Billionaire's Matchmaker (Titans)

by Sierra Cartwright

  As much as Hope tried to keep an emotional barrier between herself and Rafe, she couldn’t. He was animated, charming. The constant glimpses of the complex man bothered her, making it impossible for her to think of him as nothing but a hard-ass Dom or uncaring tycoon. He was still speaking, so she shook her head to focus on him.

  “He ran the company for over half a century, and he didn’t take a day off—not even Christmas—until he ended up in the hospital on his deathbed. Even then, he asked for reports to be brought in. Less than an hour before he passed, he summoned his family members and gave them specific instructions about how he wanted the company run. There were no warm goodbyes. Instead, he was trying to convey his vision to those of us who would carry on.”

  Rafe’s story was a bleak reminder that he might lose everything if he didn’t find a wife, soon. “I’ll…er…do the dishes.” She wadded her napkin and tossed it on a plate.

  “No need. My housekeeper, Sienna, will be here later.”

  “Housekeeper?” She couldn’t keep the note of wistfulness out of her voice. That sounded like pure luxury. Still, she rinsed the dishes, then stacked them in the sink before putting away the unused food.

  “We make a good team.”

  She didn’t want to make a good team with a man who belonged to another woman.

  “Five minutes?” he asked.

  “I’ll be ready.” In fact, she was anxious to leave now. While he climbed the stairs to the second story, she crossed the room to look out the window. Because it was still dark, her reflection bounced back at her—untidy hair with tendrils curling against her neck, arms folded with her hands on her shoulders.

  Hope didn’t recognize herself. Her eyes had lost some innocence. She was now a woman who knew something about BDSM, and more, had learned about herself, what she liked, what she wanted. Regular sex—the kind that had bored her—would no longer be okay. She craved the excitement, the unknown, the bite of pain, the strain of being on her knees, waiting.

  Rafe was ready in less than five minutes, and she met him at the bottom of the stairs. She stood in front of him. The cut of his suit coat was exquisite, tailored to fit his broad shoulders but also emphasize his lean waist. His shirt was crisp and white, and his dark gray tie had silver swirls, something of a cross between a paisley and the yin-yang symbol.

  The emeralds in his ring winked in the overhead light, a stark reminder that he belonged to an exclusive and secret group of people who wanted to run more than their own companies.

  She was a matchmaker, the daughter of a nurse and a soldier, from humble beginnings. She might spend time with Houston’s rich and somewhat famous, but she was an outsider, someone who provided them with a much-valued service.

  “Shall we?”

  Outside, he helped her into his car, and again, the seat cradled her as if designed for her. He programmed in the address she provided before easing into traffic. While they drove through the quiet streets, his cell phone rang, and Celeste’s name showed up on the car’s display screen.

  “Do you mind if I take it?”

  Curious, she responded, “Not at all.”

  Surprising her, he answered on the car’s audio system. “Morning, Celeste. Say good morning to Hope Malloy.”

  There was no pause before Celeste responded, “Well, hello, Hope.”

  Hope shot him a wilting glance. There had been no reason to acknowledge her presence.

  “I’m driving Hope home.”

  “Very good.”

  Was it too much to wish that the seat would swallow her? Rafe seemed oblivious to Hope’s discomfort.

  Always one to focus on business, Celeste continued. “Are you free to talk?”

  “Yes.”

  Hope expected him to switch to a headset, but he didn’t.

  “Noah telephoned me last night.”

  “Did he?”

  Hope pulled out her cell phone and pretended to be interested in reading her email. The truth was, she didn’t see a word on the screen.

  “Yes, along with other directors on the steering committee.”

  Hope slid a glance toward him. Was Celeste talking about the Titans? Hope shook her head. That the secret society was real, with a steering committee and intrigue, took her aback. And that he hadn’t made the call confidential was even more startling.

  “And the purpose of his call?”

  “To suggest your father be removed from his position.”

  Rafe’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

  “He’s recommending himself as the replacement. On the grounds that Theodore isn’t performing his required duties. He missed a phone conference call yesterday. With no apologies or acknowledgment that he’d received an invitation. Judge Anderson had us hold while he attempted to reach your dad.”

  Judge Anderson? The one who was in the news all the time?

  When Rafe didn’t respond, Celeste continued. “You could offer to take his place at the next in-person.”

  “Isn’t that this week?”

  “Saturday. I can’t tell you how the others will react,” Celeste warned. “You might be asked to leave. But I’ll speak on your behalf.”

  “If I can’t ensure that Dad will attend, I’ll be there.” With a promise to be in touch and a brief goodbye, he ended the call. “I apologize for the interruption.” He depressed a button on the steering wheel to disconnect the line. In the ambient streetlight, Hope saw tension grooved next to his eyes. “If I can’t talk some sense into my dad, I’ll go see him this morning.”

  “Okay.” She mentally began a mad scramble. “I’ll need to reschedule the mixer.”

  “I’ll be back in plenty of time.”

  “How can you do that on such short notice?”

  “The company has a plane. The executives fly commercial when possible, but sometimes urgency prevails.”

  Of course he had a plane.

  “You could go with me.”

