Matchmaker and the Manhattan Millionaire

by Cara Colter

  Jonas, now stretched out, leaning on his side on one elbow, finally flicked open the lid on the dessert box.

  She peered in. “Wow.”

  “They’re all individually labeled. Look at this one.” He held up a fragile delicacy for her to look at.

  She leaned in closer and read the lovely miniature sign that had been planted in the dessert on a toothpick. “Buttermilk panna cotta with raspberry and rose.”

  “There’s only one of each,” he said. He teased her by opening his mouth as if he was going to gobble up the whole thing.

  She grabbed his wrist, and they pretended to struggle.

  “One of the first things I teach in kindergarten is the value of sharing,” she said, and then she leaned in, and bit half the dessert right out of his hand. There was a spot of the glaze on the mound below his pointer finger. She blamed what happened next on the wine.

  * * *

  Jonas felt Krissy’s lips touch his hand. And then he felt just the faintest flick of her tongue. The intensity of it felt like a burn. Like a brand.

  He snatched his hand away and managed to avoid looking at it to see if there was a mark. He popped the rest of the treat in his mouth. She had closed her eyes and was rolling the confection over her tongue. A little sigh of pure pleasure escaped her as she swallowed. Awareness of her burned in him, more scorching than the brand of her tongue.

  She opened her eyes and gazed at him with sudden, unveiled hunger that could not be satiated with dessert.

  The sensual tension leaping between them was at least as delightful and at least as delicious as the dessert selection. He took another confection from the box and held it out to her, hoping for a barrier, knowing it was an invitation.

  Which she accepted. She nibbled. Her breath tickled his hand. She had icing sugar on her lip.

  He had, truth be told, done quite a bit of dating in his day.

  Bimbos, Krissy’s aunt had proclaimed scornfully.

  But still bimbos who knew their way around the art of pleasing a man. And yet, there was something about this—sitting on a blanket on a warm evening with flower petals floating around them—that was infinitely more powerful than just about anything he had ever experienced.

  His mouth was dry. His heart was pounding. She reached out with the tip of her tongue and flicked that speck of icing sugar away from her lip. It scorched him nearly as badly as when she had flicked her tongue to his hand.

  Her lips were moist and plump. He wanted to taste her. He wanted to do exactly the same thing he had done when there had been chocolate on her lip the other afternoon.

  She blinked at him. Her lips parted faintly. The desire that had sprung up over dessert was mutual. Really, this particular spring storm had been coming between them since the first time they had touched, and it had been building like thunderclouds on the horizon.

  Jonas leaned in closer yet to Krissy. One part of his brain tried to remind him that this arrangement between them was going to be complicated enough.

  But another part assured him that he couldn’t very well fake an engagement without any physical contact.

  Better to do it now, his rational mind whispered, in somewhat controlled circumstances. It wouldn’t do to be taken totally by surprise by kissing her for the first time in front of Theresa or Mike.

  It was like a practice run—that was all.

  But when Jonas’s lips touched Krissy’s, there was nothing about it that was controlled, nothing about it that felt like a practice run, absolutely nothing about it that was for the benefit of convincing his sister of something at some faraway future date.

  In fact, those things were wiped from his mind. Completely. Except the part about it being a total surprise.

  Even though he had seen hints of passion sparking in her eyes, nothing could have prepared him for this part of her.

  Krissy tasted of wine. And of the desserts they had just eaten. But she also tasted of mystery and the unknown, of all that was feminine and of the secret powers of the universe. She was Breakfast at Tiffany’s but she was also a fresh mountain morning with mist rising off a lake. She was a perfect bouquet of roses and she was a wildflower meadow. She was innocence, and she was seduction.

  She was a model, an actress, a queen. She was an Olympian and a warrior. She was as complex and multifaceted as a diamond and as simple, as of the earth, as a fresh-turned shovel of soil. In her was that same ripe promise of being able to give life.

  “Oh,” she said softly, breaking the contact of their lips, but staying close enough that she could taste him again in a heartbeat. Her eyes were wide and dazed on his face.

  It occurred to him, that she might have consumed most of the wine. Which made this totally wrong, as if it wasn’t totally wrong, anyway.

  Jonas was glad they were in a park in such a public setting. Because if this had happened the other night outside her door, there was no telling where it would have led.

  He got to his feet and stretched mightily before she could lean into him again. Before he leaned into her again. He began to gather up the picnic things from around her. “It’s getting late. I’ll take you home.”

  To that front door, where the options were going to be so much different.

  He had an hour’s drive, he told himself sternly, to gird his loins for the coming battle, to pull himself together. It was not as if he was a callow boy incapable of saying no to temptation.

  She got up off the blanket. Her hair was wild and curly, and her dress was rumpled, as if they had done quite a bit more than share a kiss. She was stiff from sitting for so long. She stretched, hands way up over her head, dress riding high up the long delicate curve of her thigh.

  “You don’t have to take me home,” she said. “You can just drop me at the train.”

  Uh-huh, like he was going to put her on a train looking like that.

