Miss Match

by Laurelin McGee

  “Hi, Ellen. Good to see you again.” Andy tossed a good-bye wave over her shoulder to let Darrin and Lacy know she was good for them to leave and turned back to the older woman in front of her.

  Ellen frowned and scrunched her forehead as if trying to recall something. “Drea!” she exclaimed after a moment.

  Andy chuckled to herself, not bothering to correct her. “Is Blake here?” she asked, wondering when she’d be invited in and suddenly worried that maybe she hadn’t been already because he wasn’t there.

  “Of course he is. Where are my manners? Come on in.” She stepped aside to let Andy in past her, holding the door open even after she was inside. “Is he expecting you?”

  Andy tensed, fearing she was going to be kicked out without a definite invitation. “Sort of. I told him I had some things to drop off for him and he said anytime today would be fine.” She bit her lip. “Is that a problem?”

  “No, not at all. He’s upstairs in his playroom.”

  Playroom? Before Andy’s mind traveled too far into thoughts of red rooms filled with sex toys, she clarified. “In his office, you mean?”

  “Yes. In his office.” With her hand still on the open door, Ellen said, “I’m sorry I seem rushed. I’m just on my way out. Date night with the Mister. Would you mind telling Mr. Donovan that dinner’s in the warmer whenever he’s ready?”

  “Will do.” It occurred to Andy that Ellen probably always prepared Blake’s meals. “Ellen, before you go—how long have you worked for Mr. Donovan?”

  “Oh, gosh.” She sighed with the thought. “Since he was just starting out with his business. Years. The man knows nothing about cooking himself. I’ve told him he needs to get himself a good wife before I retire. I planned to stay on until he married, but if he keeps dragging his feet I may have to help him find a replacement.”

  “Interesting.” Blake’s requirements for a wife who knew how to cook and clean made more sense now. He thought he was being practical—replacing his housekeeper with a bride. Silly and old-fashioned, perhaps, but somewhat understandable.

  With a smile she said, “Have a good date night, Ellen.”

  “You as well, Drea.”

  “Oh, I’m not…” Andy let her words trail off. She wasn’t there for a date, but it felt nice pretending she was. Anyway, the housekeeper was already halfway down the driveway headed to her car parked at the curb, so no use explaining otherwise.

  Andy headed up the broad staircase to Blake’s office. The doors were open at the end of the hall so she went on in. Only Blake wasn’t there. With a frown she set the files she’d brought on his desk and considered what to do next.

  Then she heard some strange noises coming from behind Blake’s desk. Or from the half-open door behind the desk, rather. She’d wondered about that room before, suspecting it was a safe or safe room, but her questions about it had been blown off. Now she couldn’t stop herself from looking. It was open, after all. And she did need to find Blake.

  Cautiously, she paused at the open crack and called in. “Blake?” She didn’t want to surprise him in the middle of counting his money or reviewing security tape or something worse. Like, what if it was a private bathroom?

  When she had no answer, she pulled the door open. “Blake, are you in here?”

  Blake was in there all right. But it was what else was in the room that made her gasp in surprise. “Oh, my God!”

  Blake’s head shot up at her exclamation. “Andrea!”

  All trepidation lost, Andy walked the rest of the way into the room and took in her surroundings in awe. “This is … this is your playroom?”

  “Um.”

  Her eyes stopped their exploration and landed on his fretful expression. “It is!” Again she scanned the room. Pinball machines lined all the walls. Twenty-three in total, all of them lit up and chiming with classic pinball sounds meant to lure bystanders into playing. There were many she recognized—Attack from Mars, The Simpsons, the Star Trek Next Generation game she’d beaten in high school. There was even a vintage Captain Fantastic that must have been made in the 1940s.

  It was freaking amazing.

  She spun to face Blake. “PinballWizard for your network password? That was you.” She took a step toward him and swatted him across his biceps. Hard. “You big jerk.”

  “Ow!” Blake rubbed his arm. “What was that for?”

  “You could have told me you liked pinball. It would look great on your profile.”

