Mr. Accidental Hero: Jet City Matchmaker Series: Jeremy

"Once. As a girl. We were camping in the Cascades. It's almost impossible to see them in the metro area—too much light pollution. And they're usually at their peak in the wee hours past my bedtime."

  He glanced at his watch. "If I'm not mistaken, it's the wee hours now. The night is clear. And the Northern Lights are making a rare autumn show and will be at their peak in minutes. How would you like to see them from the observation car of a moving train?" He offered me his hand.

  I took it. "Holding your hand is exactly how I'd like to see the lights. How did you know?"

  "You're not the only one who can spot a trend."

  To our surprise, the sightseer car was nearly empty when we arrived. We had our pick of seats. But we stood at the windows, Jeremy behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist and his chin on my head.

  I cuddled into his warmth.

  "There." He pointed. "See it? That flash of green. The light show is beginning."

  "Yes." I inhaled. "It's beautiful."

  The sky began lighting up to the north with flashes of green. This far south, green was about the extent of the color we could see. It was the way the lights presented here.

  Jeremy whispered in my ear, "My parents saw the Northern Lights on their very first date."

  His breath was warm and tinged with the scent of beer. The way it tickled my ear gave me ideas. I was only slightly tipsy, pleasantly buzzed, and extremely into him.

  "It was late summer. They were in their early twenties, living and working in a small town in rural Eastern Washington. Dad was walking Mom to her door late at night when they saw them. They stood on her front step and watched them, like we are now, in silence. Dad said he knew then he was in love and that he would marry Mom."

  "That's exceptionally romantic. Did he recite poetry, too?" I leaned my head back against his chest and watched the sky light up.

  "Dad's not a poet," he said. "Good thing, too, because Mom doesn't really like it."

  "They sound well matched. Was the show as spectacular as it is tonight, do you think?"

  "According to Dad, it was the most visible the Northern Lights had been in a generation." He tucked my hair behind my ear and nibbled on it.

  I shivered with pleasure. "That's a beautiful story. It's nice to have a good story like that to tell your children."

  "That's only part of the story, and far from the best part of it. Dad asked Mom to marry him right then and there. On the spur of the moment."

  "He did?" I looked up and back at him.

  Jeremy was looking straight ahead out the window. He paused and looked down at me.

  "What did she say?" I laughed at myself. "She must have said yes at some point, obviously. But the first date seems a little soon for most people."

  "True. To some. But my parents, certainly my dad, aren't most people." Jeremy wrapped me tighter in his arms. "She put him off. But he kept asking. She finally accepted on their third date."

  "Their third date?" I returned my gaze to the window and the Northern Lights show. "That long? Your mom has amazing willpower."

  "If you ever met my dad, you'd realize she does indeed. When he wants something, he gets it. He won't stop until he does. And he can be damn persuasive. But you're making a snap judgment. I didn't tell you how long it was between dates."

  "A key detail you managed to omit, now that you mention it. So. How long was it?"

  "An endless twenty-four hours between first and second dates."

  I laughed. "Very long. And until their third date?"

  "A week later."

  "Well, there you have it—a week is a long time to resist a romantic siege by a determined man." I paused. "I suppose if it was a very small town, there weren't many options available when your parents were young. No online dating. What were the odds of there being a matchmaker in town?"

  I felt him laugh. "A few gabby old ladies, but no one with Ashley's skills, obviously."

  "Obviously," I said. "And how many single young people could there have been in this town? Limited options make decisions easier. If your choice is marry this guy or become the town spinster?"

  "There are always options. If you get creative," he said. "To answer your question—it was Dad or a guy with a war wound and obvious PTSD."

  "The choice seems clear, then."

  "Dad has always claimed the shortage had nothing to do with it. Mom was a smart woman with skills. She could have moved to the big city. According to Dad, when you meet the one, you know it. If he'd had his choice of all the women in the world, he would have picked Mom. Once he realized that, why waste time?"

  "Sounds like a practical, pragmatic man," I said, joking. "I pointed to a spectacular streak of green glowing in the sky. "Beautiful. How long were they engaged?"

