Blake stood and reached a tentative hand toward her across his desk. “Drea. Calm down, would you?”
She stepped out of his grasp. Balling her fists at her side, she stomped a foot—a little childish, perhaps, but she was pissed. “I will not! How could you do this to me? You’re purposefully undermining my work. Were you finding cruising too time-consuming?”
“What? No. I’m sincerely looking for a bride.”
“You expect me to believe that you didn’t sleep with them?” Did he think she was a moron?
Blake straightened and with what sounded an awful lot like sincerity said, “Yes, I do expect you to believe that. Because I didn’t.”
God, he was good. If she weren’t so entirely convinced otherwise, she may even have believed him.
Her nostrils flared as she drew in an angry breath, deliberating her next move. If he’d just admit what he’d done and promise not to do it again, she felt certain she could redeem the situation. She’d have to start with a new pool of women—the secretaries surely talked with one another and no one wanted to marry a player—but she had some ideas of where to look. Except if he was going to repeat his actions, a new pool was pointless. Her entire job was pointless.
Swallowing past the strange lump in her throat, she made her declaration. “If you aren’t going to be honest with me, then this isn’t going to work, Blake. I quit.” Did she really say that? She did. “I’ll collect my things. I’m sure your secretary can mail me a final check.”
She spun back to her desk, keeping her face down as she grabbed her purse from the bottom drawer where she kept it so that he couldn’t see the tears forming in her eyes. If she were crying because of the loss of employment, that would be one thing. But the sadness she felt was tied to something else entirely—something she couldn’t quite name. She knew that he’d slept with the women, was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt, and the images that brought to her mind stung with a bitterness that raged through her entire body.
The name of the emotion hit her with sudden force—it was jealousy.
Well, shit.
* * *
Blake stood with gaping horror as he watched his personal concierge gathering her belongings. What had just happened? He’d come in that morning with a spring in his step, not because of his date the night before, but because he hoped he’d be spending the day with Drea. Then when his hope had been realized, well, he was pleased to say the least. Though he hadn’t figured out all the intricacies of his emotions regarding the woman, he’d realized that he had some sort of attraction to her. While this strange pull was a roadblock on the path to securing a bride, he felt sure it wasn’t insurmountable. He’d planned to devise some way to deal with the situation that day, but before he’d even had time to settle in at his desk, here she was accusing him of things he hadn’t done and stomping out of his office. Out of his life.
That certainly wasn’t the answer to his problems.
“Andrea, wait.”
She stood from her crouched position, her eyes glistening. “What? Are you going to admit you slept with them? Are you going to tell me the truth?”
“I am.” He took a deep breath, planning to tell her the real reason he didn’t want to see any of the women again—the reason he hadn’t slept with any of them—was because he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
But before he could figure out how to phrase it, Drea seemed to make her own assumptions as to what his statement was affirming. “I knew you slept with them! Thank you for at least admitting it. Why would you do that, Blake? Screwing them on the first date sabotages a potential future. I know you know this. I mean, I get that they’d be interested in you—you’re quite an attractive man, what with your solid chest and that sharp-angled jaw. And those eyes—God, those eyes—” She ran her tongue along her bottom lip as she stared at him hazily.
Was that lust he saw clouded there? And the way she’d described him physically, did that show interest on her part? Was it possible that Drea was as attracted to him as he was to her?
The thought stunned and gladdened him.
Then, with a shake of her head, Drea’s eyes cleared. “But couldn’t you control yourself? Leave a little something for next time?”
Again, he opened his mouth to protest, to explain the true nature of the situation, when all of a sudden he saw a door open. Perhaps he could get what he wanted—what he needed—from Andrea without having to admit an actual interest. If he could just get this thing out of his system, he could regain some semblance of control over his life.
Before he could second-guess himself, he went with it. “Maybe that’s exactly it—I can’t control myself.”
“What?” Andrea seemed taken aback. “You’re the most disciplined person I know.”
“Well, but, as you said, they threw themselves at me.” It was easier than he thought to pursue this angle, the words coming to him quite easily. Surprisingly, and happily, considering what a bad liar he was. “How could I resist? Especially when I’m used to getting it so often.”
“So often.” She repeated the phrase as if it were distasteful in her mouth.
He circled his desk, crossing to her with sure steps, his eyes glued to hers. “I told you in your interview that I…” He paused to consider how to put it. “Well, that I engaged in physical activity on a regular basis. How am I supposed to suddenly go cold turkey?”
She folded her arms. “I don’t know—take care of yourself like every other man, maybe?” She released one arm to sort of flap toward his crotch before trapping it again with a blush.
“That’s hardly the same.” His eyes flickered to her cleavage. The woman had incredible breasts. He’d noticed before, but now the desire to touch them tugged at him with increasing urgency.
“Are you saying you can’t go for even a short period of time without … without…” She circled her hand in the air as if she couldn’t bring herself to speak out loud what they were both so clearly talking about.
It was adorable. She couldn’t say the words.
