Mister Match (The Match Series Book 1) (15 page)

Jacob’s face fell again as he spread his hands in defeat. “Okay, you caught me, all right? I don’t own the Millennium. I just wait tables there.”

“You lied about owning a restaurant?” For some reason, that didn’t annoy her so much as it made her want to laugh out loud.

Jacob hung his head. “I just wanted to impress you, and I didn’t think you’d go out with a waiter.”

He looked so hangdog that she did laugh aloud. “Okay, that’s another big no-no. Don’t lie to your date. Just be honest, be kind, and be yourself. That should be plenty.”

She patted his arm, hoping he wouldn’t take that as an invitation to go to bed, and stood again, smoothing her shirt down. “I really do have to go. And I really do thank you for meeting me for a drink. It was definitely...an experience.”

She could feel his eyes on her back as she walked to the door that led back into the bar.

Only once she reached the street did she realize she’d just counseled him about how to treat a woman the way that Adam already treated her.

Chapter
16

____________________________________

W
hen Lisa got home, there was a box waiting for her outside her front door. She frowned as she picked it up. She hadn’t ordered anything. She carried it inside, tossed her keys onto the table and turned on the box fan to get some air circulation going, before ripping the box open.

She frowned further as she lifted out a package of microwaveable popcorn.

“Huh?” She inspected the package. It wasn’t a brand she recognized. “Organic and Old-Fashioned,” she read aloud.

The package she held was Roasted Honey flavor. She set it aside and looked back into the box. Someone had sent her an enormous box full of popcorn. There were more of the honey variety, and she also spied some marked “White Cheddar,” “Butter” and “Natural,” as well.

“What the hell?”

Then she saw a piece of paper, tucked between two of the packages. She pulled it out.

It was a typed note. “Lisa,” it read. “I know this is your main dietary staple. Since I can’t be there with you this week, making sure you eat square meals, I thought you might at least enjoy some variety. Can’t wait to see you in Houston on Friday.”

For some reason, tears sprang to her eyes. “I don’t even like popcorn!” She sniffled as she read the note again.

Adam hadn’t signed it, but it was him, of course. Even without the Houston reference, she would have known it was Adam, all over.

He’d sent her a box of popcorn. He’d remembered that she’d mentioned eating popcorn, and he’d sent her a variety box.

What a dear, dear man.

He called that night, from California.

“I had to come out here for another round of press stuff.” It was two hours earlier in Los Angeles, but he sounded tired. “Then I’m headed back east tomorrow for more interviews and a meeting with Dan.”

“I can’t say I envy you.” Lisa was glad to be at home, on her couch, petting Mr. Monkey as she enjoyed a nice glass of chilled white wine and whatever her limited TV stations had to offer.

“Well, I can most definitely say I envy you,” he said. “So, what have you been up to this week?”

She should tell him about the date with Jacob. She should really tell him, now.

Except the thought of telling him made her shoulders tense up. Plus, she hadn’t told him about the date with Reese last week, or even the fact that she had a profile on his dating site and she was actively using his own matchmaker algorithm to meet men.

Somehow, it didn’t feel right. So she retreated to safer ground. “I got the box of popcorn.”

He laughed. “Good. That’s partly why I was calling, to make sure it got to you.”

“That was really sweet of you. To send me a gift.”

“Yeah, well, you know,” he said lightly. “That’s just the kind of guy I am.”

Lisa smiled into the phone. “Get some rest tonight, okay?”

“You too. Can’t wait to see you Friday. I’ll be waiting for you at the airport.”

“Great. Thanks.”

It was so odd, she thought as she hung up the phone. She had been aware of Adam’s existence for only seven days now. And yet, already, a subtle yet undeniable tenderness and caring had sprung up between them. Sure, it was low-level—“get some rest” wasn’t exactly Mother Teresa of her. But he was planning to meet her at the airport, even though his time was valuable, and surely he had someone on his team who could do that for him. And, more than that, he’d called her on a Wednesday night just to say hello and check in. And he’d sent her popcorn. If she didn’t know better, she might think the gift and the phone call were almost boyfriend-ly of him.

She shook her head firmly. Adam Match was playing a part, and she had to remember that. She wasn’t just pretending to be his fiancée; he was pretending to be hers, as well. That was the only reason he’d sent her the popcorn, the only reason he’d called this evening.

Except these were private moments—Lisa bringing the box inside to open it, and talking to Adam on the phone. These weren’t moments that would make it into a paparazzi photographer’s viewfinder, or onto a celebrity gossip website.

