Matched

by Kelli Ireland

  “No. But—”

  “Then what are you guilty of?”

  She was entirely unprepared for the emotional eruption that followed. Isaac shot off the bed, distancing himself from her. Slapping his palms flat against the wall beside the bed, he leaned forward. His breathing was labored, a sheen of sweat running along the column of his spine.

  “Isaac?” she asked with uncertainty.

  “I should have told him no, Rachel. Don’t you get it? I should have known there was a strong likelihood we’d get into some sort of trouble and he wouldn’t be able to get out of it.”

  “Why should you have known?”

  “Because the moment I agreed to take him, he became my responsibility. The last thing my mother said to me was ‘Make sure to take care of your little brother.’ He was thirteen, Rachel. Thirteen.” His shoulders sagged, dragging her heart down, as well. “If I’d had better instincts, I would’ve told him to stay home. I wouldn’t have let him tag along. He would be alive if I’d been smarter. More careful. More aware. Less arrogant.”

  “In other words, if you’d been able to predict the future and, by knowing, control the outcome,” she said softly, and it all fell into place. His need to control everything in any given situation. His unwillingness to let go and laugh or smile spontaneously. His inability to let go entirely during lovemaking and give his pleasure, his well-being, over to someone else’s keeping. All of it and so much more. He had achieved success in the capital-investments game because he was unable to live with himself if he failed.

  Isaac wasn’t the prodigy the investment world thought him to be. He simply went with the outcomes he could be certain about. Concrete guarantees. Outcomes he could influence. Outcomes he could, in a very real sense, control.

  Isaac hadn’t entered into a long-term relationship because he couldn’t predict the outcome of any given emotional “investment” he made. People, and relationships, just weren’t predictable. And his need to control himself, his need to keep things predictable and to keep those he cared for safe, made it impossible for him to love unconditionally. Love came with all kinds of ups and downs, bumps and bruises...and no promises of forever. Rachel had learned that firsthand.

  Going slowly so as not to startle him, she slipped from the bed and moved in close to him.

  “Don’t,” he rasped.

  She ignored him, her own instinct telling her he wasn’t pushing her away but rather he was trying to hide from the exposed truth. His major character flaw as he saw it. But that wasn’t what Rachel saw. In front of her wasn’t a failure but a fractured soul. With extreme care, she rested her hand on his shoulder.

  His skin twitched like a horse aggravated by a fly.

  She didn’t move.

  Isaac’s head dropped lower.

  “You aren’t to blame, Isaac.”

  “You say that like you were there.”

  Ignoring the bite in his words, she moved in closer, resting her other hand on his hip and her forehead on the outside of his arm. “I’ve never lost a sibling, so I can’t say that I understand. But I’ve lost loved ones, some to death, one to abandonment. I may not have been there, but from what you’ve told me, you aren’t to blame. Your mother...did she, or does she, blame you?”

  “No.” The word was as sharp as a rifle report. “It would be easier if she did.”

  “Your father?”

  “He’s bitter, angry at the world.” He sighed. “But he’s always been that way.”

  “What about your other brother, Jonathan?”

  “He’s the baby of the family. And no, he doesn’t blame me.” His voice softened with affection. “In fact, he was in my office Thursday morning and told me I had to let Mike’s death go.”

  “Sounds like a smart guy.”

  “Brilliant in many ways. In fact, I owe him. Huge.” Isaac gently turned and pulled her into his arms. “He’s the one who browbeat me into going to the Power Match meet and greet after my information was inadvertently used. He’s the reason we met.”

  Rachel settled into the circle of his arms, nuzzling his chest. “No offense, but I have to question his ‘brilliance.’ The app wasn’t exactly a success in matching us, you know.”

  Again, laughter rumbled through his chest. “No, it wasn’t. Truth?”

  “Truth.”

  “Apparently I’m such a pain in the ass that the program had trouble finding matches for me within the test pool.”

  “And here I thought I was special.”

  She stilled as Isaac rested his lips against the crown of her head, gave her a soft kiss and said, “You are.”

  Whatever happened between them tomorrow, she’d deal with it then. Now, in the quiet of their hotel suite, Rachel had seen beyond the outer shell Isaac had created and had met the part of him that he’d kept hidden from the world. She had stood beside him, hand in hand, and looked into his personal abyss, one brimming with more than a decade of remorse and immeasurable guilt. An abyss that had been so dark, but now, she thought, held a glimmer of something akin to hope. Something that might lead him toward self-forgiveness. If she could be part of that for him, part of the healing he so desperately needed, she would be content.

  No. Not just content.

  She would be happy.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE BATHROOM DOOR opened and steam billowed out like a drumroll in advance of the woman who followed. She smiled, her face softening at the sight of him. “Hey, handsome.”

  He cleared his throat. “Hey.”

  Moving with languid grace, Rachel crossed the room, wet hair wrapped in a towel, another towel around her body. Barely.

  Isaac couldn’t help but think that the Europeans had the right of it, using smaller towels. Particularly given the way the edges separated to reveal an expanse of thigh right up to her bare hip.

  “You need breakfast.”

  He looked up rather stupidly. “Huh?”