Well, he could say it. “Without sex?” He couldn’t stop the smile from forming on his lips when a shiver ran through her at the word. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
She opened and closed her mouth several times.
Good. He had her flustered.
Finally, she recovered enough to ask, “How the hell is this bride-seeking supposed to work then?”
“I see your concern.” He pursed his lips, pretending to consider. This was his chance to bring the conversation around to where he’d intended it to go in the first place. “Perhaps, if my needs were met another way…” Would she understand where he was going?
“Like with your hand?”
No, she didn’t understand. “That’s not what I was suggesting.” The conversation alone had his pants feeling tighter. Imagine how turned on he’d be if she agreed? He hadn’t realized how completely into her he was until he gave himself permission to pursue it. Now all he needed was her acquiescence. His pulse quickened in anticipation.
“What were you suggest—” Her face suddenly flushed crimson as her eyes widened with comprehension. “Wait. Are you suggesting that I sleep with you?”
“Sleeping really isn’t necessary.”
“Oh, my God.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “You can’t be serious. Oh, my God, you are.”
“You don’t need to say it as if it’s such a repulsive idea.” Despite her words, he could sense she was considering it. Desire once again clouded her eyes and her breathing had grown shallow, as if she were excited by the thought.
And that only excited him more.
Still she protested. “Are you kidding me? It’s absolutely repulsive. You want to sleep with me—”
“Not sleep,” he corrected.
“Fine, not sleep with me so that you won’t have the urge to come on to the women that you’re dating in the hope of finding a wife?” She let her question hang in the air a moment. “Do you hear how disgusting t
hat sounds?”
He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “No, actually, I don’t.”
“Blake!”
All right, maybe it sounded a bit untoward, but his true intentions weren’t awful. Maybe he should have approached it another way. Or not at all. Now what should he do? He rarely was in the position of second-guessing himself. It was unusual and uncomfortable. He wished he could erase the last two minutes. “Forget I said anything.”
“It’s forgotten.” Andy sank into her chair. Only a matter of seconds passed before her expression blazed again. “How the hell am I supposed to forget that?”
Blake closed his eyes for a moment. He himself had a feeling it would be difficult to forget her blatant rejection. He threw a dismissive hand in the air. “It was merely a suggestion. You had a complaint. You asked how to fix it. That’s what I came up with.”
Andy shook her head repeatedly. “You’re impossible, Blake Donovan.”
“Well, you aren’t so possible yourself.” He turned on his heels and headed back to his desk.
“Like that’s supposed to be an insult?” Her voice trailed after him.
She could never let him have the last word, could she? “It’s … I don’t know what it was supposed to be.” He sat in his chair and deeply inhaled to gather his thoughts. He had a feeling an apology was due, and he wasn’t very good with those. “I’m … I’m sorry, okay?”
Her eyes narrowed. “For sleeping with your dates or propositioning me?”
“Both.” Neither, really. Because he hadn’t slept with any of his dates and he wasn’t sorry for propositioning her. He was sorry he hadn’t done a better job of it. He was sorry she hadn’t agreed.
She sighed. “It’s fine. I guess. Don’t do it again. Can you manage that?”
Considering that he hadn’t done the one thing in the first place, he was sure it wouldn’t be a problem. The other thing, though—he had a feeling that his attraction to Andrea Dawson was nowhere near over. He couldn’t promise he wouldn’t make another move. So he answered simply, “I’ll try.”
“It has to be more than try if you want me to agree to stay.”
She was seriously maddening. “I’ll manage then.” Across the room, he locked his gaze with hers. Even with the yards between them, her eyes pulled at him, pierced through him, as if they saw him in a way that no one ever had. He was nearly moved to go to her, to pull her into his arms, and kiss the hell out of her.
But considering she’d just blatantly shot him down, a kiss was probably a bad move. Instead he reached for her with words. “Please, don’t quit.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d pleaded with someone so sincerely. It made him feel both vulnerable and free at the same time. Their eye contact never broke. It reminded him of the moment they had shared during her interview, the point even then when he knew he was in over his head. This girl rattled him to his core, and he thought she knew it as she watched his eyes beg her.
Drea’s expression softened, almost as though she realized how significant his statement had been. “Good. Then I’ll stay.”
They held their stare for several seconds, until the air felt warm and Blake had the urge to take off his jacket, but didn’t dare move for fear of ruining the moment. As if he could convince her to stay through the sheer force of will and eye contact. If she didn’t understand how much he wanted her here, it wouldn’t be for lack of him showing her. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, his was on display.
It was Andrea who broke the connection. She leaned down to return her purse to its place. “And you owe me a bonus, you know. Several bonuses, in fact. Don’t forget that our original deal stated I’d get compensated for how a relationship progressed emotionally or physically. Physically, Blake. You owe me.”
He’d pay her anything she asked, even if the stipend was based on a lie. Whatever he had to do to keep her near.
* * *
Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.
Andy couldn’t believe that he’d actually suggested that … that … that she should have sex with him.
