by Jaci Burton
"I said no such thing. You misheard me. I was talking about my grocery list."
Now he was really curious, because she sure as hell hadn't been talking about him and food in the same sentence. "I don't think so. You said I still have marks against me on your list, and you wouldn't consider me anyway. So what list is this? The one you were making at the bar yesterday?"
She looked down at where he had hold of her wrist. He let her go, and she went into the living room to grab her purse.
He followed.
"If you don't tell me, I'll just start making things up. Like maybe you're making up a list of men you'd like to help you make a baby."
She stopped and turned to him, her eyes wide. "I do not need any man to help me make a baby."
He scratched the side of his nose and slanted a grin at her. "Well, yeah, you kind of do."
In answer, she rolled her eyes at him. "You know what I mean. I'm not trying to have a baby right now, Bash."
"Then why don't I qualify for your list?"
She huffed in a breath of frustration. "None of your business."
"It is my business if my name is on it."
"That's just it. Your name is not on it. It could never be on it."
He stepped in closer. "Yeah? And why's that?"
"I'd prefer not to say."
"So back to my idea about you finding a man to make a baby with ..."
She gave him an exasperated look. "Bash."
"I'm only trying to help, Chelsea. Not that I'm going to give you a baby, but I know a lot of guys ..."
He liked seeing that fire in her eyes, the one that turned her emerald green eyes dark.
"This is ridiculous. But fine. You're not on the list because you're not my idea of the perfect man."
His brows rose. "You made a list of the perfect man? You know the perfect guy doesn't exist, right?"
"Of course he does."
"You've met him." He didn't like the way his gut tightened at the thought.
"Not yet. And that's the problem. But I know what I want, and I'll know who he is when I do."
"Really." He sat on the edge of the sofa. "Show me your list."
"I don't think so." She wrapped her arm tighter around her bag, as if he were going to wrench it away from her. Obviously, whatever was on Chelsea's list was important to her. That made him eager to see it.
"No, really. Maybe I can help. Show me your list."
She hesitated, but finally dug into her purse and pulled out her notebook, flipping the pages, then gave him a hard stare. "You cannot laugh."
"I promise I won't laugh."
She thrust the notebook at him.
He scanned the list, the corners of his mouth ticking up.
"Bash."
He held up his hand. "I'm not laughing. But yeah, I can see why I'm not the man for you." He handed the notebook back to her and met her gaze. "I'm divorced, I work at night, I love sports, and you've already met one of my crazy ex-girlfriends. Though she's not my fault. She was normal when I met her."
Chelsea arched a brow.
"Hey, I don't set out to date crazy women. I like them unemotional and uncomplicated."
That won him an even harder stare.
"Maybe I'm not making myself clear enough."
"Obviously not."
He figured the best way out of that one was to leave the crazy-ex-girlfriend topic alone. "As far as the rest of your list, I'm a beer-and-burgers kind of guy. I spend all my time at a bar, I'm definitely not a suit guy, and my perfect weekend getaway is camping. And while I like kids, I'm not ready to have any yet. Plus, I apparently just adopted one of those yippy little dogs."
She crossed her arms and nodded. "Exactly my point. We have nothing in common. Nothing at all."
He stood and approached her. "You're right. Nothing in common."
They were standing only inches apart, and damn, she smelled good. Like a cinnamon roll and fiery brandy or something. Hot and spicy--and he suddenly wanted a taste of her. If he was being honest with himself, and he always tried to be, he'd wanted a taste of Chelsea for a long time now.
She tugged on her lower lip with her teeth, and he felt the tight pull in his groin, the fierce rush of desire that had nothing to do with a list and everything to do with basic chemistry.
"So ... I should go," she said, her eyes a crazy mix of blue and green and fixated on his.
Bash moved forward, but Chelsea didn't step back. And when he picked up her hand and entwined his fingers with hers, that tiny little voice inside her head said, Run like hell. Only she didn't run like hell.
