share his life. His life sucked.
He wouldn't mind sex though — but only if Valentine was volunteering herself.
He tried not to picture her naked, in nothing but her heels and those pearls she always wore. He tried not to imagine messing up her hair—messing up her tidy outfit. He didn't want to imagine kissing her, tasting her, pushing into her deep.
He wasn't successful. It'd been pretty much the only thing on his mind since she'd accosted him in the coffee shop.
Inconvenient. He didn't have time for this. Every second ticking by made a boxing comeback more unlikely. He didn't have the luxury to mess around.
The door to her place opened, and Valentine stepped out. The weak winter sun cast a halo around her red hair, and the gold buttons on her suit winked at him, as if daring him to undo them.
The pale skin of her forehead furrowed, and her lips puckered in disapproval. "Aren't you coming in?"
Her pursed rosy mouth wiped his mind clear of all the arguments he'd been planning to make . She was so little , but she pushed him around like she was twice his size. It was cute, even if it was annoying.
"You need to come in. Now. " She peered left and right, as if she expected someone to jump out at her. Then she waved him inside.
Curious, he followed her.
"Lock the door," she whispered loudly as he stepped inside.
"Are we being spied on?"
"It's totally likely." She grimaced. "My mother is visiting."
The pained look on her face said it all, and for the first time in the year since he stopped fighting he smiled.
S h e blinked her gorgeous eyes at him. "Oh."
"What?"
She shook her head and turned away, looking in her purse. "My mother may come down for a second. I'm just warning you."
He wondered what the blush creeping up the back of her neck meant. " To make sure I don't eat you up? "
" Of course not. She's my boss. She wants to make sure I'm on track ." She peered at him curiously. "Are you likely to eat me up?"
"No," he lied as he visualized pushing her down on that uncomfortable looking couch and finding out what she wore under her fussy clothes.
"Oh."
Did she sound disappointed? He thought so, but when she perched properly on a chair , pointed to the one across from her , and said "Sit," he knew he just imagined it.
He sat despite himself."Look, I don't—"
Valentine leaned forward, looking like a demented wood sprite in businesswoman's clothing. "Do you have a mother?"
"Yes."
"Imagine her staying with you."
He winced. He loved his mom, but she'd driven him crazy after he'd awakened from his coma. She was the reason he'd gone to Bull's to recover. "Ouch."
"Exactly. Worse, because she's not feeling well and it's up to me to help her get better."
"Why is it up to you?"
She looked puzzled by the question at first. "Because, I work with her, unfortunately."
" Unfortunately? If you don't like it , why don't you branch out on your own?"
A wistful expression swept across her face so quickly he was sure he imagined that , too . S h e shook her head firmly. "The firstborn daughter in each generation of my family is a matchmaker. I'd break the line if I did anything else."
" Y ou could branch out with your own matchmaking business." He gazed at her steadily, studying her for tells. "But you'd do something else , " he realized.
She blushed but quickly shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. Matchmaking is my destiny."
"You don't sound convinced about that."
S h e frowned. "When did you learn to talk?"
"I always knew how. M o st people just don't warrant it."
"A n d I'm the lucky one who does." S he grinned . " I must be a masochist, but I like that."
H emust have been a masochist, too, because he liked her smile. A lot. He shifted and cleared his throat. "I was thinking about this, and—"
"You were thinking about this?" She blinked her big blue eyes. "That's super."
"No, I mean—"
"Because this next part of the process is going to be a little more difficult." She took out her phone and began poking
He wouldn't mind sex though — but only if Valentine was volunteering herself.
He tried not to picture her naked, in nothing but her heels and those pearls she always wore. He tried not to imagine messing up her hair—messing up her tidy outfit. He didn't want to imagine kissing her, tasting her, pushing into her deep.
He wasn't successful. It'd been pretty much the only thing on his mind since she'd accosted him in the coffee shop.
Inconvenient. He didn't have time for this. Every second ticking by made a boxing comeback more unlikely. He didn't have the luxury to mess around.
The door to her place opened, and Valentine stepped out. The weak winter sun cast a halo around her red hair, and the gold buttons on her suit winked at him, as if daring him to undo them.
The pale skin of her forehead furrowed, and her lips puckered in disapproval. "Aren't you coming in?"
Her pursed rosy mouth wiped his mind clear of all the arguments he'd been planning to make . She was so little , but she pushed him around like she was twice his size. It was cute, even if it was annoying.
"You need to come in. Now. " She peered left and right, as if she expected someone to jump out at her. Then she waved him inside.
Curious, he followed her.
"Lock the door," she whispered loudly as he stepped inside.
"Are we being spied on?"
"It's totally likely." She grimaced. "My mother is visiting."
The pained look on her face said it all, and for the first time in the year since he stopped fighting he smiled.
S h e blinked her gorgeous eyes at him. "Oh."
"What?"
She shook her head and turned away, looking in her purse. "My mother may come down for a second. I'm just warning you."
He wondered what the blush creeping up the back of her neck meant. " To make sure I don't eat you up? "
" Of course not. She's my boss. She wants to make sure I'm on track ." She peered at him curiously. "Are you likely to eat me up?"
"No," he lied as he visualized pushing her down on that uncomfortable looking couch and finding out what she wore under her fussy clothes.
"Oh."
Did she sound disappointed? He thought so, but when she perched properly on a chair , pointed to the one across from her , and said "Sit," he knew he just imagined it.
He sat despite himself."Look, I don't—"
Valentine leaned forward, looking like a demented wood sprite in businesswoman's clothing. "Do you have a mother?"
"Yes."
"Imagine her staying with you."
He winced. He loved his mom, but she'd driven him crazy after he'd awakened from his coma. She was the reason he'd gone to Bull's to recover. "Ouch."
"Exactly. Worse, because she's not feeling well and it's up to me to help her get better."
"Why is it up to you?"
She looked puzzled by the question at first. "Because, I work with her, unfortunately."
" Unfortunately? If you don't like it , why don't you branch out on your own?"
A wistful expression swept across her face so quickly he was sure he imagined that , too . S h e shook her head firmly. "The firstborn daughter in each generation of my family is a matchmaker. I'd break the line if I did anything else."
" Y ou could branch out with your own matchmaking business." He gazed at her steadily, studying her for tells. "But you'd do something else , " he realized.
She blushed but quickly shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. Matchmaking is my destiny."
"You don't sound convinced about that."
S h e frowned. "When did you learn to talk?"
"I always knew how. M o st people just don't warrant it."
"A n d I'm the lucky one who does." S he grinned . " I must be a masochist, but I like that."
H emust have been a masochist, too, because he liked her smile. A lot. He shifted and cleared his throat. "I was thinking about this, and—"
"You were thinking about this?" She blinked her big blue eyes. "That's super."
"No, I mean—"
"Because this next part of the process is going to be a little more difficult." She took out her phone and began poking
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