  She followed his gaze and smoothed her dress. “I could go back to my aunt’s office and get changed.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind the drive.”

  “Should you be driving? How much have you had to drink?” she asked.

  “Quite a bit less than you.” In fact, he was not even sure he had finished an entire glass of wine. She, however, with those flushed cheeks and starry eyes, was demonstrating every sign of slight inebriation. Another reason not to put her on the train. She giggled, confirmation of how much less than her he had had.

  “I’d like to see Chance, anyway,” he said, heading further argument off at the pass.

  She smiled at him as if he had declared they shared a beautiful child.

  Something happened to Jonas that had never happened to him before. Not ever. He wondered what a child they made together would look like.

  It was the most astonishing—and terrifying—thought he’d ever had.

  Because here was the thing: Jonas Boyden was not a baby kind of guy. His nephews, in that baby stage, had been cute, but messy and demanding. He had watched Theresa’s transformation—and Mike’s to a lesser extent—from once-intelligent people, now given to discussing what a crayon that had passed through a digestive system looked like. It had been the start of Yummy Mommy but had killed any other parenting ambitions Jonas had, admittedly slight as those had been to begin with.

  He made the mistake of glancing at Krissy again, and remembered what he had tasted on her lips: the ripe ability to give life.

  He was suddenly so aware, looking at her, that it was what she needed, and probably what she desired, deep down in that secret place, a place protected by the barbwire fence of the hurts inflicted on her by her family.

  But Jonas was willing to bet it was those hidden longings that had led her to teach kindergarten. It was those hidden longings that had made her so susceptible to Chance’s debatable charm.

  She needed.

  She needed love and stability and so
mething to care about, even as she denied needing those things.

  Jonas was self-aware enough to know he was not the man to entrust with those kinds of needs.

  And yet still, he now was tangled enough with her to want things for her. To want to change her mind about family, so that she could have what she secretly wanted and what she surely deserved.

  A family of her own.

  A good family.

  Family the way it should be. That safe place. That solid place. That soft place to fall in a hard, hard world.

  And there was nobody more qualified to show her what family really was than his own. So, as dangerous as this had become, Jonas felt more committed to getting her to that family reunion than ever. She could just never know it had become about so much more than keeping his car.

  He had an hour, he told himself, to get this thing back on an even keel. To get things back on track.

  He disposed of the rubbish and put the blanket over his arm. She hesitated for just a moment and then tossed her hair—the woman warrior—and took his hand in hers as if she owned it, as if their hands belonged together.

  Such a simple thing, the intertwining of hands.

  So why was it Jonas was no longer even sure where the track was, never mind how to get back on it?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  KRISSY FELL ASLEEP on the way home. She was horrified when she woke up as Jonas pulled his sleek car to a gliding halt in front of her house, aware there was a little pool of drool darkening her dress.

  She was even more horrified when the memory of that kiss came back to her.

  “Oh,” she said. “I don’t drink very much. It went straight to my head.” She scrambled out of the car and headed down the walk.

  The wine had made her forget the most important aspect of all this: it wasn’t real. How could it not be real? Jonas’s lips claiming hers had felt like one of the most real experiences of her entire life.

  Which, she told herself firmly, spoke to a pathetic life.

  She fumbled for her key. Jonas was behind her.

  “I guess we shouldn’t kiss anymore,” she said, as brightly as she could.

  “Really? I think it was good to get it over with. You know, before we have an audience. So we both know what to expect.”

  Get it over with? Know what to expect?

  Well, no one should know better than her the value of a good experiment. Still, Krissy had obviously made a complete fool of herself.

  “Well, good,” she managed to say. “Lots accomplished tonight. I think we’ve gotten to know each other quite well enough.”

  “Do you?” he said.

  She opened the door, and Chance bounded out, went right past her, his new Frisbee caught between his teeth. He sat in front of Jonas, his tail thumping the ground and his tongue lolling out, begging for just one toss.

  “What a good dog,” Jonas said.

  The dog quivered ecstatically, but did not leap up.

  Jonas got down on his haunches in front of the dog and did that massage thing to that huge marred face.

  So every living thing felt the chemistry of this man, every living thing longed to be more to him, every living thing longed to feel the warmth of his approval.

  “I think we could consider the dress rehearsal over,” she said. “If you think of any other details about yourself that I need to know, text me. I’ll do the same. And the family reunion. Do we have a plan? Drop by on it for a few hours? Announce our engagement? Look besotted with each other? Leave?”

  “Ah, maybe not quite that easy. They’ll expect us to stay the weekend.”

  The dog moaned his happiness and pushed his ear deeper into Jonas’s hand. He nearly lost his grip on the Frisbee but managed to keep it from falling from his jaws. It was quite distracting.

  “Together?” Did her voice have a faintly hysterical shriek to it?

  “Well, yeah, but the cottages are quite large. No one will know if I take the couch. Except maybe you, eh, Chance?”

  Aside from the dog, she would know. And after what happened tonight, it just seemed like a really lousy idea to share close quarters with him while they were pretending for his family.