  He ducked when she tried to hit him a second time. “I don’t need pinball to look great on my profile.”

  She scoffed. “You do. Trust me.” Andy turned around the room once more. “This could have made up for a lot.” Finally, something that showed some goddamn personality.

  Of course, in her weeks working with Blake she’d discovered many other things that were interesting and endearing about the man. Little things that she could never put on a profile or explain to a potential date, like, how he insisted on drinking a full glass of water before any meal, and how he made funny expressions as he read his emails. This, though, she could have used to sell him. Why on earth had he not told her?

  Blake scratched at the back of his neck, something Andy had learned he did when he was nervous. “So, it’s not a big … turnoff? That I’m secretly nerdy?”

  “That you have an awesome-ass classic pinball setup in your house?” She couldn’t believe he had to ask. “Hell, no. It’s a big turn-on.” Like, really big.

  “Is that right?” Blake’s voice was teasingly low and seductive.

  Andy swatted at him again, much lighter this time. “Stop it, you fiend.” She nodded toward one of the machines, a hybrid mechanical pinball-plus-video game called Caveman. “Show me what you got.”

  He raised a brow. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “Okay.” He started to the game she’d shown interest in.

  Andy followed behind. “Oh, I bumped into Ellen as she was leaving. She said dinner’s in the warmer.”

  “Thanks.” Blake paused, one hand on the side of the Caveman machine, his brow furrowed.

  “What is it?”

  “I was just thinking…” He hesitated, as if nervous. “Would you like to join me for dinner? You don’t have other plans, do you?”

  Dinner. That was decidedly against their rules. Decidedly intimate, warmer or not. And she hadn’t suggested it—he had. It was happening organically after all. “I don’t have other plans.”

  Again Blake scratched the back of his neck. “You can say no, of course. Just, I wouldn’t want the food to get cold while we were fooling around up here.” He swallowed, seeming to realize what he’d said. “I mean, Ellen always makes enough for leftovers. She’s a great cook.”

  Andy smiled at the charming way he was selling the idea of a meal together. “I don’t doubt she’s a great cook. I’ve seen you bring her leftover meat loaf to the office for lunch. It smells delish.”

  “Oh, she’s wonderful.” He swallowed again. “Then when dinner’s out of the way we can come back up here and beat the ball around.”

  It was her turn to raise a brow. “You mean play pinball, right? That’s not a euphemism for anything else, is it?” She winked.

  He broke into a smile—a beautiful grin that touched Andy low in her belly. “It’s not a euphemism. I mean play pinball.”

  Andy nudged him with her shoulder, mostly because she was yearning to touch him in some fashion and couldn’t stand that she hadn’t yet. “Well, then. Let’s get dining because I can’t wait to play against you.” She began to stroll out of the room then called behind her. “Blake, have I ever mentioned that I won the Beacon Hill Area Pinball Championship when I was in eleventh grade?”

  She was glad she peeked over her shoulder or she would have missed his adorably worried expression.

  He cocked his head at her. “Are you trying to intimidate me?”

  She turned to face him head-on and shrugged. “Maybe.” She smiled coyly. “I
s it working?”

  He leveled his blue eyes at her, his lip ticking up ever so slightly. “Andrea Dawson, there is never a moment that you don’t intimidate me, and it has nothing to do with pinball. But I mean that in the very best way possible.”

  Goose bumps scattered down the back of her neck and over the bare skin of her arms. It was a simple statement, but so uncharacteristic of anything Blake had ever said to her that it was impossible for her not to cling to it. If she was making too much of it, so be it. She’d treasure those words for a long, long time.

  Blake gestured toward the open door. “Now let’s go down, shall we?”

  * * *

  Dinner was delightful, to say the least. Besides the spectacular meal—Chicken Cordon Bleu and glazed carrots paired with the best white wine Andy had ever tasted—the conversation and company was also very enjoyable. They’d eaten in the kitchen rather than the dining room, which was more casual, but also more intimate. They laughed and chatted, never falling into awkward silence. It was surprising, really. After the feedback she’d heard from Blake’s dates, she expected him to be an impolite conversation hog. Instead, he was gracious and entertaining. Charming, even.

