by Eva Luxe
Before I could enjoy my drink in peace, a man breathing like a dog and wearing skin-stripping cologne scooted up beside me. “You’re a gorgeous lady,” he grunted, taking a lewd sip of his beer. How did men like him have the confidence to approach a woman like me? In fact, how did men like him have the confidence to approach women at all?
“Thank you,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, leaning in.
“No, thank you—” I lifted up my glass, “—I have one right here.”
“Lookin’ for some action? I’ll give you plenty,” he whispered. My hair stood on end, and disgust washed over my body.
“My fist can give you plenty of action if you don’t give me plenty of room,” I said with a steely smile.
“Aw, don’t be like that, baby.”
“I’ll be exactly how I want.” I lifted my hand and pushed him away. He fell backward and the doormen, who had noticed the kerfuffle, came stomping over. They picked him up and helped him out of the bar.
“French bitch,” he shouted before the doors slammed behind him. Good riddance.
With my shot in hand, I instructed the bartender to bring four more to the booth I was about to relocate to. I needed privacy, and the dark corner far away from everyone was perfect.
The bartender frowned as he brought over my shots. “Be careful these are super strong.”
“Thank you for the warning, mon chèr, but I’ll be fine. More than fine.”
He nodded and returned to his position behind the bar. My little order of drinks sat teasingly in front of me.
“Which one of you do I begin with?” But before I could pick up my first drink, my phone buzzed wildly in my purse. Now wasn’t the time, so I ignored it, picked up a shot, and threw it back. As soon as the alcohol hit the back of my throat, I coughed, “Merde, this stuff is strong. The bartender wasn’t lying.”
My phone buzzed again, and I ignored it again. It buzzed. I ignored. But then it buzzed again. Giving up, I took the phone from my bag to find out what the buzzing was about and then saw several messages from Lucy.
And what I saw took my breath away.
Match Found.
I picked up another shot and downed it in one.
Lucy’s texts explained my match was the guy I’d talked to before I’d left the office. A Mr. Beckett Monroe. Monroe? Could he possibly be related to Wendy? Lots of people had Monroe as their surname, so it was highly unlikely. Although, he was familiar so it could be a possibility. Not too long ago, I’d matched Wendy Monroe with Sam Reign. They were one of the happiest couples I’d ever had the pleasure of matching. I was at their wedding, helping Wendy dress, but I didn’t stay for the reception. I had gotten a brief glance of Wendy’s father when he rushed in to walk her down the aisle, but he was a man just out of rehab—he was pale and gaunt. The man who had come to Match de Amour was night and day from the man at the wedding.
Even if this Mr. Monroe was related to Wendy, for the sake of the trip and my reputation, he’d have to come with me, and just because he was my perfect match didn’t mean I had to marry him, did it?
Chapter Two
Beckett
Rehab hadn’t been easy, but I’d done it and had come out the other side a better person. I had a new lease on life and new success, and now that my daughter Wendy was happily married, I needed to find someone to share my newfound happiness with. Someone I could be intimate with. Someone I could live the rest of my life with. Someone I could move on with.
My wife died during my daughter Wendy’s first year at college and losing her almost killed me. I allowed my grief to take over and almost destroy me—destroy Wendy. Drinking, gambling, loan sharks, you name it, I did it. But thanks to a wake-up call when our apartment building burned down, I turned my life around.
There had to be a match for me somewhere in the world and if there was, Match de Amour were the people to find it for me.
My sights were set on Eliza Rousseau. The headmistress herself. Too bad she’d been too stressed to deal with me directly. She seemed familiar, as though we’d met before, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember if we had and where.
The gorgeous French woman was front and center in my mind. Every curve in her body cried out to me like a desperate scream.
From the subtle shape of her nipples pressing against her dress to her wavy red hair hanging over her shoulders and her pouting red lips, she was perfect. But it didn’t matter how I felt because it was down to an algorithm to match us.