  That was her lesson from tonight. She sucked at pretending.

  “Maybe we could tell them I have a belief system that precludes sharing accommodations with you?” she suggested.

  He looked skeptical.

  “I don’t look like that kind of girl? I mean, it needn’t be overt. I wouldn’t carry a hymnal. Or start preaching at the campfire. A small gold cross around my neck. An occasional softly murmured, praise be.”

  For somebody who sucked at pretending, Krissy realized she was getting into this.

  Probably because it was making Jonas laugh. It was an absolute weakness to enjoy making him laugh so much. Which was why they had to call it quits on the dress rehearsals.

  “I actually think,” Jonas said, cocking his head at her and standing up, though his hand still rested on Chance’s head, “you’ve shown yourself to be more the warrior type. Plus, uh, I’m not sure my sister would ever be convinced that I would go for a Goody Two-shoes kind of gal.”

  “I am a Goody Two-shoes kind of gal!”

  “Not really,” he said softly.

  “Joan of Arc was a warrior and a girl of strong conviction. You better believe she wasn’t sharing a cottage with her betrothed.”

  “Did she have a betrothed?” That gorgeous, sexy smile tickled his lips. “So you’re thinking of going in costume, now?”

  “Thinking of it,” she said solemnly. “We could shop for a sword instead of a ring.”

  “Chain mail should do the trick if we end up sharing a cottage,” he said thoughtfully, his smile deepening wickedly. So he knew sharing a cottage was going to be a challenge for both of them! But it seemed to be one he was anticipating with some delight.

  She snapped her finger and thumb together. “Okay, forget Joan.”

  “As hard as that will be,” he said, his tone solemn, but still smiling.

  “This is better, and more practical. I’ll get a call that there’s been some sort of emergency. I’ll have to leave.”

  “Maybe we should just play it by ear,” he said. “Come prepared for the weekend, and if you’re uncomfortable, we’ll pull the plug. But I actually think you’ll like it.”

  That was the problem. She liked playing Cinderella to his Prince Charming just a little too much.

  “Chance will love it out there.” He took his phone out of his pocket and took a picture of the dog mooning at him adoringly.

  Argh! Get to her through the dog!

  “And there’s one other thing, since you mentioned it. We have to get you a ring.”

  “No sword?” Krissy said as lightly as she could to cover up what a perfectly awful outing shopping for a ring with him would be. She could unfortunately picture Jonas slipping a ring on her finger for this make-believe engagement.

  “No sword,” he said firmly.

  “Oh, sure, then. A ring. Pick whatever you like.”

  He cocked his head at her. “You aren’t a jewelry person at all, are you?”

  “Not really.”

  “The ring should be sized.”

  How many rings had he bought for people? Was it his favorite bauble to give?

  “I mean nothing would alert to a fake engagement like a ring falling off your finger. Do you want to just go pick one soon? Then it will be sized in time for the reunion?”

  “I’ll check my calendar,” she said haughtily.

  “Krissy...” He took a step toward her. She was aware how much she had to tilt her head to look at him. She was aware of the jolt right through to her heart when she looked at his lips, when she remembered the intoxicating, weak-to-the-bone sensation of taking them with her own.

  “Yes?�
� Still with the haughty tone.

  “You had fun, didn’t you?”

  The question took her off guard. For some reason, she thought of her aunt’s Match Made in Heaven questionnaire.

  What do you do for fun?

  There was something ever so faintly imploring in Jonas’s tone. He liked having fun. He wanted her to have fun.

  Was it so evident she was not really a having-fun kind of person?

  “Yes,” she said, dropping the you-can’t-touch-me veneer, and admitting the truth to herself. And to him. “Yes, I had fun.”

  She remembered her aunt’s Nothing naughty, please instruction. Maybe that kiss had been the most fun of all, even though it was the playing-with-fire piece. Or maybe it was so much fun because it was thrilling, because it was playing with fire.

  Even now, this simple thing, bantering back and forth with him, was fun.

  “Can’t we just do that?” he asked, his voice low, utterly charming in its beseeching tone. “Can’t we just have fun?”

  It was an enchantment. Wearing her wonderful dress to the impromptu picnic in Central Park had made her feel like she was Cinderella at the ball.

  And Jonas was suggesting that the clock had not struck midnight, and that she didn’t have to lose the glass slipper just yet.

  He was right. It had been fun. The whole thing was just fun. She had been invited to take part in some good old family high jinks. Jonas wanted to win a bet, and he planned to have fun doing it. No one was going to get hurt. His deep-seated love for his sister was obvious.

  Krissy was along for the ride. A roller-coaster ride, obviously, with lots of stomach dropping dips, long climbs of anticipation, tight, hang-on-for-dear-life twists and turns.

  For once in her life, Krissy didn’t have to be so cautious. Or know the final result. Or plan everything out to a conclusion that would bring her a sense of safety and security. She just had to buckle up and hang on for dear life, didn’t she?

  “Can you do that?” Jonas asked. “Can you just have some fun with it?”