He opened his mouth to remark that was surprising, considering the agony she’d put him in, but what he said was, “Do I frighten you?”
A crease appeared in her ordinarily smooth, flawless forehead. “Many times you have.”
The thought had occurred to him before. But since she knew he posed no threat to her while they were on assignment, he’d dismissed the notion. She’d often seemed appalled by him, surely exasperated, but never truly afraid.
“I would never hurt you,” he said, and meant it completely.
“Well, you can’t, not while—”
“I wouldn’t. Ever. Hurt you.”
She was trembling against him. One touch, he told himself, that was all. He dropped his hand to her thigh, slid it upward, felt the firmness of the muscle beneath the silky fabric of her robes. Her head lolled back and she pushed her hips toward him with exquisite abandon. His thumb brushed the juncture of her thighs through the material, and a tiny cry escaped her swollen lips. The slim white column of her throat bared to him so fully, so trustingly, was too much to resist, and he dragged his mouth down the creamy expanse as his hand sought entrance under her garment.
She stiffened as he gained it, every muscle tight and on alert, but she didn’t pull away. Didn’t stop him. Only gave the most seductive moan he’d ever heard as his fingertips found soft, hot, welcoming wetness—
A sudden sound from the house broke the spell. Celeste jerked away from him, scrambling backwards as if fleeing a venomous snake about to strike. She jumped to her feet, still exhibiting a grace that made him think of an offended feline, and quickly smoothed her robes down with several swipes of her hands.
He sat, forlorn and grudgingly devastated, while she looked down at herself as if just now realizing she could move again instead of only rolling on the ground in agony.
“It worked,” she said wonderingly.
Oh, yes, it worked. It had worked all too well. The dark energy he’d pulled into himself was still boiling, turning his thoughts red. He was so hard the only image his mind could conjure was taking her back to the ground and shoving his aching cock as deep inside her as he could get it. Feverishly he wondered if she would arch against him with the same liquid fluidity with which she moved. If her voice would carry its usual sweet lilt when he finally made her cry out his name. Or, even better, would he evoke such fierce, violent reactions in her that she might sound almost as savage as he knew he would?
It was the only relief he could imagine—fucking her until all those centuries of lust were out of his system for good.
And that might take a while.
Now, he managed to compress all that hunger, all that desperation. He beat it into submission and smoothed it over with one carefully controlled utterance. “I told you.”
“Thank you. That was…unexpected.”
“That I kept my word? Or that you liked it?”
Her lips parted as if she meant to snap an automatic retort, then she closed them again. She wouldn’t want to lie, after all. What came out of her mouth then wasn’t what he’d anticipated.
“Will you…give me some time alone with Adam?”
Frowning, he got to his feet. He’d had enough of her looking down on him. “Why?”
“Please do this for me. Leave him alone for the next few hours, that’s all I ask.”
She was striving for normalcy, apparently wanting to pretend she hadn’t just had his fingers between her legs, so he matched her. “You know, doing all of these favors for you is getting a trifle exhausting.”
“What favors? Everything you offer is wrapped up in your own selfish motivations. This is the first true favor I’ve asked of you.”
What could she be plotting? He waved a hand and sighed. “Fine. I don’t see what it can possibly hurt, so go on. I don’t care.”
“Thank you.” Eagerly, she turned as if to run away, then whirled back to face him. “Again.”
“I’m giving you two hours,” he said crossly, annoyed by her enthusiasm, but making a point to look unconcerned. “And then I’m torturing him enough to make up for it.”
She rolled her eyes and disappeared in a flash of golden light.
Two wrongs don’t make a right, but they might just make the perfect match.
The Matchmakers
© 2009 Jennifer Colgan
Nick Garret is flypaper for females, and he likes it that way. Women stick for a while, and when it’s over they fly away. So does he. Then one rain-slick night a young woman steps in front of his pickup truck, and his jaded, cynical life takes a sharp swerve toward trouble.