When Eliza had bumped into me, my groin tightened. Years had passed since a woman had had that effect on me. Probably because my mind was too pickled from drowning my sorrows in alcohol. I was ashamed at all the money I had blown on bad choices and booze. I drank myself into a hole. A hole Wendy almost got dragged into.
While waiting for Lucy and the computer to find my match, I left the Match de Amour offices and strolled around.
My stomach rumbled, and the scent of buffalo wings dragged me into the first bar I passed. It had taken a while, but now I could face a bar without the nagging need to taste a sip of alcohol.
“Looks busy,” I muttered, walking inside. The place was warm and roomy, with people casually watching the latest games on several wide-screen TVs.
Immediately, my eye caught Eliza in the corner. She was all by herself with a tiny graveyard of shot glasses lined up in front of her. Fate was looking out for me.
I sauntered over to her table.
Her eyes were glued to the glowing screen of her phone. When she looked up and saw me, she jerked back as if she’d seen a ghost.
“I’m sorry, did I scare you?” I asked, lifting my hands up in surrender to show I meant no harm. Judging by the five shot glasses in front of her, she must have been at least tipsy. She was obviously having a hard time. I knew the look on her face well.
Her assistant had told me Eliza was looking for a match and she hadn’t found one from the sea of men who had submitted their information earlier today. How could a woman like her still be single?
If only I could get around that ice exterior of hers and get to know her. There were a few ways I had in mind to do that, but I needed to thaw Eliza a bit more before I bent her over my knees and spanked her.
“I… You’re Beckett Monroe, right?” she scanned her glasses, looking to see if any of them held more liquor. “Lucy texted me with some interesting news.”
“She found my match?” I slid into the booth next to her. She eyed me as if I was going to bite. And to be honest, I wanted to, but that would come in time.
“She did.” Her breathing grew shallow, and her eyes fluttered. My presence affected her. Good.
“Care to elaborate?” I inquired.
“Non. I’d rather not discuss business with one of my clients in a bar. Lucy and I will discuss her findings. I want to personally make sure everything is correct. Either Lucy or I will call you tomorrow.”
“Fair enough. Are you okay?” I asked, nodding toward the shot glasses. “I see you’ve got a little party going on here.”
“I needed to unwind,” Eliza said carefully so as not to slur or stutter.
“How about a coffee?” I suggested, waving for the waitress to come over.
“How about a Vodka?” she countered, placing her elbows on the table.
“How about no? You’re almost drunk. And a pretty woman like you shouldn’t be drunk by herself.”
Eliza turned to me, her eyes brimming with an unspoken strength. “Why? So no one takes advantage of me? I can assure you I know how to take care of myself.” She leaned back and rubbed a hand down the front of her dress which showed the outlines of her nipples.
A jolt ran down to my cock, and I shook myself out of my lustful haze. The lust could come later. “I don’t doubt that you can.”
A waitress came up to us with her pen and pad and smiled. “What can I get you lovely couple?”
Eliza’s glazed eyes looked at me and then a
t the waitress. “Nothing, thank you. I was just leaving.” She popped past me and out of the booth before wobbling her way to the door.
“I’m sorry, we’re all good. Here—,” I said handing the waitress forty-bucks, “—for the drinks.”
“Thanks.” The waitress nodded her head and took the offered cash.
I ran over to Eliza and held her by the arms. She leaned into me, and the heat of her body radiated into mine.
“Let me take you home—”
“No need. I can go myself—ah!” she yelped as I scooped her up into my arms. Keeping my cock under control was becoming next to impossible.
“Where are you taking me? I have an assistant to drive me, you know!” Eliza fought against my grip but to no avail. The mere attempt at her struggling in my arms made her personality more apparent than anything. She was going to be a stubborn one. Someone who played hard to get.
I could play hard too. Harder than she’d ever had before.
