Searching for You Read online

  "Why are you so interested?" A touch of annoyance threaded through her voice.

  Dylan tried to keep the glee from showing on his face. "Just am. What does he teach?"

  "History."

  "Nice. Where'd you guys meet?" Oh yeah, she was stumped on that one. She glared back at him, obviously searching for an answer. "Don't you remember?"

  "Of course I remember! A--a cafe. We both ordered the same coffee."

  "Very romantic." He pressed his lips together. "Must not be the same Ryan."

  "I told you."

  "See, the Ryan I know signed up for his date at Kinnections. But obviously you didn't meet him at a matchmaking agency."

  Score.

  Her mouth dropped open. She sucked in a breath and stared at him in stunned silence. "Did you say Kinnections?"

  "Yep. You know them?"

  Her mouth closed with a snap. Suspicion carved out the lines of her face. "Wait a minute. How do you know about Kinnections?"

  Dylan rocked back on his heels and grinned. "Because I'm your date."

  She blinked. Spent a few moments analyzing the situation in the clinical way that had made her business such a success. "Impossible," she declared. "My date's name is Ryan."

  "I know. My full name is Ryan Dylan McCray. Have you forgotten I go by my middle name? I was supposed to meet a woman with long dark hair at the park gate at exactly 7 p.m. Sound familiar?"

  Her brows knitted together and her breath accelerated. "N-no. You can't be my date. You'd never belong to a matchmaking agency!"

  Dylan shrugged. "Why not? You are. Though you'd deny it to the end. You've always been a terrible liar."

  Her cheeks tinged with temper. Excitement heated his veins and roared in his blood. What was it about this woman that made arguing so much damn fun? It was better than going to the gym or closing a big deal. "Because it was none of your business!" She moaned and paced the floor. "This is terrible. A nightmare. I trusted Kate to find me my husband, not some man candy to fool around with."

  He laughed with delight. "I'm man candy, huh? Guess I'll take it as a compliment."

  "How could they have possibly matched us? This proves their computer system is completely inaccurate. All that time I spent on my questionnaire is wasted. You have none of the qualities I listed. You probably signed up to get laid!"

  His reputation in college preceded him, but it had been a decade of change. Somehow, knowing Riley still believed he was the same person bothered him. "I'm looking for my soul mate just like everyone else is. Using a well-known, statistically proven agency to help me find her is a smart business move. I don't like to waste time." He studied her face and the slight flush to her cheeks. "Why are you using them? Thought you'd have dating all figured out now. Shouldn't you be settled with a husband making six figures, two kids, eco-friendly house, and a hypoallergenic dog?"

  That got her. She treated him to a withering look, as if he was a bug beneath her feet, and they were off to the races.

  God, it felt good.

  "Your asinine theory is exactly what I would expect from a man who has Peter Pan syndrome and never looked beyond a doubleD cup to amuse himself."

  "Darlin', I never discriminate," he drawled. "B's and C's are just fine."

  "I'm not your darlin'." She mocked his fake drawl with a syrupy sarcasm he adored. The woman didn't give him an inch. He loved it.

  "Okay, sweetheart."

  She let out an aggravated breath. "I get it. Kate does the hard work trying to find you an actual intelligent woman to be your life partner, while you continue screwing around with your little playboy bunnies. Quite ingenious. You were always good at pawning off the labor to others."

  He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Are you still steaming over the A I received in Marketing 101? A B is perfectly acceptable, Riley. Get over it."

  She shimmered with rage, clenching her fists. Dylan bet she was barely holding back a stomp of her feet. "Everyone knows you got Tyler to do that for you! He had a bad case of hero worship and would've done anything you asked. You cheated, I know you did."

  "No, I didn't. Besides, you were such a teacher's pet and up their ass all the time, it's no big secret why the class resented you. Wrecking the curves, volunteering for extra projects--who does that?"

  "Not you, that's for sure! But of course, I had to work for a living. You didn't give a crap, because you were able to step into your father's conglomerate with a starting salary of a million frikkin' dollars because of your last name."

