9781631050275TheirPerfectMatchMarshNC Read online

  “What, you don’t like big fins and lots of chrome?” Zane laughed. “But you’re right. This was my father’s car. He bought it new…back in 1977 or thereabouts. Believe it or not, I’ve never owned my own set of wheels. Never needed one at sea.”

  “That makes sense.”

  Gingerly, Molly climbed into the deep bucket seat and smoothed her skirt over her knees as Zane slammed the extra-wide door and then circled around to take the wheel. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her struggling to sit up straight as he hit the accelerator and eased the car into the fast-moving evening

  * * * *

  Zane’s apartment, like the rest of the four-story brick building that housed it, struck Molly as gloomy but functional. A small kitchenette opened directly off the living room, while half-open doors revealed a green-tiled bathroom and two modestly proportioned bedrooms, one on either side. A white-topped kitchen table and three straight-backed metal chairs clashed with a well used, brown-plaid sofa and loveseat.

  The details gave the place away as the lair of single man, Molly decided, examining the contents of a chipped wooden bookcase in the corner. The shelves contained nothing particularly enlightening—a phonebook, a few hardbacks on marine safety and regulations, and some paperbacks, mostly techno-thrillers with nautical themes. Shoeboxes stuffed with pencils, batteries, and opened mail filled the remaining shelf space.

  “Don’t mind the décor,” Zane said as he ushered her inside and hung her coat on a brass peg in the shape of an eagle’s outstretched foot. “My dad went for the kind of stuff most people keep in their garages. It’s kind of funny. When I first came back, all I could think about was redecorating. Now that he’s gone, I don’t have the heart to toss the stuff out.”

  “Don’t apologize.” She accepted the seat he offered her on the sofa. The old cushions sagged under her in a way she found oddly comforting. “Actually, this reminds me of the furniture I used to decorate my first apartment. I was a senior in college, and some friends and I went around on garbage-collection day and salvaged whatever we could carry that would fit through the door. This could almost be the same couch.”

  The moment she’d said the words, she wished she could take them back. “Oh, Zane, please forgive me. I must have sounded like a terrible snob just then.”

  To her relief, Zane laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t be surprised if my dad really did find it after you and your friends moved out. He always took pride in being thrifty. Some of his less charitable acquaintances called him downright cheap.”

  “He didn’t skimp on some things.” Molly gestured toward the large-screen TV and stereo set up in the center of the room.

  “Believe it or not, he bought that to avoid getting fitted for glasses. He never missed a Sox game, and after a while he couldn’t make out the numbers on the players’ jerseys anymore. That really bugged him. The stereo was my idea, since I’m not really into TV—sports or anything else.”

  “Another result of spending so much time at sea?”

  “Exactly. It’s mostly radio that keeps you sane out there. I used to polish my foreign language skills by listening to shortwave. After that, watching TV just seems…I don’t know, too passive. I feel uncomfortable when my mind wanders.”

  “I know what you mean.” Molly didn’t want to admit how many nights and weekends she’d frittered away in front of the tube herself, trying to ignore the fact that she had nothing better to do and no one to do it with.

  “So…do you like it here?”

  “It’s as good a place as any until I get a few details ironed out.”

  Molly glanced away and bit her lower lip. No doubt those few details included a new relationship arranged by Lovelines.

  “Listen, make yourself at home while I get the coffee going.” On his way to the kitchen, Zane paused to put some jazz on the CD player. The sound of a low, sultry sax filled the room.

  “Do you like jazz? The CDs are my dad’s, too.”

  Zane pointed to a rack of CDs he kept stashed behind the stereo speakers. “I can change it if you like. I might have an old Elvis or Boston album here somewhere.”

  “No, this is fine. I have no objection to trying new things.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Molly winced. Another accidental double entendre. Why did she keep doing that? She couldn’t let Zane Bishop unnerve her so much.

  Fortunately, he’d moved on to other topics. “You know, you’re the first guest I’ve had since I got back to Providence. It’s about time I found out if my social skills are as rusty as I suspect they are.”