“Listen here, sweetheart, your assistant is back at your office. Not here. I’m not letting you drive. Fess up your address, or I’m taking you back to where I live.” And there were no promises after that. I’d get her sober and show her why she was my match no matter who her algorithms pulled up for me.
“Fine,” she conceded. “The Thompson Building on Thompson Street.”
Ten minutes later, we arrived at her building, and I could tell from her on and off glances she was sobering up.
“We’re here.” I parked my car in a visitor spot. It was limited to fifteen minutes, so even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stay long. Not unless I wanted my car towed.
I got out of the car and kept my eyes on Eliza as I went around to her side. She opened the door and got out before I could help her. Not like I didn’t expect that, she was an independent woman who did things her way.
“Thank you for being such a gentleman,” she said, matter-of-factly, “but I’ve got it from here.”
When she stumbled on her heels and bent her ankle, I knew she did not have it from here.
“Sure you do, Drunky. Here, I’m going to help you one more time.” I scooped her up, and thankfully she didn’t give off any more complaints. Her silky hair smelled like summer and cascaded over my arms as I carried her to the door.
“Kind of like a married couple stepping over the threshold,” I said, staring at our reflection in the glass-fronted entrance.
“Don’t get any ideas, mon chèr. I’m not marriage material. I’ve never been and never will be.”
I nodded towards the keypad. “What’s the code, Ms. Rousseau?”
“Let me down I can make it to my—”
“Code or I’ll dump you back in my car and—”
“Deux, quatre, cinq,” she said, doing nothing to hide her annoyance.
“Two, four, five…” I pressed in the code. “Et, voila,” I said, teasing her. I backed into the door and brought her inside.
“So, you speak French, impressive,” she said obviously not impressed.
“I speak passing French. I can order a coffee and have a simple conversation. That’s about it.”
“Better than most,” she said with a shrug. “But don’t think you can come banging on my door anytime you want because you can speak a little of my language.”
It wasn’t her door I wanted to bang.
“Then give me a key, and you won’t have to worry about that.”
“You fancy yourself as quite the charmer, don’t you Mr. Monroe.”
“Quite,” I chuckled. “Now, which apartment is yours?”
Eliza sighed, her round breasts rising and falling gracefully. “Fine, very well, unit four eighty-eight. It’s on the fifth floor.”
“Bet you have a good view.” I walked down the hall, doing my best to keep my balance on the plush carpet. This stuff was high grade, but I thought they overdid it with the plush. It was like walking in a swamp of memory foam pillows.
“The only thing that keeps me company in my life.”
I took the elevator up to her floor and found her apartment with no problem. I set her down, and she unlocked the door.
“Oui? Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asked, shooting a sexy glance over her shoulder. “I’m home; you can go.”
“Gotta make sure you get in okay…”
She stayed silent and opened her door. “Would you like some tea or coffee… Beckett?
“Coffee sounds good.”
I followed inside after Eliza, watching her hips sway from side to side with each step she took. She wore a form-fitting cream, lace dress with a nude silk backing to it. I’d much prefer to see her wearing nothing, but for now, I’d take what I could get.
“You followed me from my building to the bar, why?” she asked, vanishing into her kitchen. Cups and metal clinked around as she made a pot of coffee. She must’ve had the good stuff since she had to grate the beans.
“I didn’t,” I called out. “I was going to go eat. The smell of buffalo wings tugged me inside. You just happened to be there. A very pleasant coincidence.”
I followed the sounds of her clinking around, and as I turned into her gourmet kitchen, a powerful aroma of fresh artisan coffee blasted into me.
“That’s an amazing scent.”
“I know, coffee is an alluring and sexy aroma, non?” She smiled at me and jutted out one of her curvaceous hips. God, she was perfectly packaged.
The coffee dribbled into its pot, and Eliza turned her focus to me. “I need a favor from you.”
“A favor? I’m intrigued.”
