Matched To Mr Right

“Pomegranates,” she said decisively. “They’re harder to eat and don’t taste as good.”

He bit back a laugh. Yes, exactly. His incredibly perceptive wife drove him pomegranates. “That about covers it.”

“Will you try it my way? Give it a week. Then if you still think sex will complicate our marriage too much, I’ll move back to my bedroom. I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.” To demonstrate, she laced her fingers over her sexy rear and he swore. She’d done that exact thing in one of his dreams. “If you’ll promise the same.”

His shin didn’t hurt nearly as badly as his aching groin. “Are you seriously suggesting we share a bed platonically?”

“Seriously. Show me you think our marriage is worth it. Sharing a room is the only way we’ll figure this out, unless you plan to work less. It’s unorthodox, but being married to a workaholic has forced my creative hand, so to speak.”

It was definitely creative, he’d give her that, and hit him where it hurt—right where all the guilt lived. If he wanted her to be happy in this marriage and stick with him, he had to prove it.

Her logic left him no good reason not to say yes. Except for the fact that it was insane.

Her seductive brown eyes sucked him in. “What are you going to do, Leo?”

Somehow, she made it sound as if he held all the cards. As if all he had to do was whisper a few romantic phrases in her ear and she’d be putty in his hands. If only it was that easy.

And then she shoved the knife in a little further. “Try it. What’s the worst that can happen?”

He groaned as several sleepless nights in a row hit him like a freight train. “I’m certain we’re about to find out.”

Fatigue and a strong desire to avoid his wife’s backup plan if he said no—that was his excuse for stripping down to a T-shirt and boxer shorts and getting into bed next to a woman who blinded him with lust by simply breathing. Whom he’d agreed not to touch.

Just to make her happy. Just for a few days. Just to prove he wasn’t weak.

He fell into instant sleep.

* * *

Dannie woke in the morning quite pleased but quite uncomfortable from a night of clinging to the edge of the bed so she didn’t accidentally roll over into Leo’s half. Or into Leo.

She’d probably tortured him enough.

But her will wasn’t as strong as she thought, not when her husband lay mere feet away, within touching distance, breathing deeply in sleep. The alarm on his phone had beeped, like, an hour ago, but hadn’t produced so much as a twitch out of Leo. Who was she to wake him when he obviously needed to sleep? A good wife ensured her husband was well rested.

The view factored pretty high in the decision, too.

Goodness. He was so gorgeous, dark lashes frozen above his cheekbones, hair tousled against the pillow.

How in the world had she convinced him to sleep in the same bed with her and agree to hold off on intimacy? She’d thought for sure they’d have a knock-down-drag-out and then he’d toss her out—bound and determined to ignore his own needs, needs he likely didn’t even recognize. But instead of cutting himself off from her again, he’d waded right into the middle of things like she’d asked, bless him.

Because his actions spoke louder than words, and his wife was an ace at interpreting what lay beneath.

If this bedroom sharing worked out the way she hoped, they’d actually talk. Laugh over a sitcom. Wake up together. Then maybe he’d figure out he was lying to himself about what he really wanted from this marriage and realize just how deeply involved he already was.

They’d have intimacy—physically and mentally. She couldn’t wait.

She eased from the bed and took a long shower, where she fantasized about all the delicious things Leo would do when he finally seduced her. It was coming. She could feel it.

And no matter how much she wanted it, anticipated it, she sensed she could never fully prepare for how earthshaking their ultimate union would truly be.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Leo was sitting up, rubbing the back of his neck, and her mouth went dry. Even in a T-shirt, he radiated masculinity.

“Good morning,” she called cheerfully.

“What happened to my alarm?” He did not look pleased.

“I turned it off after listening to it chirp for ten minutes.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I tried,” she lied and fluttered her lashes. “Next time would you like me to be a little more inventive?”

“No.” He scowled, clearly interpreting her question to mean she’d do it in the dirtiest, sexiest way she could envision.

“I meant with a glass of water in your face. What did you think I meant?”

He rolled his eyes. “So this is what roommates do?”

“Yes. Until you want to be something else.”

With that, she flounced out the door to check off the last few items on the list for Tommy Garrett’s party. It was tomorrow night and it was going to be spectacular if she had to sacrifice her Louboutins to the gods of party planning to ensure it.