  Ouch. The hit hurt, but he didn't blame her. That was the way it looked to everyone, and very few knew how hard he had to work for his father's respect and to eventually get to a top level of decision making. He started at the bottom of McCray Technologies and took years to learn the business and build his reputation. "You're wrong. I didn't start making a million. Not until my six-week probation was over."

  The air caught and sparked between them, like a live wire plunged underwater. She literally trembled. With the need to hit him? Or something else? How much fun would it be to put all those delicious emotions to better use?

  Like slamming her against the wall and fucking her so thoroughly she had nothing left to say.

  There wasn't a woman alive he couldn't charm or finagle a favor from. Except Riley Fox. Four years in Cornell and she'd busted his balls every chance she got, as if his very presence on campus irritated her. He never realized how much fun it was to needle her until graduation came and she was out of his life.

  He still thought about the kiss.

  Dylan was surprised at how the memory would surface late at night, right before he slid into sleep.

  It started as a joke. He'd gotten an A on his organization theory presentation along with a standing ovation. She got an A-minus and seemed ready to murder him, especially since he'd admitted he wrote his speech that morning. She began razzing him about his whore-like tendencies, which he denied. He, in turn, needled her about her control-freak ways in and out of the bedroom, which she denied. And suddenly, in that empty corner hallway, he got a crazy-ass impulse.

  Steal a kiss and prove his point.

  So he had. He pushed her against the wall and kissed her. And yeah, it had done the job all right. Besides shutting her up, the woman lit up like a ball of fire. His tongue sank into pure heaven, and when they finally pulled apart, they both realized something had changed. Even then, he remembered the raw desire, and the horrifying fear of wanting a woman who drove him apeshit. She seemed to echo his thoughts.

  The solution?

  They ignored it.

  Over the years, he'd caught news of her epic rise in business, and the opening of her publishing firm. He'd seen the cover of Fortune magazine and felt sheer pride at her achievement. Many times, he even wondered about contacting her, before he shook off the urge and got back to his life.

  But here she was a decade later. He was a different person, and she'd been delivered to him in a blizzard for one reason. This was no coincidence. The whole situation screamed kismet and all that other bullshit.

  Because Dylan realized in that moment he wanted her.

  She turned up her nose and looked down like a queen to her peasant. "I despise you."

  He waved his hand in the air in dismissal. "Don't be silly, you've always been secretly attracted to me. You're probably cranky because you're hungry. Let's go into the kitchen and eat. I have leftover turkey sandwiches."

  Riley glared, probably caught between hunger and her need to win the argument. After a few moments, she drained her glass and held it up. "Only if there's more wine. If I'm going to get through an entire evening without hurting you, I need more alcohol."

  "I can manage that."

  "Good. Let's go."

  She walked out of the living room and down the hallway like she owned the place.

  Dylan grabbed the bottle of wine and followed, shaking his head.

  This was going to be a hell of a night.

  Riley stalk
ed down the carpeted hallway that seemed longer than the Appalachian Trail, trying not to shudder at the huge portraits canvassing the walls. No way. She'd been to the Haunted Mansion at Disney and she refused to catch the eyes moving. She'd never sleep again.

  He followed her, probably waiting to laugh when she walked into some gigantic closet or something, but Riley refused to give him the satisfaction by asking where the kitchen was. She'd eventually find it.

  She came into a huge foyer, with a curving staircase and stained-glass windows. How did one person possibly live here? Four arched openings were available. She did the eeny meeny miney mo again, knowing she screwed up the first time, and chose the second doorway.

  Nope. The library. Wow, the floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases and burgundy Oriental rugs seemed familiar. Hmm, where had she seen something like this before? The room had massive arched windows, and there were leather recliners with afghans draped over the arms and drink tables spaced throughout. And . . . there was another fireplace. Wow.

  Dylan's dry voice echoed behind. "We can eat tomorrow if you want to go through all the rooms. Or you can give up and just ask me where the kitchen is."

  She hated it, but was afraid she'd never find it on her own. And damn, she was hungry. Riley pursed her lips like she sucked on a lemon. "Fine. Where's the kitchen?"

