Matched to Her Rival. Kat Cantrell

for Leo’s defection.

      “Let’s see,” he said brusquely. “Fiction, Sade and yes, please.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “The answer to your question. Love equals fiction, Sade is romantic music and critical to set the mood, and I would assume ‘yes, please’ is self-explanatory in relation to sex.”

      “That’s not precisely what I was looking for.”

      “Then tell me what you would say. So I have an example to go by.”

      “You never give up, do you?”

      “Took you long enough to figure that out. So?” he prompted with raised eyebrows.

      She sighed. “They’re intertwined so closely you can’t remove one without destroying the value of the other two.”

      “That’s a loaded statement. Tell me more before I proceed to tear it apart.” He propped his chin on his hand and ignored the halibut a waiter placed in front of him, which he scarcely recalled ordering.

      Her lips mushed together in apparent indecision. Or frustration. Hard to tell with her.

      “You can have sex without being in love or putting on romantic music. But it’s so much better with both. Without love and romance, sex is meaningless and empty.”

      As she warmed to the topic, her expression softened and that, plus the provocative subject matter, plus the warm breeze playing with her hair, plus...whatever it was about her that drew him all swirled together and spread like a sip of very old, very rare cognac in his chest. “Go on.”

      “On the flip side, you can certainly make a romantic gesture toward someone you’re in love with and not end up in bed. But the fact that you’ve been intimate magnifies it. Makes it more romantic. See what I mean?”

      “Philosophy.” He nodded sagely and wondered if the thing going on inside might be a heart attack. “I see. You want to understand how I feel about the three, not give you examples. Rookie mistake. Won’t happen again.”

      “Ha. You did it on purpose so you could probe me.”

      That was so close to the truth, the back of his neck heated. Next his ears would turn red and no woman got to have that strong of an effect on him. “Yeah, well, guess what? I like the spotlight. When you accused me of that earlier, it was nothing but a classic case of projection. You don’t like the spotlight so you assumed that was the reason I didn’t want to sit under yours.”

      She didn’t so much as flinch. “Then what is the reason you went to such great lengths to get me out of the office?”

      The shrewd glint in the depths of those chocolaty irises tipped him off that he hadn’t been as slick with the schedule-clearing as he believed. Odds were, she’d also figured out that she’d hit a couple of nerves yesterday and lunch was designed to prevent that from happening again.

      “That’s your turf.” He waved at the crowd of tables, people and ambiance. “This is mine.”

      “And I’m on it, with nary a peep. Cut me some slack. Tell me what your ideal mate brings to the relationship.”

      “A lack of interest in what’s behind the curtain,” he said instantly as if the answer had been there all along. Though he’d never so much as thought about the question, not once, and certainly wouldn’t have told her if she hadn’t made the excellent point about the turf change.

      But lack of interest wasn’t quite right. It was more the ability to turn a blind eye. Someone who saw through the curtain and didn’t care that backstage resembled post-tornado wreckage.

      Was that why he broke up with women after the standard four weeks—none thus far had that X-ray-vision-slash-blind-eye quality?

      “Good.” Elise scribbled in her ever-present notebook. “Now tell me what you bring to her.”

      When she’d called the questions intensive, she wasn’t kidding. “What, presents aren’t enough?”

      “Don’t be flip. Unless you want me to assume you bring nothing to a relationship and that’s why you shy away from them.” A light dawned in her eyes. “Oh. That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t think you have anything to offer.”

      “Wait a minute. That’s not what I said.” This conversation had veered way too far off the rails for comfort.

      He’d agreed to this ridiculous idea of being matched only because he never thought it would work. Instead, Elise challenged his deep-seated beliefs at every turn with a series of below-the-belt hits. That was not supposed to happen.

      “Then say what you mean,” she suggested quietly. “For once. If you found that woman, the one who didn’t care what was behind your curtain, what do you have to offer her in return?”

      “I don’t know.” It was the most honest answer he could give. And the most unsettling.

      He shoveled food in his mouth in case she asked a follow-up question.

      What did he have to offer in a relationship? He’d never considered it important to examine, largely because he never intended to have a relationship. But he felt deficient all at once.

      “Fair enough. I get that these questions are designed to help people who are looking for love. You’re not. So we’ll move on to the lightning round.” Her sunny tone said she knew she was letting him off the hook and it was okay.

      Oddly grateful, he nodded and relaxed. “I rule at lightning rounds.”

      “We’ll see, Mr. Wakefield. Glass half-full, or half-empty?”

      “Technically, it’s always full of both air and water.” Her laugh rumbled through him and he breathed a little easier. Things were clicking along at a much safer level now, and eating held more appeal.

      “That’s a good one. Apple or banana?”

      “What is that, a Freudian question? Apple, of course.”

      “Actually, apples have biblical connotations. I might interpret it as you can’t stay away from the tree of knowledge,” she said with a smirk. “What relieves stress?”

      “Sex.”

      She rolled her eyes. “I probably didn’t need to ask that one. Do you believe in karma?”

      These were easy, surface-level questions. She should have started with them. “No way. Lots of people never get what’s coming to them.”

      “That is so true.” She chuckled with appreciation and shook her head.

      “Don’t freak out but I do believe you’re enjoying this after all.”

      Her smile slipped but she didn’t look away. This might not be a date, but he couldn’t deny that lunch with Elise was the most interesting experience he’d had with a woman, period. Even ones he was dating.

      The longer this went on, the harder it was going to be to denounce her publicly. She was good—much better than he’d prepared for—and to criticize her abilities would likely reflect just as poorly on him as it did her.

      Worse, he was afraid he’d started to like her. He should probably do something about that before she got too far under his skin.

      * * *

      By one o’clock, Elise’s side hurt from laughing. Wine at lunch should be banned. Or required. She couldn’t decide which.

      “I have to get back to the office,” she said reluctantly.

      Reluctantly? She had a ton of things to do. And this was lunch with Dax. Whom she hated...or rather didn’t like very much. Actually, he was pretty funny and maybe a little charming. Of course he was—he had lots of practice wooing women.

      Dax made a face. “Yeah. Duty calls.”

      He stood and gallantly