Leo came downstairs a short while later, actually said goodbye and went to work.

When he strolled into the bedroom that evening, the hooded, watchful gaze he shot her said he’d bided his time all day, primed for the showdown about to play out.

“Busy?” he asked nonchalantly.

Dannie carefully placed the e-reader in her hand on the bedside table and crossed her arms over her tank top. What was it about that look on his face that made her feel as if she’d put on Elise’s red-hot wedding night set? “Not at all. By the way, I picked up your dry cl—”

“Good.” He threw his messenger bag onto the Victorian settee in the corner and raked piercing blue eyes over her, all the way to her toes tucked beneath a layer of Egyptian cotton. They heated, despite the flimsy barrier, and the flush spread upward at an alarming rate to spark at her core.

What had she been talking about?

He shed his gray pin-striped suit jacket and then his tie. “You caught me at a disadvantage last night. I had a few other things on my mind, so I missed a couple of really important points about this new sleeping arrangement.”

Her relocation project had just blown up in her face. He was good and worked up over it.

“Oh? Which ones?” The last syllable squeaked out more like a dolphin mating call than English as he dropped his pants, then slowly unbuttoned his crisp white shirt. What had she done to earn her very own male stripper? Because she’d gladly do it fourteen more times in a row.

“For starters, what happens if I don’t keep my hands to myself?”

The shirt hit the floor and her jaw almost followed. Her husband had quite the physique hidden under his workaholic shell.

So maybe he wasn’t mad. But what was he?

Clad in only a pair of briefs, Leo yanked the covers back and slid into his side of the bed. She peeled her gaze from his well-defined chest and refixed it on his face, which was drawn up in a slight smirk, as if he’d guessed the direction of her thoughts. Her cheeks flamed.

“I’ll scold you?” She swallowed as he casually lounged on his pillow, head propped on his hand as if settling in for a nice, long chat instead of using those hands to do something far more...intimate. “I mean, it wouldn’t be very sporting of you.”

“Noted.” He stretched a little and the covers slipped down his torso. “What happens if you don’t keep your hands to yourself?”

He was toying with her, seeing if he could get her to break her own vow of chastity. In his thoroughly male mind, he’d be in the clear if she made the move. His eyelids dropped to a very sexy half-mast and sizzled her to the core.

“And Daniella? Be sure you spell really well so it’s all very clear for those of us who didn’t barge into someone else’s bed and start slinging rules around.”

Actually, the relocation project might be working better than she’d assumed. At least they were talking. Now to get him to understand this wasn’t a contest. Their relationship was at a crossroads and he had to choose which fork he wanted to take.

“There are no rules,” she corrected. “I don’t have a list of punishments drawn up if you decide you’re not on board with being roommates, whether you want to go back to separate bedrooms or strip me naked right now. You’re calling the shots. You’re the one who shut it down after dinner the other night. Walk away, you said, and I did, but that’s not what either of us wanted.”

“Yeah?” Lazily, he traced the outline of her shoulder against the propped-up pillow at her back, carefully not touching her skin but skating so close the heat from his finger raised every hair on her body. “What would you rather I have told you to do?”

“No games, Leo.” She met his gaze squarely. “I’m giving us an opportunity to develop a friendship. But I also readily admit I want you. I want your mouth on me. Here.” Just as lazily, she traced a line over her breast and circled the nipple, arching a little. “I want it so badly, I can hardly stand it.”

She watched him, and went liquid as his expression darkened sinfully.

“No games?” he asked and cleared the rasp from his throat. “Then what is this?”

“A spelling lesson.” And she obviously had to really lay it out for him. She dropped her hand. “You want me, then come and get me. Be as emotionally naked as you are physically. Strip yourself as bare as your body and let’s see how fantastic it can be between us.”

Stiffening, he closed off, his expression shuttering and his body angling away. “That’s all? You don’t ask for much.”

“Then forget I mentioned it. We don’t have to hold out for a connection that may not ever happen. If either of us becomes uninterested in the hands-to-yourself proposition I laid out, it’s off.” She flung herself back against the pillow, arms splayed wide. “Take me now. I won’t complain. We’ll have sex, it’ll be great and then we’ll go to sleep.”