  "They eloped the very next week." He rested his chin on my shoulder. "They've been married forty years now."

  "Happily?"

  He kissed my neck. "Happiest couple I know."

  "Then they chose wisely."

  * * *

  When the Northern Lights began to fade, we returned to our compartment. Jeremy held the door open for me.

  The room had completely changed since we left it to see the lights. The seats had been converted to a double bed and a twin-bed berth above. The sheets were turned back. Foil-wrapped chocolates sat on each pillow. A red rose lay across the two pillows on the double bed.

  Beds were not what I expected. The temptation was great. I wasn't at all sleepy, and drinking had made me horny. My heart raced.

  Jeremy stepped in and closed the door behind us. He caught me by the hips from behind. His hands were scorching and large. I had never been more aware of a man before. Or wanted one more. Fiery Hero Stout should have been named Fiery Desire.

  "Tired?" Jeremy's breath caressed my ear. "There's time to catch a nap before we reach Seattle." He kissed my neck.

  "You're the devil, you know that?"

  "For giving you options? I think I mentioned I come from a creative, and determined, family." He lifted my hair and sucked the delicate skin at the nape of my neck.

  Goosebumps rose on my arms. I shivered with pleasure. "And what would those options be?"

  "They're obvious, aren't they?" His hands slid to my waist. "You have your choice of beds and who's in each."

  "There are rules," I said. "Ashley has very strict rules."

  "Rules. Codes of conduct. They're meant to be broken. It's just common wisdom." He slid his hands beneath my blouse at my waist. "I've been in this game a long time. I know the rules well enough to know when, and how, to break them."

  "Five dates or until you're exclusive." I leaned my head back against him, speaking the words more for me than him. To remind myself of how the game was played to win, if winning his hand was my objective.

  "Then let's be exclusive." He nibbled my ear.

  His confidence wasn't lost on me. He wasn't stuttering. He didn't seem nervous. He wasn't the nerd he'd claimed to be, the shy guy. He was so damn certain this was right. Why was I hesitating? "And the five-date rule? We haven't had five dates yet."

  "You're counting wrong." His hands slid beneath my breasts, hot on my ribcage. He licked the back of my neck.

  "Bad math?" I didn't want him to stop what he was doing. "I've been counting since I was three. Set me straight."

  "There was the accident."

  "Hardly a date."

  "I offered you a drink. We saved a life together. How would a formal date be any better?" His kisses travelled to the side of my neck, all the way to where my bare skin met my blouse.

  "All right. I'll give you that. But only because I'm fair and open-minded." And his mouth was so hot on my skin. "That's one."

  "Coffee at Jet City."

  "Hardly stellar." I reached behind me and grabbed his thigh, pressing my butt into his hardness. "You didn't recognize me…at first."

  "There's no rule about how good a date has to be. A date's a date. You keep going on them, you keep counting them."

  "Fai
r enough. There's tonight," I said. "That's three."

  "Only if you count it as one long date."

  "You're suggesting we break it up into pieces? Segment it into more than one date?"

  He pressed into me from behind. "If a date spans two days, it counts double. It's another day now."

  "Whose rule is that?" I felt pleasurable sensations all the way to my toes.

  "Mine." He cupped my breasts. It was such a simple thing, but somehow his touch was electric.

  "Even bending the rules to your will, that's four, at most." My breath was becoming shallow. I was tight inside.

  "Two train rides. An evening in Portland. I'll throw in breakfast. Two meals, two days, that must count for three dates." He spun me around slowly. "So? What are the sleeping arrangements tonight?"

  I braced my hands on his shoulders and studied him, trying to read him. Trying to decide if I trusted him. If this was all just a line. If he just wanted to sleep with me. "Is this how you count all your dates?"

  His answering gaze was dark and intense. He shook his head. "I've never made it to five dates with anyone else since Ashley's been matching me. I've never tried. I've never even thought of creative accounting with anyone else. I've dated beautiful women, funny women, smart women—"

  "I get the picture."

