Matched

“So your company bankrolls ideas and software or software applications other people come up with and then you...what? How do you get back your initial investment?”

“We essentially buy into whatever the idea or product is and, in exchange for start-up funding, we become part owners in the new venture. If that venture is successful, my firm is paid something equivalent to dividends on that success.”

“So you help people get started and then ride their coattails indefinitely.” She gave him an innocent look that forewarned him that whatever came next would be sharp. Or clever. Perhaps both. “Sounds a bit like a high-end pyramid scheme.”

Both.

And it fascinated him. Here sat a woman who didn’t stroke his ego. A woman comfortable in her skin. A woman who knew her worth. He hadn’t experienced anyone like her before. Similar, but no one had ever possessed the entire package—the one that made up his perfect woman. But here she sat, wearing confidence like a cloak, sexuality like stilettos, and wielded her curiosity like a sword.

He would have to mind himself. Because by doing nothing more than being true to herself, Rachel Stephens threatened Isaac’s vow to get in and out of tonight’s social experiment without making a connection.

The alarm sounded, signaling they had just fifteen minutes before their time together reached its scheduled end.

Realization that this meeting was nearly over moved Isaac to act, something he never did without weighing the consequences, measuring pros and cons. Not now, though. Now? He had to admit he wasn’t ready to walk away from this woman, and he’d do whatever he had to do to ensure their time together wasn’t finished.

Not yet.

Whatever he did, he had to figure out what the hell was happening between them.

* * *

Anticipation hummed along every nerve in Rachel’s body, but the feeling was, without a doubt, most concentrated in the most inconvenient places. The back of her neck. Her breasts. The lowest part of her pelvis. Her entire sex. There was no denying that Isaac Miller scored one hundred percent when graded against the Mr. Right Now trifecta scorecard.

She could’ve added a few extra attributes—maybe humility or even... Oh, who cared. Nothing so mundane would really matter when it came down to brass tacks. Or silk sheets.

So, with fifteen minutes left in the evening, she had to admit that she had found a man who qualified as Mr. Right Now. And she owed herself a win.

That meant figuring out if Isaac was interested in her before the final bell rang and, if he was, how to get things to go down the path that ended with rumpled sheets and a little pillow talk prior to saying their farewells.

But before she could test the waters, he parked his elbows on the table and pressed his hands together, almost as if he was praying. Dark blue eyes that had been casually guarded all night were suddenly serious. “How confident are you in your poker face?”

“Very,” she replied without even a moment’s hesitation. “I’d be a pretty shitty lawyer if my face gave away everything I was thinking.”

“Do you consider yourself a good lawyer?”

“I do.” She offered no apology for her surety. Why should she? Then an idea struck. Scooting forward until she sat on the edge of her seat, she crossed her arms and placed them on the table. “What about you, Isaac? Are you any good at your job?”

“The best.”

She’d anticipated as much.

Putting her weight on her elbows, she decided to test the waters. “And how’s your poker face?” She spoke softly so that he’d have to either lean forward to hear her or ask her to speak up. Her gut said that if he was into her, he’d lean in. If he wasn’t, he’d ask her to repeat what she’d said.

He leaned in on the first word.

Score one for intuition.

“Also the best.”

“Are you willing to make a little wager, maybe see which one of us possesses the superior poker face?”

“Perhaps.” He blinked slowly, the heat in his gaze making her clench her thighs. And when he next spoke, she found herself leaning forward to hear him. “And how do you propose we do that?”

“A game.” God, was that breathy voice actually hers? “Seven-card stud. One round. Winner takes all.”

“What’s the prize?”

The urge to put herself out there overruled her common sense and any reservations she’d held on to up until that point. “One night.” She looked down, gauged her timing, then slowly looked up. Met his blazing gaze, licked her lips and lowered her voice even further. “Together. No strings. No regrets.”

His gaze locked on the bare skin of her thigh and lingered longer than could be deemed polite. She tapped the table and his attention snapped back to her.

“Deal.”

A sharp thrill coursed through her and she rose from her seat. Isaac reclined and hooked an arm over the chair back, looking up at her. “I don’t suppose you have a deck of cards handy, do you?”

“What, you don’t keep a set on hand for situations just like this?”

“My spare is in my other suit jacket.”

“Of course.” She swept low and retrieved her clutch and then, with all the casualness she could muster, she inclined her head toward the front door. “Shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

Her stomach somersaulted, rolling over and over before coming to a shaky halt. Thank God it was right side up.

This was the moment when she had to decide. Be bold and brazen, or reserved and, likely, peppered with regret come dawn.

“Bold,” she said so softly that Isaac’s attention focused on her mouth and he seemed to be trying to read her lips.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t hear you.”

Rachel closed her eyes, searched and found her emotional center and whispered a small promise to never again forget who she was, no matter what happened in the next thirty seconds.

She opened her eyes, held out her hand and said, “What do you say we get out of here and find a deck of cards?”

CHAPTER FIVE (#ue1954000-3f85-5123-8dac-b14d743b5e7c)

ISAAC IMPATIENTLY WAVED off his driver and opened the town car’s rear passenger door for Rachel. He jogged around to the other side and stopped for a moment, his hand resting on the door handle, to regain his composure. Getting his heart rate down into the normal range—a range it hadn’t visited during the last hour—wasn’t optional.

The woman flustered him, and he wasn’t sure whether he hungered for it or abhorred it.

She threatened his self-control like no one had before. Ever.

And she was as sexy as she was impulsive. Impulsiveness was, at best, difficult to predict. At worst? It was dangerous. And without being able to predict her actions and reactions, he was flying blind.

If the conversation with her had proven anything, it was that he didn’t have a solid grip on his reactions to her. For God’s sake, he’d smiled! Impulsively. He’d let himself relax in her company. She was a veritable stranger despite the forty-five minutes they’d spent together. And when he’d tried to withdraw, she’d followed him, leaning across the table and using that seductive voice of hers like a siren. Her offer of one night of unmitigated, irresponsible, unparalleled pleasure had scrambled his brain.

“Poker,” he said softly and shook his head, the urge to grin striking him again without warning.