  When they finished, Andy helped clear their plates, carrying them to the sink. Then she watched in wonder as he rinsed them and stuck them in the dishwasher.

  She knew it was cheeky, but she had to say something. “Blake Donovan does dishes?”

  He scowled. “No. I just wash off my dirty plates and put them in the dishwasher. That’s all. They’d get crusty and gross if I left them in the sink for Ellen in the morning.” He started the machine and washed his hands.

  Andy folded her arms and leaned against his granite counter. “That’s doing dishes.”

  “It’s being sanitary,” he protested as he dried his hands.

  “Uh-huh.” She crossed to the kitchen door and looked back over her shoulder. “Are you ready to go upstairs?”

  “I am.”

  After a brief stop in the bathroom, Andy followed Blake up the stairs. At the top, he turned toward the office, but Andy paused at a strange sound coming from the double doors at the other end of the hall. She strained her ears trying to figure out what it was she was hearing. It sounded like scratching followed by soft whimpering.

  “What’s that?”

  Blake turned back to look at her. “What’s what?”

  “That noise.” She took several steps toward the doors. “It sounded like…” She stopped herself, listening again to be sure.

  “It’s nothing.” Blake sounded panicked, speaking rapidly. “It’s nobody. Or the maid. She sometimes—has Tourette’s—” He corrected himself quickly. “A mouse, I mean. Mice. Lots of mice. Big mice. Get away from there. I’ll call pest control tomorrow.”

  With fists on her hips, she turned and narrowed her eyes at the man behind her. “Blake Donovan, did you keep the puppy?”

  “I…” It was that or he did have a Mrs. Rochester in there.

  The scratching creature let out a definite all-dog yap.

  Without permission, Andy opened the doors in front of her, and out ran the fluffy corgi she’d left with Blake over a month before. “You did!”

  She bent to hug the excited creature, who was alternately licking her face and nipping at her hand.

  With a sigh, Blake knelt next to her. “I didn’t keep him, exactly. I just haven’t gotten around to taking him back yet.”

  “There was a ten-day return policy. You’ve passed that.” As soon as the puppy realized that Blake’s face was within his reach, he abandoned Andy and ran to his master.

  “Then I’ll donate him to someone.” Blake rubbed the dog affectionately, nuzzling his cheek to the furball as the puppy licked his ear.

  Andy’s chest grew warm. “No you won’t. He loves you. You love him.” If she wasn’t mistaken, the man’s cheeks flushed.

  “Absolutely not.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. He was definitely blushing.

  The heat in Andy’s chest spread downward toward her core. Damn, a man with a dog was hot. She knew she was right about this plan. “What’s his name?” she asked, trying to keep her mind off what was going on between her legs.

  “Puppy.”

  She laughed. “Of course. Creativity has never been your strong suit.” She petted the dog, her hand accidentally on purpose bumping into Blake’s. At her touch, he looked up and met her stare. His deep-blue eyes were softer than she’d ever seen them. They caught her up. Mesmerized her completely. Eye contact had always been their kryptonite.

  “Well, you don’t name things you don’t plan to keep.” Her sister had once had a theory like that with men. It was called “Don’t Name the Puppy,” in fact. She wondered what it meant that he said her name, even the hated nickname, with such tenderness.

  When she could speak, she asked, “You are keeping him, though, aren’t you?”

  “We’ll see.” But everything about his expression said yes. He stood and reached a hand out to help her up. “Come on.” When she hesitated, his forehead creased in confusion. “What?”

  She might be falling in love with him, that’s what. All her jealousy and rage over Jane wasn’t just because she was being petty or possessive. She was falling. And she was done feeling guilty about it because the more she got to know him she more she realized he wasn’t as douchey as he appeared. Actually, he was pretty fantastic.

  But even if things were happening between them organically and all, she wasn’t about to admit her feelings and ruin it. “Nothing. You just surprise me; that’s all.”

