The Personal Touch

The Personal Touch Lori Borrill When matchmaker Margot Roth is hired to find a date for the mother of a playboy millionaire, an erotic fling is the last thing on her mind.Well, maybe not the last thing. Clint Hilton is the sexiest man she's ever met, and she has to admit naughty things go through her mind when he looks at her with his sultry eyes. But now that Clint is there to turn her fantasies into reality, Margot isn't sure if giving in to temptation is the best idea-even if he's determined to share his bed with her. . . or something more. She caressed him all over with her hands… Taking in the smooth feel of Clint’s skin, Margot wanted to touch and taste and lick and suck every sweet morsel. The simple touch wasn’t enough. Nothing seemed like enough as she tried to absorb every sensation she could. His fingers came around the left strap of her thong and in one quick yank he snapped it off as though it were nothing. He tossed it over his shoulder and worked his way down. “You drive me wild,” he said, before digging his teeth into the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. Then his tongue darted from between his lips and… Dear Reader, After writing several books featuring deliciously dark and wounded heroes, I was aching to write a romance involving a fun and flirty playboy. Thus Clint Hilton was born. He’s rich. He’s funny. He’s gorgeous, and he’s got the world at his fingertips. Now all he needs is a nice, sensible woman to round out his good fortune. And when he hires matchmaker Margot Roth to find a date for his mother, that’s exactly what he gets. While I enjoyed writing this fun and flirty couple, one of my favorite aspects of this book was the many secondary characters I was able to include. I have the overbearing mother, a young and irresponsible college frat boy and the lively best friend, who brings with her a culture of warm family and big hearts. Throw in a few lovelorn clients who have romance troubles of their own and you’ve got a group of people who unwittingly conspire to bring this couple together. I hope you enjoy the book as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please drop me a note at www.LoriBorrill.com and tell me what you think of it. Happy reading! Lori Borrill The Personal Touch LORI BORRILL ABOUT THE AUTHOR An Oregon native, Lori Borrill moved to the Bay Area just out of high school and has been a transplanted Californian ever since. Her weekdays are spent at the insurance company where she’s been employed for more than twenty years, and she credits her writing career to the unending help and support she receives from her husband and real-life hero. When not sitting in front of a computer, she can usually be found at the Little League fields playing proud parent to their son. She’d love to hear from readers, and can be reached through her Web site at www.LoriBorrill.com. Books by Lori Borrill HARLEQUIN BLAZE 308—PRIVATE CONFESSIONS 344—UNDERNEATH IT ALL (#litres_trial_promo) 392—PUTTING IT TO THE TEST 430—UNLEASHED To Elle Kennedy and Tracy Wolff. Writers need friends, and you two are the best. To Wanda, the sweetest one in our crazy bunch. For Al and Tommy Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Epilogue 1 WHEN THE FASHION industry’s hottest cover model flashed her signature do-me smile and stepped out of her black silk dress, Clint Hilton decided this was one sultry beauty that had definitely been worth waiting for. If you could call three weeks a wait. In Clint’s book of sexual conquests, it was a millennium. A week more than he’d waited for any other woman and as long as he’d gone without sex in recent memory. But ever since the two had met in Vegas last month, he’d wanted a taste of this dish. And when she’d said she was leaving for Milan that night, she’d asked him for the one thing that trumped his need for fast and frequent flings. She’d asked him to make a promise. Wait for her to get back from her trip. Only three tiny little weeks. Her in Italy shooting perfume ads and him in Los Angeles, cooling his cock in the Pacific Ocean while he tried to remember how he let a woman put his sex life on hold. He couldn’t recall what had made him agree. Maybe it was the barely-there dress she’d worn that night. More likely the look in her eye that said she was worth it. But nonetheless, he’d honored his word. He had to. It was one of the few things he cherished more than having a good time. She stepped to the edge of the pool, nothing covering that caramel skin except for the lacy red thong that topped her long, slender legs. Behind her, the view over West Hollywood nearly stretched to the ocean on this exceptionally clear night. But though he loved to relax on his terrace, tonight wouldn’t be spent gazing at the city below. Tonight was payback time. Three long weeks of celibacy ending by the graces of one tall, stunning cover model named Rachelle. No last name. “Just Rachelle,” she’d said. Damn, if that wasn’t sexy. With that smoky look holding promise in her eyes, she tossed the last of her clothes, flung her hands over her head and dove into the pool. Her slender form moved fluidly through the water, inching toward him like a shark coming in for the kill. And as she neared, she stroked her hands up his legs and trailed her tongue along his shaft, breaking through the surface in a series of slippery kisses that hardened his cock and weakened his knees. Their mouths met hot and deep, like they had back in Vegas, and he sucked in the scent of chlorine and expensive perfume. Her lips still held the essence of the Cosmopolitan she’d left on the terrace, and while her tongue did a number on his senses, she coiled her legs around his thighs and began to grind against his erection. It nearly broke him in half. He was too ready for this night. And as if to torture him more, she broke the kiss to whisper all the things she planned to do with him. Sexy things. Naughty things. Things most women didn’t care for and a gentleman never requested. But Rachelle wasn’t looking for a gentleman tonight. She was here to prove that when it came to judging people, Clint Hilton was head of the class. It was one of the skills he’d inherited from his father, what put him on top in his game and what had him darting through a casino full of beautiful women to that one special blonde by the bar. The one with the eyes of steam. Clint could always spot the difference between real bedroom eyes and ones only learned for the camera. And Rachelle was the genuine article. She was the stuff wet dreams were made of, the kind of sex kitten that made suave men babble and bungling boys faint. And tonight she was all his. She glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “I see you’ve lit the fireplace in your bedroom. It looks cozy.” He had. Not that April in Los Angeles was especially chilly. He’d simply gone to painstaking efforts to make sure everything was perfect tonight, starting with dinner on the beach and ending with cocktails by the pool. The lighting was timed to take over when the sun finally set. Low jazz hummed throughout the house. The tables were set with flowers and fresh citrus and the bars had been fully restocked. And, of course, he had condoms tucked around every corner, in arm’s reach of any room, bed and surface that might spark Rachelle’s fancy. Given some of the plans she just shared, Clint suspected that endeavor hadn’t been in vain. He lifted her high around his waist and began suckling her breast. “Would you like to move inside?” Her