Page 41 of Miss Matched

Another step forward.

Our plan is in motion.

So why does it leave a sinking feeling in the pit of my gut where excitement should live?

Kennedy nervously chews on her bottom lip, making me wonder how those perfectly pink lips would feel on mine. I wonder if they’d carry the same sharp bite her words do, or if they’d taste like the secret causing friction between us. She looks up but doesn’t say anything, and I wish I could read her mind, because something in her eyes tells me it’s spinning.

Lifting my hand to her face, I place a thumb on her chin and pull her lip out from between her teeth. It’s bright red and still dented from being chewed on.

“Zac, we can’t,” she says. But it’s more to herself than to me, because she moves closer, contradicting her words.

She surprises me by not pulling back, and her closeness brushes our arms against each other. The edge of a match strikes against my skin, sparking just enough to let me know we’re playing with fire.

“So, Cupid, got any more plans for those arrows?” I say, loving how her neck blushes when I call her that.

“Maybe.” She smiles, crossing her arms over her chest and running her hands up and down her arms like she’s cold or nervous. “Although I might need to polish up a few more, with all the dates you’ve been burning through.”

“Dates you send me on,” I remind her, and her expression sinks for a moment before she recovers.

“Just doing my job.” She smiles. “And yes, I’ve got a few more tricks up my sleeve.”

“Now I’m nervous,” I tell her. “Didn’t they teach you in school not to play with sharp objects?”

She lifts up a bit more and leans so her mouth is slanted beneath mine. “I don’t play with anything. I handle them.”

Every drop of blood in my body moves downward, and I have to aim my hips away from her before she feels exactly what she’s doing to me.

With a sharp breath, I know this is it. There’s want spilling off of me. I lean in just as a hand plants on my back.

“Remember that, Zac?” Ryan yells from behind me. It’s followed by an “Oh, shit, sorry,” as he reads the scene and ducks away.

I’m going to murder him later.

It’s enough to pull us both back to reality. Kennedy pulls away, and I tuck my hands in my pockets like a line of defense. She darts toward Monica, and I watch her go, slipping away as if it will help.

Kennedy is everywhere. Tangled in the fate of my business, renting space in my head, spreading fire on my skin.

This woman is all-consuming. Messy, wild, complicated, and I can’t get enough of it.

She’s Helen of Troy, Aphrodite—

Cupid.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

Because I’ve hired her to find me a wife, but all I seem to want is Kennedy in my bed.

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