Page 16 of Catching Mr. Right

“What?” Mandy stills over my shoulder. “Did you mean that?”

I don’t answer her immediately. I wait until we’ve turned a corner and we’re out of sight of Summer. Then I slide her down my chest. Part of me wishes I meant it. Especially when she’s staring at me with those huge, unguarded eyes that hold no secrets. That part wishes I could take her to bed, but it’s also the part of me that has no say at all. Her hair is silky between my fingers, and then against my palm as I push it back behind her ear and clear my throat. “How about we grab some dinner and then we’ll talk?”

“Okay.” She smiles. “What do you want to eat?”

We end up with Mexican takeout that we eat on a seat in the park near the lake. Tacos, quesadillas, and guacamole and corn chips. We open the containers between us and share. Chewing on a mouthful of tortilla sandwiched chicken, she grins, but it’s light-hearted. “I’ve been thinking, and I don’t believe for one second you think you’re my dream man.”

“That’s good.” I rest my arm along the back of the park bench. “What brought you to that conclusion?”

“Your mouth.”

“My mouth?”

“Maybe it takes one to know one.” She shrugs, contemplating the food in her hand. “We’re similar, you and I. In the two weeks I’ve worked with you, I don’t believe you’ve held back your opinion once.”

“It’s not in my nature,” I agree. “Pussy footing around issues is a waste of time as far as I’m concerned. But mostly I don’t give a fuck what others think of me.”

“It’s not in my personality either. So I’m pretty sure we both know that despite you kissing me this afternoon we don’t even like each other, right?”

“Eh, you’re not so bad.” I grin. “For an almost useless bit of fluff. You’re growing on me.”

“And you’re not terrible, right at the moment, either. But not enough for me to want to kiss you again without really good cause.”

“Great,” I say, leaning toward her. I can practically taste her mouth. It would be easy to say to hell with it and kiss her, but beginning something I have no intention of continuing would be unwise. “Because I am going to help you land that man you want.”

“What?” She blinks and brings her gaze to mine. “Why would you do that? Sam doesn’t even like me.”

Because you’ll be out of my hair and I won’t have to worry about the fact that my dick hardens every time I cop an eyeful of your ass. “He does. He just doesn’t know it.”

“Do you really believe that? He was pretty adamant about the age difference between us, which probably means he thinks I look like a kid and not a woman. He probably isn’t attracted to me at all. I have nothing to work with.” She wiggles where she sits and clasps her hands together in her lap.

“I think he couldn’t manage to keep his eyes off you that night at Mayhem. And even if he is behaving like he believes the ageist bullshit he’s told you, he won’t be able to keep it up forever. No doubt he’s already fantasizing about the things he wants to do with you.”

“Really, he’s masturbated over me? That’s so…” She bites her lip with a little intake of breath.

Christ. I need to pull the conversation back to safer ground. “It means he’s already thinking about you naked. Now we need to make it impossible for him not to act by making him jealous.”

“And how are we going to do that?” She cocks her head and studies me in an owlish manner.

“We’re going to make him think you’re getting fucked elsewhere.”

“You?” she asks on a sharp intake of breath.

“Yep.” I nod, dropping my fingers to the ends of some of that silken hair.

“And me?” She jabs her finger right between her tits. “Fucking?”

“Pretending to fuck,” I amend, ignoring the hardness of my erection pressing against my zipper.

“Well clearly we aren’t really going to have sex.” She purses her mouth and taps a finger against her lip before she laughs. “We’re going to make him so jealous he can’t stand it.”

“That’s the plan.”

With a squeal, she throws her arms around my neck and presses her tits up against my chest, food be damned. “Thanks, Cas. You’re the best.”

“Okay, okay.” I let her hold onto me a minute too long, because it feels so damn good to have her there. Then I disentangle her arms from my neck and press her back. “I need to head back to the ranch. How about I walk you home?”

“Can we grab ice cream on the way?” She stands and starts gathering the empty containers and packets. “My treat.”

“Sure.” I take the trash from her and dump it in the trashcan. “Let’s go do that.” And then we’ll get to work on this fucked up plan I concocted. It’s supposed to keep her out of my hair. Why do I have the feeling I may have just made things worse for myself?

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