Matched To Mr Right. Kat Cantrell

      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.”

      “What if I called you...Dannie?” He drew it out and in that silky voice, it swept down her spine and coalesced in her core with heat. “It’s the key to intimacy, isn’t it? You let Tommy call you that. The two of you were very cozy.”

      She cursed under her breath. How dare he turn her on while accusing her of dallying with Tommy? “He’s twenty-four, Leo. I’m old enough to be his...older sister. Stop being such a Neanderthal.”

      “So that’s your objection to Tommy? His age?” Leo slid off the settee and advanced on her, slowly enough to trip her pulse. “What about Dax? He’s my age. Maybe you’d like him better.”

      “What’s this really about?” Boldly, she stared him down as he approached, determined to get past this barrier she sensed he’d thrown up to avoid the real issue—she’d failed at being the wife he needed, on all levels. Somehow. “You’re not threatened by Tommy. Or Dax. You’ve been weird all evening. If you’ve got a problem with me, lay it out. No more smoke and mirrors.”

      Only a breath away, he halted, towering over her. Without heels, she wasn’t that much shorter than he was, but his presence—and his dark, intense mood—overwhelmed her.

      “You know, I do have a problem with you.” His gaze traveled over her and that’s when she saw the vulnerability he’d hidden behind a mask of false allegations. “You’re still dressed.”

      Baffled, she cocked her head and studied him. Hints of what he was so carefully not telling her filtered through. All at once, she realized. He was threatened by other men and conversely paralyzed by his conscience, which had dictated that he wouldn’t touch her until she was okay with what he could give.

      His body language was equally conflicted. His fingers curled and uncurled repeatedly, as if he wanted to reach for her but couldn’t.

      She was his wife. But not his wife, in the truest sense.

      Her heart softened. He wanted something he had no experience with, no vocabulary to define. And she’d been trying to force him into admitting his needs by sharing his bed and denying him the only outlet for his emotions that he understood, assuming her way was best.

      Well, this was all new to her, too, but she wasn’t above changing course to give him what he needed.

      Their connection was already there. Instead of waiting on some murky criteria she doubted either of them could verbalize, she’d just show him.

      That was a good enough reason to strip for him.

      Dannie locked her gaze on his and reached up to her nape to unclasp her dress.

      * * *

      Leo was acting like an ass.

      Knowing it didn’t give him any better ability to control it, or to eliminate the constant spike of lust when he caught sight of his wife. Seeing her laugh with another man had generated something ugly and primal inside.

      He didn’t like it.

      He didn’t like how he’d focused so much energy and attention on this deal with Tommy Garrett and then spent the night sulking in the corner instead of using the opportunity to do his job. His wife had picked up the slack. His wife. Once again, she’d kept the importance of the evening front and center while he wallowed in jealousy.

      How