He didn’t move.

“What’s the matter?” she taunted, glancing at him sideways. “It’s just sex. Surely you’ve had just sex before. No brain required. I have no doubt a man with your obvious, um...talent can make me come in no time at all. In fact, I’m looking forward to it. I’m hot for you, Leo. Don’t make me wait a second longer.”

“That’s not funny. Stop being ridiculous.” Translation: he didn’t like being thoroughly trounced at his own game.

She widened her eyes. “Did you think I was joking? I’m not. We’re married. We’re consenting adults. Both of us have demonstrated a healthy interest in getting the other naked. We’ll eventually go all the way. It’s your choice what sort of experience that will be.”

This had never been about withholding sex. She’d be naked in a heartbeat as soon as he made a move. All the power was in his hands and when that move came, it would be monumental. And he’d be so very, very aware of exactly what it meant.

He shoved both hands through his hair. “Why is it my choice?”

Poor, poor man. If he was too clueless to know she didn’t have a choice, far be it from her to fill him in. This was something he had to figure out on his own. Besides, he was the one with the crisis of conscience that prevented him from making love to her until something he probably couldn’t even articulate happened.

But she knew exactly what he needed—to let himself go. She’d exploit this situation gladly in order to get the marriage she desperately wanted and help him find the affection and affinity he so clearly yearned for.

She smiled. “Because. I’m—” Already emotionally invested. “—generous that way.”

She was going to drag Leo off the sidelines kicking and screaming if that’s what it took to have the love match she sensed in her soul Elise had actually orchestrated.

Eight

By nine o’clock, the party hummed along in full swing, a success by anyone’s account. Except perhaps Leo’s. In the past hour, he’d said no more than two words to Dannie.

She tried not to let it bother her as she flitted from group to group, ensuring everyone had a full glass of champagne and plenty to talk about. The final guest list had topped out at twenty-five and no one sent their regrets. Chinese box kites hung from the ceiling, artfully strung by the crew she’d hired. Their interesting geometric shapes and whimsical tails provided a splash of color in the otherwise severe living room. A papier-mâché dragon lounged on the buffet table, breathing fire under the fondue pot in carefully timed intervals.

Tommy’s admin had mentioned his love of the Orient and the decorations sprang easily from that. More than one guest had commented how unusual and eye-catching the theme was, but Tommy’s signature on the dotted line was the only praise she needed.

Well, she’d have taken a “You look nice” from Leo. The ankle-length black sequined dress had taken three shopping trips to find and a white-knuckle twenty-four hours to alter. She’d only gotten it back this morning and it looked great on her.

Not that anyone else had noticed.

She threw her shoulders back and smiled at the knot of guests surrounding her, determined to be the hostess Leo expected.

Hyperawareness burned her back on more than one occasion, and she always turned to see Leo’s piercing blue eyes on her and his expression laced with something dangerous.

The bedroom-sharing plan was a disaster. He hated it. That had to be his problem—not that she’d know for sure, because he’d clammed up. Was he waiting until the party was over to give her her walking papers?

Turning her back on Leo and the cryptic bug up his butt, she came face-to-face with Leo’s friend Dax Wakefield. “Enjoying the party?” she asked him brightly.

Not one person in this room was going to guess she had a mess of uncertainty swirling in her stomach.

“Yes, thank you.” Unfailingly polite, Dax nodded, but his tone carried a hint of frost. “The buffet is wonderful.”

Her radar blipped as she took note of the distinct lack of a female on Dax’s arm. A good-looking guy like Dax—if you liked your men slick and polished—was obviously alone by choice. Was he no longer dating Jenna? Or had Leo asked him not to bring her in some misguided protective notion?

“I’m so glad.” She curved her lips graciously and got nothing in response. Maybe he was aloof with everyone. “Congratulations again on the distinguished alumni award. Leo assures me it was well deserved.”

“Thank you.” Not one hair on his perfectly coiffed head moved when he granted her a small nod. “Took me a little longer to achieve than Leo. But our industries are so different.”

What did that mean? There was an undercurrent here she couldn’t put her finger on, but Dax definitely wasn’t warming up to her. Problem alert. Dax and Leo were old friends and a wife was a second-class citizen next to that. Was Dax the genesis of Leo’s silent treatment?

