The Billionaire's Matchmaker(32)

…

Two hours later, she sneaked into her house through the kitchen door, not entirely clear why she felt guilty. Not only had the sex been great but they were clearly very good at it. Sure, he’d gotten her to go beyond a few of her inhibitions, but who really needed inhibitions?

She tiptoed to the sink and lowered her crockpot inside. When she turned away, Charlie was at her feet, wagging his tail.

“Don’t be so thrilled. We didn’t talk, and I didn’t care. I really might only want sex from this guy. And what does that make me?”


Guilty and confused?

Or sated and happy?

Really? Was she allowed to be sated and happy over a one-night stand?

Because that’s all this was. A one-night stand. They might not have talked much tonight, but he’d made himself abundantly clear. He didn’t want a relationship.





Chapter Five



Though the following afternoon was just as boring as the two days before had been, Marney forced herself to stay at the shop. She hadn’t just made love with Dell O’Neil on a misconception. She’d done it three times the day before at his house.

And kissed him passionately at his door.

Because he was gorgeous and an excellent lover—but she hadn’t made a conscious decision. He’d sort of taken the decision out of her hands by seducing her…because she’d made soup.

So, no soup tonight. No fettuccini. No nothing. She was getting back her bearings.

She locked the shop door at her usual five-thirty quitting time, then drove home determined not to be embarrassed that she’d slept with a man she barely knew and equally determined not to be glad she’d slept with him. Even if she only wanted him for a lover, she should know him.

Tossing her keys on the hall table, she made her way to the stairway, strode to her bedroom, and changed out of her purple pantsuit into threadbare jeans and a ripped pink T-shirt. These were not clothes to be seen in public. They were laundry day clothes. That would keep her home.

Satisfied she’d gotten her wits back, she jogged down the stairs. Just as she hit the last step, her doorbell rang.

Remembering it was about time for the piece of art she’d ordered at the Heart Association fund raiser to be delivered, she swung open the door, and there stood Dell, dressed the same way she was, in jeans and a scruffy T-shirt. The weather had warmed, and even though the sun had gone down, he didn’t need a jacket. Sweet spring air wafted into her foyer.

He gave her a hopeful look and held out the pot in his hands. “I made soup.”

Soup.

Heat enveloped her, a need so sharp and sweet, she swayed.

Still, she told herself to behave. To get her dignity back. “I hope soup hasn’t become our code word for sex.”

He laughed. “No. Actually, it’s apology soup.”

“Apology from Dell O’Neil?”

“We had such a…good time…yesterday that it didn’t dawn on me until this morning that the way I handled our miscommunication wasn’t exactly gentlemanly.”

She remembered every detail of how he’d “handled” things the night before, and she swallowed. Her gaze rose to meet his. “I didn’t exactly correct you.”

He displayed the pot again. “So, apology soup?”

She laughed. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

…

Dell forced himself not to breathe a sigh of relief until she turned to lead him to her kitchen. Then he let it out in a slow stream of air.

He really had misinterpreted her gesture the night before, but the second time they’d had sex he couldn’t plead that excuse. The third time…well, what could he say? They were good at it. But tonight would be different.

Not that he didn’t want to have sex with her again. He just wanted it to be her idea this time so he’d know for sure she was okay with it.

She patted her granite countertop as she passed it. “Put the soup here.” Then she reached into a cupboard and retrieved bowls. Setting them on the countertop by the pot of soup, she said, “I have beer, if you want one.”

He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets because he itched to touch her. She’d been gorgeous at the gala in the red dress, adorable in her jeans and sweater the night before. But casual, in a T-shirt with a few holes and jeans so well worn they caressed her ass, she made his mouth water.

She handed him a beer. He pulled one of his hands out of his pocket so he could take it.

“Want to eat here or on the couch?”

The couch had definitely gotten them into trouble the night before. He pointed at the tall chairs by the counter on which the soup sat. “Right here is good.”

She ladled out the chicken noodle soup and set a bowl in front of him before she ladled a bowl for herself. She took the seat across the counter from him and heat crawled up his neck. She wouldn’t even sit by him. He really had gone too far too fast the night before.

She took a bite of soup and groaned. “This is fantastic. Why didn’t you tell me you could cook?”

“I can’t. I got the soup from my mother. Her housekeeper is a gem.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You went to Chicago today?”

“It was my day off.”

Her lips quirked a little. “I can’t say I’m not glad.” She smiled. “So this means we can talk about your other life?”