An Unlikely Match (The Match Series - Book #1)

by Dunlop, Barbara

  She swallowed. “Fly to Sacramento?” That seemed a bit extravagant.

  “It’ll take half a day to drive, forty-five minutes to fly.”

  “Flying sounds expensive.”

  “It’s a date, remember? Let me worry about the cost.”

  “Are you saying you’re an old-fashioned guy?” she joked, covering her embarrassment at her financial circumstances. It was one thing to be impoverished as a student, but she didn’t want it to become normal for her. Right now, even without the burden of rent, her expenses overwhelmed her income.

  “I’m saying it’s my reunion, and you’re doing me a favor by coming along.”

  They both ate in silence for a few minutes, a soft breeze stirring up the surface of the pool.

  “When I invited myself,” Amelia ventured, “I wasn’t thinking about the cost.” She wondered now why she hadn’t thought about it. “We’re going to need hotel rooms, too.”

  “Since we’ve already paid for the suit and the dress, there doesn’t seem much point in quibbling over the details.”

  Finishing the slice of pizza, she turned her head to gaze at him. “You’re eminently logical, you know that?”

  His smile was kind, open, sexy. “Comes with being a scientist.”

  “My family thinks I am eminently decorative.”

  He smirked. “Comes with being a cheerleader.”

  “Do you like fighting with me?”

  “Own it, Amelia. You’re trying to get into acting.”

  “I want to be more than a pretty face,” she admitted.

  “Then be more. Take your God-given talents and work like hell to get better. Don’t be satisfied with being another pretty face.”

  “Do you work hard, Morgan?” She didn’t know how this genius thing worked, but if he was smarter than anyone else in the world, things probably came easy to him, too.

  “I work hard now. But not in high school, not where it came to math and science. But there was nothing I could do to succeed socially.”

  “Succeeding socially is easy.” You just had to be friendly and open, and people responded to you.

  “The world loves a pretty cheerleader.”

  “People want to be friendly, Morgan. You just have to give them a chance. Approach them. Engage them in conversation.”

  “Therein lies the challenge.” He took a swig of his beer. “I don’t do social chitchat with strangers.”

  She didn’t believe that for a second. “You chitchat with me all the time. I was a stranger when we first met.”

  “You chitchat with me. Not the other way around.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  He set down both his beer and his pizza, looking pained as he spoke. “This is going to be the problem at the reunion. You’re so sure people will see I’ve changed. But I haven’t. I’m still going to get tongue-tied and awkward with, well, everybody in my class.”

  Amelia knew he was getting worked up for no reason. She came to her feet. “You helped me practice acting,” she told him.

  “You’ve got actual talent.”

  She ignored his self-doubt. “Come on. Let’s practice being at the reunion.”

  He gave her a dubious stare.

  She motioned him to his feet. “Give me the name of a classmate, somebody who makes you nervous. Come on.”

  He didn’t move.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “We’ve only got four days to work with here, Morgan. Don’t be lazy.”

  He almost smiled at that. But he did heave himself to his feet. “Rita Hamseth.”

  “Okay. I’m Rita Hamseth.” Amelia guessed the woman would be haughty and superior, so she dragged her gaze up and down Morgan. “How are you, Morgan?” she drawled.

  “Fine,” he responded.

  Amelia waited. “That’s it? A one-word answer?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “It stops the conversation. There’s nowhere to go with ‘fine.’ You have to lob it back to her. Try again. How are you, Morgan?”

  “I’m fine, and you?”

  Amelia rolled her eyes. “Lame.”

  “What’s lame? I lobbed it back.”

  “You have to give her something to build on, something open-ended, hopefully something she’ll be interested in talking about. Okay, you be Rita. I’ll be you.”

  It was Morgan’s turn to roll his eyes.

  “Do it,” Amelia ordered.

  He made his voice too high. “How are you, Morgan?”

  She lowered her own. “I’m fine. Did you stay in Sacramento after graduation?”