"You know, Chelsea, sometimes you just have to go with your gut. And sometimes what's between a man and woman has nothing to do with a list, or what's in your head." He picked up her hand and laid it on his chest. "It's what's right here. It's that feeling of chemistry, that sensation of 'Wow, if I don't kiss this person right now, I Might. Just. Explode.'"
Chelsea was certain she'd forgotten how to breathe. Her palm against Bash's chest was damp, as were other, more vital, throbbing parts of her.
She was out of her mind for even entertaining the idea of kissing him, but here she was, moving in closer to the temptation. Clearly she was having an out-of-body experience. Her normally logical self had fled, and had left in its wake this needy, lustful being whose only thought was naked desire.
Maybe it was the way Bash looked at her. Could she ever recall a man devouring her with his eyes like this before? Not in recent memory. Or the way he held her hand--so light and easy. But his thumb swept across her skin, sending skittering zings of sensation through every part of her--all the good parts that stood up and took notice.
Sure, it had been a long time since she'd had sex--way too long, because after all, she was really picky. But it wasn't like she didn't know how to take care of those kinds of needs on her own.
Still, that wasn't at all the same as having a man touch you and take care of those needs for you.
Merely imagining all the ways Bash could take care of her needs had her going up in flames. She had a habit of watching him whenever she stopped in at the bar. He had great hands, always so sure and confident. What would those hands feel like gliding across her body?
Suddenly, that low throb turned into a constant thrum that beat incessantly throughout her. And that lustful being grew more demanding.
So when he lifted his hand to her jaw, then slid his palm around the nape of her neck and aligned that rock-hard body of his against hers, any thoughts of running like hell were gone, baby, gone.
"So what do you think, Chelsea?" he asked. "I'm not list material, but let's just try this out and see how it goes, okay?"
She only had a split second to give him a short nod before his lips descended on hers.
It was magic. An explosion that threatened to make her implode from the inside out. She grasped hold of Bash's shirt with both hands and held on for dear life as his mouth moved over hers. She vaguely registered her breaths going shallow, the hard pump of her heartbeat, and the trembling in her legs, but those were minor things, because honest to God, she was drowning in the sensation of a hard-bodied man doing delicious things to her mouth.
She hadn't had much luck in the dating department lately, and she couldn't even remember the last decent kiss she'd gotten.
This wasn't dating. And what Bash gave her wasn't a decent kiss at all. It was hot and wicked. It was fireworks. The kind of kiss a woman could feel all the way down to her toes, and in every follicle of her hair. In every cell, and in all the good female parts of her as well.
Bash knew how to kiss. It went beyond every fantasy she'd ever had. It was firecracker-worthy, and she couldn't help but clutch his shirt and lean in for more. And when his tongue slid inside her mouth to deepen the kiss, she could feel herself falling deeper and deeper into the web of desire he weaved around her. Every part of her felt oh so good, oh so needy, and she wanted to rub against him and beg him to touch her.
It would be so
, so easy to fall into bed with him, to let him tease her and taste her and touch her and see where this led.
Unfortunately, she still retained some of her common sense. She knew exactly where it would lead with someone like Bash.
Nowhere.
That's when the warning bells started to clang.
Not the right man for you, Chelsea.
She smoothed her hands flat on his chest, and with deep, deep regret, she pulled away.
He still sat on the arm of the sofa, giving her that smoldering look of intense desire. It had taken everything in her to stop that kiss, and if she really wanted to, she could fling herself against him, topple them both over, cover his body with her own.
She could already envision the tangle of arms and legs, the way their bodies would entwine on the sofa. And as she shifted her gaze from the sofa onto Bash, she was crushed under the heated weight of the look he gave her.
This is not helping, Chelsea. Snap out of it.
She blinked, drew in a deep breath, and grabbed her purse from the floor. "I should go."