Calliope did the only thing she could think to get Nick to steer his truck—and his life—in a new direction. Banished from the Fae realm for granting a wish gone bad, her punishment is an impossible task; redeem the unredeemable Nick Garret. If she fails to help him pair three couples in everlasting bliss, he’s doomed to never experience real love. And she will share his fate—as a mortal.
Nick can’t decide if this charming, exasperating woman is a dream come true, or a saucy, sexy nightmare sent to drive him insane. Yet something about her makes him want to rise to her challenge. He’ll do anything to make her stick around a while.
Besides, how much trouble can one half-naked, seemingly wingless faerie be?
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Matchmakers:
Nick stole glances at his passenger while he followed the winding mountain roads toward the state forest. The views from the Appalachian foothills were spectacular this time of year, and he’d been itching to get out in the cool autumn air and fill his lungs with freedom.
Unfortunately, the view in the car was equally distracting. Callie had traded her pink satin pajamas for faded jeans and hiking boots. Under a matching denim jacket, she wore a fluffy sweater the color of caramel. It looked soft as a kitten, and Nick’s fingers ached to touch it.
He’d asked himself over and over why he wanted to do this—why he wanted to be with her today. The easy answer was, why not? She was beautiful, vivacious and when she wasn’t driving him crazy, she left him breathless. Loony or not, she was nice to look at and maybe, if he could figure out how to draw her out, he’d learn a little more about her. He needed a better explanation as to why she seemed more and more like a magical creature and less and less like an escaped mental patient.
“Oh look! Pumpkins!”
Nick smiled at her delighted cry. Mounds of brilliant orange pumpkins, some plain and others painted with goofy neon faces, spilled over wooden tables and out of huge crates at a roadside stand. A rocky gravel lot served as a parking area, and Nick pulled in between another pickup and an SUV.
“They’ve got cider. I haven’t had cider in years,” he said as he rounded the back of the truck and helped Callie out.
She breezed past him and immediately wrapped her arms around a twenty-pound pumpkin, hugging it like a long lost friend. “Look at this one! He’s beautiful.”
“It looks like all the other ones, only bigger.”
“It’s perfect for a centerpiece for the bar.”
“Oh. Can’t Farley get his own pumpkins? He hasn’t even agreed to have the party yet.”
Her face fell, and once again, Nick felt like a monster. Why did her smile suddenly mean so much to him? He thumped the pumpkin’s unblemished hide and reached for his wallet. Callie rewarded him with a triumphant grin as she hauled the huge gourd off its table.
Nick pulled out his wallet and paid for the pumpkin and two cups of fresh cider. He leaned against the truck, grinning into his cup while Callie hoisted her prize into the back of the flat bed.
She glared at him when he handed her the cider. “You could have helped.”
He shook his head. “You could’ve popped that thing back to the apartment or right to the bar.”
“Not in front of everybody,” she whispered between sips of cider.
Nick shrugged. “You could’ve made it weigh less.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but no
words came out. Her expression told him he’d pay for his cheeky comments later, and he relished the challenge.
They finished their cider in silence and climbed back in the truck. Callie immediately twisted around in her seat to check on their new passenger. “Will he be all right back there?”
“He?”
“It’s a male pumpkin.”
“Of course. Pumpkins have gender?”
“Everything has an essence that defines its sex.”
Nick struggled not to laugh. Her serious expression forbade it. “I see. It’ll—he’ll be fine. Are you sure you don’t want to buy him a lady friend before we go?”
“I’m sure.”
Nick just shook his head. Faerie logic would be the death of him yet.
The morning’s destination was a scenic overlook abutted by a crumbling, moss-covered stone wall. The view rivaled anything visible in the Fae realm and made Callie homesick. She shivered in the autumn breeze. Nick put his own jacket around her shoulders, and her heart thumped wildly.
“It’s colder than I expected up here.” He stood close, and Callie leaned into his warmth, wishing for the endless summer of her world. “There’s the road back to Bayerville. If you look past that farm and along the tree line, you can see the hiking trail that leads to the skating pond.”