She was mortified—the major component of that mortification being that she’d actually considered it. Disgusting. How on earth could any decent person spend a single second entertaining the idea that Blake “Inside-Ugly” Donovan was attractive? He was so inside-ugly that it seeped out through his hatefully perfect pores.
Okay, maybe it didn’t, but it should. He was too hot for his own good. So insanely gorgeous that her insides fluttered every time she looked his way. Even after his ridiculous proposition, the flutters remained. They were heightened, in fact, but now they were accompanied with revulsion. Revulsion mainly with herself, but she clung to it. It worked to keep her hormones in check—thank God—because she’d been dangerously close to agreeing to his devil’s bargain. Especially after that stare-down. He’d looked honestly desperate for her. It made her warring bits actually want to reconcile.
At least the rational bit of Andy had won that little conscience-cage match. No! If you sleep with him, you’ll be out of a job in about a day and a half flat. You know how he is with girls he sleeps with.
Although the horny, teenage girl part of her had put up a decent fight. Remember how he kisses? Imagine what else he can do with that mouth! Just the one time. Or seven. Then he’ll be satisfied, you can insist on his quick marriage to Cynthia, and you’ll leave with a hefty bonus and a glowing reference.
Tempting. Overwhelmingly tempting. More tempting than it should be.
It was like the battle of the angel and the devil on her shoulders, and the angel’s rationalization was barely heard over Andy’s rapidly beating heart and the whoosh sounding through her ears.
But then Big Girl Andy grabbed a megaphone and trumpeted above all the other noise. He does not respect women. The second you jump into his bed, you confirm everything he thinks he knows about them. You won’t get the bonus, or the reference, and quite likely not the orgasm, either. He’s too selfish to satisfy you first.
With that her mind was made up.
Unfortunately.
Though she hadn’t actually said no. It was Blake who withdrew his offer. If he hadn’t, would the desire surging through her veins have won?
It didn’t matter now. The conversation was over. But it was far from forgotten.
Sitting at her desk now, the idea played over and over through her imagination in vivid detail. Blake, running that sharp tongue of his, down her neck. Blake, drenched in sweat as he hovered over her. Blake, pushing in and …
No, no, no. She had to stop this. For God’s sake, he was sitting across the room. What if he could tell what she was thinking? Surely her flushed cheeks were a good indication of the dirty movie playing in her mind.
Andy scrubbed her hands over her face and attempted to concentrate on the horrid situation that had led to his proposition in the first place: Blake had been sleeping with his dates. Oh, whoops, not sleeping. Sexing them up. Giving them a good time. Introducing them to the other Mr. Donovan.
Since she’d turned him down, did that mean he’d continue to be unable to control himself? At this rate, he was going to burn through every potential candidate in Boston before the year was up. I’ll be forced to mail-order dates from Ukraine. Did the man even want to get married? Sure didn’t seem like it.
So what does he want?
That one sat her back on her figurative heels. What did he want? She knew the reasons he’d spouted off to her, but none of them seemed particularly genuine. They sounded rote, things he thought he should say and so did. But the look on his face, that seemed as real as anything she’d ever seen from him.
“Blake?” she ventured, even though she could see from the set of his jaw that he wasn’t super interested in talking to her right now. Well, she’d forced an actual apology from him—he was probably licking his wounds.
“Yes?” His expression, when he looked up at her, was actually open. Maybe he was just tense from all the drama of the morning. Maybe s
he was a hack who had no idea how to read anyone. Who knew anymore?
She sat back in her chair. “We’ve never talked about what happens beyond the wedding, and subsequent rewriting of your will.”
“What’s to discuss? It’s done and then it’s done.” His eyes were full of genuine confusion.
There it was, then. He wants a wife because it’s what he thinks he should do. She was certain that just as he had no idea how to treat a date, he had no idea what made a successful marriage.
Well, that had to be addressed. She searched for terms he could understand. “When you form a merger with another company, does it end at the contract signing?”
“Hm. I see where you’re going with this. Obviously not. The signature is only the beginning. What sort of … maintenance … does a marriage require?” The puzzlement was fading into intense concentration. For all his faults, Blake certainly always liked to be the best at everything. Maybe she could train him into a decent husband after all. If only he’d kept the damn pup, they’d be going through obedience school together.
She stifled a grin and started to educate her clueless boss. “There will be an obvious restructuring, just as you would do with a company you take over. In that case, it’s purely clinical. In this case, there will be emotions involved. Deciding whose home to live in—”
“Mine.”
She went on as if he hadn’t interrupted. “There’s the question of whose things—how do you merge two households’ worth of furniture and household goods and kitchen appliances and books and—”
“We keep mine.”
“Blake. This is exactly what I am talking about.” She rolled her neck, trying to release the new layer of tension that was building. “If you treat your wife—her things, her life without you—this callously, she’ll have that sucker annulled before you even consummate it. It doesn’t matter how submissive a girl you end up with, you cannot treat her like an acquisition. At least, not to her face.”
Miss Match Page 12
