Page 52 of Miss Matched

There’s only one reasonable explanation: the software is broken.

My eyes drift down to my legs. The tiny pajama shorts leave little to the imagination. I err on the side of caution and throw on the sweater as I head back down the hall.

Tate is gone, and Zac has moved to the interior living room. He’s standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, glass of wine in hand, looking out over the city he might as well own. Seattle twinkles in front of him, painting him against a backdrop of artificial stars.

The sight freezes me in place. It’s the first time I’ve seen Zac not dressed for business, and it’s officially my new favorite look on him. A thin T-shirt clings to those thick shoulders, revealing every muscle on his back. Sweats that hug his ass perfectly and hang low on his hips.

I never understood how a woman could appreciate a man’s ass until this moment.

As I emerge from the hallway, my movements catch Zac’s attention. His eyes drop to my bare legs, and his lips turn up in a predatory grin that shoots tingles down my spine.

“I didn’t know billionaires owned sweatpants,” I say to him, trying to pretend I don’t notice the suggestion in his smile.

He shrugs and tucks his hands in his pockets, which pulls the fabric tight over a very large, very impressive bulge.

“I didn’t know cupid wore so many clothes?” He frowns at my sweater.

I grin and drop down onto the couch, enjoying how he watches my legs stretch out across the cushions.

“Mr. Vincent, you wouldn’t be trying to see me in just my underwear, would you?”

“That would be highly unprofessional.” He forces a stern expression that makes me giggle. “My matchmaker would not approve.”

I laugh. “No, she would not.”

I uncross my ankles and appreciate the bob in his Adam’s apple as I cross them again.

Zac’s eyes, normally bright green, darken to a deep shade of forest as he crosses the room toward me. He doesn’t sit on the other side of the couch. Instead, he stands in front of the cushion right next to mine and waits for me to pull my feet in to make room for him. When he sinks down, he grabs my ankles and stretches my legs over his lap in a move that is dangerously intimate.

“Thank you for everything you did tonight,” I say with a nervous smile.

“It was nothing.” He pats his hand on my leg. “What’s it worth to have everything if you can’t protect the people who matter.”

Protectme.

No one’s ever said those words, much less done it. The world didn’t protect me from the pain of losing my parents. The state didn’t protect me when they placed me in homes without confirming the foster family’s intentions. I’ve learned not to trust others with my protection. But looking in Zac’s eyes now, I know he means it. And I’ve never felt more vulnerable.

If there’s a line I’m not supposed to cross, I think I’ve lost it on the horizon. Somewhere back in that elevator, or in his guest room. And definitely on this couch. What’s black and white is now all messy gray, and when he rubs circles on my bare thighs with his thumbs, my vision fails me.

“Wine?” he asks, nodding to the open bottle on the coffee table.

A breathy “no, thanks” barely escapes my lips.

Who needs wine with Zac this close? Sandalwood and spice cloud my head. His fingers on my skin light a trail of fire directly to my center.

I squeeze my thighs tighter, as if that can stop the pressure building between them. As if it can slow the pulsing heat that climbs within me.

Our eyes are locked, and I’m not sure how long we’ve been staring, just that we are. And instead of looking at me, he dares to look in, his gaze wandering farther than I should let it.

For someone who has been with at least a few men—even if it’s been a while—I feel virgin in this moment, like no man has looked at me how Zac looks at me now. And no hands have wandered like his do on my skin. It’s like I’ve never really been touched, or felt, or heard, or seen. Like I’ve never been safe, until now.

And I don’t just want him.

I need him.

There is no line, no consequence. In Zac’s castle above the city, I forget that I’m supposed to be my own knight in shining armor. There is simply Zac, and me, and a thunderstorm of aching only his body can pacify.

His hardness twitches under my legs, and any resistance I have left falls away in that moment, because I need him with me. On me.In me. Everywhere.

I toss my legs from his lap, and he reads the need on my face. He wraps his arms around my center and pulls me over him in one sweep.

Ignoring the warning sirens blaring in my head, I straddle his lap, throw caution to the wind, and kiss him.

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