  “What?” She turned to look at him. “No. I can’t. I have a job. People to talk to.” Including women who might want to be his wife. But the invitation excited her. To jet off to the coast on a whim? Traveling on a private charter? How divine would that be?

  “Another time, then.”

  There wouldn’t be another time. “Since you have personal business to take care of, there’s no need to see me to the office.” The sooner she extracted herself from this situation, the better.

  He didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure that meant he agreed or that he’d set his course and refused to deviate.

  When he pulled up in front of her high-rise apartment building in Midtown, she found out. He came around to open her door, assisted her from the passenger compartment, then followed her up the path.

  With her hand on the metal plate to push through the glass door, she paused. “Rafe—”

  “Was there anything I’ve said that suggested I was open for negotiation?”

  There wasn’t.

  “Unless you’d like to have an argument right here in public—which I’m happy to indulge—and make us both late for work, I suggest you save the energy.” With that, he placed his palm about six inches higher than hers and shoved the door open. “After you.”

  She couldn’t win this battle so she sighed her frustration and entered the building.

  “I need to make sure we don’t let the Colonel out,” she said when they stood in front of the door of her tenth-floor apartment. She turned the knob and bent to extend her hand across the entryway.

  Foiled, the Colonel screeched, shredding Hope’s remaining nerves. She scooted the feline back several feet, and Rafe followed her inside. Without needing to be told, he closed and locked the door behind him.

  The Colonel turned toward Rafe and hissed.

  “Sorry.” To avoid a catastrophe, Hope scooped up her pet. “I warned you about her. She doesn’t like anyone.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “You’re brave. She also bites and scratches.”

  �
�All that?” He turned his gaze toward the animal. “She doesn’t sound all that different from her owner.”

  Hope winced. “Am I that bad?”

  “All I’m saying is I’m not intimidated. She can do her worst.”

  “We’ll see.” All normal human beings were at least wary of the Colonel. Some were scared. All had good reason.

  He reached to pet the cat. The Colonel pulled her paw back and struck. “She is feisty.”

  Hope stroked the cat’s head to calm her down. “I tried to warn you.”

  “I’m enchanted already.”

  “You’re giving me reason to question your sanity.” She put down the Colonel, who dashed to the far corner of the room to climb to the top of her enormous carpeted jungle gym. Somalis were known to be curious and energetic, so Hope was on a constant quest to keep the animal entertained and physically worn out. The Colonel glared at them from the top perch. She dug her claws into the edge, and she appeared ready to pounce and attack. “At least we know where she is. You sure you want to wait for me?”

  “I’ve told you, Hope…” He caught her shoulders and drew her close. “I’m not intimidated. Not by you or the creature that shares your home.”

  He was going to kiss her. He leaned toward her, and she steeled herself. More than ever, she had to keep her emotions walled off to him.

  But instead of kissing her, he released her and stroked her cheekbone. “How long do you need?”

  Confounded man. He knew how to play her. Now that he’d refused the affection, she wanted it. Damn her. And her freaking topsy-turvy reactions.

  Annoyed, she said, “As long as it takes.”

  “Sweet, sweet Hope. I’ll still spank the attitude out you if you need it.”

  She didn’t. “No.” Worse, she did. Somehow, she managed to avoid the confession. “There’s a coffeemaker in the kitchen.” He couldn’t hear the warble in her voice, right? “Make yourself comfortable.” Hope hurried to the bedroom and closed the door. Then her conscience prevailed, forcing her to issue a warning. Yanking open the door, she called out, “Stay on your guard around the Colonel.”

  “Again—”

  She slammed the door. And he laughed.

  Frustration, with herself as much as with him, still poured through her as she stripped off her clothes and took a hot shower, expecting him to walk in on her. She reminded herself to be grateful when he didn’t. Unwanted disappointment tasted bitter.

  After she shut off the water and wrapped a towel around her, the sounds of his rich baritone reached her. Then, more than a minute of silence was followed by a singsong crooning.

  Freezing in place as she was slipping into a pair of panties, she tilted her head to listen.

  “We might as well be friends, Samantha.”

  He was talking to her cat? And he’d remembered her real name from last night? Hope shook her head. The man was certifiable.

  The Colonel hissed. Hope grinned. Some things were consistent.

  Even though he was waiting for her, she didn’t hurry through her morning routine. She’d told him he didn’t need to drive her.

  When she exited the bedroom, wearing a long-sleeved shirt, a skirt, heels, and a blazer—her form of armor against the rigors of the day, including Rafe’s marriage mixer—he was holding a framed picture.

  “Your father?” he asked.

  “Right before his last deployment.” She nodded. “It was the last one my mother had of him.”

  “It must be hard.” He slid the photo back onto the shelf.

  “I don’t know anything else.” At times, school had been difficult—father-daughter dances, when her class had made Father’s Day gifts.

  “This was his also?”

  He pointed to a triangular-shaped shadowbox that displayed an American flag.

  “Yes. He was buried with full military honors. This one draped his casket.” Why she displayed it, she didn’t know. When she’d cleaned out her mother’s apartment, Hope had taken her father’s smiling picture and the flag and displayed them on her shelves, in the exact same position her mother had. It hadn’t occurred to Hope to do anything else, not even pack them away in the trunk that she used as a coffee table.