quiet laugh held pure sin. “It might be safer. I’d hate to see you drown before I get my fill.” He moved his lips to the other breast. “I’m a very good swimmer.” Droplets of water slid from her hair and trickled down her chest, and he started a game of catching them with his tongue before they hit the water’s edge. “You know,” she said, her breath getting heavy as he lifted her higher and moved his mouth down her waist, “you could probably get me started right here.” Then with the swiftness of a cat, she pushed from his arms, lifted herself to the side of the pool and spread her thighs wide with invitation. His heart thumped and his erection hardened. He cupped his hands around the pool’s edge and moved between her legs. Through the chlorine and the sweet scent of star jasmine, the smell of sex filled his nostrils, putting an ache in his crotch as he began kissing her tender folds. She inched closer and spread wider, tossing her wet blond hair over her shoulder to stop the pat-pat-pat of droplets on her thighs. Then as he slowly circled her clit, she threw her head back and moaned. “That’s it, stud. Show me what you’ve got.” He blew hot breath on her nub and began the feast, licking her sensitive spots and then slipping his tongue into her core. Her muscles clenched and his cock twitched, the idea of getting inside that tight space nearly taking him to the edge. But it was far from time. She had too many plans—plans he really, really liked. So he worked hard to focus on her pleasure and keep his own in check. Faster, he stroked. Her toes tapped against the water as her sex slickened and swelled. And with a low cry that started deep in her chest and echoed down the canyon, she came apart. Her climax pushed his need to the point of pain. Even the cool water of the pool did nothing to temper the throb. And when she rose to her feet and told him to come inside, he nearly stumbled over himself as he pushed out of the pool and followed. “I need your cock now,” she casually remarked. “At your service.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her into a long, greedy kiss, forcing himself to take his time and savor every moment. But just as he was about to break the kiss and lead her to his bedroom, the click of the gate and a sharp yelp from the side of the house startled them both to attention. “Oh! I…” Clint looked up. “Mom!” Rachelle darted for a towel. At the gate to the side yard, his mother stood agape dressed in tidy khaki chinos, a pale blue cardigan and pearl stud earrings. Brown leather sandals matched her purse, and she stood on the grass, her mouth silently bobbing, pointing a finger toward a hydrangea bush. “Pom Pom,” she finally uttered, referring to the dog he’d given her for Christmas. Clint grabbed a towel of his own and stood next to Rachelle, whose flushed cheeks had morphed from arousal to embarrassment. “What the hell are you doing home?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be in Palm Springs.” “I—” his mother started, but before she could finish, he heard the flattened tone of his date. “You live with your mother?” “Huh?” He turned and looked at Rachelle. Her embarrassment was gone. So was that smoky bedroom look in her eyes, replaced by the bland and somewhat disbelieving look of a woman unimpressed. “No, my mother lives with me.” She responded with an expression he didn’t like. “It’s entirely different,” he affirmed. “If you say so.” She headed toward her clothes. “I’m serious. This is my house.” “And you share it with your mother.” “What’s wrong with that?” he asked. But he already knew what was wrong with that. He’d been trying to get Jillian Hilton to move out pretty much ever since he’d offered to let her stay with him after his father died. The situation was supposed to be temporary, a month or two while she got over her grief and learned to live on her own. And yes, more than a year later she was still here. And yes, she was driving him nuts. But she was his mother. With his only brother being a news correspondent traveling through the Middle East, what was he supposed to do? “Nothing’s wrong with that,” Rachelle said in a tone that said otherwise. “Now, wait a minute. My mother’s leaving.” He turned a stern eye to Jillian to express that was an order, not a suggestion. She’d had plans. They’d arranged this. She was off for the weekend with her best friend, Marge, leaving him here—alone—for a night filled with lots of overdue sex. But Rachelle simply kept walking, shaking her head as she gathered her purse and clothes. “Yes,” his mother said. “I am leaving. I just—Pom Pom, no!” She rushed to the side of the hill but it was too late. Pom Pom, his mother’s precious Pomeranian and Clint’s royal pain in the ass, had darted down the hill. And being that the dog had a mind of its own, Clint knew it wasn’t coming back any time soon. Tying his towel tightly around his waist, he stepped toward the edge of the hill, hoping the dog might be within reach, but the puffed-up furball had crept under a bush. “Great.” He turned back to his mother. “You still haven’t answered my question.” “I am leaving,” his mother tried, but Rachelle had already pulled out her phone and was calling a cab. He stepped back to his date. “What are you doing?” “I’m sorry. This isn’t going to work at all.” His mother attempted to call her dog. “What isn’t going to work?” he asked, becoming slightly annoyed by the impatient look on her face. “I told you, my mother is leaving.” Rachelle snorted, snapped her phone closed and tucked it in her purse. “I thought you were a little more…independent?” Then she began walking toward the house, holding her clothes in her hand and the towel around her chest. “Really, Clint. If I’d known you were still tied to the apron strings, I wouldn’t have wasted my time.” Okay, now he was pissed. “Apron strings?” His mother gasped. “My son is no such thing!” Nice gesture, but his mom defending him right now was definitely bad timing. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll have a car send your towel back later,” Rachelle said. “Really, I’m sorry,” his mother tried, but Clint was one step past apologies. Crossing his arms over his chest, he watched with amazement as Rachelle hurried to the door. “You’ve got to be kidding.” Rachelle simply looked at Jillian, then back at him. “You two enjoy your evening.” “Wait—” Jillian attempted, but Clint shot up a hand. He wasn’t sure who he was angrier with, his mom for coming home when she knew he had a date, or Rachelle for being so quick to dash off—after he’d waited three weeks for her. Right now it was a toss-up, though Mom would surely win the bonus round if he had to go traipsing through scrub brush chasing after the damn dog. Jillian stood with her mouth open, watching Rachelle disappear into the house on her way to the front door. “Well, now that you’ve ruined my evening, would you finally answer my question?” he growled. “You were supposed to have left with Marge hours ago.” When they heard the distant slam of the front door, she snapped her mouth shut and turned her eyes to him. All signs of remorse were gone; instead, his mother looked aghast. “Well,” she huffed. “If that’s all it takes to ruin an evening, what does she do on a bad date? Pull out an Uzi and start firing?” “Why are you here?” She clamped her hands to her hips. “Honestly, Clint, I don’t know where you find these women. Do you actually think you can have a relationship with someone like that?” He hadn’t been looking for a relationship. He just wanted