by Meg Maguire
She took his hand in her free one, resting it on her thigh, and gazed at the flipping channels. He kept his eyes on the screen, registering how she felt, warm and close and now so familiar. Was she holding his hand for the friendly comfort of it? For security? Selfishly, he hoped not. He scooted closer, freeing his fingers and placing them squarely on her thigh, rubbing. Inching higher.
She turned to look at him, lips pursed. “First base, you said?”
“We can go to second, if you prefer.”
She laughed. Damn, what a noise. She waved the remote at the droning TV. “There’s no ads on right now.”
“We could get a head start.”
She smiled at him, eyes crinkling. “Okay, then.”
They shifted to face each other and he took her jaw in his hands, kissing her lips. Felt way too easy. Way too perfect. In seconds flat they were making out, the act as exciting and new and fun as when Mercer had been a teenager. He released her face to slip his hand under her skirt and palm her bare thigh.
“That’s definitely second,” she murmured against his lips.
“I’ll steal third, if you let me.”
“Yes, I’m sure you would.” Still, she didn’t push his hand away or tell him to knock it off. God help them if afternoon trysts were suddenly on the table. Both businesses would fail within the week from sheer neglect.
He tugged at her thigh and she took the hint, straddling his lap. He pushed her skirt up her smooth legs, letting her take the lead on the kissing, since he was suddenly too distracted to drive. More suggestions from his bossy hands, and she was seated firmly against him. He pictured the underwear he’d watched her put on this morning—they’d woken in her bed—pale green with some lacy nonsense trimming them. He liked that lacy nonsense. He ran his hands up even higher, finding the material with his fingertips.
“I bet that coffee’s ready,” she teased.
“I bet you’re right.” He shifted his hips, letting her know that far more interesting things were also feeling ready. The movement earned him a little sigh, a curious adjustment of her legs. He stroked his palms over her butt beneath the hem of her panties, memorized her cool, smooth skin. She shifted suddenly, leaning over to yank the curtain across the window behind the couch.
“You just made the lowly office drones across the street very sad.”
“No free shows. Except for the two of us.”
“A worthy trade-off. Should I get a video camera? Is it going to be good?”
She whapped his arm.
Mercer grabbed her by the waist and turned her, laying her down along the couch. He felt fond flirtation darken to lust as he settled between her legs, her skirt pushed up to her hips. He reached between them to open the fly of his pants, shove his waistband down and take himself out.
She ran her nails over his scalp. “I think you’re forgetting something important.”
“No way. This was all totally premeditated.” He found the condom in his pocket, bracing himself above her on one arm as he ripped the plastic open with his teeth.
“Schemer,” she said, stroking his shoulder beneath his T-shirt.
“You ready?” he asked.
“I think so.”
He slid the latex down his erection then pushed the strip of her panties aside and ran his fingertips across her core. He found her wetness, slicking it over her lips and clit for a full minute, just to feel her writhe. When the stroking hands on his hips began to tug, he angled himself and pushed inside.
He moaned. They were way too good at this. And it was so much better than coffee.
“Good?”
“Yeah. Perfect.” She pushed his pants down a little, tugged the crotch of her panties further to the side. Perfect indeed—a hasty, perfect mess. “God, take this off,” she ordered, pulling at the hem of his shirt.
He paused only long enough to obey, liking this feeling, him more naked than her, her all dressed up... He was going to develop some weird hot-for-the-boss kink if this kept up. Her hands were all over him in that funny, greedy way she got, as if they were possessed by some secret version of Jenna, one with no shame when it came to enjoying a man’s body. And a secret part of Mercer liked that his body seemed to please her, especially when she’d been so skeptical of his chosen sport. Fighters, one. Businessmen, zero.
He braced himself on one arm so he could rub her. It earned him a curse—a word he’d never heard her utter before. He laughed.
“You feel so...effing good,” she reiterated carefully.
“Don’t clean up your language on my account. I like driving you to cusswords.”
“We really can’t let this become a thing. Afternoon delight’s got to be bad for business.”
“And for the upholstery.”
She smacked his arm again, failing to bite back a smile. Holy shit, she looked perfect—this beautiful, fascinating woman, smiling beneath him, sharing this pleasure.
“But if it never happens again,” Mercer said through panting breaths, “we better make this one transgression count.”
She gripped his biceps. “I thought this was a quickie.”
“Well, we’ll make it count effort-wise, if not longevity.” He didn’t have much staying power in him. Not when she was smiling at him that way, hair mussed, face all flushed. “I kinda need my arms here,” he added pointedly.
She took over rubbing her clit, something Mercer had gotten pretty damn good at the past couple weeks. He leaned back, one hand holding her hip, the other the back of the couch.
“You look... Gah,” she finished, making a silly face. “You look ridiculous. Nobody should look this good.” She ran her free palm up and down his stomach.
“Glad this creaky old body’s doing me some good.”
“It’s doing very, very good.”
The conversation ended, moans and grunts and sighs—and the occasional swearword—taking its place. Mercer caught himself thinking too much about Jenna. Cheesy, romantic thoughts full of awe, thoughts he’d always figured were a myth Hollywood had invented to brainwash women. He tried to focus only on the physical pleasure, to make sure he was still capable of keeping sex simple. But the mechanics didn’t factor. She was woven into the act through and through, so much more than a warm female body that it scared him.