“Well, your media empire is impressive nonetheless. We watch your news channel regularly.” It wasn’t a total lie—Leo had scrutinized stock prices as they scrolled across the bottom of the screen last night as she pretended to sleep after the spelling lesson.

Dax smiled and a chill rocked her shoulders. If Leo wanted people to believe he was a ruthless, cold-blooded businessman, he should take lessons from his friend. That guy exuded take no prisoners.

One of the servers discreetly signaled to get her attention and she pounced on the opportunity to escape. “Will you excuse me? Duty calls.”

“Of course.” Dax immediately turned to one of Leo’s new partners, Miles Bennett, and launched into an impassioned speech about the Cowboys roster and whether they could make it to the Super Bowl this time around.

The server detailed a problem in the kitchen with several broken champagne bottles, which Dannie solved by pulling out Leo’s reserve stash of Meunier & Cie. It was a rosé, but very good and would have to do in a pinch. Most of the guests were men and such a girly drink had definite potential to go over like a lead balloon.

Mental note—next time, buy extra champagne in case of nervous, butterfingered staff.

She poured two glasses of the pink champagne and sought out Tommy Garrett. Something told her he’d take to both an out-of-the-norm drink and being roped into a coconspiracy.

Maybe because of the purple canvas high-tops he’d worn with his tuxedo.

“Tommy.” Grateful she’d caught him alone by the stairs, she handed him a champagne flute. When Leo had introduced them earlier, they’d chatted for a while and she’d immediately seen why her husband liked him. “You look thirsty. Humor me and drink this. Pretend it’s beer.”

A brewery in the Czech Republic exported Tommy’s vice of choice, which she’d gleaned from his admin. But he’d already had two pints and hopefully wouldn’t balk at her plea.

The young man flipped chin-length hair, bleached almost white by the sun, out of his face. “You read my mind. Talking to all these suits has parched me fiercely.”

Half the champagne disappeared into Tommy’s mouth in one round and he didn’t gag. A glance around the room showed her that others weren’t tossing the rosé into the potted plants. Crisis averted.

“Thanks, Mrs. Reynolds.” She shot him a withering glare and he winked. “I mean Dannie. Sorry, I forgot. Beautiful women get me all tongue-tied.”

She laughed. “Does that geek approach actually work?”

“More often than I would have ever imagined. Yet I find myself devoid of promising action this evening.” Tommy sighed dramatically and waggled his brows, leaning in to murmur in her ear. “Wanna see my set of protractors sometime?”

Her grin widened. She really liked him, too, and was almost disappointed he hadn’t worn a hoodie to her fancy party. “Why, Thomas Garrett, you should be ashamed of yourself. Hitting on a married lady.”

“I should be, but I’m totally not. Anyway, I couldn’t pry you away from Leo with a crowbar and my own private island. Could I?” he asked hopefully with a practiced once-over she suspected the coeds fell for hook, line and sinker.

“Not a chance,” she assured him. “I like my men all grown-up. But feel free to keep trying your moves on me. Eventually you’ll become passable at flirting with a woman.”

Tommy clutched his heart in mock pain. “Harsh. I think there might be blood.”

That prickly, hot flash traveled down her back an instant before Leo materialized at her elbow. His palm settled with familiarity into the groove at her waist and she clamped down on the shiver before it tipped him off that such a simple touch could be so affecting. Why had she worn a backless dress?

“Hey, Leo.” Tommy lifted his nearly empty glass in a toast. “Great party. Dannie was telling me how much she likes protractors.”

“Was she, now?” Leo said easily, his voice mellower than the scotch in his highball.

Uh-oh. She’d never heard him speak like that.

Swiping at Tommy with a flustered hand, she glanced up at Leo and nearly flinched at the lethal glint in her husband’s eyes. Directed at her or Tommy? “Protractors. Yes. They get the job done, don’t they? Just like Leo. Think of him as a protractor and Reynolds’s competitor, Moreno Partners, as a ruler. Why not use the right tool for the job from the very beginning?”

Tommy eyed her. “Moreno is pretty straight and narrow in their approach. Maybe that’s what I need.”