Callie followed Nick’s tour of the fiery landscape lit with brilliant gold and orange foliage. Country traffic meandered along thin ribbons of road that wound through the hills. Here and there, the familiar shapes of grazing horses and cows dotted the hillsides, and not a single cloud interrupted the endless blue of the October sky.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, fighting to keep her voice light. “It reminds me of home.”
“What’s your world like? Do the seasons change?”
“Not like they do here. We have a time when the leaves change color and a time when the flowers bloom, but it never becomes unbearably hot or cold. We don’t get rain…unless we want to create some. It never gets dark.”
Nick surveyed the land spread out before them. “Rain isn’t so bad. Sometimes it can be…sort of comforting.”
“You love it here, don’t you?”
Nick seemed reluctant to answer, but Callie felt his thoughts. He wanted this to be his home, but he didn’t want to need it so badly.
“It’s nice here. It’s nice in a lot of places I’ve been.”
“You love open space. You hated the time you spent in the cities, didn’t you?”
He nodded, snaking his arm around Callie’s waist, making her stomach flutter. “I hate smog. Traffic. Subways.”
“I bet you love snow, don’t you?”
He grinned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Snow is nice. It’s a little too cold for me. What else do you love?”
“I love sleeping in hammocks and cold lemonade and…”
“What else?”
His eyes narrowed on her, and she sensed his discontent. “I can see right through you, Tinkerbell. This is some kind of lesson, isn’t it?”
Callie feigned innocence. “I just want to know more about you.”
“I hate mind games and psychobabble.”
Callie pulled away from him, though she was reluctant to leave the safe circle of his arms. “It’s not a game, Nick. When love is gone—it’s all gone. You’ll lose it all.”
“I said I’d help you with this mission of yours—”
“It’s for both of us, Nick. Not just me. I want you to understand that.”
“I’m trying.” He stepped forward and tilted her chin up with his fingers. “Tell me what you love.”
His lips hovered close to hers, and Callie’s breath caught. She could kiss him now and make him feel something he wouldn’t want to lose. But that wasn’t her mission. She moved back just enough to break the hypnotic pull between them.
“I love helping people fall in love. And I don’t want to lose that.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur of crimson leaves and blue sky. They drove through the forest and back and had dinner in a small café that sold hand-churned ice cream and dusty antiques.
Nick stayed close to Callie, aware of the glances of other men and feeling proprietary. By the time they returned home, the buzz of arousal had replaced the light mood of their afternoon.
He followed her up the stairs and hesitated before unlocking the door. “Did you have a good time today?”
“I did. Maybe we can do this again sometime before…”
“Before what?”
“Before I go.”
“We don’t have to think about you going right now, do we?”
“No.”
He centered his gaze on her lips, pink and moist, still sweet from the peach ice cream he’d bought for her. He wanted a taste, and the sleepy-sultry look in her green eyes told him she did, too.
He leaned in, his fingers creeping up under her jacket. A second later his lips nearly collided with the doorframe, and his hands closed on empty air. He caught himself before he stumbled, face first, through the door as she opened it from the inside.
“Hi, Nick.”
“What was that about?” He leaned one arm above her head on the doorframe. “I almost kissed a brick.”
“I’m sorry about that, but we’re not here to fool around.”
“I wasn’t fooling.”
“Nick.” She put a soft finger across his lips and leaned close. The faint smell of roses teased him. “No distractions.” She turned and walked into the apartment, disappearing into the kitchen.
Nick watched her go. He’d been shot down before, not often, of course, but there were certain women on which the Garrett charm just didn’t work. Somehow, his borrowed intuition told him Calliope was not one of them. He’d seen desire in her eyes, felt it each time their fingers touched. Something held her back, though, and he vowed to figure out what it was. He needed to uncover all her secrets, and he wasn’t going to let her disappear without knowing exactly what she was all about.
Cherrie Lynn, Far From Heaven
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