Perfect Match

by Lila Monroe

  Before I can blurt anything else awkward, Jack’s hand traces up my arm and over my shoulder, coming to rest on my cheek. His touch blazes through me as he uses his other hand to move his fork closer to my lips, guiding it towards my mouth.

  I accept the morsel breathlessly, and he uses his bare thumb to brush some sauce from my lips.

  Mmmmm.

  It should be illegal to feel this turned on. In public, no less. But in the dark, it feels like we’re totally alone.

  “My turn,” he murmurs. Carefully, he guides my hand with the fork to his mouth. I feel the tug as his mouth closes around the morsel.

  “Delicious …” He’s close enough now that I’d swear I can feel his breath in the darkness. His heat. His touch. Jack makes a low murmur of appreciation, and I have to cross my legs to keep from squirming in desire.

  Never mind the molten chocolate cake on the menu. I’m in serious danger of going up in flames.

  I’m not totally sure how I make it through the rest of the meal with my desire—and my dignity—intact. I try to compose myself as we’re led back to the front room, but I think my cheeks are still a burning up when we step into the light.

  I shoot a glance at Jack. It feels strangely intimate to see him again, have eye contact after that dinner, and when I meet his eyes, I could swear he’s looking a little hot under the collar, too.

  “Well, that was … an experience,” he says, then clears his throat.

  “Definitely,” I agree, still light-headed.

  “You make an excellent dining companion. Thank you for not leaving me in the lurch.”

  “It was the least I could do,” I say, trying not to think about how much more I—we—could do. My body is tingling just standing next to him. And if I moved a little closer—

  I stumble back. “I’d better get going.”

  “I’ll call you a car.”

  “No need.” I shake my head. “My apartment’s just down the block.”

  “Let me walk you then.”

  I should say no, but … something in me makes me nod. As much as tonight has been torture, I can’t help but want it to last.

  Jack opens the door for me, then once we’re outside, he offers his arm. Like he’s the hero of some Austen novel, chivalrously escorting me home.

  I tuck my hand into the crook of his elbow, and revel in the heat that surges from his touch.

  Bad McKenna. Danger, red alert.

  I ignore the voice of reason and fall into step beside him.

  “So did you learn anything?” he asks.

  I’m too distracted to catch on. “What?”

  “Did you learn anything? About me, for your program.” He glances over at me, teasing. “Every trip with you is a data-gathering exercise.”

  “No comment,” I tell him lightly.

  He smiles wider. “Oh, this I need to know.”

  I shake my head. “Some things are between me and the algorithm.”

  He laughs. “Far from me to get between you.”

  I tug my gaze away. See? This is easy. Just walk down the block. Make a few inane comments about what a pleasant evening it is. Stop outside the building door and say goodnight—

  “Want to come up for a minute?”

  I’m horrified to find it’s my own voice asking. Shit. Shit. Where did that come from?

  “There are, ah, a couple things I’d like to double-check in your profile,” I add quickly, trying to cover.

  “Sure,” Jack replies.

  He follows me inside and up the stairs while my mind races, trying to scold myself out of this haze of desire that has me seriously off script.

  He’s your boss.

  No, not even your boss. Your potential boss. Even worse!

  He’s arrogant, and infuriating, and sexy, and hot …

  Wait, what was I saying?

  I reach my apartment and unlock the door. “This is me,” I say awkwardly, trying to remember if I left my dirty laundry all over the couch.

  I step inside and quickly look around. All clear. Phew.

  Jack follows me inside. “Cute place,” he says.

  “You don’t have to be polite,” I say nervously. “I know it’s nothing like your penthouse, but it’s rent-controlled, and the landlady is great, and—”

  You’re babbling.

  “I like it,” I finish, feeling stupid. Jack strolls over to my bookcase to take a look at the shelves, then turns back to me. What is it about the way some men lean that’s sexy as hell?