  “I’m sure they’re perfectly adequate.” That was probably an understatement, she realized. All evening, Zane had presented himself like a true gentleman, right down to defending her honor from a drunken bar lout. Now she watched as he began measuring out water and milk for the sleek black cappuccino machine that occupied the kitchen counter.

  “Was that your father’s, too?”

  “No way. Dad only went for instant, black as motor oil and strong as gasoline. He had some pretty definite ideas about what constituted a man’s drink.”

  While he steamed the milk, Molly glanced around at the pictures on the wall. For the most part, they consisted of ceramic collectors’ plates featuring various New England sports heroes and a few inexpensively framed prints. To her disappointment, there wasn’t a single photo of Zane in uniform, or posing on the deck of a ship.

  Belatedly she realized that he’d been talking to her while he poured their cappuccinos into matching glass mugs and topped them with frothy gobs of steamed milk.

  His voice held a note of strain. “So…who was that guy back at the bar?”

  Molly sighed. For a moment, she’d almost managed to forget that unpleasant scene. “His name is Walter Westley,” she replied with a grimace. “And yes, he did sign on with Lovelines for a while. Normally, I keep the identity of my clients confidential, but he certainly had no problem broadcasting that information to everyone in the bar, so I guess his privacy is a moot point now.”

  “I take it he wasn’t satisfied with the services.”

  “That’s probably a fair analysis. I’m sorry things didn’t work out for him, but I did my best. In fact, I had my reservations about taking him on in the first place, but I wanted to help him out. It just proves that no good deed goes unpunished, as my grandmother used to say.”

  “Yeah, I saw enough of Mr. Westley to guess why he might not be popular with his dates.” Zane walked over and handed her one of the cappuccinos, then settled onto the loveseat with the other. The cup was so large—and hot—that Molly held it in both hands while she gingerly sipped the steaming liquid. “So tell me…do you get many dissatisfied customers?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Please don’t be offended. It’s just that I was thinking about the whole dating service thing…the mystique, if you want to call it that. People probably come to you with such high expectations that there’s really no way you could satisfy them all. And if anything can strip the human soul down to its rawest, most sensitive layer, it’s finding a mate.”

  The imagery his words conjured in her head—especially the part about stripping a client down to his barest essentials and mating—made a shiver race up the back of Molly’s neck. The involuntary twitch that resulted sent hot coffee sloshing over the lip of her mug. She scarcely had time to gasp in pain before Zane was on his feet. “Damn, I knew I should have let it cool off. Here, let me help.” Quickly, he lifted the wet mug from her reddened fingers, set it on the table, and hurried to grab a dishtowel.

  “It was my fault,” she said, mortified, as he blotted her palms dry. “I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry about the mess.”

  “Never mind that. It’s nothing.” Frowning, Zane touched the towel to the hem of her skirt and slowly patted his way down to her drenched knee. “I’m far more concerned about this. You’re not burned, I hope.”

  “No.” T
he slight pressure of his fingers against her flesh made her jump again, though not with discomfort this time. “It wasn’t that bad, really. I’m fine…except for my pride, of course.”

  Just for a moment, Zane paused and let his hand sink against her leg. Molly felt herself suck in a breath. Fresh tremors, perfectly timed to match his pulse, coursed through her body and pooled deep inside her middle.

  The concern in his steel-gray eyes caused Molly a twinge of guilt—though she had no intention of telling him that it was an image of him naked, not the temperature of the coffee cup, that had caused the spill in the first place. “Please, Zane, don’t give it another thought. Dwelling on it just makes me feel worse.”

  With a sigh, he moved his hand away. Then, still watching her intently, he returned to his seat. He left her the towel. She pretended to wipe at her skirt hem for a moment, which gave her an excuse to keep her head bowed.

  Since she was still looking down, she sensed, rather than saw, the smile tilt his mouth. “I guess this answers my question about my hosting skills. Rustier than I ever suspected.”