He still hadn't moved from his perch on the sofa. He inhaled on a deep breath, then nodded.
"If you say so. But you know, I could help you with your list."
She stilled. "What?"
"Your list." He motioned with his head toward her purse, where she kept her notebook. "You're looking for that perfect guy, right?"
"Well, yes."
"I can help you find him. I know a lot of guys."
He'd just kissed the living hell out of her. And now he wanted to find her the love of her life?
She did not understand men. At all.
"I don't think you'll find me the perfect man at your bar, Bash."
"I didn't say they were all at the bar."
Now she was curious. "Really. You know guys who wear suits."
He nodded, then pushed off the sofa. "And who work nine-to-five jobs. Though I think your whole idea of making a list is a little stupid."
She blinked, the wash of his words more than a little chilling, effectively banishing the heat from their kiss. "Really."
"Yeah. Which is why I'm going to help you."
"That doesn't even make sense."
He laid his hands on her upper arms. "I don't fit your list parameters at all, but you can't deny that kiss we just shared was smokin' hot."
She would very much like to deny it at the moment, especially since she felt the heat of his hands through her long-sleeved shirt. "That's just chemistry, and chemistry can burn out in a matter of weeks."
His lips tilted upward. "Wanna give it a try and see how fast we burn out, Chelse?"
It might be an interesting experiment. And she'd definitely enjoy some awesome sex with Bash, no doubt. But he wasn't relationship material, and she was bound and determined to have a bona fide relationship with the "right" guy--not the wrong one.
But he'd so easily made the transition from hot kiss to finding her another guy. A man who was interested in her would never do that. If he could turn it off that easily, so could she, right? "No, thanks. But you're right about one thing--the kiss was amazing."
"Glad I wasn't the only one who thought so." He dropped his hands, and she immediately felt the chill. "So what do you think? How about I go through your list and play matchmaker for you?"
"I'll have to give that some thought."
"You do that." He opened the front door. "In the meantime, I'll be on the lookout for that perfect guy for you."
She couldn't tell if he was teasing her, or serious about this. "See you later, Bash."
"Bye, Chelsea."
As she walked out to her car, she pondered a lot of things, not the least of which was that kiss. And as hard as she tried to shove it out of her mind, her lips still tingled.
Bash was trouble, and she wasn't sure she could actually trust him to find the right man for her. If she couldn't find the right guy, what made him so sure he could?
She was still convinced she was on the right track with the list.
The right man was out there--she just had to find him.
Bash spent the day cleaning his house and playing with Lou, getting her accustomed to her new surroundings.
He also spent a lot more time than necessary replaying that kiss he'd had with Chelsea.
What had he been thinking, pulling her into his arms and laying a hot one on her? She was dangerous territory, and he knew better than to wade into waters like that.
But she'd been there, and tempting him, and for some reason he hadn't been able to resist. Maybe it was reading her list and seeing nearly every damn thing represented on it--not be him. It had hit a nerve inside him.
Suit and tie. Nine-to-five job. Fine dining and wine. Never been married. What the fuck? It wasn't like there was anything wrong with him. He was a damn fine catch.
Not that he was looking to be caught, because he wasn't. But if he was, he'd be perfect for someone like Chelsea.
Okay, maybe not Chelsea, because she wasn't exactly a ten on the perfect meter herself. She bought too many expensive shoes, she was too picky, too opinionated, too high-maintenance, and she ...
Well, shit. He dragged his fingers through his hair and decided he was going to spend the remainder of the day not thinking about Chelsea. About how full her lips were or about how sweet she'd tasted when he kissed her, or how curvy her body was and how good it had felt to feel it aligned with his.
Hell.
He needed to go take his frustrations out by cleaning his dirty shower. Or maybe just take a goddamned cold one.
Chapter 6
"No, Jacob, here's where you went wrong in your calculations."
Chelsea sat with one of her algebra students. "Follow your order of operations. Inner brackets first, then power, then multiplication. You just mixed them up."