  She’d brought that too, from her Mom’s. It was a time machine of sorts, filled with the memorabilia that Cynthia had carried with her everywhere she went. The box contained her husband’s effects, photos, love letters, a wind-up watch, ribbons, mementos, his army-issued dog tags.

  Each year on the anniversary of his death, Cynthia would open a bottle of wine and the trunk. She’d hold each item, one at a time, and the tracks of a thousand tears would stain her cheeks.

  “Sorry to bring up something so painful.”

  Hope tried for a brave smile. On some level, her mother’s ghosts had become her own. Hope, too, had her own grief ritual, commemorating her mother’s birthday. “Let me get the Colonel her breakfast. Then I’ll be ready to go.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  She frowned. How could he be so damn likable?

  “She’ll have to like me after that, right?”

  “About that…” The cat still glared from her perch. “It didn’t work for my neighbor.”

  “Where’s her food?”

  When he made his mind up about something, he followed through.

  “Hope?”

  “On the bottom shelf of the pantry.”

  Instead of waiting for her, he led the way into the kitchen.

  She followed but stayed in the doorway where she could keep an eye on the cat. The moment he opened a can, the Colonel lifted her head. Rafe pulled off the lid, and the Colonel meowed.

  “So far so good?” He made himself comfortable, opening a drawer to find a spoon. “Does she get the whole thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “No dry food?”

  “I told you she was bossy. I tried her on dry a few times. She goes on a hunger strike.”

  He grinned. “I like a female who knows what she likes.” He crossed to the cat dish, picked it up, carried it to the sink, then washed and dried it.

  “Now she’s going to expect that too.”

  “Samantha!” He scooped the food into the glass bowl. “Breakfast!”

  The Colonel leaped from her perch and skulked into the kitchen.

  He carried the dish to the placemat with a happy face on it. The Colonel flicked her big, bushy tail, then sat and waited until he moved back to the other side of the kitchen. “Not ready to be friends? I’m a patient man.”

  Without being asked, he replenished the Colonel’s water.

  Impressed, Hope said, “I’ll let you know when I need a babysitter for her.”

  “Bring her over anytime.”

  She pushed away from the wall. “Bring her over? To your place? Where she’ll tear up your very expensive furniture and dance across your piano keys?” She shuddered. “Knock over all your designer-exclusive pieces?”

  “It will keep her entertained. Right, Samantha?” He bent to scratch behind the feline’s ear. He received a fast, unpleasant swat for his efforts.

  “I’m not sure if you’re patient or persistent.”

  “Different sides of the same coin.”

  “Did she break the skin?”

  “No.” He didn’t bother checking. “Any other chores before we leave for work?”

  “My office is out of your way.”

  “You’ve got two choices, Hope. You can leave here over my shoulder or on your own two feet.”

  She gaped at him. “What?” From the firm set of his jaw, she didn’t dare ask whether or not he was serious. “I’ll walk.”

  To his credit, he didn’t gloat. “Is there a procedure so the Colonel doesn’t escape?”

  “No. I dash out right after I feed her, while she’s occupied.” Hope appreciated that he’d thought of the cat. “At other times, I have to get her a catnip treat or there will be a wrestling act at the door.”

  “She does have you trained.”


  “I know who is in charge.”

  “That will come in handy. Shall we?” He opened the door and waited while she locked it.

  At the end of the hallway, he rang for the elevator, then placed his hand in the small of her back with a possession that she liked and was disturbingly comfortable.

  Traffic had thickened, and his phone rang several times, keeping their conversation brief. She was grateful for the reprieve and emotional distance. She needed it before walking into the office to make more calls to find him a wife.

  At the curb in front of her building, he stopped in a no-parking zone.

  “Thank you for the ride.” She reached for the handle.

  “Wait.”

  “It’s—”

  “Not necessary. I know. Save yourself the argument.” He checked the mirrors, then exited the car to round the hood before opening her door and offering her a gallant hand out.

  “Do you always get your way, Mr. Sterling?”

  “I do my best. Sometimes I come up short. Not often.” He shrugged. “Not when it matters.”

  Before she had a chance to answer, he dug a hand into her hair, sending her clip skittering across the sidewalk. “Much better,” he said, eyes gleaming with sexual intent.

  She wrapped her hand around his wrist. They couldn’t. Not here on the street where anyone could see them. Yet she didn’t use the word that would stop him.

  Appearing unconcerned by the commuters heading into work, he placed his free hand on her rear. As if he knew precisely where he’d spanked her, he squeezed her right buttock, sending a fresh flare of recognition through her. He backed off right away, moving his palm to the place between her shoulder blades. She was helpless to look away from his face, unable to find her voice, trapped by his grip.

  “Open your mouth.”

  Even though her brain urged self-protection, her body’s response to him was automatic.

  He claimed her tongue, plundered inside, made her remember his dominance. She responded, giving him what he wanted and what she craved.

  Rafe left her on edge, pulsing with awareness. “No orgasms, Hope.”