Match Me If You Can

'I think it'll be better for both of us if we cut if off right here.'

He hoped that tremor he heard in her voice wasn't all in his imagination. 'Do you now?' The urge to kiss away her outrage nearly overwhelmed him. But while short-term gratification was tempting, he needed to focus on the long term, so he merely smiled and left her alone.

Outside, the morning air held the crisp smoky scent of autumn. He breathed it in and, with a light step, headed down the street to his car. Watching her with the men last night had opened his eyes to something he should have realized weeks ago. Annabelle Granger was his perfect match.

Chapter Twenty-One

Ever since the day Annabelle had walked into Heath's office, her life had been a Ferris wheel spinning at triple speed. She'd soar to the top, hang there for a few blissful seconds, then take a stomach-turning plummet to the bottom. As she got ready for her birthday party, she told herself she was glad she'd fired him. He was crazy. Even worse, he'd made her crazy. At least tonight she wouldn't have time to think about him. Instead, she'd be making sure her family saw her as she was, no longer a failure but an almost-successful, just-turned-thirty-two-year-old businesswoman who didn't need anybody's advice or pity. Perfect for You might not be a candidate for the Fortune 500, but at least it was finally turning a profit.

She screwed the top back on a tube of lip gloss and headed across the hall from the bathroom to the full-length mirror in Nana's bedroom. She liked what she saw. Her cocktail dress, a long-sleeved A-line, had been a splurge, but she didn't regret a penny. The flattering off-the-shoulder neckline made her neck look long and graceful, as well as dramatizing her face and hair. She could have chosen the dress in safe, conservative black, but she'd opted for peach instead. She loved the dramatic juxtaposition of the soft pastel with her red hair, which was behaving perfectly for a change, floating around her face in a pretty tousle and providing peekaboo glimpses of a delicate pair of lacy gold chandeliers. Her butter-cream stilettos gave her a few extra inches of height, but not nearly as much stature as the man on her arm would provide.

'You're bringing a date?' Kate's astonishment over breakfast at her parents' hotel that morning still grated, but Annabelle had held her tongue. While Dean's relative youth might work against her, the Grangers were huge football fans. With the exception of Candace, the family had followed the Stars for years, and she could only hope that Dean's status would compensate for his youth and diamond studs.

She took one last look at her reflection. Candace would be wearing Max Mara, but so what? Her sister-in-law was an insecure, social-climbing dork. Annabelle wished Doug had brought Jamison instead, but her nephew was home in California with a nanny. Annabelle glanced at her watch. Her trophy date wouldn't be picking her up for another twenty minutes. Before Dean had agreed to do this, she'd had to promise to be at his beck and call for the rest of her natural life, but it would be worth it.

As she headed downstairs, she grew uncomfortably aware that there was something pathetic about a now thirty-two-year-old woman still trying to earn her family's approval. Maybe when she was forty she'd have gotten past this. Or maybe not. Face it, she had reason to be apprehensive. The last time she'd been with her family, they'd staged an intervention.

'You have so much potential, darling,' Kate had said over Christmas Eve eggnog on the lanai of their Naples home. 'We love you too much to stand by and watch you waste it.'

'It's fine to be a screwup when you're twenty-one,' Doug had said. 'But if you haven't gotten serious about a career by the time you're thirty, you start looking like a loser.'

'Doug's right,' Dr. Adam had said. 'We can't always be watching out for you.You need to dig in.'

'At least think about how your lifestyle reflects on the rest of the family.' That had come from Candace, after she'd tossed back her fourth eggnog.

Even her father had piled on. 'Take some golf lessons. There's no better place to make the right kind of connections.'

Tonight's 'party' would be at the stodgy Mayfair Club, where Kate had booked a private room. Annabelle had wanted to invite the book club for protection but Kate had insisted it be 'just family.' Adam's newest girlfriend and Annabelle's mystery date were the only exceptions.

Annabelle tested the temperature outside. It was chilly, almost Halloween, but not cold enough to ruin her outfit with one of her ratty jackets. She stepped back inside and began to pace. Another fifteen minutes until Dean was due to pick her up. Surely tonight her family would finally see that she wasn't a failure. She looked good, she had a very hot, make-believe boyfriend, and Perfect for You had begun to turn the corner. If only Heath…

She'd been trying so hard not to gnaw over her unhappi-ness. She hadn't talked to him since the party last weekend, and, so far, he'd honored her demand to leave her alone. She'd even managed to resist calling him to acknowledge the boxes of gourmet groceries and pricey liquors he'd had delivered to replenish her pantry. Why he'd included the lone African violet remained a mystery.

As painful as it was, she knew he was an emotional investment she could no longer afford. For months, she'd tried to convince herself that her feelings for him centered more on lust than love, but it wasn't true. She loved him in so many ways she'd lost count: his basic decency, his humor, the way he understood her. But his emotional hang-ups had roots a mile deep, and they'd caused him irreparable damage. He was capable of absolute loyalty, of total dedication, of offering strength and comfort, but she no longer believed he was capable of love. She had to cut him out of her life.

The phone rang. If Dean was canceling, she'd never forgive him. She rushed into her office and snatched up the receiver before the voice mail could kick in. 'Hello?'

'This is personal, not business,' Heath said, 'so don't hang up. We have to talk.'

Just the sound of his voice made her heart leap. 'Oh, no, we don't.'

'You fired me,' he said calmly. 'I respect that. You're not my matchmaker any longer. But we're still friends, and in the interest of our friendship, we need to discuss page thirteen.'

'Page thirteen?'

'You've accused me of being arrogant. I've always thought of myself as confident, but I'm here to tell you, no more. After studying these pictures… Honey, if this is what you're looking for in a man, I don't think any of us are going to measure up.'

She had a sinking feeling that she understood exactly what he was talking about, and she sank down on the corner of her desk. 'I have no idea what you're talking about.'

'Who knew flexible silicone came in so many colors?'

Her sex toy catalog. He'd taken it months ago. She'd hoped he'd forgotten it by now.

'Most of these products seem to be hypoallergenic,' Heath went on. 'That's good, I guess. Some with batteries, some without. I suppose that's a matter of preference. There's a harness on this one. That's pretty kinky. And… Son of a bitch! It says this one is dishwasher safe. As much as I like- I'm sorry, but there's just something unappetizing about that.'

She should hang up, but she'd missed him so much. 'Sean Palmer, is that you? If you don't stop talking dirty, I'm telling your mother.'

He didn't bite. 'The top of page fourteen… That model comes with some kind of pump. You've got the corner turned down, so you must be interested.'

She was fairly sure she hadn't turned any pages down, but who knew?

'And how about this one with the suction cup? The question is, exactly what would you stick it to? A word of caution, sweetheart. You suction something like that to your bedroom window or, hell, the dashboard of your car- it's going to attract the wrong kind of attention.'

She smiled.

'Just tell me one thing, Annabelle, and then I have to go.' His voice dropped to a low, intimate note that made her shiver. 'Why would a woman be so interested in an artificial one when the real thing works a hell of a lot better?'