some really hot sex. But instead of pointing that out, he opted to skip to the obvious. “You embarrassed the hell out of her—out of us. Do you have any idea what you walked in on?” “The same thing that goes on here every time I leave for the weekend. And they’re all the same, shallow and self-centered. Did your father and I set such a horrible example that you can’t even consider dating a woman who might actually make a good wife?” “You and Dad were great.” And it was true. His parents had a wonderful marriage. Which was what had devastated his mother so when his father died. They’d been perfect for each other. Like peas and carrots. And someday, Clint would love to have what they had. He just wasn’t in a hurry. “Then why can’t you bring home someone kind and intelligent for a change?” His eyes narrowed. “You keep avoiding my question. What happened to your weekend in Palm Springs?” His mother let out a breath and plopped down in one of the stuffed chairs at the covered end of the terrace. “Marge and I had a difference of opinion.” “You got in a fight.” What a shock. It had been happening since the two women had met back in grade school. He should have known. “She wanted to bring a date! It was supposed to be the two of us, and at the last minute, she announced she was bringing some guy named Arnie along.” Clint stepped to the bar he kept stocked in the outdoor kitchen and poured himself two fingers of scotch. It was looking as though his entire weekend was about to be shot. “And the worst of it all,” his mother went on. “Do you know where she found this man?” Knowing Marge, it could have been anywhere. The woman was on her fourth divorce. Or was it five? He shrugged. “A dating service!” “What’s wrong with a dating service?” That blanched look returned to her face. “It’s the final stage of desperation, that’s what. You know those places are only for social misfits.” “Mom, I hardly think that’s fair. Lots of people use dating services these days—” He stopped and stared. “Wait a minute. Did you tell her that?” “Of course. She’s my friend. If I don’t look out for her, who will? She should appreciate my candor instead of swearing me out of her life.” Oh, beautiful. Another Hilton-Dawson feud. The last one had lasted four months and that was over a sweater from Nordstrom’s. If she and Marge were headed for another big one, that meant his mother would be hanging around bored again. And if there was one thing worse than living with his mother, it was living with his bored mother. He slugged back his drink. “No. Oh, no. You call up Marge and apologize.” “Over my dead body.” It just might come to that. Seriously. He hadn’t known how a five-thousand-square-foot home could end up too small for two people, but it was. It had been barely tolerable having to schedule his social life around the comings and goings of his mom. It would be worse if she stopped going entirely. After all, it wasn’t as though he could just leave her here and not come home. When she got lonely, she got depressed. When she got depressed, she started looking for things to bother herself about. And when she started looking, his life became a living hell no matter where he was. No, he’d learned all that the hard way. The best thing for his mom had been Marge, and if she was out of the picture indefinitely, he’d need to find someone besides himself to fill the gap. His mother rose and poured herself a glass of wine. “No. Marge is making a big mistake with this man, and when she finds that out, she’ll be the one apologizing to me.” Clint snorted. Marge was the only woman more stubborn than his mom. He doubted she’d ever apologized for anything. “In the meantime, my Palm Springs weekend is off.” Then she finally showed a sign of apology. “I’m sorry about your date. I had really been trying to sneak up to my room unnoticed. But you left the side gate open and Pom Pom flew through before I could catch her.” The gentleman in him pressed him to say it was all right, but the sex-deprived bachelor wouldn’t let him. Right now, he was supposed to be working on his second orgasm, just the thought of which had him grinding his teeth so hard he nearly split a filling. He didn’t need apologies. He needed a good hard screaming climax with a beautiful blond bomb-shell to wipe away three weeks of anticipation and pent-up steam. Instead, he had an irked and lonely mother and her puffed-up, oversized rat. Hardly the life of a swinging single bachelor. Setting his empty glass on the granite counter, he moved toward his bedroom to symbolically shut off the fire. “I’m going to drive down to the coast for a swim.” “In the ocean? I don’t understand why you go all the way down there when you’ve got a perfectly good swimming pool right in your backyard.” He slid open the glass door, flattened his lips and grumbled, “Water’s colder.” 2 “SHE’S DRIVING ME crazy.” Clint was stretched out on the couch in the reception area of his Wilshire Boulevard office. For the last twenty minutes, he’d been spilling his problems to his office manager, Carmen Padilla, as though she were his personal shrink. After four years with his firm, it had become one of her unofficial job titles. “Your mother’s not that bad,” she attempted. She sat behind her large reception desk, the Bluetooth receiver a permanent fixture to her ear, while she listened to Clint’s woes. “Do you know how I spent my weekend?” “From what you’ve told me so far, I’m almost afraid to ask.” “My mother and I toured health clubs for two days.” “I thought she just joined one.” “She did. With her ex-friend Marge. Now she insists on finding a new club so they don’t accidentally run into each other.” He pushed up from the couch and began circling the marble tiled floor. “Forget the fact that I’ve got a gym right in my own house. And the fact that she just paid a year’s membership at Rolling Hills. And the fact that in the end, she’ll go for two weeks, then find some reason to never go back again. I still spent my weekend touring every health club in Hollywood.” He stopped and looked at Carmen. “Do you know how many health clubs there are around here?” She shrugged and blinked her eyes innocently, though her smirk admitted evil pleasure in this. Having a large and close family, Carmen held little sympathy for Clint’s situation. “More than three?” “You don’t care at all, do you?” “Of course I do,” she insisted, but the grin said she was lying. Carmen’s family was tight-knit. The children stayed close to the nest and relatives were as much friends as family. And to Clint’s credit, he’d had the same relationship with his own family back when his father was his business partner and his brother wrote local stories for the L.A. Times. But when his dad died suddenly of a heart attack, all that changed. For a while, his brother, Nate, had stayed with their mother, helping her through her grief while Clint dealt with the family’s contracting business. The arrangement got them all through the shock of their father’s death until Nate got the opportunity of a lifetime with an assignment that took him to Afghanistan. It was thrilling for Nate, but terrifying for their mother, who feared losing a son after her husband. And in the end, Clint was left holding all the bags. It was often that Clint thought of the other men in his family as if they’d abandoned him. And days like this, the taste was especially bitter. Carmen must have seen the look on his face because her playful edge sobered. “Okay, let’s tackle this like any other business matter,” she