Screw it.
He was attached, and he’d let himself stay attached. Like drinking too much, he’d regret it when the party was over, but so what? He had it bad for her, and if it was going to hurt when he moved away, may as well hurt a hell of a lot. He’d lived through countless fractured ribs and split lips and black eyes and concussions. He could live through a broken heart.
Beneath him, she was coming apart. His awe returned as he watched her, that normally composed and pretty face looking wild, nearly angry. Beautiful.
“Jenna.”
He saw the trembling in her hand, felt it inside her. Need finally muscled the gooey thoughts out of the way, and Mercer wanted release. Now. He waited just long enough for her to come down from her orgasm, then he planted his hands on the couch and sped himself home. Palms stroked and studied him, all a blur. He wanted to come apart inside her, get lost and never be found. When the climax came it enveloped his entire body, wrung him out and left him gasping, white spots winking before his eyes.
“Holy shit.”
She laughed, rubbing his shoulder.
Blood slowly returned to his brain and he managed to make it to his feet, stumble to the bathroom and ditch the condom. Jenna was running her fingers through her messy hair when he returned, and he studied her fondly as he pulled his shirt back on.
“Thanks for the lasagna,” he said.
A smile, nearly as pleasurable as the orgasm. “You’re very welcome. Thanks for the sordid quickie.”
He returned the smile, w
ishing to God all this was really as simple as he was pretending it was.
* * *
LIFE GOT HECTIC. With both the mixer and tournament drawing near, Jenna and Mercer were seeing less and less of one another as organizing their mismatched events took over the daylight hours. But at night... At night they picked up where’d they’d left off the last time they’d enjoyed each other’s company, and that tended to be one of their beds.
Having a wedding planner on staff was a godsend. Lindsey thought of details that would never have occurred to Jenna. With her assistant’s help over the next two weekends, the cocktail party was starting to feel as though it really would happen, and that it really would be rather fabulous.
Best of all, Lindsey’s old boss had let her go with just one week’s notice. She fit in very nicely around the place, Jenna thought. Mercer agreed. The two had hit it off over a harried pizza dinner in the office that Saturday. Only one thing threatened the party’s success.
“Any good news on the man-procurement front?” Lindsey asked as they settled into the office on Monday morning. It was her first official day, and five short days before the mixer.
Thanks to the success of the billboards and subway ads, they now had a nice little list of confirmed attendees—some already preregistered with Spark, others eager to make their decisions based on whom they might meet at the party. But the women outweighed the men more than two to one.
“Sadly, no,” Jenna said, opening her laptop.
“What would you think about offering the women a discounted month of membership in exchange for bringing along a single male friend?”
Jenna knocked the idea around in her head. “I’m afraid it’d look kind of lame for a matchmaking service to ask prospective clients to BYO men.”
Lindsey frowned. “Right, duh. Jeez, you’d think free booze and shrimp would be enticement enough. It’s what gets people to go to weddings.”
“Doesn’t help that men are less prone to scheduling things ahead of time, or replying to RSVPs. For all we know a ton will decide to show up on Saturday—they just won’t bother to tell us about it.”
“Now that you’re stuck with me,” Lindsey said, “I feel like I should admit I’m going to make a pretty hypocritical matchmaker.”
“How so?”
“I’ve read the new client orientation materials back to front, and I’ve got to tell you, I don’t adhere to, like, half those rules. If the right guy walks through that door, I give myself one date—maybe two, tops—before I take him for a test drive.”
Jenna smirked. She’d yet to go on a real date with Mercer. “That’s a strict one, I know.”
“Try before you buy,” Lindsey proclaimed, rubbing an imaginary stack of bills between her fingers.
Jenna laughed. “If I catch you saying that to a client I’ll demote you to receptionist.”
Someone walked by the office windows, but Jenna had been inhabiting this room for long enough that she no longer glanced up at every passing shadow. Not unless she felt a little pang of happy queasiness, in which case she could reliably find Mercer on her threshold.
There was a scuffing of shoes and Jenna looked up to find Rich in the doorway.
After news of the gym’s imminent closing had been shared with the trainers, Rich had treated Jenna as though she didn’t exist for several days, but eventually his cold silence turned to single-syllable exchanges, then to a more authentic imitation of friendliness. And the expression on his handsome face now was far from angst.
Lindsey was distracted, and behind her back Rich gave Jenna an amusing little show. His gaze went from Lindsey to Jenna, then back to Lindsey, brows rising. Jenna rolled her eyes and beckoned him inside.
“Morning, boss. And mystery woman.” He flashed one of his dangerous smiles.
“Rich, this is Lindsey Tuttle, my new right-hand woman and future matchmaker. And the person who’s going to single-handedly make this mixer happen. Lindsey, this bruised specimen is Rich. Mercer’s, um, colleague.”
“Nice to meet you,” Lindsey said, rising to shake his hand. If the gigantic welt on his jaw or the powerful body not much camouflaged by his sleeveless shirt gave her pause, she hid it perfectly well.