  "Do you?" He continued staring at me as he took my chin in his hand. "There hasn't been another woman I'd do any kind of creative counting for. No exclusivity. No more than a couple of dates with any of those amazing women." His Adam's apple bobbed.

  I slid my hands beneath his shirt. "It doesn't take me five dates to spot a trend. When I like a guy, when I want to be with a guy, I know it." I swallowed, but my mouth was dry. "And I know it now." I traced his chest with the tips of my fingers. "The big bed. Both of us."

  I tipped my face up for a kiss. His lips came down on mine, insistent, demanding. It was a game, a competition—which of us could get the other's clothes off fast enough? I slid his shirt up to his shoulders and tugged on a sleeve. He slipped his arm, then the next, and pulled the shirt off over his head.

  He was such a good sport that I let him remove my blouse. And my bra. He pulled me to him. We kissed. He cupped my breasts and ran his thumbs over my nipples. I tugged on his nipples and ran my hands over the firm, muscled contours of his back and abs.

  Physically, he was beautiful. Taut. In shape. Ripped. But it was the whole package, the entire man, that turned me on. I lost myself in his kiss. I let myself feel the heat of his hands on my back.

  If I had wanted and desired him less, I would have been more patient and taken more time. But there was no stopping our forward motion now. I kicked off my shoes. I helped him unzip my jeans and stepped out of them and my panties in a single motion. I unfastened his belt. Unzipped his jeans. Slid my hands beneath his underwear to his firm, shapely butt.

  He was erect and ready for me. I was wet and ready for him. This was the warmup. The entire night had been the prelude and foreplay. I fumbled only slightly as I tugged his underwear over and down.

  The train clacked along the tracks, rocking us gently, pounding out a quiet rhythm while we stood naked and admired each other in the fading glow of the Northern Lights. As nimble as a magician, he produced a condom out of thin air.

  "Have you been practicing that trick?" I took it from him and ripped open the foil package.

  He grinned.

  "Let me show you one of my own." I pulled the condom from the package, tossed the wrapper away, and rolled the condom onto him, stroking him until he moaned softly.

  Everything was natural and easy with him, as if we were part of one whole, made for each other. We anticipated each other's moves and desires without speaking. Body language and desire conveyed everything I needed to know about what he wanted. About what I wanted him to do. He stepped to the edge of the bed and tossed back the covers.

  I playfully pushed him onto his back. He grabbed me and pulled me with him. He fell back, landing in the center of the bed, breaking the stem of the rose and bouncing our chocolates off our pillows. I landed on top of him, straddling him, nearly perfectly positioned. He was beautiful to look at. I brushed my hair out of my face.

  He pulled the rose from beneath his head and held it out to me. "Good thing this is thorn-less."

  I took it from him and set it on the edge of the bed. "Good thing." I leaned down and kissed him, sliding him into me.

  He gasped and grabbed my hips.

  I gyrated slowly, grinding against him, tipping my head back and closing my eyes. This was the way I had always imagined being with the one was supposed to be. No awkwardness. No offbeat rhythms. Moving in sync as if making the music of love. Moaning softly. His hands at my hips. My mind full of him. Waves of pleasure. I bent and kissed him, tasting him fully, passionately, ignoring the brief pain of pressure on my split lip. Passion blotted out everything else. No guy had ever tasted so good to me.

  He thrust up, kissing me. My hair fell down around my face.

  "Open your eyes, Crys. Let me see your soul."

  How could I resist? I kept rocking, moving against him, feeling his fullness inside, and stared into his eyes, trying to make the moment last.

  It was clear from the look on his face that he was holding back and that he had something to say. He studied me, looking deep into my eyes. I could feel him throbbing inside me. The tiniest little thing would send me cascading over the edge into climax.

  He cupped my face. "I love you, Crys."

  From another guy, these would have been just words. But his eyes shone with the power of his emotions. The act wasn't finished. This was no time for hollow words or empty phrases. There was no reason for them now. Something shifted in the core of my being. I was so tight and so ready, and now my heart was fuller than it had ever been. Life had never been so perfect.

  I leaned down and whispered softly in his ear, "I love you too, my hero." And then I rocked and rode him, slowly, as I had never ridden any guy.

