at it. "The questions I asked took a little time but were pretty easy. I have a good idea of what type of woman would be suited to you—"
"I already know what type I want." The type with freckles, who plays dress-up, and was within grabbing distance.
"Then we can discuss that," she said in that prim, schoolteacher way that turned him on. "But first we need to assess your skills."
"Skills?" He was afraid to ask what that meant.
She nodded. "It's not hard to find people you'd be attracted to, but keeping them and developing a relationship require more work. So part of our matchmaking process is to determine which areas you excel in and give you lessons in the areas that you might not."
"What areas are we talking about?" he asked suspiciously.
"Usually things like clothing and grooming." She looked at his head but didn't say what she was obviously thinking. "And other things, like dating etiquette."
It must have been because he'd been distracted by her mouth that made him ask, "What about kissing?"
"Kissing?" Her gaze fell to his mouth.
"Kissing is important, isn't it?" The devil on his shoulder prodded him to move his chair next to hers. "Do you give lessons in that , too ?"
"No." She licked her lips. "Not normally."
"E ven in an emergency? "
" Is this an emergency? " she whispered.
His heart was racing like it was. He brushed her cheek and lifted her face. " Yes. "
He knew better, but he couldn't stop himself from closing the gap and lowering his lips to hers.
The kiss was the most erotic moment of his life. Valentine may have been prim and proper on the outside, but on the inside she was a love goddess. She gave herself to him, melting against him in a way that was so pure and uncalculated it made him want her more.
He ate at her, savoring her and her little mewling cries. He wasn't sure he'd have stopped if her phone hadn't rung.
She lifted her head. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips red and shiny. "I need to get that."
"Don't." He wanted more, and he leaned in to take it.
"Here." She slapped a card against his chest.
He stared at it, not sure where it'd come from. "What's this?"
"It's for a stylist." Valentine moved her chair away from him as she smoothed back her hair. " Before you growl at me, she's excellent. I've already talked to her. She's waiting for you. N ow. "
For some reason, he felt a deep disappointment in his chest. " You aren't going with me? " he finally asked.
" I have another client. "
Ethan pictured another guy touching her , kissing her, and he want ed to punch a wall. "You aren't giving your other client kissing lessons. Y o u aren't giving anyone kissing lessons."
"It's a she, and no, I'm not." She lifted her proper chin. "I'm sorry that got out of control. T h at was unprofessional of me. It won't happen again."
The hell it wouldn't. He glared at her as he got up to leave.
"Ethan?"
Hand on the doorknob, he turned around.
Valentine cleared her throat. "For the record, you don't need kissing lessons. That's one of the areas you excel at, obviously."
He was torn between charging back to kiss her again and running long and far away. Annoyed, frustrated, angry, and turned on beyond belief, he glared. "Next time, maybe I'll show you another thing I'm really good at."
She blushed as she realized what he meant, but—damn it all—she looked interested in finding out.
Let her wonder. He pushed the door open and walked outside. No way in hell was it going to happen. He assured himself of that all the way to the stylist.
If only he believed it.
Chapter Eight
Sophie leaned her forearms on the edge of the Jacuzzi, floating on her stomach. Her journal lay propped open on a towel, to protect it, and she tapped her pen against her lips. Something was wrong with her scene.
And she knew exactly what it was: In this scene, her heroine talked to the big-shot director remaking Gone with the Wind , asking him to consider casting her as Scarlett O'Hara, and he was less than
"I already know what type I want." The type with freckles, who plays dress-up, and was within grabbing distance.
"Then we can discuss that," she said in that prim, schoolteacher way that turned him on. "But first we need to assess your skills."
"Skills?" He was afraid to ask what that meant.
She nodded. "It's not hard to find people you'd be attracted to, but keeping them and developing a relationship require more work. So part of our matchmaking process is to determine which areas you excel in and give you lessons in the areas that you might not."
"What areas are we talking about?" he asked suspiciously.
"Usually things like clothing and grooming." She looked at his head but didn't say what she was obviously thinking. "And other things, like dating etiquette."
It must have been because he'd been distracted by her mouth that made him ask, "What about kissing?"
"Kissing?" Her gaze fell to his mouth.
"Kissing is important, isn't it?" The devil on his shoulder prodded him to move his chair next to hers. "Do you give lessons in that , too ?"
"No." She licked her lips. "Not normally."
"E ven in an emergency? "
" Is this an emergency? " she whispered.
His heart was racing like it was. He brushed her cheek and lifted her face. " Yes. "
He knew better, but he couldn't stop himself from closing the gap and lowering his lips to hers.
The kiss was the most erotic moment of his life. Valentine may have been prim and proper on the outside, but on the inside she was a love goddess. She gave herself to him, melting against him in a way that was so pure and uncalculated it made him want her more.
He ate at her, savoring her and her little mewling cries. He wasn't sure he'd have stopped if her phone hadn't rung.
She lifted her head. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips red and shiny. "I need to get that."
"Don't." He wanted more, and he leaned in to take it.
"Here." She slapped a card against his chest.
He stared at it, not sure where it'd come from. "What's this?"
"It's for a stylist." Valentine moved her chair away from him as she smoothed back her hair. " Before you growl at me, she's excellent. I've already talked to her. She's waiting for you. N ow. "
For some reason, he felt a deep disappointment in his chest. " You aren't going with me? " he finally asked.
" I have another client. "
Ethan pictured another guy touching her , kissing her, and he want ed to punch a wall. "You aren't giving your other client kissing lessons. Y o u aren't giving anyone kissing lessons."
"It's a she, and no, I'm not." She lifted her proper chin. "I'm sorry that got out of control. T h at was unprofessional of me. It won't happen again."
The hell it wouldn't. He glared at her as he got up to leave.
"Ethan?"
Hand on the doorknob, he turned around.
Valentine cleared her throat. "For the record, you don't need kissing lessons. That's one of the areas you excel at, obviously."
He was torn between charging back to kiss her again and running long and far away. Annoyed, frustrated, angry, and turned on beyond belief, he glared. "Next time, maybe I'll show you another thing I'm really good at."
She blushed as she realized what he meant, but—damn it all—she looked interested in finding out.
Let her wonder. He pushed the door open and walked outside. No way in hell was it going to happen. He assured himself of that all the way to the stylist.
If only he believed it.
Chapter Eight
Sophie leaned her forearms on the edge of the Jacuzzi, floating on her stomach. Her journal lay propped open on a towel, to protect it, and she tapped her pen against her lips. Something was wrong with her scene.
And she knew exactly what it was: In this scene, her heroine talked to the big-shot director remaking Gone with the Wind , asking him to consider casting her as Scarlett O'Hara, and he was less than
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