Match Me If You Can (Chicago Stars #6)(27)

She’d just described his dream childhood. Fragments of memory swept over him. His father’s drunken voice…Pull your head out of that goddamned book and go buy me some cigarettes. Cockroaches scrambling under the refrigerator, leaky pipes dripping rusty water on the linoleum. The scent of Lysol—a good memory—when one of the old man’s girlfriends tried to clean up the place, and then the inevitable bang of that warped metal door when she’d storm out.

Annabelle chased her remaining scallop to the edge of the plate and looked up at him. “I really think you’ll like Rachel.”

“I like Gwen.”

“That’s because she refused you. The two of you had no chemistry.”

“You’re so wrong. There was definite chemistry.”

“I don’t get why you need a wife right now. You have Bodie, you have assistants, and you can hire a housekeeper to handle all those impromptu dinner parties. As for having kids…It’s hard to raise them with a cell phone super glued to your ear.”

It was long past time to put Tinker Bell in her place. He settled back in his chair and let his eyes drift to her breasts. “You left out sex.”

She took a few seconds too long to respond. “You can hire that, too.”

“Honey,” he drawled, “I’ve never had to pay for sex in my life.”

She flushed, and he thought he finally had her where he wanted her, only to watch that small nose shoot into the air. “Which merely points out how desperate some women can be.”

“Speaking personally?”

“Raoul’s opinion. My lover. He’s very insightful.”

He grinned, and right then it occurred to him that he hadn’t enjoyed himself so much with a woman in a very long time. If Annabelle Granger were a few inches taller, a hell of a lot more sophisticated, better organized, less bossy, and more inclined to worship at his feet, she’d have made a perfect wife.





Chapter Six




Someone took the seat next to Heath in the first-class cabin, but he was too preoccupied with the spreadsheet he’d pulled up on his laptop to pay attention. It wasn’t until the flight attendant called for electronic devices to be shut off that he grew conscious of a dark, subtle perfume. He lifted his head and found himself looking into a set of intelligent blue eyes. “Portia?”

“Good morning, Heath.” She leaned against the headrest. “How in the world do you cope with these early morning flights?”

“You get used to it.”

“I’ll pretend to believe you.”

She was wearing some kind of a silky lilac wrap dress, slim and sleeveless, with a purple cardigan knotted around her shoulders and a silver chain at her neck studded with three bezel-set diamonds. She was a beautiful woman, cultured and accomplished, and he liked doing business with her, but he didn’t find her sexy. She was too carefully put together, too aggressive. Pretty much a female version of himself. “What takes you to Tampa?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Not the weather, that’s for sure. It’s going to be ninety-three degrees there today.”

“Is it?” Heath paid no attention to any weather that didn’t affect the outcome of a game.

She gave him a smile designed to charm. It might have worked if he didn’t own a similar smile that he used for exactly the same purpose. “After your phone call last night, I decided we needed to evaluate where we are and see what adjustments we should make. I promise I won’t talk your head off the entire flight. Nothing is more annoying than being trapped on a plane with someone who won’t shut up.”

If he had to be cooped up on a plane with one of his matchmakers, he would have preferred Tinker Bell. He could have bullied her into leaving him alone. Portia’s appearance this morning had nothing to do with a sudden urge to visit Tampa. He’d explained the new arrangement to her over the phone last night then hung up while she was still in shock. Obviously, she’d recovered.

She contented herself with general chitchat until they were in the air, but once the breakfast service started she began working her way to the point. “Melanie really enjoyed meeting you. More than enjoyed. I do believe she has a bit of a crush on you.”

“I hope not. Nice person, but I didn’t feel any real connection with her.”

“You were only together for twenty minutes.” She gave him the identical sympathetic smile he used when a client was being difficult. “I understand exactly where you’re coming from, but the time limit you’ve set is a bit of a problem. I’ve been in this business long enough to recognize when two people need to give themselves a second chance, and I think you and Melanie qualify.”

“Sorry, but it’s not going to happen.”

Her forehead remained smooth, her expression composed. “This won’t work, you know.” She toyed with the yogurt carton on her fruit plate. “I never put down the competition, especially when it’s a tiny operation like Marriages by Myrna. It smacks too much of bullying. But—”

“Perfect for You.”

“What?”

“She calls it Perfect for You, not Marriages by Myrna.” He couldn’t imagine why he felt the need to clarify this, but somehow it seemed necessary.

“A wise decision,” Portia replied, with only a whiff of condescension. “But let me just say this. I resent the way people think a trip to Kinko’s to get business cards printed up is all it takes to be a matchmaker. But then, as a sports agent, you know exactly what I mean.”