  “You’re eyeing me like I’m on the menu.”

  “If you’re not, I’m filing a complaint with hotel management and going back to bed.”

  “Hotels like this—I’m sure they’d hate to have such an influential customer leave dissatisfied.” She leaned forward, the movement pulling the towel edges farther apart. “Particularly when the solution is such an easy one.”

  Isaac leaned up and claimed her mouth. She tasted like hope overlaid faintly with toothpaste. She smelled like mint and rosemary. Beneath his hands, she felt like a combination of absolution and carnal sin.

  He was good with that.

  He wanted—needed—both. From her. Only from her.

  He pulled her to the bed and laid her down with care, worshipping every inch of skin he could reach. There would be time to slow down later, to worship her body as it deserved to be worshipped. Right now? Isaac needed her. Needed to be inside her. Needed to be lost in her. And from the sounds she made and the way she moved her hips, the way she pulled him to her, it was clear she felt the same.

  Sliding up her body, he entered her with a tenderness that was new between them.

  Rachel moved beneath him, meeting his thrusts by lifting her hips, taking him deeper than he’d thought possible, holding his face in her hands and watching him for every cue, every tell, every nuance. He saw the reactions in her face as he watched her for the same.

  Without warning, he rolled over, taking her with him. This put her on top, empowered her to set the pace, to control the culmination. He still worked her body with care, finding her clitoris and exposing it so he could gently thrum it and push her experience higher.

  Hands on her hips, he encouraged her to slide up and down the length of his cock.

  She took advantage of the moment. Letting her head fall back, the tips of her hair brushed over his thighs in an erotic sweep.

  Isaac groaned, gripping her hips with
more strength, bending his knees a bit and encouraging her to ride him with more fervor.

  Again, she complied.

  Leaning forward, she parked her hands on his chest and pistoned herself up and down his full length, her eyes glazing as the orgasm moved in. She curled her fingertips into his skin. Short, blunt nails would leave crescents.

  He hoped they did. That he could wear them as a badge of their lovemaking for as long as possible.

  Rachel began to ride him harder, grinding her pelvis against his. “Isaac!” she shouted, and that’s when he felt it. Her walls tightened and her sex worked him—squeeze, release, squeeze, release—over and over until he thrust into her one final time and his own orgasm claimed him. He worshipped her body, was a slave to sensation and a willing servant of pleasure’s demands.

  Rachel collapsed on top of him.

  Their breaths came hard and fast, their hearts pounding out competing rhythms with every thundering beat.

  Isaac was relatively sure he could lie there forever and be content. And he was, shockingly, okay with that.

  She was lying on her side, eyes declaring her satiation, her pale skin flushed from exertion and release. With nothing more than a soft, swift kiss, she left the bed and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Water ran, and he heard her moving about. She hummed a popular song. The tune was drowned out by the sudden squall of the hair dryer.

  He took the opportunity to order room service and donned a robe to receive the meal when it arrived.

  Rachel finished drying her hair before she emerged from the bathroom, naked. Crawling into bed, she pulled the sheet up and tucked it under her arms.

  “Feel free to pamper me as you will. I like my coffee with two sugars and a lot of cream. Toast? Thoroughly buttered. I’m not skimping on calories this weekend.” Her dimples emerged. “Not when there’s fresh Irish butter to be had.”

  “You’re the last one who needs to worry about calories.” He fixed her coffee and created a plate loaded with both sweet and savory goodies—including well-buttered toast—with that very statement in mind. He set it on the nightstand beside her, then leaned in for a swift kiss that would have undoubtedly led to more had her stomach not growled.

  Dipping beneath the arm he had propped on the headboard, she snagged a strawberry and bit into the fruit with a groan. “I could get used to this,” she said after downing the entire berry. “I’m curious about what you do, though. Particularly how you got involved with Power Match. I mean, I know your brother is responsible for the new program, but how, exactly, did you end up as a test subject?”

  “Purely by accident.”

  She rubbed her hands together and waggled her eyebrows. “Sounds salacious. Do tell.”

  He snorted and shook his head. “Far from salacious, I’m afraid. It was a mistake. Jonathan had to have an individual’s information to show how the software would pair that person to test-pool subjects. Having a known candidate allowed the board to see how the analysis worked, how it would pull from personality traits, preferences and more to successfully pair potential couples. He asked if he could use me since those sitting on the investment board knew me. I balked. He pleaded. I caved. That’s the short version.”

  “And the long version?” she prompted before taking a sip of coffee.

  “It involves structural planning, infrastructure of Jonathan’s company, staffing decisions, a few bloody fistfights, name-calling and some hair-pulling, the last of which wouldn’t be believable on the retelling.”

  She choked, sputtering and wiping the coffee off her chin. “Did you just make a joke? As in, a joke-joke?”

  He gave a short bow. “My bag of tricks is endless, madam.”

  “I’ll say,” she murmured, glancing at the part in his bathrobe.

  He tied the waist tight again. “Lusty wench.”

  She shrugged. “Your fault.”

  “In that case, declare me guilty and get on with my punishment.”

  She chuckled. “I’m an attorney, not a judge.”

  “Do you want to be? A judge, that is.”