  He treated her to his famous badass grin that always made her stomach do the weird flip-flop thing. "Follow me."

  Back to the foyer, and toward the left. She'd never play eeney meeney miney moe again. She sucked.

  "Are you some kind of perverted hermit who wants to hole up in this dusty old place and guard his fortune? Because this is a little weird, dude. Are there servants?"

  "Yes. And Mrs. Potts would be devastated to hear you call the place dusty."

  "That's it!" she screeched. "This place reminds me of Beauty and the Beast !"

  He laughed. "Still addicted to Disney movies, huh? I was only teasing. I have a maid and a cook, but you won't find a withering rose in the east wing."

  She sniffed. "I'll believe it when I don't see it. And I'm not addicted to children's stuff. That one was up for an Academy Award."

  "Sure. That's why I always caught you watching those movies on your portable, huh?"

  "At least I wasn't watching porno."

  "Wonder who was more satisfied."

  She stuck her tongue out. His broad shoulders shook as if he knew. Why did she revert to juvenile gestures around him? She was always so calm and in control of a situation. Even in college, he was the only person who'd cause her to lose it. Sometimes mentally. Sometimes physically. Sharing the common area bathroom and seeing him half naked all the time never helped. How many times had she interrupted one of his make-out sessions? She'd make gagging noises until Dylan would grab the girl's hand and pull her into his room, giving her the smoldering look he believed worked on everyone.

  Riley hated the way her body flamed to life. Begged to be the woman in his arms. She'd been able to fight through it until that awful, horrible, wonderful moment between them.

  The kiss.

  This time, the memory wouldn't be denied.

  Senior year. They'd been doing their usual. Arguing about something; hell, she couldn't even remember what it was. One minute they were engaged in a lively argument, the next he pushed her against the wall and kissed her. She never even paused or thought to deny him. Riley kissed him back like she was starving.

  She still remembered every sensation, from the scent of cinnamon on his breath, the warmth of his lips skating over hers, the hot, wet thrust of his tongue as it breached her barriers and sunk deep inside. She had no time to think or plan. Instead, her body roared forward and overtook, falling into the kiss full steam, savoring his taste and his hunger, the feel of his hands gripping her waist, holding her still for his pleasure. God how she loved it, the feeling of being out of control yet safe, and for those rocketing moments, nothing existed but Dylan McCray.

  Afterward, they didn't even speak. He pulled away, gazed into her eyes, and turned on his heel to walk away. They never discussed the kiss, and sometimes Riley wondered if it had just been a dream. Except she remembered every scorching detail, even ten years later.

  She'd lost her virginity with her high school boyfriend, had three affairs, and nothing compared to those few minutes of passion in his arms.

  Of course, he'd never remember.

  Of course, he'd never know her true feelings about the strength of that kiss.

  Riley slammed into his back. He spun around and caught her by the shoulders. "You okay?"

  So stupid. No more daydreaming about a ridiculous kiss from college. "Sorry. I'm fine. Just hungry."

  "Then let's get you fed."

  He walked into the kitchen and she almost had an orgasm. Almost.

  She loved to cook. Found it a respite from stress, and adored a good plate of food. Her home was small, but she'd created a haven for her baking hobby, even though most of the times she ate by herself.

  But Dylan's kitchen was a gourmet fantasy come true.

  Stainless steel everywhere. A Sub-Zero refrigerator. A Wolf oven. A brick oven for pizzas, cappuccino makers, high-grade food processors, with actual copper pots dangling from some crazy gadget over the kitchen island. Endless granite counters, three sinks, and a four-tier spice rack. The room was done in pure black and white with pops of red.

  Riley moaned and squeezed her thighs together. Oh, God, the appliances were beautiful. The things she could do here . . .

  He was staring at her with fascination and something more. Hunger lit those amazing eyes, darkening the colors to a stormy blue and brown-black. "You like?" he murmured.

  She swallowed as her body lit up like a damn pinball machine. She pulled herself together. "I have a thing for stainless steel."

  Those full lips twisted in a half smile. "So it's my kitchen you're lusting after? Pity."

