by Marie Carnay
Foster on the other hand…
Damn, was he ready for a wife. A woman who would be there when he woke up every morning. A woman who knew him better than he knew himself. Someone to rely on, support, love.
He took another sip of his drink. Crane Matchmaking might be nothing more than a business opportunity for Dixon, but Foster hoped Harlow could work her magic on more than just their pocketbooks. If anyone could convince Dixon to change his priorities, it would be a matchmaker.
But first, they had to survive this meeting.
Dixon whistled and jerked his head toward the front of the bar. “Will you look at that? I think I’ve gone about this all wrong.”
“What are you—” Foster’s words clogged in the back of his throat as he found the source of Dixon’s new optimism. “Is that—?”
“You better believe it.” Dixon straightened his tie and smoothed back his hair, changing from disinterested to Casanova in the span of a breath.
Harlow stood a step inside the bar, hands clutching a dark leather pouch in front of her as she surveyed the tables. Wow. It was obvious why Dixon changed his attitude. Their matchmaker was a knockout.
Blonde hair cascaded in waves down her back and over her shoulder. A teal dress with a scoop neck showcased a glorious pair of tits, so full the fabric pulled across the front. Her nipped-in waist only made her hips all that more appealing. Lush and round, with enough meat for a man’s hands… Damn, if her hips weren’t perfect. And those legs.
Fuck me sideways.
The woman had it all. Looks, poise, charm. No wonder she’d launched a successful business out of thin air. One look at her and Foster wanted to be a yes man. Anything she wanted, he’d give it. Any question she asked of him, he’d agree.
The longer he stared at her, the more he wanted her. Need hammered at him low and steady, and he grabbed his drink. When did his throat get so damn dry?
Never had a woman sparked this kind of reaction. This kind of base need that throbbed and echoed and sent a surge of testosterone through him. She stood across the room, oblivious and wonderful.
“I call first dibs.” Dixon’s words burned like a shot of fireball.
“Bullshit. She’s not an option.” For you, he wanted to add, but he didn’t.
“Of course she is.”
“No, Dixon.” Harlow didn’t deserve Dixon’s love-and-leave attitude. He’d wine and dine her, seduce her for as long as it took. And then when she’d given in and he’d had a taste, he’d leave. That’s what Dixon always did.
A woman like Harlow deserved more. A man who could pamper her, indulge her, love her forever. A man who would treat her with respect right from the start.
Foster found himself standing and waving her over.
“Aw, come on, can’t we stare a little longer?”
“Not at her. Put your dick back on his leash. He’s not coming out tonight.”
“Says who?”
“Me.” Foster buttoned his jacket as Harlow navigated the crowded tables to close the gulf between them. If Dixon only wanted a romp in the hay, he wasn’t getting it with Harlow. Not a chance.
“Better watch out, Foster. Your jealousy is showing.”
“Shut it.”
Dixon chortled. “Holy shit. You’re interested in her, aren’t you?”
“We’ll talk about this later.”
Dixon stood up and clapped Foster on the back. “You’re damn right we will. Right after she signs our contract for sale.”
Harlow came to a stop in front of the pair of them, her eyes darting back and forth as she smiled. “Mr. Mackenzie? Mr. Swift?”
Both men nodded and held out their hands.
Harlow glanced down at their outstretched arms and paused. After a moment, she took Foster’s and shook it.
Score one for me. He smiled at her gorgeous face. “Foster Mackenzie. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Same here.” She pulled away and turned to Dixon before shaking his hand. “Harlow Crane.”
“Dixon Swift.” He leaned in with his trademark smile and Foster bit his cheek to keep from interfering. “Whatever this guy tells you about me? It’s probably true.”
Harlow laughed and let him go before sitting in the chair across the table. “Welcome to Crane Matchmaking.” She paused with a smile as both men sat. “So, who wants to go first?”
Chapter 3
HARLOW
Aren’t they something? Harlow eased back in the chair until her shoulder blades hit the cushion. Foster and Dixon were the tastiest pair of men she’d seen in months.
Usually her clients had an issue—too many ex-wives, male pattern baldness, or terrible taste in sweater vests. But the two men sitting across from her had everything a woman could want by way of looks.
Dixon had this shit-eating grin that spoke of confidence and ego wrapped in a trim beard that would tickle in all the right places. His broad shoulders eclipsed the seat, and judging by the spread of his legs, shoulders weren’t the only oversized part of him.
Of course it could be posturing, but with that gleam in his eyes, Harlow didn’t think so. Dixon sprawled in the chair, one arm hooked over the back in that I’m-so-cocky way women loved.
Harlow couldn’t deny the man had a certain charisma about him. One shot of him sitting like that, radiating devilish desire and dirty thoughts, and he’d have prospective dates clamoring for a chance to go out with him.
But then there was Foster. Mmm. Younger than his friend by a few years, but just as sexy. Buzz-cut, clean-shaven, eyes so dark they could be black. His pupils blended into his irises, two liquid pools of dark chocolate staring at her.
He leaned forward and Harlow fought the urge to close the distance. Trim build, hint of muscles peeking through his open shirt collar. Rolled-up cuffs displaying forearms that could hold her tight and never let go.