  “Yes.”

  She socked him in the arm. “Play nice.”

  “What?”

  “You give your conversational partner somewhere to go. Don’t stick with one word. Take a left turn, an interesting left turn. How about this? ‘Yes, I stayed in Sacramento. I’m a stripper at Barney’s Babes down on Thirty-Seventh Street.’ What would you say to that?”

  “I’d say holy fuck.”

  “That wouldn’t help move the conversation along.”

  “Maybe not.” He smirked. “But, holy fuck, Rita Hamseth a stripper?”

  Amelia turned away. “I give up.”

  His hand went to her shoulder, stopping her cold. “I’m just messing with you.”

  “I know you’re messing with me.”

  “I’ll take it seriously this time. I promise.”

  She turned back. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

  “I do. Try again.”

  She heaved a frustrated sigh. “How are you, Morgan?”

  “I’m fine, Rita. I hear you moved to New York City.”

  “I did. I’m a clothing buyer with New Orchid.”

  Morgan blinked in confusion.

  “Say something,” Amelia prompted.

  “I don’t know the first thing about ladies clothing or New Orchid.”

  “You can at least infer that New Orchid is a store or a chain of stores.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Ask if the company is out West, in California. Or ask what kind of clothes she buys. Or ask if she travels in her job. There are a hundred ways to go with that.”

  “Maybe for you.”

  “For anybody.”

  He squared his shoulders. “What kind of clothes do you buy?”

  “New Orchid offers a full line of ladies wear. We’ll be moving into men’s fashions next year, starting with the East Coast.”

  “Do you travel in your job?”

  “Why, yes, I do. Europe mostly. I take in the Paris fashion shows and do London on a regular basis.” She gave a false, high-pitched laugh.

  “This is the part when I want to dump my drink on her,” said Morgan.

  Amelia grinned. “No, this is the part where you say, ‘That’s fascinating. I was in Sweden last year at a major astrophysics symposium where I received an award for inventing a new jet fuel.’”

  “I never went to Sweden.”

  “Well, obviously, you would use a real event. But you must get my drift. When she brags about her accomplishments, you can jump in with yours.”

  “That seems tacky.”

  “She’s the one being tacky. If she doesn’t brag, you don’t either.”

  “I did make a significant speech in Germany last year, and I secured a million dollars in funding for Berkeley.”

  “There you go.”

  “But I couldn’t care less if anybody knows, and I don’t really want to talk to any of those people.”

  “Fine,” Amelia capitulated, deciding she’d have to be the one to brag for him. “We’ll spend most of our time looking sophisticated on the dance floor.”

  The corner of Morgan’s eye twitched.

  A hollow feeling invaded her stomach. “Please tell me you dance.”

  “A little bit.”

  “How little?”

  “It’s been a few years.”

  She took a fatalistic step back. “Put on some music.”<
br />
  “Right now?”

  “Right now. We gotta see what we’re working with here.”

  “Just so you know, I’m not having fun.” He turned to go inside.

  “Just so you know,” she called after him, “I’m having a blast.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to torture her sore feet by putting her shoes back on, so she followed him inside. They could dance on the plush carpet.

  The music came up, and Morgan turned from the sound system, seeming surprised to see her.

  “I didn’t want to hurt my feet,” she told him, moving to the center of the living room.

  “In here?” he asked.

  “As good a place as any.”

  She waited, while he seemed to hesitate. But, finally, he came forward, putting an arm around her waist and taking up her hand. There was a good foot of space between them, and he was staring straight over her head when he took a first step to the side. She followed his rather stiff movements.

  “Uh, Morgan?”

  “Yes?”

  “You might want to pretend you like me.”

  He glanced curiously down.

  “Pull me closer. And relax. The judges aren’t going to vote us out of the ballroom.”

  He reeled her in a little, his broad hand sprawled across the small of her back, his thighs teasing her bare legs with their warmth. She’d worn her denim skirt today, coupled with her lace white tank top. It wasn’t exactly festive dancing attire, but it did seem to make her skin acutely attuned to his movements.