  Riley rolled her eyes but turned away so he couldn't spot the truth. "Get over yourself. Wasn't nailing my roommate enough? She left the next semester and I got stuck with Smelly Sally for the rest of the year."

  Dylan refilled her wineglass and began pulling out ingredients from the refrigerator. She perched on one of the red stools by the island. "Pris knew the deal. Come on, we dated like twice and she said she was in love with me. I never led her on."

  Riley snorted. "So that makes it right? You broke her heart and she left to go to another dorm. I told her not to go out with you!"

  He lined up the post-Thanksgiving meal with freshly cut turkey, large slices of rye bread, and an assortment of condiments. She watched his graceful fingers put together the sandwiches and tried not to think of the other talented things they could do. He was dressed simply in jeans, boots, and a white cable-knit sweater. The material highlighted the blond in his hair, and made him look like some mythical Thor from above. His sexiness made her crankier. No one should look like that. It tipped the favor to the male species.

  She drank more wine.

  "You were always a bit obsessed with my dating life," he commented, pulling down two plates. "Or was it my sex life?"

  "Just trying to protect the innocent from an expert man whore."

  He chuckled and grabbed a jar of pickles. "First time I heard women need protecting from orgasms."

  She tilted her head. "Cocky, huh?"

  He grinned. "No. Just honest."

  Riley refused to let her girly parts go all aquiver. "Or delusional," she muttered.

  His eyes lit with amusement. The man was infuriating. "So, tell me what really drove you to Kinnections?"

  The wine loosened her tongue. Why hide the truth? She wasn't ashamed. "I want to get married."

  His brow shot up. "We didn't even have our blind date yet."

  "Not you. Kate was supposed to find me my perfect match. I have a detailed list of requirements, and I'm ready to settle down." She prepped herself for his teasing, but he seemed to be thinking over her statement.


  "Why now?"

  "It's time," she said simply. "I spent the first half of my life focused on my goals and career and I don't regret it. I gave up things, some opportunities that may have led to marriage and a family. I refuse to have regrets but my priorities shifted. I want a husband. Children."

  Dylan nodded. "I can understand that. You launched a successful business, but it takes everything you have. If you had settled too soon, things may not have worked out because you weren't ready to commit completely."

  "Yes, exactly. But now I'm focused and know what I want."

  He added two pickles to the plates. "Give me the list."

  "So you can make fun of me? No way."

  "I won't, promise. What's the requirements?"

  A nice hazy glow enveloped the stainless-steel kitchen. Why not? She didn't care what he thought. "He has to have a secure job. I want to have a strong friendship first before we go into sex. He needs to want children, be trustworthy, dependable, intelligent, even tempered."

  "Even tempered?"

  She glared. "Yes."

  Dylan cleared his throat. "You'll eat him for breakfast and spit him out for dinner. Darlin', you're a hellcat. You need someone to stand up to you or you'll get bored."

  She stabbed a finger at him. "I am not a hellcat! I never lose my temper with anyone but you. I need a companion, father, friend, and general helper to make a successful marriage."

  "What about sex?"

  "That's not important."

  He stared at her in astonishment. "It's the basis of a relationship. Sex bonds two people together."

  "Sex doesn't have to fit in the box."

  He frowned. "What box?"

  She sipped more wine. "You know, the box. When you're ready to settle down with someone and make a life together, it's best to create a sort of mental box where that person can fit comfortably. The box needs to conform with your lifestyle so you're both compatible. For instance, sex is nice but it doesn't have to fit in the box. It's pleasurable, but not necessary."

  Dylan reached for the wine and refilled his glass. "Now I need alcohol. You've managed to stump me with this one. Why didn't I know about this box?"

  "Because it's my own creation," she said stiffly. "Marriage isn't easy. I don't want to give up my business. I intend to hire more staff, work from home, and be more flexible. But my husband is going to also have to sacrifice, and it's not always passion and games and romance. It's brutal, hard work. And I want that. I want to be exhausted and happy with someone and wake up in the morning and do it all over again, knowing we wouldn't choose differently. Now do you get it?"