Was it possible Adam’s interest in her wasn’t just pretend?

“Oh, Mr. Monkey,” she said to her cat, who had been lying on the kitchen counter, staring at her the entire time she’d been talking to Adam. She went to the cat and rubbed his belly, taking comfort in the vibration of his purring.

She hadn’t mentioned the date with Jacob. She could have, when Adam had asked how her week was going, but she hadn’t. And even though she didn’t want to see Jacob again, she couldn’t help but feel as if she’d somehow betrayed Adam—first by going out with Jacob, and then by keeping quiet about it.

“How ridiculous is that?” she asked Mr. Monkey.

The cat didn’t answer, leaving Lisa to figure out the answer on her own.

“I
s that what you’re wearing?” Clare asked her, Friday afternoon at her apartment.

Lisa looked down at herself and laughed. Instead of changing clothes after coming home from work, she’d immediately started packing for her weekend in Houston. Willow and Clare had come with her, Clare to help her pack, and Willow to get instructions on feeding and caring for Mr. Monkey while Lisa was away.

In a half-hour, a chauffeur—an actual chauffeur; Lisa was hoping it would actually be a man in a black suit and a smart little driving cap—would be arriving to deliver Lisa to the airport, where she would take a forty-five-minute flight to Houston.

“Well?” Clare prompted. “Is that what you’re wearing, or not?”

She looked down at herself. “Sure. What’s wrong with it?”

Clare’s shrug was an eloquent enough answer in itself. “That’s an okay outfit for the plane, I guess. But not if Adam is picking you up at the airport.”

“He is, actually.” Suddenly, Lisa felt flustered. “But so what?”

Clare gave her a look. “You’re bringing something dressier than that, aren’t you?”

“I’m just going to be working all weekend, and maybe doing a little sightseeing. I packed my gray linen Capri pants, since they’re comfortable.”

Clare nodded and stretched her legs out, where she sat on the floor. “Good. You should wear your black sandals with them. They look really good together. And that wine-colored shirt.”

“I brought a couple different shirts that go with the pants. Just loose knit ones that move well.”

“That’s it?” Clare looked skeptical. “You have to bring something hot, too. A little black dress and some strappy heels.”

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “And what, exactly, will I be needing those for?” She narrowed her eyes. “You guys didn’t pair me up with some date in Houston, did you? You know, for Fairy God-Cupids, you guys haven’t exactly been hitting it out of the park so far.”

“I’m so sorry the date with Jacob wasn’t more fun,” Willow said, from where she was lying across Lisa’s bed, gently massaging Mr. Monkey’s belly.

“Yeah, the guy sounded like a tool,” Clare agreed. “But back to the little black dress. You and Adam will be going out to dinner while you’re there, won’t you?”

As if room service or grabbing a convenience store sandwich were unheard of. Lisa snorted. “I think it’s just pretty much business all weekend.”

“Don’t you still have to play the part of happily engaged couple?” Clare shrugged a shoulder. “You’ll need the dress to match. And don’t forget your engagement ring.”

Lisa sucked in a breath and jumped up to retrieve the ring from her purse, where she’d left it after removing it for her date with Jacob.

She pushed it onto her ring finger as she returned to her bedroom. “Wow. That would’ve been bad.”

“You’re welcome,” Clare said serenely. She plucked at the neckline of her knit top. “Can we turn on the A/C? Please? I know you don’t like to turn it on until Mr. Monkey’s plastic food bowls start to warp, but it’s really, really hot in here.”

“It’s eighty-two degrees,” Lisa said, switching the box fan in the corner of the room from its Medium setting to High. “That’s barely above sweater temperature.”

She glanced around the little room. “I think that’s it.” Her bag was packed—over-packed, really—and the brand-new massage table Adam had arranged for overnight delivery was waiting by the front door, along with her backpack full of massage supplies.

“You’re sure you’re okay with feeding Mr. Monkey while I’m gone?” she asked Willow for about the tenth time.

“Of course. This kitty and I get along great, don’t we, sweetie?” Willow gave the cat a quick rub behind the ears. Mr. Monkey ignored her, staring instead at Lisa in apparent rebuke for leaving him behind.

“There’s lots of cat food and a fresh kitty box, and I wrote down the number of the Water Lily, where I’ll be staying, by the phone.”

“Sweetie, you already told me all that. I’ve got it covered. We’ll be fine.”

Lisa heaved a breath. “I know, I’m just...”

“You’re going to do great.” Willow smiled. “And don’t take your date with Jacob to heart. Your prince is out there.”

