Page 31 of Calling on the Matchmaker
Someone so special needed a woman who was equally special. And that woman was not her.
She glanced out the door to the entryway hallway. No one was in sight. She needed to put her ploys into effect beforeRiley left for the evening. She didn’t want him feeling close to her after their talking. She needed to push him away. And to do so, she had to move their relationship too quickly beyond the friendship he wanted to establish.
Hesitating but a moment longer, she stood, stuffed a hand into her pocket, and fingered the list that Madigan had brought home for her.
No kissing. No holding hands. No hugging. No running fingers up chest or arms. No massaging shoulders. No caressing of face. No combing fingers through hair. Basically, no physical contact.
But just thinking about the list again and all the things that were forbidden sent a tremor through her insides, one that made her want to try out each of the items, but not merely because Riley was against them.
Yet how could she when she had no experience enticing men? In spite of having twelve suitors over the past two years, she’d never done anything on Riley’s list—except hug one time. She’d never purposefully stroked or kissed or hugged or massaged or any of the other things.
She had the sudden need to stop and fan herself. Instead, she approached Riley and didn’t halt until she was standing right behind him. She hesitated a moment, then forced herself to do the deed. She skimmed a hand up the back of his vest, his coat discarded on the settee.
His muscles were unyielding beneath her touch, his body stiff, his shoulders straight. But he didn’t resist, at least not yet.
Another tremor rippled through her, this one more delicious, giving her a burst of courage. She slid both arms around his middle so that her chest pressed into his back.
At the contact, he inhaled sharply.
Was she bothering him already?
She laid her head against him and tightened her hold.
He didn’t move, likely didn’t know what to think of her boldness. Perhaps he assumed she was comforting him after the heartache he’d shared. And aye, she did want to comfort him. But more than that, she wanted to end the match.
Drawing in a fortifying breath, she loosened her hands and skimmed one up his stomach until she reached his ribs. His muscles flexed beneath her touch—out of protest?
No doubt, any second he would turn her around, reprimand her, and tell her she was too forward for a man like him.
She grazed her other hand upward over his ribs and then back down. Except for another quick intake, he didn’t move.
Her cheek rested against the silk of his vest, and she breathed in the faint spicy musk of his cologne. The warmth of his back, the hardness of his body, the rise and fall of his chest. Everything about him was powerful at this proximity.
For a reason she didn’t understand, she simply wanted to bask in his nearness—and savor the pleasure twisting within her. But she made herself continue the charade, which was suddenly all too easy to do. Her fingers had gained a mind of their own and glided up one of his arms, starting at his wrist, his forearm, and then his bicep. Though his shirt formed a barrier, she could feel him tense the higher she went.
He was getting upset and would thrust her aside at any moment. If only the contact with him wasn’t having such an enticing effect on her. She hadn’t expected this reaction, but she couldn’t deny that Riley Rafferty was a desirable man on so many different levels, including physically.
As she slid her hand to his shoulder, she waited for him to pull away, to put her at arm’s length, and then to chastise her for being wanton. Because that’s what she was doing, wasn’t she? Being wanton.
Ach. She was taking this all too far. In fact, she shouldn’t have even started this physical contact, shouldn’t have considered it. What she should have done instead was send Madiganback to Riley’s sister to get a different list, one that was simpler and easier.
With a huff of frustration, she released her hold on Riley and turned away, but in the next instant, he snagged one of her arms and pivoted her around so they were now facing each other.
His eyelids were lowered halfway. His wavy hair was tossed back rakishly. And his jaw was taut, his muscles rippling there. Why did he have to look so appealing?
“Finola Shanahan.” His voice rumbled and made her stomach flip-flop. “Do you want to explain yourself and what you were just doing?”
“I intended to comfort you.”
“Did you now?” His hands settled on her hips, sending her stomach into a whole series of flips. Before she could gain her balance, he drew her flush so suddenly that she toppled against him.
She grabbed on to both biceps, planning to push herself back. She needed to walk away. But as the muscular length of his torso pressed against her, heated longing swelled rapidly inside and surged along her nerve endings so that she didn’t want to back away—couldn’t back away.
The blue of his eyes was so dark it rivaled a deep, bottomless well. Was he angry at her for initiating the contact? If so, why was he holding her?
“Comfort?” His whisper was almost accusatory. “Is that all?”
She was one tiny step away from severing her relationship with him. All she had to do was stand on her toes and press her lips against his. He wouldn’t be expecting it. And such a kiss would prove to him once and for all that she wasn’t the woman for him.