  “No.” Her answer was swift, even a bit vehement.

  He waited.

  “I...” Rachel pulled the sheet up until it was tucked tightly under her arms. “It sounds so, well, I guess it sounds hypocritical to discuss glass ceilings and gender discrimination while I’m sitting here with you, naked, in a bed you paid for.”

  “This—” he waved a hand between them “—has nothing to do with gender beyond the fact that you’re a deliciously sexy woman I wanted to treat to a weekend away. Okay?” When she looked down at the plate she had moved to her lap, he sat on the edge of the bed, curled his finger under her chin and gently lifted her face to his. “Okay, Rachel?”

  “Okay.”

  Isaac stood, dropped his robe and then retrieved his own plate and coffee before crawling into bed beside her. “Now, out with it. Tell me what you want from your job.”

  “A career” was her immediate answer.

  “Lay it out for me.”

  She crossed her legs tailor-style and twisted just enough to face him. “I’ve been a junior attorney for years. Longer, in fact, than every man that was hired by the firm the same year I was. If they survived the grueling hours, they were promoted by year five. Not me. There was always some reason I was passed over.” She paused, took a sip of coffee and hummed in appreciation. “That’s good stuff.”

  “Agreed. Now, go on.”

  “Are you always this bossy so early in the day?”

  “I’m an early riser by nature. I’d have been in the office at least—” he glanced at the clock “—three hours by now.”

  “I’d have been there two.”

  He tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Two workaholics sitting here lounging in Dublin. Who’d have thought?”

  She huffed. “Not me.”

  “Me, either, but I’m glad we’re here.”

  “Me, too.”

  “What do you want, Rachel? From your career, I mean.” He clarified quickly, maybe too quickly, afraid that her answer might be more than he wanted to hear just then.

  She continued as if his abrupt clarification meant nothing. “I want to make junior partner this year. There’s an opening...” She swirled her coffee in her cup, eyes glued to the muddy-looking drink. Then she looked at him, her gaze fierce. “I want it, Isaac. I’ve earned it, probably ten times over. There’s another attorney who has thrown his name in the hat for consideration, but I’ve been there two years longer than he has. I have more experience, more hours in court with twice the recorded wins that he has. I’ve earned that position.”

  “What would it mean for you to get that job?”

  She looked over his shoulder, her eyes softening. “No more worrying about having to give up my one-bedroom apartment to get a roommate. No more eating ramen for dinner to be able to pay my student-loan payments. No more scrabbling to make ends meet when I need to cover business expenses or manage to pay for an actual vacation.”

  She looked so fierce sitting there, hair hanging in waves around her bare shoulders, eyes bright with ambition, mouth thin with determination. Isaac knew she’d get what she was after, come hell or high water. She wasn’t the type to settle for less than what she deserved. He recognized the same trait in himself and knew just how far he would go to achieve the next pinnacle of success, particularly when it was so clearly within reach.

  “You’ll get there,” he said softly, offering her a bite of bagel covered in cream cheese.

  “I have to, Isaac. If I don’t?” She took the proffered bite and chewed slowly. Swallowed. “I can’t let this position go to someone who hasn’t put in the time. I’ll do whatever I have to do to get the partners to see me.”

  A sudden thought crossed his mind, made his stomach perform an unwelcome flip-flop. “Did
this trip affect your chances?”

  “No,” she answered quickly. “I wanted to do this, Isaac. Wanted to do this with you. It’s been the reminder I needed that, sometimes, you have to let your hair down and live a little. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy and Jill a dull girl, after all.”

  “Truth.” He raised his coffee cup and clinked it to hers.

  “Truth,” she repeated. “What do you see happening with Power Match after Jonathan’s test run?”

  “I’m not entirely sure.” He rolled his head from side to side and popped his neck.

  “I can tell you what I think needs to happen,” she said as she forked up a breakfast sausage.

  Test-subject insight would be invaluable, so he waved her on.

  “You need to find the glitch in the software that seems to pair opposites versus like-minded individuals.”

  “Don’t tell me you think we’re a bad match,” he said, voice laden with ironic disbelief.

  “Not a bad match,” she affirmed. “Just not a match I’d have ever sought out on my own.”

  “Because...”

  “We’re opposites.” She reached out and traced a finger along his jaw. “For all the ways we seem to be perfect for each other? We’re really, truly opposites. You can’t tell me you’d have sought me out in a crowded room if we’d been left to our own devices.”

  “I’d like to think I would have.” An unfamiliar pang in his chest told him he wasn’t being honest with himself.

  Or her.

  When he was alone in bed in the middle of the night, he’d look at the truth more closely. Until then? It was something he’d tuck away and let lie.

  “What are your aspirations for Power Match?” Rachel asked, shifting to reach for a sausage on his plate.

  He picked it up and fed it to her from his fingertips, trying to keep his mind on the conversation. “I’d like to see the app replace Date Me as the number one app that singles, particularly corporate singles, use to find their perfect partner.”

  “You’ll need to work out the glitch. Oh, come on. You know we’re a glitch.” She scooted closer and snuggled into his side, easing the sting of her words. “The best glitch ever.”