  His shoulder was hot beneath her hand, his elevated skin temperature seeping through the cotton of his shirt. She liked the sensation, and she moved closer still, letting the front of his slacks brush against her legs. His hand twitched against her back, but she felt him relax, and his movements became more fluid.

  The song was slow, and they swayed easily, stepping around the compact space. She inhaled his scent. It had become familiar, and when she closed her eyes, she experienced that same feeling of security. Morgan was strong, stable, solid. Her instincts told her she could trust him with anything.

  She relaxed into his embrace, touching her forehead against his shoulder. He bent his neck, resting his cheek against her hair. Their bodies came together, her breasts settling into the breadth of his chest.

  She knew she should suggest something more, maybe a dip or a spin. But she didn’t want to let him go. She didn’t want anything to increase the space between them. She moved her hand further around his shoulder, coming to rest at the base of his neck. She let her fingertips brush his bare skin, thrilling to the tingling sensation that pulsed through them.

  He sucked in a tight breath, his palm urging her closer, the other arm folding in, bringing their joined hands to rest against his shoulder. As the embrace became more intimate, their dance steps slowed.

  She turned her head, resting her check on his chest. Then she lifted her chin, opening her eyes. He met her gaze, sending an insistent pulse throbbing through her body.

  He was going to kiss her.

  He had to kiss her.

  “Amelia,” he breathed.

  He left her hand against his chest and cradled her cheek.

  “You’re so soft,” he whispered. “So incredibly beautiful.”

  Her chest swelled, and her heart rate increased. She could feel her skin flush and her lips begin to tingle and part in anticipation. She didn’t think she’d ever wanted a kiss more.

  “What are you doing here?” he hoarsely whispered.

  “Dancing.”

  “Right.” He gave the barest of nods. “We’re dancing. How are we doing?”

  It took her a moment to realize he was serious. He was actually asking a question about their dancing. Okay, she knew he was a socially awkward nerd. But, really? He couldn’t clue in that this was foreplay?

  Unless it was all in her imagination. Something cold settled in her stomach. Was she feeling something he wasn’t? Was her rosy glow of arousal blinding her to his disinterest?

  She swallowed. “Fine. We’re doing fine.”

  He gave a firmer nod. “It’s kind of like riding a bike.”

  She squelched her disappointment. “I guess.”

  “Is there anything else I need to learn before we go?”

  How to tell when a woman is throwing herself at you?

  “No,” she managed. “I think we’re good.”

  Chapter Seven

  Morgan spent the rest of the week avoiding Amelia. It wasn’t difficult to do, since she worked every evening. But what proved impossible, though he summoned his strength, was to stop remembering how she had felt in his arms, soft, warm, sweetly fragrant. The urge to kiss her had been raw and strong.

  As they traveled to Sacramento on Saturday, the urge intensified. Dressed in faded jeans, strappy sandals and a purple and blue mottled top, Amelia had chatted breezily along the way, sharing anecdotes from her job and her opinions on California. Morgan was reminded of how much he loved her voice. He also loved her laugh, and the occasional hint of vanilla scent from her shampoo. In the airport, men had gazed enviously and curiously. Morgan didn’t blame them. It was hard to figure why a woman like Amelia was hanging out with a guy like him.

  They got settled in their hotel rooms with just enough time to dress for the reunion dinner. He showered and shaved, put in his contact lenses, and dressed in the gray suit. On the way down in the elevator, a pair of fortysomething women checked him out. He gave Amelia points for the suit. It seemed to be working on some level.

  When he exited the elevator, Amelia was already there. And she’d already attracted attention. A hotel manager was chatting with her, clearly willing to offer any and all possible hospitality to such a stunning young woman. And she was stunning.