Eliza moved around, reaching for some coffee mugs. “I need you to come with me on vacation.”
“Moving kind of fast, aren’t we? Not that I mind—”
“Not moving at all, darling.” She sighed dramatically. “You might as well know, I’m your match, and I need someone to play my adoring partner while on Matcher’s Island. I’ve been invited and nominated as Matcher of the Year, and it’d be an embarrassment to show up alone. It’d hurt business too…”
“Back up a few steps? You’re my match?”
“Oui, darling. It was a quite a shock. Hence the shots and my on-coming hangover. Something I’m not looking forward to. Finding a match for myself has been challenging to say the least, and now all of a sudden—poof—you appear out of nowhere.”
She gestured towards the now-ready coffee. “Do you take yours dark?”
“Yes, but don’t you think we should talk about us being matched some more? Isn’t that kind of significant?”
She shrugged. “Non. At least, not now. This is a bit of a shock. I have to process a few things.”
“Like what?” I accepted a mug of steaming coffee and took a sip. It was the strongest coffee I’d ever tasted, and it made me fall for her that much more. A woman who could make good coffee was a keeper. At least that was what my grandfather told me.
“Like how I feel about this turn of events. Many things have happened today. An invitation to Matcher’s Island, finding out you’re my match.”
“When you put it like that… This business trip of yours,” I continued. “When is it?”
“I’d like to think of it as a vacation, but it begins in three days.”
“Right on time for my pre-arranged time off. How long will it take?”
“Approximately one week. Come,” she said gesturing towards the door, “let’s sit and talk.”
We took our mugs into a comfortable living room decorated in red and grays. Heated oil lamps let out a molten orange scent that gave the atmosphere a sultry and sexy vibe. The décor was one-hundred percent Eliza—sensual and sexy.
“I get to play your fake husband?”
“Goodness no, Monsieur. Boyfriend… Just my boyfriend,” she corrected, sipping her coffee. Her red lips gripped the rim of her mug, and a tingle ran down to my cock. I could give her lips a lot to grip.
“Wouldn’t husband sound better?”
“Not when we return. People would wo
nder where you went.”
“Your algorithm matched us. Where do you think I’m going to go?”
“Sometimes the algorithm gets it wrong. Not too long ago one of my matches ended in disaster and accusations of abuse,” she said with a shudder. “The woman concerned covered me in black paint. It was a dreadful situation. She’s now on my banned list along with my sister Marie. Every one of my sister’s matches has been a catastrophe. Something she viciously blames me for. What I’m saying is, my system may have gotten it wrong for me, too.”
“We both know that’s not the case. What are you so afraid of, Eliza?” Earlier today hadn’t she bragged about how perfect her algorithm was and how hard she worked on it daily. I didn’t buy what she was selling, not for a second.
“Afraid?” She forced out a laugh and sat down, crossing her legs in a seductive manner. “Darling, you’ll soon learn I’m afraid of nothing.”
I groaned internally and felt like an animal on the verge of heat. The shape of her legs was fucking gorgeous. She wasn’t a fool. She knew crossing her legs would tease me.
“During this vacation of ours, do I get you all to myself at night?” I asked, purposefully holding eye contact.
The way Eliza squirmed in her seat confirmed what I was sensing. She wanted me as much as I wanted her, and I wasn’t the kind of man to deny a woman what she wanted.
“Depends on how good you act…” she smiled. “I have a particular set of kinks you’ll have to figure out. Not every man is up to the challenge of giving me what I need.”
“Nothing I can’t handle, I assure you.”
“Oh, Monsieur, you’ll have quite the learning curve around my curves. Now, off with you, before I end up having my dessert way too early. I’ll be in touch tomorrow to discuss things in more detail.”
“Before I leave, something’s been bugging me. Where do I know your face from?”
She sat in silence as if contemplating her answer. “It took me a while to figure it out. You’re Wendy Monroe’s father, are you not?”
