Page 95 of Miss Matched

Another auction? I’m certain that was the last of them. I mentally run through the list that I approved yesterday.

“To close out this evening, I’d like to welcome to the stage the beautiful, oh-so-single, our very own matchmaker, Kennedy James!”

I think there’s applause, but I can’t hear anything over my heart beating between my temples. A light aims at me, and my pulse starts to race. I look over at Luce and Monica, who aren’t at all surprised as they nudge me out of my chair.

My feet must take me to the stage because I reach it, heart hammering in my head. Covering the microphone with my hand, I lean toward Sam.

“You didn’t run this by me,” I say, holding my forced smile.

“Have a little fun, Kenz.” He grins. “Besides, it’s for charity.”

“You’re fired,” I whisper, but he just laughs.

I plaster a giant smile on my face and turn to the crowd. For charity, I can do this. After all, it’s just a date, and, like Sam mentioned, I’m so single it hurts.

Sam smiles and starts the bidding.

“One thousand dollars for an evening of dancing with this beautiful lady.”

Hands shoot up, and the prices jump fast—from one to ten thousand in three bids.

Chad throws out twenty grand, which makes me cringe. I swear, if he wins, I’ll run for the hills.

I hear twenty-two thousand in the back. Twenty-three to the right. Thirty in the middle. Climbing, climbing. Too fast to put faces to the numbers. And suddenly it’s more than just this scrap of a dress that has me exposed. It’s the room, the lights, the people. The idea I’ll be on a date with a man, and it won’t be with the only one I want.

“Five hundred thousand.”

I refocus. That voice slices straight to my core. My body hums as I turn to face him.

Zac stands with his hip pressed against a table, his hands casually tucked into his slacks, his face sharp with confidence. How is it possible he’s more gorgeous tonight than my memory of him? A few days of stubble on his jaw, intentionally tousled hair, and those deep green eyes that beckon me toward him.

“Five hundred thousand,” Sam repeats, reminding me there are other people in the room besides me and Zac. “Going once, going twice.”

Zac doesn’t take his eyes off me. They feel like invisible hands reaching out, and my body craves his touch.

“And the winning bid goes to Mr. Vincent,” Sam says to a roomful of clapping. He tips his face to my ear. “Go get him, heartbreaker.”

Zac walks forward, and as if his body were a magnet, I cross the stage toward him, taking his hand as he helps me down the few stairs. He guides me, planting his palm on the exposed skin of my lower back. I’m not sure how my knees don’t cave, but I hate that my body betrays me while my mind tries to catch up.

“What are you doing here?” I spin toward him when we finally reach an empty corner.

“It’s nice to see you too.” He smiles, and my traitorous heart flutters.

I roll my shoulders back and stand tall, but damn if looking in those squinted green eyes doesn’t make my iron will cave.

“I saw the announcement about your new project,” I say flatly. “I guess congratulations are in order.”

“I’m not here to talk about business.”

I fold my arms over my chest, trying to appear firm, but really, I’m afraid if I don’t, my insides are going to spill out all over him.

“Oh, really? I thought that’s what we were,” I say. “Business.”

His smile darkens as he steps in closer, giving me a hint of his spicy cologne. The fraction of space between our bodies isn’t enough, and I’m positive he can feel my skin radiating heat out toward him.

My gaze dips to his lips. So close. I could tip up on my toes and press mine to them. I miss his touch, his taste, how his body exhales and mine instinctively inhales with it.

But he walked away, and if I let him slip back in, I’m not sure I’ll ever recover.

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