Jacob was one of her brightest students. He nodded as he followed along.
"Why don't you rework the problem here for me, and if you get it right, I'll give you credit for it?"
She'd asked Jacob to stay after class. She knew he had a heavy workload of honors classes and that his parents put a lot of pressure on him to succeed. She wanted to help.
She waited while he reworked the problem, and noted he'd done it successfully.
"That's correct."
Jacob frowned. "I can't believe I screwed that up. It's an easy one."
"Don't worry about it. Next time, just take your time and don't try to work so fast. You know you can do it, and you have plenty of time to get through the test. Sometimes you try to zip through too quickly and make simple mistakes. The smarts are there, kid."
She regraded his paper, and now she could give him a perfect score.
"Thanks, Ms. Gardner."
"You're welcome. And Jacob? Try to have a little fun and don't make it all about schoolwork, okay?"
He gave her a shy smile. "I'll try."
He left her classroom and shut the door. Sometimes she worried more about the overachievers like Jacob than she did about some of the underachievers. Kids like him worked so hard to be perfect. And there was no such thing.
Except the perfect man for her, of course.
Now all she had to do was find the right man who fit those parameters. Not an easy task, as she tended to go out on a lot of first dates, very few second, and hardly any third.
Her friends said she was picky. There was nothing wrong with being choosy about men. And there was no point in wasting her time on the wrong man.
She'd dated a lot of wrong men. She was in the market for the right man, and sooner or later the right one would come along.
When the bell rang, she pushed that thought aside and prepped for the next class of students, who piled in for another math class.
Teaching high school math was her passion and focus and had been for the past ten years.
Now she was ready for a new passion, a new focus--finding the right man.
After classes ended for the day, she packed up the home
work to be graded for the night and drove to her apartment.
It had been a grueling week, and she was happy to go home.
She was always happy to go home. She liked her place. It was a small one-bedroom located near downtown Hope. She'd had it for several years now. It was close to the high school, and to the newly renovated town square and park. It suited her purposes as far as convenience. It was within walking distance to shops and restaurants, and she liked to get out and walk a lot, so for her, it was perfect.
Perfect. There was a word she'd been using a lot lately. Perfect job, perfect apartment. Now all she needed was the perfect man, and her life would be ...
She smiled at the thought--perfect.
She laid her things down on the kitchen table, then went to the refrigerator to pour herself a glass of iced tea. She started grading papers, her mind lost in math and calculations.
Until her phone buzzed. She laid the glass down and picked up the phone, checking the display.
Bash. She frowned, then clicked.
"Hi, Bash."
"I found a guy for you."
That was unexpected. "Excuse me?"
"Your list. A man who ticks off all your idiosyncrasies."
"They are not idiosyncrasies. They're guidelines."
"Whatever. I found the guy. His name is Kristofer Steele. Kris. He's an attorney, a partner with a firm in Tulsa."
Okay, so this Kris guy sounded decent enough. "How do you know him?"
"He's my attorney. Plus, I've known him since college. He's a great guy, Chelsea. I trust him, or I would never set you up with him."
She sat back in her chair. "Okay. Tell me more about him."
"He's thirty-four, single, no kids. Has a dog and a house. He's successful, he likes all those fancy restaurants and wine that you like. Obviously a suit guy."
"He sounds interesting."
"Great. I talked to him about you and he wants to meet you. He's actually coming to the bar this afternoon to go over some legal documents with me. How about you come here and I can introduce the two of you tonight?"
Panic dropped like a bomb in her stomach. "Uh, tonight?"
"Do you have plans?"
"Not really."
"Then come on over. How about six?"
She'd have to shower, do her hair and makeup, and find something appropriate to wear. And Bash would introduce them? Wouldn't that be ... awkward?
Why would it be awkward? They'd shared a kiss, nothing more. This was her goal, so ... why not? "Sure."