said. “Your mother’s bored and you’re all she’s got.” She tapped her pen on the dark cherrywood desk and thought for a while. “You need to find her someone else to play with.” “I already bought her a dog.” “I was thinking more along the lines of a new man.” He turned the idea over in his mind. “I’m listening.” “Trust me. I know women. If your mom had a lover, she’d be the one complaining that you’re hanging around too much.” He wondered if his mother was ready for it. It had been almost two years since his father died. She was past her stage of mourning. Had even mentioned on one or two occasions the thought of entering the dating world again—in a fearful kind of way, but Clint knew that meant she’d been thinking about it. “How about your uncle, Gabe?” he asked. Carmen frowned. “Gabe doesn’t speak English.” “I’m not picky.” “You need to be. The wrong man could make everything worse.” “I don’t need worse,” he agreed. “You need Margot.” She jotted a note on a pad and handed it to him. “Who’s Margot?” “My friend and only the best dating counselor in West L.A.” “Oh, no. My mother will never agree to a dating service.” He shook his head with conviction. “Even if I could brighten her opinion of matchmakers, she wouldn’t see one now after the fight she had with Marge. It would be like admitting Marge was right, and Mom’s way too stubborn for that.” He crumpled the paper in his hand and tossed it back to Carmen. “Sorry. I need a Plan B.” She took the note and smoothed it back out. “Talk to her anyway. I’m serious. She’s the one who got Nico and me together without even trying, and she’s got plenty of clients your mother’s age. If you talk to her, I’m sure the two of you will figure something out.” He scoffed. “My weekend was destroyed thanks to my mother and her opinions about matchmakers.” “Margot’s not just a matchmaker. She’s a counselor for singles. Your mom doesn’t even need to know you’ve spoken with her. Just seek her out for the advice.” She handed the note back to Clint. “Aren’t you the one who always said if you want a job done right, hire a professional?” “I was referring to construction.” “It’s true for everything. Your mom needs a new man in her life. Margot can tell you how to make that happen.” Clint stared at the wrinkled page. Though a year ago he would have felt otherwise, the thought of his mother remarried to a nice guy now seemed like a dream come true. He’d love to have things back the way they used to be, her busy with her own life and him enjoying his. But Carmen was right. His mother had already been through enough. He didn’t want to see her hurt all over again by a dating game that could often be cruel and dangerous. Heck, the last time the woman was single, Jimmy Carter was president. Things had changed. “Trust me,” Carmen said. “You won’t be sorry.” “Famous last words.” But he tucked the note in his pocket anyway. He had to do something to fix this situation before his relationship with his mother was ruined forever. And the way things were going, that’s exactly where this would end. “SHE MADE this funny noise when we had sex.” Margot Roth stared at her client, not sure she wanted him to elaborate on that comment. The woman he was talking about had been Margot’s hairstylist for years and this conversation bordered on TMI—too much information. Not that Margot hadn’t had discussions like this before. To be successful as a dating counselor, she’d often had to peel back the layers of a client’s most intimate issues. She only wondered if she could sit for two hours every eight weeks having her highlights retouched knowing these kinds of details about her stylist, Gail. Curiosity got the best of her. “What kind of funny noise?” He wrinkled his nose. “Sort of a…whistle in her nose…kind of a growling thing…” He checked his perfectly manicured fingernails. “Maybe a clicking kind of thing.” She stared at him blankly. “Well, what is it, David? A whistle, growl or a click?” He sucked in a big breath and let it out. “Maybe all three, maybe none. I don’t know.” He tossed his head to the side to whip the dark bangs from his eyes, and when Margot fell silent and waited for a more solid answer, he rose to his feet and began pacing. David was clearly anxious and frustrated. This was the third woman Margot had paired him with, each one more perfect for him than the last, yet something kept holding him back. And after six weeks of getting to know him, digging deeper and deeper into his psyche, Margot was almost certain she knew what it was. She just didn’t know if he was ready to hear it. “David,” she said. “How do you feel about Gail on a personal level?” He stopped his pacing and smiled brightly. “Oh, she’s great. Every time we’re together we talk all night. You’re totally right about her. In fact, I scored some tickets to the Indie Film Festival next month and I’ve asked her to go with me. We’ll have a blast.” “It’s only on an intimate level that you aren’t quite connecting.” He seemed relieved that she understood. “Exactly. I just don’t feel that way about her, and I don’t know how to tell her.” “You have to be honest with her. And don’t waste time doing it. If you truly value her friendship and want it to continue, you’ve got to be kind but frank about this. Leading her on will only make things worse when the truth does come out.” It was advice Margot often doled out. She was a stickler about open communication when it came to relationships, and she wasn’t above canceling a contract with a client who couldn’t be honest with his or her partner. “I don’t want to lead her on. But I was kind of hoping maybe you could talk to—” Margot shook her head before he could finish the sentence. “She needs to hear it from you.” Then she gave him a reassuring smile. “Besides, I know you can do it. You’re a kind, gentle man, David. You’ll find the right way to talk to her about this and everything will be fine.” That is, everything will be fine between David and Gail. Getting to the bottom of David’s intimacy issues in general would be a little touchier. Though Margot had a bachelor’s degree in counseling and psychology, she wasn’t trained to handle the deeper emotional issues she sometimes ran into in her line of work. Usually, once she suspected there was more going on with a client than the need to learn some social skills or find the right companion, she referred them to one of the many trained professionals she had on file. And after this date with Gale, Margot debated whether David was one of those candidates. “You’re right,” he said. “I can talk to her. And I will. But…” he bit his lip. “Where does that leave us? I mean, I’m really looking for a soul mate, and Gail isn’t it.” Nor was any other woman, if Margot’s suspicions were correct. And they usually were. With David, it had taken her a couple dates to figure out that he might be struggling with his sexuality. And now, after his date with Gail, she was sure of it. She only hesitated wondering whether or not he was ready to face the truth. She pursed her lips and studied him, looking for some kind of sign that might tell her how he’d react to the suggestion he might be gay. There was such an innocence about him, an almost boyish sweetness that had her caring more for his feelings than for their business relationship. She didn’t want to throw reality in his face if he wasn’t prepared to consider it. “You know, actually,” he finally said, “some guys I know are going down to Cabo for a long weekend. They’ve asked me to go along.” “What kind of guys?” The question slipped from