elbow on the table. 'Yes. And she's special. Sharp, attractive, fun to be with.'

'At the risk of incurring your wrath, there are thousands of women who meet that description. I'm looking for someone extraordinary.'

Her honey-colored eyes announced an amber alert. 'Extraordinary women tend to fall in love with men who put them first. Which pretty much rules out a guy who excuses himself in the middle of a conversation to take a phone call like you did tonight.'

'It was an emergency.'

'With you, I suspect they all are. No offense.'

He ran his thumb around the rim of his mug. 'I don't usually feel the need to defend myself, but I'm going to make an exception now, and you can apologize when I'm done.'

'We'll see.'

'A player I recruited a couple of years ago wrapped his Maserati around a telephone pole tonight. That was his mother on the phone. He's not even my client-he signed with another agent-but I got to know his folks a little. Nice people. He's in intensive care…' He nudged his plate back from the edge of the table with his thumb. 'She called to let me know they don't expect him to last until morning.' He gazed at her. 'You tell me which was most important. Making small talk or comforting that mother?'

She stared at him. Then she laughed. 'You just made that up.'

He was seldom taken by surprise, but Annabelle Granger had done it. He gave her his iciest glare. 'Interesting that you find someone's tragedy so amusing.'

Her eyes crinkled at the corners, golden flecks dancing in the irises. 'You totally made it up.'

He tried to stare her down-he was superb at stare-downs- but she looked so pleased with herself that he lost it and laughed.

She regarded him smugly. 'I have two brothers who are also overachieving workaholics, so I'm intimately acquainted with the tricks performed by men of your ilk.'

'I have an ilk?'

'A definite ilk.'

'It finally becomes clear…' He propped his elbow on the table, rubbed the corner of his mouth, and studied her over the back of his hand. 'Poor, pathetic Annabelle. All the inappropriate put-downs you've subjected me to, the snide comments… A simple case of transfer. The result of growing up overshadowed by those magnificent brothers. Was it very painful to feel so neglected? Do the scars still ache when it rains?'

She snorted, a surprisingly loud sound coming from such a small woman. 'I prayed to be neglected. Ballet, piano, horseback riding. Fencing, for Pete's sake. Who makes their kid take fencing lessons? Girl Scouts, orchestra, tutors if I slipped below a B, monetary incentives to join every club with a special bonus if I ran for office. And yet somehow I survived, although the torture continues.'

She'd just described his dream childhood. Fragments of memory swept over him. His father's drunken voice…