Would he smell as good as he looked? Maybe some cinnamon or orange peel? Vodka and a hint of sex?
Damn.
Harlow dug her iPad out of her business pouch and crossed her legs. Ogling clients wasn’t a habit of hers. She turned on the tablet’s screen as a waitress showed up to take her order.
“Just an iced tea, please. Thank you.”
The waitress scribbled it down and left and Harlow exhaled. Time for her game face. Enough drooling over potential clients, she had a job to do.
She smiled, polite and in control. “I’m sorry, the waitress interrupted before either of you could volunteer. Who wants to go first?”
Dixon leaned forward. “Well, Ms. Crane, Foster and I—”
“Were impressed with your business the second we discovered it online.” Foster smiled at his friend as he cut him off.
Dixon didn’t look amused. Harlow watched them shift in their seats, obviously bothered by each other.
Is there something else going on here? Do they not want to be here? Harlow shook her head and her doubts away. Lots of men had a competitive streak. She smiled. “Thanks. It’s been a labor of love for a few years.”
“What made you get into the business?”
Harlow pressed her lips together. It’s just jitters. Plenty of clients were nervous meeting her for the first time. She’d been in meetings like this before. Some clients needed to know she had the credentials to get the job done and wouldn’t take their money and flake. Makes sense.
The waitress arrived and she took her drink with a smile. After sipping the iced tea, she answered. “Ever since I was younger, I had a knack for puzzles, figuring out where the pieces go, how everything fits together. I look at matchmaking in the same way. People are like halves of a puzzle, searching for the other side to make them complete.”
“So you can see how they fit together?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that, but yes.”
Dixon spoke up. “So do you rely on an algorithm or a computer program of some sort? Or is it just your personal skills?”
Harlow blinked. No one asked about this sort of thing. She
glanced down at her iPad and scrolled through his application pages. Under occupation, Dixon listed “internet entrepreneur.” How had I missed that before?
She glanced back up with a furrowed brow. “When I first started out, it was just me. But the more I got to know clients, what they wanted in a match, their life goals, that sort of thing, it evolved. I’ve spent the last two or three years developing a computer-based model to assist me. But it’s not like I just type in your data and out spits the perfect woman.”
“No?”
Harlow shook her head. “No. There’s a ton of work I do to vet the potential matches and check the accuracy of the program. Like I said, it’s still in development.”
The more she explained about her business, the more excited Dixon became. His eyes glittered like a pair of emeralds as he leaned closer, his forearms resting on his knees. “How close are you to a hard launch?”
What the hell is going on? Dixon sounded more like her boss at work than a man interested in his forever woman. Harlow glanced at Foster. He seemed to have the same reaction. His whole body tensed as he stared at Dixon, eyes narrowed and vicious.
Whatever Dixon’s issue was with her computer software, it didn’t have anything to do with the meeting tonight. They needed to switch the focus. Harlow turned to Foster. “How about you tell me about your perfect match? We’re here to talk about you and your wants, not my computer programming skills.”
Foster opened his mouth but no sound came out. He shut it and sagged in the chair, breaking eye contact to stare at the coffee table between them.
Harlow smiled. This behavior, she understood. “It’s okay to be nervous. It’s pretty common. Just relax and say whatever’s on your mind.”
Dixon snorted beside Foster and picked up his half-empty drink. “He’s not nervous.”
Harlow cast an annoyed glance in his direction. “Then what is it?”
His grin turned devious. “We aren’t here to use your services, Ms. Crane. We’re the owners of MacSwift Development. We’re here to buy your business.”
Oh, hell, no.
Harlow stood up in a rush, barely grabbing hold of her tablet as it slipped off her lap. No one was buying anything except her overpriced iced tea.
She wanted to deck Dixon and wipe that stupid smile right off his face. Was he laughing? Gah! The nerve of the arrogant prick. So much for good looks.
Harlow inhaled through her nose and mustered up the last bit of grace she could find. “I’m sorry, but my business isn’t for sale. Nice to meet you both.” She grabbed her things and turned to leave when a hand wrapped around her arm.
“Please don’t go.” Foster gripped her tightly, but not painfully. His dark eyes pleaded with her to stay. “Hear us out.”
“No. I’m not selling. Not now, not ever. Crane Matchmaking is mine. I built it from the ground up and I’m not going to turn it into some commercial sellout.”
“Even if it made you a millionaire?” Dixon took a step closer, gaze locked on her face. “It could happen. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers and Harlow raised an eyebrow.
Did he really believe his own hype? She brushed off Foster’s hand and turned to his business partner. A careful smile eased onto her face. “You have my attention.”
“About damn time.” Dixon eyed Harlow from the top of her head to her peep-toe pumps and back again.
Even though he pissed her off, something about the way he stared got under her skin. But she needed to focus. Now wasn’t the time to be distracted by a snake charmer.
“Tell me about your company. What is it you do?”
“We buy fledgling internet-based businesses and turn them into overnight success stories.”
“Does everyone work out?”
“Most.”
Dixon puffed out his chest and Harlow ran her tongue across her lower lip. Two could play at this game. Hell. It might even be fun.