her lips before she could consider the insinuation in it. “A guy I know from work and a few of his friends.” She waited for him to elaborate, and when he didn’t, she simply said, “Sounds like fun.” He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it will be. And I was thinking maybe we’d put off any more dates until after I get back from this trip.” A sense of relief eased the tension in Margot’s shoulders. Maybe David was ready to explore the truth. “I think that’s a great idea.” He looked as though he was about to say something else, but then he rose to his feet instead. “I’ll call Gail tonight.” Margot stood with him. “I know you two will be fine,” she assured him. In truth, she’d already spoken with Gail and the two women had come to the same conclusion. He’d make a great friend, but when it came to life partners, he was probably drafting from the wrong team. She followed him out to the reception area of the office she shared with her partner, Alan Immendorf. She and Alan together owned Intimates, a full-service relationship counseling center for men and women who’ve had trouble finding that special person. Most of the time, their clients were people who, because of their careers or other obligations, didn’t have the time to go searching the usual places for a date. Many didn’t know where to go or how to approach the opposite sex. And then others needed deeper help in understanding themselves and getting real about the type of person they were looking for—David being an extreme example. And though it was the latter group she usually had the most trouble with, they could also be the most rewarding. The ones she truly felt would have spent the bulk of their lives frustrated and confused if it weren’t for the help she provided. Margot had been a romantic her whole life. Couple that with a keen instinct when it came to people and she’d found quick success in her choice of profession. And when she paired up with Alan, her gay business partner who handled many of their clients with alternative lifestyles, the two had come together to create what was becoming one of the more notable firms in their field. “So you’ll call me when you get back from Cabo,” she said as she led David through the reception area toward the front door. “I think the trip will be good for you. I’m looking forward to hearing how it went.” He smiled. “I will.” And when he walked out onto the street, she knew for certain the man who came back would be changed. “When are you going to hand him over?” She jumped at Alan’s voice behind her. “What were you doing, lurking behind the palms? You scared the daylights out of me.” “I heard your voices and came to see how it went. Were you and Gail right?” “I’m guessing if he returns as a client, it will be as one of yours instead of mine.” She told Alan about her meeting with David and his upcoming trip to Cabo San Lucas, and when she was done, Alan regarded her with a cocky grin. “I told you he wasn’t just metrosexual.” “Oh, stop acting like you’ve got a sixth sense. Your gaydar didn’t go off any sooner than mine did.” “No, but I’ll be happy to steal your client if he still needs our services.” “I’m thinking he won’t, but if I’m wrong, he’s all yours.” Alan laughed and handed her a note. “This call came into the main line during your appointment. Some guy named Clint Hilton. Carmen referred him to you.” “That’s her boss. Did he say what he wanted?” “Your services, apparently.” Margot stared at the paper in her hand. Though she’d never met Carmen’s boss, she’d heard plenty about him and found it highly implausible he’d need a dating counselor. From what she understood, the man had no problem finding women. “I can’t see why. He doesn’t fit the profile.” “Well, you’re about to find out. He’ll be here any minute.” “What?” “He had another appointment in the neighborhood and wanted to drop by afterward. I told him you were in but I couldn’t guarantee you’d be available.” When Alan noted the quizzical look in her eye, he added, “You can hide out in your office if you want me to get rid of him.” “No, I don’t mind talking with him. I’m just caught a little off guard, is all. I would have liked to have talked with Carmen first to see what this is about.” “So go call her. If he shows up, I’ll have him wait. My next appointment isn’t for a while.” “Maybe I will.” But before she could duck into her office, she heard the front door open. Margot had never seen Clint Hilton before, but based on the stories she’d heard from Carmen, she knew with all certainty the tall, drop-dead sexy man approaching them was him. He strolled in with the casual ease of a man accustomed to dominating the space around him. Relaxed and calm, as though he could find common ground with a mechanic or a millionaire banker alike. His shoulders were broad and his hands worn. He wasn’t simply the paper-pushing end of the contracting business he owned, and the sun-kissed highlights in his dirty blond hair didn’t come from a bottle. He was the genuine article. A West L.A. version of the Marlboro Man, if such a thing existed. A dark pair of Armanis covered his eyes and his brown leather Oxfords were unmistakably Santoni. Along with the stainless steel Rolex, business-casual slacks and tailored dress shirt, she guessed he was wearing a fortune worth more than her car. Yet there was nothing stuffy or presumptuous about his appearance. He wore the ensemble as though he’d thrown it on the same way the rest of the world slipped into a pair of sweats and sneakers. As the door closed behind him he smiled, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth. His grin pressed dimples into the strong hollows of his cheeks and set off a chain reaction she felt straight to her toes. And when he pulled off his shades, the gaze from his deep blue eyes seemed to slip straight under her skin, sending a shiver through her veins that stole her speech and garbled her thoughts. She stood there gaping while Alan held out a hand in her rescue. “You must be Clint Hilton. We spoke on the phone.” Clint turned the lethal smile away, allowing her to momentarily catch her breath and recollect some basic facts—like her name. What was wrong with her? Rich and handsome men walked into their offices all the time, yet today she stood there like an awed, giddy groupie. She lied and told herself it was resonant fluster from her meeting with David. Or maybe her blood sugar was low, the blueberry muffin she’d had for breakfast coming back to haunt her. That had to explain the light-headed dizziness that had just come over her because either of those things was better than admitting an instant crush on her best friend’s boss. “Yes, I’m Clint.” He shook Alan’s hand with vigor. “Alan, good to meet you.” Tucking his sunglasses into his shirt pocket, he turned the hand to Margot. “Margot Roth?” When she nodded, he added, “Carmen regards you very highly.” She accepted the handshake while mentally pulling herself together. If Clint had come seeking her professional services, now wasn’t the time to act like a babbling idiot. “If this is a bad time, I can make an appointment,” he offered. “I’m renovating a building over on 6th and happened to be in the area.” “The old Fuller building. I’m familiar with it,” she managed to utter. He quirked a smile that said he was impressed and she marveled over why that excited her so. He’s just a man. An incredibly sexy man. And in case you’ve forgotten, you’ve already found Mr. Wonderful. The memory of Rob, the man she’d started dating a month ago, brought her feet back down to earth. Now, Rob was the man she should be getting silly over. Perfect for her in every way. And as a woman in the business of forming lasting relationships, she should know. So she did her best to set her lust aside and get to work. “I’ve got time. If you’d like, we could meet now.” He slapped his big hands together. “Great. I’m anxious to see what you can do for me.” His choice of words sparked a number of inappropriate responses, but she held them all in check, insistent on shaking off this strange reaction of hers. Rob, think of Rob, she thought. And money. Lots of money. A new client always made for a good day, and with a heavy mortgage on a brand-new condo, she could use all the business she could get. So with those thoughts firmly fixed in her mind, she set off down the hall to find out exactly what she could do for the sexy Clint Hilton. 