  At his suspicious glance, she added, “Pleasantly.” No point in rubbing this in. She was just chalking it up as a mental win for herself. It didn’t bring her nearly the satisfaction it would have a few days ago. That felt weird, but nice—oh, hell. Everything was surprising her today.

  “I’ll have to work on that.” He waved his hand, urging her to take it. “Now come on.”

  She laughed, slipping her hand into his. “Eager much?”

  But she got it. She was eager, too. Not for the pinball war that was about to take place but for this … thing … that was going on with her and Blake to continue. This surprising, amazing, wonderful … thing.

  And for the pinball war. That was going to be fun too.

  * * *

  Blake couldn’t believe how great the evening had been. Better than anything he’d ever done with Andrea, and in the last month, he’d done a lot with her that he’d liked. Liked a lot. And tonight they still had all their clothes on.

  In fact, he was having more fun with Andrea, as they laughed and played every pinball machine in his playroom, than he’d had on any date in months. He’d also been more relaxed, more himself, than he could ever remember being.

  He didn’t know what to do with that realization, so instead of dwelling on it, he concentrated on putting his all into his game playing. Turned out his employee really was a pro at pinball. She scored well, almost as well as he did. Blake had the distinct feeling that the only thing that kept him in the lead was his familiarity with the games. She was certainly the best opponent he’d had in ages. The perfect match for him.

  He watched her now as she expertly batted the flippers on the Bally Williams Doctor Who game, his favorite of all his machines. Damn, she was sexy—her eyes lighting up as they followed the ball around its cage, her mouth oohing and ahhing silently, her breasts bouncing in her T-shirt as she got into her playing. It was a testament to his character that he continued to win with those temptations so close at hand. Hands. His hands. His hands covering her breasts, caressing—

  “Oh, no,” Drea exclaimed, bringing him out of his less-than-chaste thoughts. “It’s multiball. I screwed this up royally last time. What am I doing wrong?”

  With a chuckle, Blake came up behind her. “You can do this. I’ll help.”

  “Okay.” Her voice was almost a whisper, begging him to move closer.

  He placed his hands over hers at the buttons on t
he side of the machine. It felt good to touch her. Too good. His palms burned over the soft touch of her hands. It took all his concentration not to press into her back, not to bring his pelvis up close to cradle her ass.

  Focus on the game, man.

  He inhaled—ignore the apples—and placed himself in the B-Zone. “Instead of watching where the balls are going,” he said, his face leaning in over her shoulder, “keep focused on the flippers.” With her hand under his, he pressed the button as a ball came toward the exit. The flipper made contact and the ball rolled on to score another thousand points.

  “Uh-huh.” But Andy didn’t seem to be watching the game anymore. She was watching him.

  Blake tried to keep anchored. “There’s no way you can watch all the movement at once, but you can zoom in on one area.” His voice sounded strained, even to himself. Low, and about to burst. “When anything comes near the flippers, you hit.” Another ball rolled toward the exit. He pressed both of her hands this time, and he heard her breathing pick up.

  Her face was still angled toward his. So close to his. Nearly touching. She could tip up and she’d be kissing his jaw. He could turn and he’d be kissing her lips. And, God, wouldn’t that be wonderful? One of his favorite fantasies began like this—spreading a woman across his pinball machine and going down on her, making her scream while the lights and the game went on underneath her.

  Okay, maybe that was a ridiculous teenage wet dream, but he could so make it happen. Perhaps without the game going on would be better—just him and the woman and the pinball machine as a table. Just him and Andy.

  But the idea felt off. As much as he’d love to do that, as much as he sensed that she would even be a willing participant, it wasn’t exactly what he wanted from her at the moment. After they’d bonded and connected and had this wonderful almost romantic night … she deserved more. They deserved more.

  What the hell kind of thinking was that? More? With Andrea Dawson?

  Damn if it didn’t feel so right. And that scared him.

  So he did nothing. Didn’t fuck her on the pinball machine. Didn’t lead her down the hall to his bedroom. Didn’t even kiss her.