“Ever bought a matchmaking company before?” She stepped closer, batting her mascara-coated lashes as she bent to pick up her tea. The ice cubes clinked and the tea sloshed as she brought it to her lips. She took a small sip, eyes never leaving Dixon’s gloating face.
“You’d be the first.”
“Matchmaking virgins, then. You know it’s not as easy as a buying a company like mine and making millions.”
Dixon scoffed. “One internet business is like any other. We’re experts at this. Trust me, we’ll succeed.”
“Dixon, you shouldn’t—” Foster reached out to his partner, but the man brushed him off.
“Can it, Foster. You had your chance and failed.” He turned his attention back to Harlow. “Together we could turn your little business into a national operation. You could stay on as president. Your face could be all over TV commercials, the website. You’d be famous.”
Harlow stepped closer. She could smell the whiskey on his breath and the hint of overpriced cologne he’d slapped on that morning. Dixon Swift was still panty-melting hot, but it was a shame he didn’t have a heart to match.
He’d never make it in her program and he’d never buy her company.
Harlow reached for him, her fingers gripping tightly onto his stainless steel belt buckle. She tugged him forward, mouth parted like she wanted a kiss.
Dixon’s green eyes went wide, his pupils swelled, and he swallowed in preparation for his first taste.
He never saw the iced tea coming.
Harlow tipped the glass over as she tugged his pants away from his waist. Tea, ice cubes and all, poured down Dixon’s crotch as his desire turned to shock.
“What part of no don’t you understand?”
Harlow set the empty glass on the table as Dixon stood still, frozen by the tea and her rebuff.
“Don’t contact me again.”
She turned on her heel and walked toward the entrance, head held high. The sound of Foster’s laugh echoed over the murmurs from the tables she passed and Dixon’s curse sounded out above them all.
Harlow smiled as she pushed the front door to the bar open and stepped out into the crisp evening air. She might not become a millionaire overnight, but she wasn’t about to sell her creation. She’d worked too damn hard to make it a success to give it away now.
With her arm outstretched and her head held high, she hailed a cab. I need a hot shower and good book. Dixon can keep the iced tea.
Chapter 4
DIXON
“Everything is in place?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. Thanks for your hard work.” Dixon ended the call and closed his eyes. It had been two weeks since the disaster of a meeting with that vixen of a matchmaker and he was no closer to securing a sale of her company than he had been before he met her.
He’d pulled out all the usual stops: calls, emails, a fax for God’s sake. He’d even gone the drastic route of hiring a private investigator to track her down at work and home. Then he’d gone and made an ass out of himself in front of her doorman and her office building’s security.
The latter almost had him arrested.
Never in all of his years of buying and selling companies had he been met with this sort of resistance. It didn’t help that it came in the form of a gorgeous woman he couldn’t get out of his head.
Every time he shut his eyes all he saw were those plump, parted lips leaning in right before she turned his dick into a shrunken block of ice. So much spunk and ingenuity. Charisma and charm. Not to mention a pair of brass balls.
Damn Harlow and her refusal to sell. It had turned him into a whiny little bitch and he needed to snap the fuck out of it. All he needed was another chance with her. One more in-person meeting and she’d see that he wasn’t the bad guy she made him out to be.
Who the hell knows, maybe they could be more than business partners. Foster would hate it, but he could get over it. Harlow was just the kind of woman Dixon needed: strong and assertive with the best pair of tits on the north side of town.
Pinning her to the mattress
would be the icing on the cake. He just had to buy her business first.
The door to his office swung open and Foster appeared. “What is it?”
“We need to talk about the Ferguson purchase. It’s behind schedule by two weeks. If we don’t close by Friday, we’ll need to re-secure the mezzanine funding.”
Dixon waved him off. “I don’t care about the Ferguson deal. Let Jenkins handle it.”
Foster stepped inside the room and shut the door behind him. “What the hell is wrong with you? Two months ago you were so hot on that acquisition it was all you talked about.”
“I’ve got other things on my mind.” Dixon swiveled his chair back and forth, avoiding answering directly. He had hoped to keep his obsession to himself a while longer. At least until Harlow caved and either agreed to sell or go out on a date. Preferably both.
Foster lowered himself into the guest chair, eyebrows up in question. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?”
“Fine. I suppose you’ll find out soon enough.” Dixon glanced up at his friend. “It’s the matchmaker.”
“Harlow?” Foster popped up, ass barely resting on the chair as his face brightened. “You’ve talked to her?”
“No, I haven’t. That’s my problem. She won’t return my calls, ignores my emails. Hell, she wouldn’t even see me when I went to her office.”
“You went to her office?” Foster’s tone turned from hope to harsh.
“Maybe her house, too. Once.”
“What the hell is wrong with you? She poured an entire icy beverage down your pants.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Next time, it’ll be worse. You’re treading on restraining order grounds, man.”
Dixon scratched at his beard. “Am not. Besides, weren’t you the one who had it bad for her from the beginning?”
“Yeah, but I know when to quit. She doesn’t want to see us, end of story. We ruined any chance we had with her pulling that stunt of a meeting.”