3 MARGOT ROTH was cute. That was the impression that lingered in Clint’s mind as he stood in her downtown office with her and her partner, Alan. Her round face complemented a wide mouth and big brown eyes. She was shorter than average, Clint doubted she’d hit five-five in three-inch heels, and her figure was curved and fleshy. Definitely girl-next-door with her shoulder-length brown hair and bright, unassuming smile. Nothing like the tall, chiseled beauties he typically gravitated to. Which was why it puzzled him that he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her. He followed as she moved toward a short corridor and down the hall, his gaze continually dipping to the bottom half of her hourglass figure. He liked the way it looked wrapped up in those coffee-brown slacks—shapely and touchable, firm but entirely feminine. Her legs were lengthened by high-heeled sandals that had something sparkly on them, like rhinestones or glitter, and her white ruffled blouse topped her off like whipped cream on a hot fudge sundae. “Have a seat,” he heard her say, and it was only then he realized they’d actually entered her office. He quickly darted his eyes somewhere respectable before she caught him gawking and labeled him a perv. He didn’t typically give every woman the full Hilton once-over, but then again, it wasn’t every woman who flew into his radar like Margot Roth had. Taking in his surroundings, he was surprised by the antique furniture in her office. The reception area had been ultra contemporary with bright-colored sofas, tall, sleek palms and bold canvas artwork. This room was like stepping into another world. A large mahogany table took the place of her desk. Queen Anne, if he knew his furniture. And she’d played the rest of the room off it with an antique sideboard subbing for a credenza, large, chunky bookcases framing the back wall and a deep burgundy Persian rug defining the space. It occurred to him that it fit her, rich and textured, comfortable and calm, and the more he saw of Ms. Roth, the more she intrigued him. She gestured to one of the two cushioned chairs facing her, and he took the one closest, edging it away from the table to give room for his long frame. After she’d gathered a pad and pen, she smiled and asked, “So how can I help you, Mr. Hilton?” He cleared his throat and tried to recall why he was there—a minute detail that seemed to have slipped his mind in the short moments between his car and her office. “My mother,” he said. “She’s in need of a companion.” Then he added abruptly, “A male companion.” She winked. “I’d assumed as much since we don’t breed dogs here.” His laugh was heartier than it should have been. “I tried that one already. Now I’ve got a bored mother and a dog.” “So she’s looking for a gentleman now.” “Well, she’s not exactly looking. I am. I was hoping you could give me some pointers on how I can find her a date…or two.” She quirked her brow. “I’m not sure I understand, Mr. Hilton. You want to find a companion for your mother, but you’d like to do it yourself?” He didn’t like the look in her eyes or her skeptical tone. In business, it was always the first sign of a deal going bad. “Maybe I should start at the beginning.” He gave her a brief rundown of his parent’s thirty-five year marriage and then skipped to these last six months. That was when his mother seemed to have settled with the idea of life after his father, and that his brother’s assignment in Afghanistan wasn’t a death sentence. She’d gotten past her worries and her mourning and had officially entered the stage of healing called Drive Clint Crazy. Margot made a number of notes as he spoke, and when he was done, she set the pen down and asked, “Have you suggested your mother get a place of her own?” “Every time I feel like watching her burst into tears.” She nodded and considered for a moment. “So she doesn’t feel capable of living on her own, but you feel she’s ready for a relationship.” “My mother’s capable and ready. She’s just afraid of being left forgotten and alone. It’s unfounded, but unfortunately she’s not giving me the chance to prove otherwise. If I were a psychiatrist, I’d say she feels she’s lost her husband and youngest son. Sticking at my house is her unconscious way of making sure she doesn’t lose me, too. Of course, that’s just a guess. I’m not a psychiatrist.” “No, but you’d like to be a matchmaker.” Ouch. He’d walked right into that one. He studied her for an extra beat and damn, if he didn’t sizzle over her no-nonsense style. He liked sharp women who weren’t intimidated by him. Thanks to his wealth and reputation as one of the area’s premier builders, it wasn’t always easy finding them. He scanned the room, now curious to know if she was single. There weren’t any family portraits on the antique tabletop, and her ring finger was bare, but that didn’t always mean much. Had Carmen mentioned anything he’d forgotten? “What exactly are you hoping to get from me, Mr. Hilton?” “Clint.” “Okay, Clint.” “Well—for a fee, of course—I’d like advice on how I can find a nice man for my mother.” “I’d be more than happy to meet with your mother.” “Yeah, well…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I would love for you to meet my mother. The problem is, she’s a little skeptical when it comes to matchmakers.” “That’s not uncommon. I’m sure if she came to the office and we talked—” “No, that’s not going to work.” When she raised a brow, he gave in and told her about Palm Springs and the fight between his mother and Marge. He hadn’t wanted to go there, fearing he’d insult Margot’s profession, but the more he spoke with her, the more he gathered straight talk would get him farther than charm. “Unfortunately, I think you’re mistaken about what I do here.” She slid a glossy brochure across the table. “I’m a dating counselor. And yes, I do bring couples together, but successful matchmaking isn’t something that can be summed up in a couple tips. Much of what I do is consultative. I know all my clients very well, and while there are a number of indicators that can make two people likely candidates for each other, I ultimately work off instinct. It’s what differentiates my practice from the typical survey-style dating services.” “I didn’t mean to diminish your profession.” That pleasant smile returned. “No offense taken. I’m only saying that if you want my help in finding a man for your mother, I’d need to meet her. Anything short of that would just be things like—” she shrugged “—suggesting she try volunteer work, or maybe join a local garden club or a gym that caters to people her age.” “She’s already done that.” “Does she belong to a