  He thrust up. Once. Twice.

  I gasped and let myself go. The force of the climax was so intense that I shuddered with it.

  I felt him stiffen, grunt, and go over the edge with me. His eyes rolled up just as he closed them. He gripped my hips tightly. He was breathing heavily. I closed my eyes. Toppling, toppling, head over heels in love. And the sex was so damned freaking awesome.

  And then the train jolted. I screamed, releasing all the pent-up emotion.

  "Damn," he said. "I wish I could have made you do that."

  "What makes you think you didn't?" I took his face in my hands. "You think the train is responsible for turning me into a screamer?"

  He grinned.

  I slid off him and lay down next to him. I touched his lips. "Did I hurt you?"

  "You could never hurt me." He kissed me lightly.

  Oh, but that wasn't true. Love could hurt worse than anything. I was just as capable of inflicting pain as the next person.

  I touched his lips again. "These don't seem any worse for that latest bump."

  "Or our bruising passion." He kissed my fingers, pulled me against him, and tugged the covers over us.

  I snuggled into him and traced his chest lightly, feeling drowsy and happy. I wanted to ride this train all the way to Canada and beyond. To the far north. To the Arctic, where the aurora borealis shone brightest and often. I wanted to make love to him beneath its show again and again.

  "I've never been in love before." His voice was deep and gravelly.

  I lifted my head and looked at him, deeply touched. "By comparison with how I feel now, I've only ever thought I was in love before."

  "Marry me, Crys." His voice was deep and sincere, filled with more emotion than I could bear. It wasn't a question, either.

  It hit me out of nowhere. I was stunned. I didn't know how to answer. I hadn't spotted this trend, though I should have. His proposal caught me completely off guard. I was madly in love with him. Given time…

  I hesitate
d and tried to joke. "Are you trying to beat your dad's record?"

  He shook his head gently. "No. I just know what I want, and what I want is you. I think I've mentioned before all the dates I've been on. No one has ever made me feel like I feel with you. I knew the moment I met you. Tonight only confirms it. I'm dead serious—marry me?"

  I swallowed hard. "I… This is all happening so fast." I took a deep breath and nearly broke my own heart. "No." I shook my head, unable to believe he was serious or the question was real. The whole night had the unreal quality of a dream. "Not yet. It's not even the real third date yet."

  His face fell. "Not yet? The door isn't closed?"

  "Are you your father's son or not?" I smiled shakily. "Don't give up. Just give me time." Unable to bear the disappointment in his eyes, I laid my head on his shoulder. "Just promise me you'll ask again?"

  15

  Ashley

  It was after two a.m. I was in bed asleep. Alone. Lazer was still out of town.

  I never sleep totally soundly on Friday and Saturday nights until the early morning hours. And even then, not with the vigor of other nights. Weekend nights are big date nights for my clients, and I'm on call twenty-four/seven for them.

  I usually stay up until around two. After that, most everyone has generally gone home, date over. The majority of my clients are considerate enough to wait until reasonable hours or their appointed after-date postmortem appointments to talk to me. They'll only call if there's some kind of dire emergency. So heading to bed around two or two thirty is usually safe. But, like an on-call doctor, I sleep with my phone on my nightstand and the ringer turned up. Just in case.

  When my phone beeped with a text, I sat straight up in bed, suddenly wide awake, and grabbed my phone. I didn't recognize the number. I mumbled to myself. Once woken, I had a hard time getting back to sleep. Too much adrenaline. My heart raced. To be awakened by a wrong number was going to make me grumpy.

  I didn't know what made me do it, but I read the text. I was awake. I had to get up to answer the phone anyway, right?

  Hi. My name is Anna. I'm Crystal Pruitt's friend, her backup when she goes out on dates with guys she doesn't know. We check up on each other. She gave me your number. She's out with one of your clients—Jeremy Marino. She missed her two o'clock all's well check-in and, to be honest, I'm a little panicked. I can't seem to reach her. She's not responding to my texts or answering my calls. Can you get in touch with him and make sure she's okay?