  I try to think. My computer! I said I needed to check his profile. I have no clue what part he’s going to be checking—I’ve got to make something up or he’ll know this was all some lame excuse to keep the evening going. I wet my lips, trying to figure out where I left the laptop. There, on the coffee table.

  To get to it, I have to walk past the bookcase. Right past Jack. I try to pretend I’m just casually ambling over, but my pulse is racing.

  Jack takes a step towards me. “McKenna,” he says. That’s it. Just my name, but it just about does me in. We lock eyes, and the heat surges between us again.

  He looks away. “I should go.”

  My heart sinks. “I … sure. Of course.”

  He probably has another woman waiting, a late-night hookup, or some other plans in mind. I should be relieved, but instead, I’m disappointed as I trail him back to the door. “I can email you the thing. About your profile.”

  “Right.” He pauses in the doorway, and looks at me again. “It’s probably not a good idea for me to stay. Here. With you …”

  He trails off, and damn if the look in his eyes doesn’t set me on fire again.

  Desire.

  He feels it too, right there in the air between us.

  “Goodnight,” I whisper. He stays there, not moving, and then he curses under his breath.

  “Fuck it.”

  Before I can even react, he closes the distance between us and kisses me, hard.

  Dear Lord … I’m a goner. Just like that, all sense and reason takes the fast route out of my brain. I’m lost in the wave of heat as he pulls my body against his. His lips claim mine, his body hard against me.

  Yes. More. Now.

  My hands slide into the silky waves of his hair, and he groans approvingly. He pushes me back against the wall, his hands traveling down the sides of my body, setting me alight.

  Oh. Yes.

  It feels as if every part of him is touching every part of me and it’s still not enough.

  Jack kisses me deeper, his tongue tangling with mine. I feel the electric graze of his palm against my breast, and I moan into his mouth. I yank at his shirt, teasing my fingers over the hard, hot muscles underneath, and yes, that incredible body is even better up close.

  Good enough to lick.

  Jack tears his mouth from mine to tease his lips and teeth and tongue down the side of my neck. “God, McKenna” he mutters. “Fuck, what are you doing to me?” He yanks my dress down, and buries his mouth against my breasts, and hell, I don’t have words for it anymore. All I can do is press eagerly against him, loving every inch of his hard, lean body.

  And boy, is he hard.

  I rock against him again, and Jack growls. His hand drops from my breast to jerk up the hem of my dress. Then he’s cupping me, nothing but my panties between his skin and mine. His palm presses against my clit, and I let out another moan. No one has ever brought me this close to the edge with just one touch. He starts to rub with slow, gentle circles—but not fast enough. Not hard enough. Not nearly. I arch into his touch, needing more.

  “Please,” I mumble. “Oh, God.” Jack chuckles and then he’s kissing me again. I’m drowning in him. The tartness of wine lingering on his tongue, the sparks of pleasure he’s lighting with that building pressure against my pussy. I pant into his mouth.

  “I can’t wait to hear you come for me,” he says, then suddenly, he’s on his knees, wrenching my panties down and my dress farther up. Oh.

  Oh.

/>   An instant later, his mouth is on me. He devours my clit as his fingers keep working over my slit. It’s incredible, too much to even process. I ride his hand and his mouth, shameless, and he lets me set the rhythm. His tongue flicks up and over. One finger slicks up inside me, and then another. Filling me. Stretching me. I cry out as he hits that sweet spot inside me. He sucks on my clit hard and I come so hard I scream.

  Jack keeps caressing me until my trembling subsides. He slowly gets to his feet and flashes me a smile that’s one-hundred percent pure masculine pride. “Just to be clear, that was the appetizer. We have a whole lot more to work on tonight.”

  Work. Work.

  Oh, no.

  My stomach flips over and I freeze up as he leans in for another kiss.

  “McKenna?”

  I close my eyes, fighting to get my breathing under control. Shit. I have fucked this up so badly. “We can’t,” I say, which sounds ridiculous with my panties hanging around my ankles. I bend down to yank them up. “We— We’re really supposed to be working together. You’re a potential investor. I’m supposed to be— We can’t. We shouldn’t be doing this!”