church or synagogue?” He shook his head. “It’s not that my mother doesn’t get out. It’s that she’s forgotten how to be single. She doesn’t know how to act around men so she comes across flippant and disinterested. And I think she’s a little scared.” She kept an understanding expression as he explained, and as he talked to her, he began to believe Carmen had been right in sending him here. He liked Margot’s style. Not only did she come across confident and capable, there was something approachable about her that kept him at ease, as though he were talking to a good friend. A good, sexy friend. “These issues are very normal for people in your mother’s situation,” she said. “Many of my clients share those same fears.” “Men my mother’s age?” “A good percentage of my clients are in her age group, yes.” Damn, the woman was perfect for him. Carmen was right. Now he only needed to figure a way to make use of her services. He wondered if it was possible to change his mother’s mind about matchmakers. But then he remembered her hour-long rant about Marge and realized it wasn’t going to happen. “But keep in mind, I can’t help your mother if she isn’t ready to date again,” Margot pointed out. “I know my mother would be open to dating if she felt more confident with herself. She just needs some help. She needs to brush up on her conversation skills, learn to put out the vibe.” Margot blinked. “The vibe?” “Sure, the vibe.” He flashed his favorite half-cocked smile, the one that caught a woman’s attention one hundred percent of the time. And when Margot’s eyelids fluttered in response, his playful side couldn’t help but take the bait. Holding on to the smile, he lowered his voice and slid his gaze to her lips. “It’s that unspoken body language that says you’d like to get better acquainted. The look that says you’re intrigued, that maybe sometime before the night is over you’d like to share a drink…or something.” A heavy swallow slid down her throat and he trailed his eyes lower, down the curve of her neck to the small beaded necklace that hung at her chest. He dotted his gaze over every bead and went on. “It’s an art, you know, letting a person know you’re attracted without saying a word.” He continued down the neckline of her silky white blouse, into the barest hint of cleavage that teased among the ruffles. He lingered there for a pause, letting his mind wander behind the fabric before continuing over her breasts and down her waist. “Some people have mastered it so well they can practically have sex without laying a hand on each other.” Then he turned his gaze back the way he came, and when it reached her face, he could see the flush in her cheeks had deepened. Evidently, the look that worked one hundred percent of the time still held its streak. “Well,” she said with a husky edge that she tried to cough away, “that’s quite a vibe.” She reached for the mug at her side and took a sip. “I’ve got a few clients who could use a look like that.” “And I’ve got a mother who needs your help. Maybe we could work a trade.” She blinked back to the moment, though her eyes never left his mouth. “I’m sorry, but as I’ve said I can’t do much without meeting your mother.” He glanced down at the brochure in front of him. Margot’s list of credentials was long, as were the lengths she went through to make sure her clients were top-notch. She ran background checks, conducted interviews, took references and searched databases he’d never even heard of. Call it instinct. Call it a gut reaction. But he knew without a doubt, Margot was exactly what he needed—someone who understood his mother’s situation and would keep her best interest at heart. “Then we’ll have to figure out a way for you to meet her.” He leveled his eyes with hers. “Her only problem is with using the services of a matchmaker. She wouldn’t have anything against you personally.” “I don’t understand.” Clint didn’t exactly, either. He was thinking out loud, but the more he thought, the more intent he was to get Margot and his mother together. “Have dinner with us.” “I won’t lie about my profession if that’s where you’re going.” “The only thing you need to lie about is the fact that I’ve hired you. We’ll tell her you’re a friend, or—” “Mr. Hilton, honesty in relationships is one of my core principles.” She flipped the brochure over to show him, and sure enough, there it was right there in big hunter green letters. “I’m not asking you to date my mother. I’m asking you to get to know her so you can help me find her a man.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off with his ace in the hole that always got him what he wanted. “I’ll pay you five times your regular fee.” The argument caught in her throat and she sat with her mouth open. “I’m very expensive.” “I’m very intent on getting your help.” She didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so he kept going. “It’s simple. We’re honest about everything. I’m renovating the Fuller building on 6th. Where do you typically have lunch?” “Capras. It’s an Italian deli—” “I know it well.” He folded his hands and continued. “We met at Capras. I asked you to dinner at my place. That’s all she has to know.” “I’m not sure…” She was wavering, but he knew the temptation of money had her considering it. Money always had that effect on people. And to cinch the deal, he went in for the kill. “Have dinner with me and my mother, once, twice, however many times you need. Be completely up-front and honest about everything, aside from the one little tidbit about me paying you to be there—five times what you usually charge.” “You have no idea how much that is.” He resorted back to the winning smile. “I have a feeling you’re worth every penny.” Her eyes fluttered again and he knew he was on the brink of getting his way. “My standard contract would have to be altered. This is rather unusual—” “Write it up as you see fit and send it over to my office.” She bit her lip and studied the brochure between them. He knew he nearly had her, and the fact that she was asking questions was good. “I don’t know what guarantee I can offer, with my hands tied, I’m not sure—” “Guarantee that you’ll have dinner with me and my mother for any set number of times you feel is necessary to offer a consultation.” Then he met those big brown eyes with his most serious and assuring expression. “That’s all I’m asking.” She stared at him for a long time. Long enough for his conscience to question if he truly wanted this for his mother or if there was a teeny little side of him that wanted a date for himself. Not that he’d ever had to pay a woman to date him. But the sentiment remained. This discussion had left him both intrigued by Margot Roth and nearly certain there was something brewing between them. It was the subtle spark of chemistry he’d felt the second he’d stepped into her office. And through this conversation, that spark wouldn’t die. If Margot needed to get to know his mother, Clint suspected half the fun could be getting to know Margot in return. A win-win, so to speak. The virtual golden egg when it came to business dealings. Or business dealings that turned to pleasure. “I’ll do it,” she finally said. Clint smiled and pulled a business card from his wallet. “I think we’ll make a good team.” “Maybe I can feel her out. The best solution would be to ultimately warm her up to the idea of using my services. That way, I could offer a standard contract with the standard guarantees. At this point, all I can—” He rose. “Stop worrying. If I wasn’t sure I’d get my money’s