  Her hair was twisted up in a series of braids, partly up, partly down, curling softly around her face. Her makeup was subtle, but it brought a shine to her face and emphasized her dark lashes, highlighting the emerald-green sparkle to her eyes. The dress was spectacular, her shapely legs stretching down to impossibly high, delicately jeweled sandals that screamed sex.

  For a second, he was afraid to approach her. But then she caught sight of him. Her mouth curved up in a dazzling smile. The expression caused the hotel manager to look his way. Morgan couldn’t stop the smug nod he sent the manager’s way. Yeah, she was his date tonight. Suck on that, every other man in the city.

  “Am I late?” he asked, putting an apology in his voice as he walked to her.

  “I’m early,” she responded, placing her small hand on his shoulder and stretching up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

  The envy in the manager’s expression went up a notch. He offered his hand. “Good evening, sir. Welcome to the River Blue. I understand you’re attending the Pine Valley Collegiate event.”

  “We are.” Morgan slipped his arm around Amelia’s slim waist. He knew it was supposed to be women who had fairy-tale nights at a ball, but this felt like stepping into a superhero story.

  The manager stepped back. “Enjoy your evening, sir.”

  “Thank you,” Morgan responded.

  “Thanks,” Amelia called as the man moved away.

  “You look fantastic,” Morgan told her, easing back a few inches to take in the full picture. “How did you do this so fast?”

  “Me?” She laughed. “Look at you. There’s not an ounce of geek left anywhere.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at that. “I think you’re overly optimistic.”

  She slipped her hand into his. “Let’s go find out.”

  He pointed to a wide, windowed hallway. “The ballroom is down there.”

  “Do you have the tickets?” she asked.

  He patted his breast pocket. “I have the tickets. Are you going to be warm enough?”

  “It’s June.”

  His nerves were starting to jump just a little. “Are you ready to do this?”

  She squeezed his bicep with her free hand. “Don’t you worr
y, Morgan. We can take ’em.”

  He started to walk, drawing a deep breath. “Okay, we’re goin’ in.”

  She giggled beside him. “This is going to be fun.”

  “This is going to be excruciating.”

  He might have a good job, an expensive suit, and the world’s hottest babe on his arm, but he was still Morgan Holbrook, geek extraordinaire.

  Too quickly, they made it to the sign-in table. He recognized Mandy Pascal and Jody Deeks sitting on the other side, guest lists in front of them, name tags at the ready. They’d both been on the cheerleading squad. Mandy’s parents had money, and Jody was the longtime girlfriend of Rudy Quentin, Pine Valley Collegiate’s own Captain America.

  His steps reflexively slowed, but Amelia gave him a shove.

  He stepped up to the long table, and Jody looked up. There was no recognition in her eyes. She glanced to Amelia and smiled, obviously recognizing a kindred spirit. “Are you a grad?”

  Amelia turned to Morgan. “I’m dating a grad.” She waited.

  “Morgan Holbrook,” he put in.

  Jody’s mouth pursed in puzzlement. She glanced to her list. “Morgan...” She glanced back up. “Really?”

  “Really,” he answered in a monotone.

  “I’m his date,” Amelia piped in. “Amelia Camden. I don’t know if I’m on the list, or if you’ll have to handwrite a name tag for me.”

  “You’re on the list,” said Jody, gaping at Morgan for a moment longer.

  He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  Then she seemed to recover, looking to the array of name tags beside her, extracting two of them to hand over to Morgan. “You each get two orange drink tickets. The speeches start in about fifteen minutes, and dinner is at seven. Seating isn’t assigned, so pick a table anywhere.”

  “Thank you,” said Morgan.

  “No problem,” she responded, still staring at him in obvious confusion.

  Amelia curled her arm around his as they walked away. “Well, that went well.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean you shocked the hell out of her.”

  “She couldn’t believe it was me.”

  “I believe that was the point of our exercise,” Amelia noted.

  “It’s still a bit demoralizing.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” she singsonged. “You are Morgan Holbrook, PhD, Caltech researcher, tall, handsome, buff, hottest guy in the building.”