Under His Touch. Cathryn Fox
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before I can answer—and I have no idea how to respond—she blinks up at me. “Does eye color matter?”
I finish my coffee and check the time. If I’m going to have a nice girl in my home, her appearance at least must be the antithesis of Megan’s. Otherwise the daily reminder of what I want and can never have would drive me over the edge. “No, but I do prefer blue.”
I watch her throat work as she swallows, and my insides twist. Jesus, that sad look she’s trying to hide is ripping me wide-open. Hurting her is the last thing I want to do. But it’s also killing me that she looks at me with distaste. Maybe I should put a stop to this. End it now before we go any further.
“Megan,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Look at me,” I command in a soft whisper. Her eyes slowly lift, lock on mine, and as she stares, a bolt of need grips my chest. I fight it down and ask, “Do you really want to do this? We have a history.”
She takes one deep breath, lets it out slowly and lowers her pen. “And that’s exactly what it is, a history.” The chirpiness is her voice contrasts the visible pain in her eyes. “It’s all in the past, where it needs to stay. We’re both adults and both professionals and it comes down to this—you’re not the only one getting something out of this. You see, Alec, once I find you a wife and throw you the best damn wedding Manhattan has ever seen, I’ll be the talk of the town. It will get my business off the ground in a crowded market and skyrocket me into prominence.”
“I guess we’re both doing this to get ahead, then?” I say.
Her brows knit together. “When you put it that way.” She casts her eyes downward for a second. “Looks like we’re not so different after all. I’m scratching your back and you’re scratching mine, so to speak.”
“Tit for tat.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, my gaze once again goes down to take in the curve of her breasts. I catch a hint of white lace, and my dick thickens. I want her. I’ve always wanted her. But am I going to do anything about it? No fucking way. Being around her might just kill me, and I’m going to need a drink, or an entire bottle, by the time we’re done here. Because now that I know what’s in it for her, I can’t walk away and find another event planner. I clear my throat. “Is there anything else you want to know?”
She instantly switches back into professional mode and pulls a laptop from her bag. She sets it between us and boots it up. “Are there any particular dating sites you prefer?”
“Never been on one.”
She clicks a few buttons. “I’ve not had much luck myself—”
“You use dating sites?” Why the hell would a woman like Megan need to use a dating site? She must have men falling at her feet.
“I have in the past,” she admits.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, and glance at the barista, anything to keep my mind off Megan in bed with another man. I have no hold on her. She can date any guy she likes, but goddammit, the thought of any man’s hands but mine on her still bothers me. Eight years later.
“I see the ads for that Match Made in Heaven site all the time,” I say. “Should we try that?”
“It’s a good jumping-off point. If we don’t get any matches, we can set you up elsewhere. Although I’m sure you’ll have a million matches in the first hour.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Look at you,” she blurts out. Her gaze moves from my chest to my face. “Ah, I mean, you’re not bad to look at, and you’re successful. All we need is a catchy bio. Let’s have a look at it, see what other criteria I might need before I set you up.” She points to the seat beside her. “Why don’t you sit here, so we can look at the screen together.”
“Coffee first. We might be here for a while. Do you want something?”
Her gaze slides to her empty cup. “I guess I’ll have another mocha latte.”
She reaches for her purse, but I hold my hand up to stop her. “I got it,” I say and walk away, needing a moment to pull myself together before I sit close to her.
I order our drinks, and as the barista makes them, I grab a lemon-filled doughnut and a piece of cheesecake. I press my Apple Watch to the payment terminal and hold until it vibrates. After the charge goes through, I carry the sweets to our table.
She shakes her head. “I didn’t want—”
“They’re for me. I came here straight from the gym and I’m starving. The barista will bring our coffee over.”
I lower myself into the seat next to her, and her sweet scent reaches my nose. I devour her with my eyes and throw up a silent prayer. Sweet mother of God, give me strength. Her gaze goes from the pastries, to my fork. Her eyes narrow in on the silverware, and her fingers curls into fists.
“You got something against my fork?” I ask.
“No.” She shakes her head as if to clear it. “I was just remembering my mom’s Philly cheesecake,” she adds, and I get the sense she’s redirecting the conversation. “Best in the world, and that’s not a very healthy choice for after the gym,” she says.
I grin at her. “Yeah, I know, Mom.”
“Not funny,” she says, and crinkles her nose, those cute freckles bunching together.
“I know but remember when we used to go to my place after school and raid the fridge before dinner. Mom used to—”
“Chase us into your bedroom with her broom, warning we were going to ruin our appetites,” she pipes in, finishing my sentence, much like we used to do years ago. “But we were always hungry back then.”
We both laugh, but it sizzles out fast, the space between us going perfectly quiet.
“Yeah,” I say after a moment, breaking the silence.
“Yeah,” she repeats, and then angles her head to glance at my clothes as the barista delivers the coffee. “You put a suit on after the gym?”
“Mmm-hmm.” I pick up the doughnut and take a big bite. “Damn, that’s good.”
“Do you always wear a suit? Everywhere?”
“Yes, always. Except in the gym, the shower or in bed.” I wink at her. “I like casual sex, and wearing a suit to bed just makes it formal,” I say and wonder what the fuck I’m doing. I shouldn’t be teasing her, flirting with her.
Her cheeks darken. “Well, some dates will be more casual than others. What if you go skydiving, or to the movies, or even a romantic hansom cab ride around Central Park?”
“When was the last time you took a horse ride around Central Park?” I ask.
“Ah, well. Never. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, but I’m not dating right now, and we’re talking about you, not me.”
A thrill I don’t want to feel races through me. “Are you trying to say you want to dress me, Megan?”
“If that’s what it takes to find you a wife, then yes. I want complete control.”
Megan in bed, completely in control. Yeah, that visual is helping my cock. I take another bite of the doughnut and moan as I hold it out to her. “Try it.”
She stares at it for a moment, and her mouth goes slack. “It does look good.”
“It is good.”
I hold it closer and she bites into it. Her lids close and lemon oozes from the doughnut as powdered sugar gets all over her face and nose.
I chuckle. “You always were a messy eater.” I reach out, brush my thumb over her cheek.
She draws in a fast breath, and my hand freezes. Jesus, how