Good, he’d picked up on her desperate subject change.

“Oh, no.” Dannie shook her head and prayed Leo’s stiff carriage wasn’t because he didn’t like the way she was sticking her nose in his business with Tommy. This was absolutely what she was here for and she absolutely didn’t want to blow it, especially with Leo in such a strange, unpredictable mood. “Reynolds can help you. Leo’s been doing this far longer than Moreno. He has connections. Expertise. You know Leo has a degree in engineering, too, right?”

Leo’s hand drifted a little lower. His pinky dipped inside her dress and grazed the top edge of her panties. Her brain liquefied into the soles of her sparkly Manolos and she forgot to mention he’d actually double majored in engineering and business.

“Daniella,” Leo murmured. “Perhaps you’d see to Mrs. Ross? She’s wandering around by the double glass doors and I’m afraid she might end up in the pool.”

“Of course.” She smiled at Tommy, then at Leo and went on the trumped-up errand Leo had devised, likely to avoid saying outright in front of a prospective partner that he could handle his own public relations. Which she appreciated.

As she guided Mrs. Ross toward the buffet, she laughed at the sweet old lady’s jokes, but kept an eye on Leo and Tommy. They were still talking near the stairs and Leo’s expression had finally lost that edge she so desperately wanted to understand.

If she’d gone too far with the bedroom-sharing idea, why didn’t he just tell her?

This party was a measure of how effectively she could do her job as Leo’s wife and how well she contributed to his success. Coupled with the high-level tension constantly pulsing between them, her nerves had stretched about as tight as they could without snapping.

* * *

Dannie showed the last guest to the door and spent a long thirty minutes with the auxiliary staff wrapping up postparty details.

Leo was nowhere to be seen.

Around midnight, she finally stumbled to their bedroom with the last bottle of champagne, uncorked, intending to split it with him in celebration of a successful party. Surely Leo shared that opinion. If he didn’t, she really should be told why.

Darkness shrouded the bedroom.

She set the champagne bottle and two glasses on the dresser and crossed to the freestanding Tiffany torchiere lamp in the corner. She snapped it on and bracing against the wall, fingered apart the buckle on one shoe.

“Oh, you should leave those on.” Leo tsked, his voice silky as scotch again.

She whirled. He was lounging on the settee, tie loose and shirt unbuttoned three down. Not that she was counting. “What are you doing sitting here in the dark?”

“Seemed appropriate for my mood.”

That sounded like a warning. She thumbed off the other shoe in case she had to make a run for the door. “Would you like me to turn off the light?”

He contemplated her for a long moment. “Would darkness make it easier for you to pretend I was Tommy Garrett?”

She couldn’t help it. The laugh bubbled out.

It was a straight-from-the-bottle kind of night. Retrieving the champagne from the dresser, she gulped a healthy dose before wiping her mouth with the back of one hand. “Jealousy? That’s so...” Cliché. Well, it seemed like a tell-it-like-it-is night, too. “...cliché, Leo.”

His gaze scraped her from head to toe, darkening as he lingered at the vee of her cleavage. “What should I feel while watching my wife flirt with another man?”

“Gratitude?” she offered. “I was working him for you.”

Leo barked out a laugh. “Shall I call him back, then? See if he’s up for a threesome?”

This was going downhill fast. Not only was he not thrilled with her party, he’d transformed into a possessive husband. “Are you drunk?”

Maybe she should catch up. If she downed the entire bottle of champagne, her husband might make a lot more sense. Or it would dull the coming rejection—which this time would no doubt include an annulment. Alcohol had the potential to make either one more bearable.

“Not nearly drunk enough,” he muttered. Louder, he said, “Since you’re so free with your favors this evening, perhaps you’d do me another one.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Like what?”

“Show me what’s under that dress.”

Okay, not the direction she’d anticipated him going.

More champagne, STAT. She swigged another heady gulp and set the bottle on the dresser. “Why? So you can stake your claim? Jealousy is not a good enough reason to strip for you.”

His mouth quirked. “What would be?”

“Diamonds. A trip to Bora-Bora. A Jaguar.” She ticked them off on her fingers airily. If he was going to be cliché, she could, too. “The typical kept woman baubles.”