“He sure is,” Clare agreed. “And his name is Adam Match. Sorry—Masters.”

“Yeah, right,” Lisa said on a laugh. Then she eyed Willow’s long gauzy tunic and the matching skirt that flowed airily around her ankles. “Maybe I should at least bring a skirt,” she mused.

Clare clapped her hands. “Of course you should. But not one like Will’s. Make it a short, tight, black one that’ll make Adam drool and forget his own name.”

Lisa rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Seriously, how many times do I have to remind you? Our engagement is fake. It’s just business.”

Clare shrugged and held up her hands. “Hey, if you and Adam want to keep lying to yourselves, I guess there’s nothing I can do about that.”

It only took a minute to grab the one little black dress Lisa owned, reopen her suitcase and zip it shut again, but doing so left a new layer of sweat on her forehead and her upper lip.

And then there was a knock at the door.

“Madam, your chauffeur,” Clare said in a comically deep voice, scrambling up from the floor.

Willow gave Lisa a hug. “Good luck. Be careful. And call me if you need anything.”

Clare hugged her as well, fast and tight. “Jump Adam’s bones,” she whispered in her other ear. “He’s way too hot not to, and he’s your fiancé for the next three weeks, so you should take advantage.”

“Sometimes it’s like you two are my own, personal devil and angel on my shoulders,” Lisa muttered as she went to answer the door.

The car that purred like a panther at the curb was long and sleek and black. The driver standing on her doorstep was just as stereotypically chauffeur-esque as Lisa had imagined—tall and silent in a sleek, black uniform to match his car—and she felt instantly cowed in the presence of his dark, professional severity.

“Ms. DeLuca?” he asked.

“That’s me. Hi.” She was suddenly out of breath in the heat. In fact, she was sweating buckets. It was running in rivulets down the small of her back and from underneath her breasts. The thought surfaced that she was probably a lot less put-together than this guy’s usual clients.

He gave her a stiff smile as he reached for her massage table and her backpack full of oils and supplies. “Allow me.”

“Oh, no, I can—” She stepped forward, hands held out. “That table’s too heavy—”

He hefted the thing in one hand like a sack of groceries and her backpack in the other, and was halfway to the car before she could finish her sentence.

Which left Lisa to get her purse and her overnight bag, and wave goodbye to her friends. “Be good,” she told Mr. Monkey sternly, and pulled the door shut behind her.

Chapter
17

____________________________________

A
dam was waiting for her at the airport when she got off the plane.

She passed the security point and there he was, wearing a grass-green tee shirt, faded jeans and a big grin, and holding a sign that read “MS. DELUCA — AUSTIN.”

She laughed, trying to ignore the thrill currently fizzing in her stomach. “Good thing you have that sign. I was afraid I wouldn’t recognize you.”

“Just wanted you to feel like a VIP, since you are one.” He grinned as he leaned down and kissed her, full on the mouth. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

The kiss was brief, and yet it seared heat through her. And she knew Adam was only playing the role of doting fiancé, but he just sounded so sincere.

She glanced around. Sure enough, there were a few people nearby with cameras trained on them. It seemed Adam really couldn’t go anywhere without the paparazzi being all over him.

Which proved the kiss was just for show.

Before Lisa could gather her wits, Adam took her shoulder bag with one hand and took her gently by the elbow with the other, and led her through the throngs of people toward baggage claim. “How was your flight?”

It had been a puddle-jumper commuter plane. She’d welcomed the nerves that came with riding in a tiny aircraft, since abject fear was pretty effective at taking her mind off Adam. “Fine,” she said. “Short.”

She was struck then, just for a moment, by how normal it all was. How easy. To step off a plane and be greeted by a smiling Adam Match, ready for her with a joke and a brief but sweet and intimate kiss.

What if this engagement were real, after all?

She shook her head. There was no point in thinking like that. It wasn’t real, and neither was their connection.

“There’s your things,” Adam was saying. Lisa saw a man pushing a cart toward them, loaded up with her bag and her massage table. “The car’s waiting for us right out there.”

“No waiting at baggage claim.”

“Nope,” Adam answered with a grin.

She followed him out into the bright, late afternoon sunlight and saw that the “car” waiting for them was a limousine. Lisa laughed to herself as she climbed inside. She’d never ridden in one before, and she felt half embarrassed and half amused to be in one now.

“Nice ride,” she commented.

“Hey, you deserve the best.” Adam’s smile, and the way he was looking at her, made her squirm and rearrange her legs.

She turned away from him and gazed out the window at all the buildings and cars and roadways and more cars—always more cars—as they made their way into downtown.

