The Right Swipe (Modern Love, #1)(6)

Helena took a step closer and Samson knew what was coming after the second word. People had a very specific careful tone of voice they used when addressing the grieving. “I was so sorry to hear about your uncle. Please accept my condolences.”

The shaft of pain was fresh. Uncle Joe had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s nine years ago, and Samson had moved in with him. The older man had been hit with another diagnosis, ALS, five years ago, and Samson had officially become his full-time caretaker.

He’d known that his uncle would one day die, that there was no cure for what he’d had. But the end had still stunned Samson. “Thank you for your sympathy. I appreciate—” A flash of black and red in the corner of his eye had him swiveling his head, hope and desire brimming up inside him, his resolve to focus on business vanishing.

The woman had her back to him as she walked briskly toward a door with a neon Exit sign above it, but he knew it was her.

“Can you excuse me?” he murmured to Helena, his body already turning away.

“Of course. See you tomorrow.”

As if she felt him stalking her, the woman glanced over her shoulder when she got to the exit, and though the ballroom was crowded, he could see no one but her. He smiled at her, so thrilled and relieved, but then he stopped dead in his tracks. Her lovely face was no longer expressionless.

Oh, no. Here was an expression.

Fury.

She was mad. Wildly, incandescently mad.

Guilt rammed into him with all the force of a Mack truck. Yeah, she was mad. She had every right to be, didn’t she?

He’d only been on Crush for a day when they’d matched. His well-meaning friends had pressured him to sign up, and her sunlit bikini-clad body in her profile picture had dissolved his wariness. She’d made it clear when she’d sat down across from him in that bar what she wanted. I’m in town for a couple days. You’re hot. We can have fun for a night.

It had been more than fun. Sliding inside her had been damned near a religious experience. He could still hear her moans and sighs in his ear as he’d stripped her jeans and sweatshirt and faded Metallica T-shirt off. And beyond the sex, he’d been intrigued. By her beauty, her secrets, her clear intelligence and subtle arrogance.

So he’d dared to ask for another night, got her to agree. He’d left her place that morning feeling a connection that he’d missed for so long, that bone-deep comfort that came from holding another human close.

And then he’d gone to his home, the house he’d shared with Joe. His uncle had started gasping for air around midday.

He’d forgotten all about their second date in his bedside vigil, his world narrowed to his dying uncle. His grief and sense of loss had been so all-consuming, he’d only remembered their date days later, after Uncle Joe had passed away.

When he’d fired up his app in a panic to message her, he’d discovered she’d already unmatched him.

Her lip curled up in a sneer, and he frowned. She should be mad at him, yes, but he could explain. He opened his mouth, her name falling from his lips, though he knew she was too far away to hear it. “Claire—”

She turned away and a large man stopped in front of him, blocking his view of her. “The Lima Charm, I can’t believe—”

“Sorry, I’m trying to catch someone,” Samson said hastily and swerved around the man, mentally cursing when he realized the door was slowly closing behind his girl.

No. He didn’t want to lose her again. He moved faster, shoving the door open and walking out. He looked one way, then the other, but the empty service hallway gave him no clues. He guessed and turned left, almost running down a bellhop who gave him an annoyed look. He apologized and started jogging, but when he came to a dead end, he cursed.

Damn it.

“Samson?”

Samson pivoted. If there had been more witnesses, he might have been ashamed of the yelp that fell from his lips at the sight of the small woman dressed all in black behind him.

Like, really, all in black, from the tips of her black satin heels to the small veil that covered her eyes. He bent his knees and peered under the veil, pressing a hand over his racing heart. “Aunt Belle?”

“Oh yes.” She pushed up the veil, round blue eyes gazing up at him. “It’s me.”

Samson softened. His aunt had been eccentric for as long as he’d known her, which was as long as he could remember. She and Uncle Joe had started dating before he was born. She was the reason he existed; she had, in fact, matchmade his parents.

Aunt Belle was both intensely private and adored attention, depending on the size of the audience, her general mood, and the position of the stars. “Why are you dressed like . . .” Like a ghost attending your rich ex-husband’s wedding to his much younger wife? “Like that?”

Aunt Belle petted her hat. “I wanted to watch the crowd’s reaction to you, incognito. They loved you! How exciting.”

Samson had no doubt people had noticed her more dressed like this than they otherwise would have, but he wasn’t about to upset her by telling her that. “Ah, I see.”

“I noticed you running out here. Is something wrong?”

“I was trying to find a woman. Did you see her? She left right before I did. About this tall.” He placed his hand at his collarbone. “Black, beautiful, hair all pinned up, dressed in a red”—he gestured to the length of his body, unsure of what to call it—“one-piece thingy.” He glanced around the deserted hallway again, like it would yield clues as to where Claire had gone.