“Rich Estrada,” he said. “Light heavyweight, nine and one—though that one was pure robbery.” He released her hand and turned to Jenna. “Where’ve you been hiding this one?”
“This is my first official day,” Lindsey said.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Jenna warned. “I own her every waking minute until this party’s over.”
“Speaking of ideas,” Lindsey said to Jenna, “have you considered inviting the guys downstairs to the mixer?”
“I had, briefly....” She exchanged a not-entirely-easy look with Rich then glanced at the door to make sure no one was passing. “But I don’t think they’d appreciate discovering I recruited them for a kickoff of the business that’s driving the gym away.”
Rich shook his head gravely.
Lindsey’s smile drooped. “Of course not. Too bad. Would’ve been a nice mix, added to all those white-collar types.”
“Oh yeah?” Rich made an approving face and crossed his big arms over his chest. “You got a soft spot for scar tissue, sweetheart?”
“It’s not a matter of scars or any other thing,” she said, putting on a nice little snob act to counteract Rich’s swagger. “And my soft spot is officially off-limits to partygoers.”
Rich laughed.
“No matter their fight record or what they can bench. I’m very happily single. And I’m quite happy to focus on other people’s love lives for the foreseeable future.”
He smirked. “Well, I’ll have you know that torture chamber’s packed with undercover businessmen and all sorts of boring types. Only a few of us sweat from nine to five. One of our best amateurs is a pediatrician.”
Jenna grinned. She knew as well as anyone that the gym wasn’t what it seemed. What went on down there was a craft that few outsiders could make sense of, but the men drawn to it went beyond the bloodthirsty and one-dimensional.
“Too bad we’re shutting down—Merce was gunning to build a female membership. Could’ve found out if one of you two was the next big thing.”
“Think I’ll pass.” As much as Jenna now respected the sport and its practitioners, she wasn’t inviting anyone to punch her. Lindsey looked more game, nodding with a thoughtful little smirk.
“There’s always private lessons,” Rich added, bobbing his brows at Lindsey with innuendo.
She rolled her eyes and turned back to the printouts on her desk.
“You’ll have to excuse us, Rich,” Jenna said. “We have a man-drought to solve.”
“I’ll leave you to it. I’m late for a scrap with your boyfriend.”
Jenna nearly corrected him, but she shut her mouth, because temporary or not, official or not, Mercer was obviously her boyfriend.
Once Rich had bidden them goodbye and disappeared in the direction of the gym, Lindsey shook her head. “He’s a bit full of himself, leading with his fighting stats.”
“That’s his shtick. Prince Richard.”
“Well, they ought to call him the Rooster. He’s insanely cocky.”
“Seems to work well in the ring.”
Lindsey smiled grimly. “Well, it doesn’t work on me. I’ve had it up to here with egotistical men.” She drew a line across her throat and made a gagging face.
Jenna could sense the faintest defensive tone behind the silly gesture, and wondered if her assistant might be talking about more than just annoying grooms. An ex, maybe. A fresh ex, she bet. But Lindsey was one of the few women who’d arrive in this office not seeking Jenna’s opinions about their personal lives, and she’d respect that, much as the curiosity drove her crazy.
“Let’s tak
e stock,” Jenna said. “Catering’s done, officially?”
“Ditto the bar service. I went ahead and approved the costs my contact emailed me, because it was pretty much exactly what you’d budgeted.”
“Perfect. Security? Oh, that company the franchise overseer recommended. I better call and confirm they’re sending us three guys. The only thing we’re short on is us, really,” Jenna said. “You and me, plus Tina.” Tina would be sweeping in from Providence to make sure the party went off to Spark’s standards. Jenna felt a familiar surge of dislike toward her boss, but stuffed it back down, knowing the woman’s decision had been purely professional...much as it hurt. Plus Tina knew the business inside and out, and Jenna needed her help as much as she feared messing up with Tina as a witness.
“Three people should be enough,” Lindsey said. “Also, the hotel said it’ll be no problem getting a couple laptops set up so people can register. Oh, and you know what I thought would be fun, and really easy to do, to get people into the mood to join?”
“What?”
“We should print up cards with sample questions from the compatibility survey, the one you take after you join? All those fun questions about, like, what celebrity is your ideal date? What cocktail best sums up your dream man or woman?”
“Right.”
“We could scatter them around the tables and invite people to quiz each other. People love being quizzed. Especially when they’ve got a nice wine buzz going. Plus it’ll entice people to sign up, so they can take an entire survey about what they want in a mate. I don’t want to imply that people are narcissists or anything...”
“No, you’re right. That’s the most empowering part of joining a dating service, that initial stage where you’re focused on what you want. It is fun, getting all hopeful and excited about Mr. or Miss Right, feeling like it’s all about you.”
“So what’s left to do? Decorating?”
Jenna nodded. “I’ve ordered as many floral arrangements as the hotel suggested for that room, and they offered to rent us the tablecloths. But I thought on Wednesday you and I could go shopping for other random stuff to spiff the place up. There’s room in the budget for that, thanks to your connections cutting us deals on the food.”