Seated facing her, Adam watched her with a bemused expression. “Ever been here before?”

Lisa nodded. “A few times. I’ve mostly been to the university area, and a couple art museums. And of course I’ve always driven in, instead of flying.”

“Ah.” Then he just watched her, absently drumming his fingertips on the seat, until Lisa felt her face warm under all the attention.

“So what’s first up on our agenda?” she asked.

“I figured we’d get you checked in at the hotel,” he said, “and then grab some dinner.”

Her stomach rumbled audibly. “Sounds like a plan.”

He grinned again, and she had to look away. Meeting that smile of his was just a little too intense.

“Oh,” he said. “Did you get a chance to look over those papers I asked you to sign? Our contract, and the non-disclosure agreement?”

“I read them over on the plane ride,” she said, reaching into her bag to retrieve them.

When she handed them to him, their fingers brushed against each other for a moment. Lisa felt intensely aware of the heat of Adam’s skin. Of how much she wished he would touch her more.

She took a deep, steadying breath and resolutely looked out the window once again. Clearly, this was going to be a long weekend. And Lisa was going to have to try very, very hard to keep the boundaries straight, between what was real and what was just pretend.

T
he lobby of the Hotel Water Lily was resplendent with crystal chandeliers, flowers in crystal vases and antique furniture upholstered in lush fabrics. Lisa entered the grand entranceway slowly as Adam went on ahead to the front desk.

Damn,
she thought. Good thing she wasn’t the one footing the bill. The place looked like one night’s stay could easily put her out a good chunk of her monthly salary.

A large sign was propped up several paces from the entryway. “Welcome, YIA members,” it read in big, swooping cursive letters. “The Hotel Water Lily is proud to be your host.”

The acronym jumped out at her, and she frowned. Back when she’d been involved with Rodney, he had belonged to a group called Yoga Instructors of America.

Her head throbbed for just a split second, behind her right eye, and she took a quick, deep breath. There was no reason to think about the Rod this weekend, or ever again. The sign was pure coincidence. There were probably twenty different groups with the initials “YIA.” Yacht Instructors of America, maybe, or Yankee Icemakers Association. Or Yucky Icky Assholes, of which Rodney would probably be a charter member.

She didn’t notice Adam was beside her again until he spoke. “You all right?”

She nodded quickly. “I’m great. It’s gorgeous in here. I never would’ve thought I’d get to stay at a place like this.”

He nodded as he stared upward with her, taking in the pressed tin ceiling that soared several stories above their heads. “It is nice. Pretty ornate, anyway.” He turned to her. “Here’s your key. We’re in four-oh-three.”

When she looked at him with surprise, he flushed. “I had to get us a room to share,” he said, lowering his voice. “Because, you know. But it’s a suite, and there’s a pullout couch. I’ll just sleep there, and you can have the bed.”

“Oh.” She felt silly. Of course it would look strange if they stayed in separate rooms—if anyone was actually paying attention. And they couldn’t risk assuming no one was. “That’s fine. Of course. Thanks.”

He smiled. “It was a little complicated, getting them to switch the single room I’d booked to a suite,” he remarked as they started walking toward the elevators. “I guess there’s some kind of convention here this weekend. But it all worked out. I also rented a separate room for the massages tomorrow, and I already had your things sent up.”

She took the key card from him. “Thanks,” she said again. “I really can’t believe this place.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t sound as impressed as she felt.

“Don’t you like it here?”

“Sure.” He looked around him and shrugged. “I mean, it’s really nice. I guess I just like a slightly simpler décor.”

He probably liked sleek, sophisticated lines, she thought. She imagined his home as a bachelor pad done in metal, glass and black wood, all masculine, angular and efficient, nothing extra, nothing soft.

“Didn’t you choose the hotel?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Orlando and Valeria chose it. It’s part of their dream date.”

Lisa stared and then started laughing. “Orlando and Valeria? Now, there’s a couple destined to last, just on the strength of their names alone.”

“I know. They sound Shakespearean, don’t they? Well, not just
sound
. There actually was an Orlando—”

“In
As You Like It
.” It was one of her favorites.

“Yeah.” He grinned down at her. “And there was a Valeria, too, in
Coriolanus
.”

Handsome as hell, bad-boy charm to spare, and the guy could reference the lesser-known Shakespeare plays. Lisa felt a little sigh escape her. “It must be meant to be. What are they doing this evening for their date?”