  “Not at all. You’ve been wonderfully attentive.” Another surge of guilt tugged at her conscience, so Molly abandoned her pantomime cleaning and picked up her coffee again. “And the cappuccino is wonderful, too. Thank you for going to so much trouble.”

  “So it’s better than what we would have gotten at Java Joint?”

  “Head and shoulders above it.” Finally, she did look up and caught him in mid-grin. The effect was even more powerful than she’d expected.

  “That reminds me. There’s something I’ve been wanting to do all evening.”

  His movements were so swift, so decisive that Molly barely had time to register them. One moment he was seated across from her, his long legs casually stretched out in front of him and one powerful arm slung over the back of the loveseat. The next, he’d moved onto the sofa behind her and lifted both hands to her shoulders. As he began to lightly knead the base of her neck, Molly could almost hear her tense muscles cracking. Instinctively she let out a murmur of pleasure.

  “I could tell how much you needed this. You’ve been like a coiled spring ever since I sat down beside you at The Grapevine. When the wine didn’t do the trick, I knew I’d have to resort to more furtive tactics.”

  “Mmm.” The deepening pressure of his fingers on her knotted sinews sent drowsy billows of pleasure through Molly’s entire nervous system. Settling back, she surrendered to the fresh intoxication of his touch. “Let’s just say it’s been a really long day.”

  “Funny you should say that. I felt the same way…until I saw you at the bar tonight. I’d been thinking about you ever since I left your office yesterday.”

  She leaned back into him, waves of relaxation winding their way through her body. Her limbs felt strangely heavy, her head light, and her thoughts distant and unfocused.

  “I…um…I really shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be doing…this.”

  “Of course you should.” He’d moved closer, she realized. When he spoke, she could feel his words flutter against her earlobe. “There’s absolutely nowhere else in the world you should be, no one else you should be with. You’re exactly where you need to be, Molly Grayson. Right here beside me.”

  His words flowed along with the easy strains of the jazz—silky, hypnotic. “Yes,” she whispered back. At the same time, she felt his hands slide forward off her shoulders and move toward her breasts. He stopped with his fingers spread just above the peaks of her nipples. His massage had left them so swollen and sensitive that Molly instinctively knew that the slightest touch would have sent her body hurtling over a precipice she hardly remembered scaling. All the same, she now teetered right at the top. Though her heart seemed to have stopped, her pulse still raced with a mixture of fear and excitement that intoxicated her.

  Resting her full weight against his chest, she tilted her head back as far as she could and raised her parted lips to his.

  But Zane didn’t kiss her.

  He claimed her. All Molly could do was hold her breath and surrender as he slid both arms around her, anchoring her tightly against his chest. Then his hard mouth came down on hers with a reckless urgency that caught her completely off guard.

  Hungrily, he crushed his lips to hers. Molly felt the rigid outline of his teeth and the forceful pressure of his tongue as Zane crowded his way into the personal space she’d guarded so jealously for so long. Fire invaded her senses and swept every thought from her mind. All that remained was the instinct, every bit as basic and needy as his, that told her to respond with every last tendril of emotion inside her. And she did.

  Zane groaned when he finally broke the kiss. Even then, he didn’t quite break free all at once. He moved away slowly, keeping his lower lip in contact with hers for as long as he could. Before he pulled away, he skimmed his mouth over hers one last time, leaving behind the tang of rich, creamy coffee and the heady taste of passion. Molly wasn’t sure whether it was the fervor they’d shared, or the fact that she’d gone without air for at least a full minute that left her with burning lungs and silvery spots dancing in front of her eyes. The somewhat awkward position she’d been in hadn’t helped, either. In fact, her neck felt stiffer now than it had before Zane had rubbed it.

  He loosened his grip so she could turn around to face him. Somehow, she ended up halfway reclined in his lap, her thighs bracketed by his and her breasts cushioning his broad chest. Molly could hear their excited pulses thudding about half a beat apart.