  Jack blinks at me, looking confused. “Well, for one, we already have. And for another, I don’t see why ‘collaborating’ like this should affect anything else.” He flashes that grin again, and I wish with everything I had that I could believe him.

  But please, even I’m not naïve enough to think that having mind-blowing sex isn’t going to change our professional relationship.

  “Of course it does. You don’t mix business and pleasure!”

  I scramble to get my clothes on straight, and a safe distance between us—before I grab him again.

  How could I let myself get this carried away? I know better than this, damn it. “It was a mistake. A really, really good mistake,” I add, still breathless. “But it can’t happen again.”

  “You sure about that?” Jack looks at me, tempting as hell with his shirt untucked and his eyes promising wicked, wicked things.

  “No,” I say mournfully. “But I do mean it. We have to keep things professional.”

  Jack exhales, then gives a shrug. “Whatever the lady wants. Your loss.” He winks, then saunters out the door, leaving me wondering if I just made the biggest mistake of my career.

  Or if the mistake was not taking him straight to bed.

  15

  Jack

  I spend the rest of the week in the worst mood.

  It’s not that she kicked me out on my arse with a raging hard-on and blue balls; hell, she was probably right before we crossed the line completely. No, the problem is that I kissed her at all. So much for my famous self-control. I’ve been telling myself for weeks that McKenna Delaney is off-limits. Way out of bounds. But fuck if she isn’t driving me crazy.

  That smart, lush mouth of hers …

  Those sinful curves …

  That sweet, juicy—

  “Dunham and Greggs are on line one.”

  My intercom interrupts my X-rated fantasies. I snatch up the call. “I told you, hold my calls,” I snap at Hallie.

  “But it’s on your schedule. You were the one to set it up.” She sounds confused.

  “Fine,” I growl. “Put them through.”

  I take the call, but my mind is somewhere else. McKenna’s apartment, to be precise, replaying every sexy moment from the other night.

  Damn, but that woman can kiss. And as for everything else …

  “… the projections should revise upwards next quarter …”

  I can’t focus, not with McKenna in my mind like this. We need to keep things professional, but there’s nothing professional about the things I want to do to her.

  “Callahan?”

  I realize they’re waiting on me to reply. “Fine,” I snap. “Send me the notes. I have to run.”

  I hang up, even more frustrated than ever. I’ve tried everything: punishing work-outs, burying myself in work, but still, it doesn’t dampen my desire. Even my little black book holds no appeal.

  It’s an itch only she can scratch.

  I check my cellphone and email, but there’s no word from her. Dammit. I shove back my chair and storm out to the front desk. “Hallie!” I bark. She looks over from the filing cabinet. “Where are the Lynchman papers?”

  “I was just getting them—”

  “Get faster.” I glare and stomp back to my desk.

  She appears a moment later and places the file in front of me.

  “Do you need—”

  “I’m fine,” I snap.

  She says something under her breath, then leaves with a swish of auburn hair. Suddenly I’m thinking about McKenna’s hair, fine and smooth under my hands as I kissed her. The way she kissed me back. The fire in that woman.

  Fire she only wants to apply to her work, not to me.

  I pace some more. Sit down at the desk and glare at the papers. Stand up again and stare at my bookcase instead. Hallie pokes her head in.

  “I thought I’d remind you, you’ve got that lunch with Brett Keller in twenty minutes.”

  “Since when?” I scowl.

  “Since you asked me to make the reservation two hours ago,” Hallie answers coolly. She steps right into the office, closes the door behind her, and crosses her arms over her chest. She fixes her cool no-nonsense gaze on me and waits.

  “What?” I snap.

  “I’m waiting for your apology,” she replies. “For acting like such an ass.”

  “I could fire you for that.”

  “But you won’t.”

  I sigh. She’s right. I hired Hallie because she doesn’t take crap from anyone. At the time I hadn’t really considered that anyone includes me.