“Their date doesn’t actually start until tomorrow at noon,” he said as they reached the elevators. He pressed the Up button. “They’re going to AstroWorld first, and then they’re heading out to Galveston for dinner. I scheduled their massages for late afternoon, before dinner, when they’re all tired out. I hope that’s all right with you.”

“Wait. Wait just a minute.” Lisa couldn’t help but wince. “Of all the things there are to do in a town this big and full of culture, they chose—”

“AstroWorld. I know.” He squinted at her, looking amused. “I take it you don’t like amusement parks either.”

Lisa shrugged. “What’s to like? They’re overpriced, you have to stand in line for hours just to go on a ride that makes you want to throw up, the hot dog buns are always hard like they’ve been microwaved too long—”

“And the soda’s always either too watery, too syrupy or too flat, like they just can’t get the right mix.” He was regarding her with an expression of mild surprise. “Exactly.”

“Well, it’s the only sane way to look at such a waste of time and money,” Lisa asserted, trying not to show the flush of pleasure coursing through her.

They had slid seamlessly into finishing one another’s sentences. He understood her effortlessly, naturally, in a way she hadn’t experienced in a long time. Maybe ever.

At least this natural connection between them would make it easy to sell their lie to the media.

The elevator doors opened, and Lisa cleared her throat. “I guess I’ll head up to the room and settle in, if that’s all right.”

“Of course.” Adam pulled out his cell phone. “I’m going to stay down here. I’ve got to make a few calls, make sure everything’s set up for tomorrow. But then we should go eat. Can I call you in maybe twenty minutes?”

She nodded, and he flashed her that grin of his, and she felt that weightless, fluttery feeling in her stomach that it seemed so easy for him to elicit.

But it wasn’t real. Their connection wasn’t real. The feelings he brought out in her—they might be real, but they were futile and pointless. She needed to remember that.

She did her best to ignore the giddy weightlessness inside her, and turned and marched resolutely into the elevator.

T
heir suite was impossibly large and charmingly old-fashioned, with pinstriped cloth covering the walls and ornate ivory silk drapes that tumbled richly to the carpet. The bed was enormous, and had actual goose down pillows and sheets Lisa suspected were cotton but which looked like brushed silk.

She sank down onto the bed and then flopped back, arms out. She let out a long sigh. “Oh, God, I like Adam. I really, really like him,” she admitted to the room.

She turned her head to eye the phone on the bedside table. Part of her wanted to call Clare or Willow. Talking with them would help ground her. And they’d get a huge kick out of the fancy digs she’d suddenly been plopped into.

On the other hand, she wasn’t quite ready for a dose of back-home reality. She wanted to live in this new fantasy for just a little longer.

She got up and crossed to the wardrobe, looking herself over in the mirror. Her pants were wrinkled from traveling, and her shirt looked as tired as she did. Clare had been dead-on, as always—she should have worn something more flattering, or changed in the airport bathroom as soon as she’d landed. Anything to avoid Adam seeing her look so worn out and uninspiring. And they’d been photographed at the airport. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing how bad she looked in those pictures, if they showed up online or in some magazine.

People were bound to start commenting on how much hotter Adam Match was than his fiancée. They always did, when there was a mismatch between a man and a woman, especially when it was the man who was the bigger catch.

Lisa glanced at her overnight bag, remembering the little black dress she’d stuffed in on Clare’s recommendation. Did she dare change into it for dinner?

Just then, the phone rang.

“I made reservations at a little place down the street,” Adam told her when she answered, “for a half-hour from now. Does that give you enough time to get ready?”

“A half-hour? Sure. Reservations?” She frowned. “Is it fancy?”

“I don’t know.”

She rolled her eyes. Typical male response. “I mean, what do you think I should wear?”

“Wear whatever you like.”

Even less help. “All right, fine,” she sniped playfully. “If I show up in my PJs, you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said. “Very good, actually.” He sounded like he meant it—as if he were imagining her pajamas to be something silky and skimpy, not the tee shirt and loose cotton pants she’d packed. She felt a throb, low in her abdomen, at the thought of attending a very intimate dinner with Adam Match, clad in the sort of silky, lacy negligee she didn’t even own.

She cleared her throat. “I’ll meet you down in the lobby in twenty minutes.”

She hung up and leapt off the bed with a sudden kick of nervous energy. She wanted to jump him, just like Clare said. She wanted to go commando to dinner and feel his hand under the table, slinking up her bare inner thigh.

She should have brought her vibrator. It was the trustiest, most reliable lover she’d ever had, and she could really use its services right about now. Not that she had time for a little self-pleasure session, anyway. She had to get ready for dinner.