  Zane raised his hands until they gently cupped her cheeks. His thumbs stroked the curve of her jaw, sending electrical jolts straight to the center of her body. She was embarrassed when her nipples stiffened into tiny, aroused points against his chest. The sensible, modest part of her hoped that Zane couldn’t feel them through his shirt. Her more adventurous side hoped he could.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said.

  “I think you can guess.”

  “I don’t want to guess. I want to hear it from you. Details.” Slanting forward, he brushed his lips across her forehead and trailed them down the bridge of her nose. Molly shuddered at the contact, prompting an affectionate laugh from Zane. “You don’t like to answer questions like that, do you? I’ve noticed that you tend to dodge them.”

  She burrowed deeper into his embrace as if to seek refuge from the uncertainty that tugged at her heart. “I… I have to admit that talking about my feelings makes me a little nervous. It’s not something I usually do.”

  “Then it’s kind of ironic that you’ve built a career out of talking about other people’s, isn’t it? Or maybe not.” Zane’s husky voice rumbled against her skin. “Anyway, a little nervousness can be a positive thing. It shows you that you’re testing yourself, stretching your boundaries.”

  “Is that something you learned at sea?”

  “You mean the value of fear? Absolutely. Being in a life-threatening situation can put your priorities in order pretty quickly.”

  “You must have some really exciting stories about your travels.” Molly rested her hands on his chest and laid her chin on top of them, her eyes locked on his.

  “A few,” he agreed. “But they’ll keep for another time. Right now I’m more interested in hearing your response to my question.”

  His right thumb left her face and glided over her lower lip, then moved lower to strum the top button of her blouse. A soft moan escaped her throat when she felt desire strain the zipper of his slacks.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you, Molly,” he continued. “I want to learn everything about you. What you think, what you feel. What kinds of secrets you keep. You know…the deep, dark, dirty stuff.”

  “I…I beg your pardon?” Molly blinked up at him, her face contracting into a frown. “What do you mean by that?”

  * * * *

  He messed up. Zane wanted to kick himself. He was still unsure about a lot as far as Molly Grayson was concerned, but now at least one thing
was certain—he’d pushed too far, too fast, and the mood was irreparably broken.

  “I didn’t mean anything in particular,” he improvised. “Just that I want us to get closer.”

  He knew that his feeble effort at damage control had failed miserably when Molly pushed his hands away and somewhat clumsily extracted herself from his lap. The face he’d so enjoyed touching only moments before was now flushed with an entirely different kind of warmth. Even her eyes seemed to have hardened against him.

  The languid, seductive music still flowing from the speakers began to annoy him. Zane crossed the room and pressed the “stop” button, then faced her across a tense silence.

  “Maybe we could start all over,” he suggested. “I’ll even put a different CD on.”

  He wasn’t surprised when Molly shook her head. “I think it would be better if we didn’t. I appreciate your hospitality, Zane, but coming here was definitely a mistake on my part.”

  “I hope you don’t really believe that.”

  “I’m sorry…but I do. We talked earlier about how important it was for me to respect your status as a Lovelines client. I didn’t, and I owe you an apology for that.”

  “You don’t owe me any damned apology.” Zane didn’t bother to hide his frustration. He wasn’t just disappointed that he hadn’t been able to glean anything that would be useful to Alaric either. The truth was that he’d been genuinely enjoying her company…until he’d remembered his original purpose for seeking her out that evening and subsequently blown their whole date to smithereens.

  “I think I do. And I hope you’ll accept it. Now would you mind terribly if I asked you to drive me back to my car?”

  She was putting on a brave front, but Zane sensed that she was closer to tears than anger. Sighing, he retrieved his car keys from the kitchen counter where he’d dumped them earlier. “Sure, come on. I’ll take you back.”

  “Thank you.”

  They walked down to his parking spot without talking, and things didn’t improve much during the short jaunt back to the Lovelines office where she’d left her own vehicle. About halfway through the drive, Zane noticed Molly hugging her arms together.