  “Seriously, Jack. What’s going on?” she asks. “You’ve been stomping around this place all week. I’ve had to cancel half your meetings because I’m not letting you near people in this state.”

  “You did what?”

  “Thank me later,” she replies. “For now, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She shakes her head. “Are you kidding me? I’ve worked for you for five years now, Jack. You hardly ever get like this. And you can forget it if you think I’m going to stick around while you take it out on me all day,” she adds. “So, you can sit here stewing over whatever it is, but I’m going to the spa.”

  She turns to leave. I sigh.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble.

  “What was that?” Hallie arches her eyebrows at me.

  “I said, I’m sorry,” I say reluctantly. “I know I’m being a dick. A … project didn’t work out quite the way I was hoping.”

  She smirks. “A business project or a more personal one?”

  I glower at her, but I can’t blame her for asking. Hallie has been invaluable in organizing not just my corporate schedule but also the various women popping in and out of my life. “Personal. No, business. Maybe both.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, I suggest you get your shit together and stop acting like a boy whose favorite toy got taken away. Lunch. Frederik’s. Better get moving.”

  “Were you a nanny in a past life?” I grumble, getting to my feet.

  “Army general, more like.” Hallie grins.

  I head to the restaurant. Brett is already at a table by the window when I arrive. He’s sprawled in the chair, sandy hair rumpled as if he’s just come in from a jog. We came up together in the investment world, but while I struck out on my own, he inherited the reins at his family company. Still, he’s a friend—and the friendly competition. We’ve gone toe to toe for companies before, and I’m pleased to say, I usually come out ahead.

  “Callahan!” he smiles when he sees me. “I hear you’ve got big things brewing.”

  “I always do,” I say, sitting down. “Narrow it down for me.”

  He keeps one eye on his phone. “This new dating app of yours?”

  “Perfect Match.” I eye him. “What did you hear about that?”

 
“Word gets around.” Brett grins. “And word is, the founder offers a pretty attractive package, too.” He winks, and I narrow my eyes.

  “She’s a talented developer,” I say sharply, shutting down whatever locker-room talk he was about to launch.

  Somehow, I don’t think a black eye would go with his suit.

  “Whoa, message received.” Brett holds his hands up. “Can’t be too careful these days, anyway. So, what’s the scoop on the company? Signed and sealed, or are they still entertaining other options?”

  I narrow my eyes. “As good as a done deal.”

  “You sure about that?” Brett grins. “My guys have been telling me dating apps are a virtual cash cow. Find the right one, and you could have the next unicorn on your hands.”

  Unicorn. It’s investor talk for a billion-dollar company.

  I frown. “You think the ceiling is that high?”

  “Sky-high, bro.” Bret laughs. “Plus the potential for paid ads, partnerships … People give those things so much data, you’ve got a secondary market right there to hit with whatever you want.”

  I pause. McKenna mentioned something about that, but I was too busy pushing her buttons to care. An algorithm for love, I don’t believe in it for a second, but maybe I’ve been too hasty, and let my personal beliefs get in the way of a good investment.

  “It really is a step up from the current crop of apps,” I say thoughtfully. “The creator, McKenna Delaney, she knows her stuff. Years of relationship research, brilliant at spotting the connections and working them into the programming. It’ll make a splash—I’m sure of that.”

  “How close is it to launch?” Brett asks. “If you had something to unveil at the Tech Talk conference next month, you’d really make some waves.”

  We would. I smile. “I think we just might.”

  After lunch, I decide to pay a visit to McKenna. Rip off the Band-Aid, so to speak. Not her clothes. If we’re going to make this app a real contender, I need to put my frustrations aside and get back to that professional relationship she was so insistent on keeping.

  The building where Connective, Inc. resides is … interesting. From the outside, it’s a rough-looking brick building with not much to recommend it. Inside, I’m greeted by a hall of framed photos of men posing with little to no clothing. Pulsing bass emanates from the room beyond. A woman ambles out.