worth, I wouldn’t have made the offer.” Her smile was laced with trepidation, but he had a sense that the next time he saw her—after she’d had a chance to think this through and come up with an action plan—the sharp and confident Margot Roth would make a grand return. In fact, he’d almost bet on it. When she pushed from her chair, he offered his hand. “Call me when you’ve got a contract and we can discuss next steps.” MARGOT TOOK THE HAND of the tall, sexy man who had waltzed into her office and turned her afternoon on end. She could tell by his casual ease that this meeting was simply another stop in an average day for Clint Hilton. Rarely did he walk away without closing a deal, she presumed, and she had to admit, he was good. He’d pushed all the right buttons to have her lapping out of his hands. And as he said his goodbyes and made his way out of her office, she felt she’d just witnessed a master at work. What had she done? For a woman who worked off strict principles, who believed in demonstrating the same ethics she expected of her clients, she’d somehow managed to throw it all out the window by something as basic as money and charm. But oh, did Clint Hilton have charm. That sexy look alone nearly had her going along before he’d sunk the eight ball by quintupling her salary. She’d practically felt his fingers running all over her as he’d demonstrated “the vibe.” Heck, she might have offered her services at half price if he’d done it again, and it amazed her that something so primal could hold so much power. For someone who thought she knew everything about dating, that look was one for the record books. She lowered back to her chair and reached for her water, wishing it was something stronger. “And what did tall, rich and handsome want from you?” Margot looked up to see Alan standing in her doorway. He was a tall, tanned man with a voice smooth as syrup and a calming manner that always put her at ease. Except today, it would take more than her business partner to shake the effects of Clint Hilton from her nerves. And only when she spoke and heard the trembling in her own voice did she realize the ramifications of what she’d done. “I think I just agreed to be his girlfriend.” 4 MARGOT SPENT the bulk of her afternoon drawing up a contract for Clint after consulting with Alan and running the details by her lawyer. Though she could have e-mailed the final document to Clint’s office before leaving for the day, she decided to sleep on it instead. Not only did she want to give the ad hoc contract a fresh read-through in the morning, she also didn’t want to look too eager in Clint’s eyes. That had been Alan’s suggestion, and one of the first things he’d schooled her on when they’d gone into business together five years ago. When it came to people with money, never look like you need their business. As a military brat who’d grown up entirely middle-class, Margot never once scoffed at Alan’s advice on L.A.’s upper crust. And she’d done well for it. She wasn’t going to start ignoring him now. “Well, I’m off to spend a quiet evening with the girls,” Alan announced from her doorway. The “girls” were the twin beagles, Lucy and Ethel, that Alan shared with his life partner, Gene. “Gene’s not back from his conference?” she asked. “No, and it’s still raining in Boston. He called this morning to say he was freezing his ass off.” “You didn’t tell him about our heat wave, did you?” Alan chuckled. “He’d already heard. Anyway, I’m off. You’ll lock up?” “Yes, and thanks again for your advice today. It really helped having someone else to brainstorm this contract with.” “I don’t suppose it’s every day you’re contracting yourself out as a fake girlfriend.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “For five times my regular fee.” “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t repeat that in too many circles,” Alan replied, chuckling. “People will get the wrong impression about what we’re selling here at Intimates.” Margot snorted. “I don’t think anyone would mistake me for a high-priced hooker. I don’t have the legs for it.” Then she looked down her chest. “Or the rack.” “I’m sure Rob would disagree.” The mention of her boyfriend doused the smile on her face. “Gosh, Rob, I forgot all about him. I really should call and make sure he doesn’t have a problem with this.” “Why would he?” Margot couldn’t think of a reason. She was certain he’d be fine with what, for all intents and purposes, was a few casual business dinners. But she and Rob had barely been dating a month, and with her feelings for him growing stronger by the minute, she didn’t want any misunderstandings interfering with their budding relationship. “I’m sure he won’t,” she agreed. “But I’ll call just the same.” When Alan said his goodbyes and left, she locked the door behind him and made the call. “Sloan Enterprises,” she heard Rob say. She put on her lowest and most breathy voice. “Hey, sexy.” The line fell silent for an instant before he finally replied, “Margot?” “Yes, silly. Who else would it be?” “Uh, I don’t know.” “Don’t tell me your mother calls you sexy because that would be kind of weird, and I’ve already had enough weirdness today.” The befuddled tone in his voice relaxed and he laughed. “Hardly, babe. You’re the only one who talks dirty to me.” “You sound distracted. Did I catch you at a bad time?” “No, not at all. What’s up?” Sitting back in her chair, she kicked off her shoes and told him about her day and the new client she’d taken on. It felt good relaxing like this and reflecting over the day’s events with someone like Rob. It reminded her of her parents, how the two had always unwound in the evenings while her mother cooked dinner and her father went through the mail. They were comfortable and easy together. Two partners in the business of running a family and sharing their lives. Margot had always wanted a relationship like that, and had been smart and patient enough to wait for the right man to come along. And when she’d met Rob, she’d known he was the one. She’d taken notice when they’d met at a charity function the month before. The two had been seated next to each other at a dinner to raise money for the women’s shelter where she volunteered and had hit it off before the salads were served. In the span of the two-hour dinner, they’d discovered the same tastes in movies, music, books and sports. They were both raised in similar households, their families traveling often due to Rob’s father’s career in sales and Margot’s life as the daughter of a Marine. They were the middle children in their respective families and shared that special understanding of life stuck between the firstborn and the baby. It seemed the list went on and on—similar career aspirations, ideas about family and friends, politics and religion. On paper, she and Rob were about as perfect as they came. And in the weeks since that first date, Margot had become almost certain she’d met that ideal life partner she’d been waiting for. “I think that’s great,” Rob said when she’d finished her story about Clint. “So you don’t have a problem with me pretending to be another man’s girlfriend for the next few weeks?” “Of course not.” A smile spread across her lips. She loved his faith and trust in her, and it underscored the feeling that she’d found her Mr. Right. From the time Margot and her friends had entered their teen years, Margot had good instincts when it came to putting men and women together. So much so that by the time she’d graduated high school, she’d known her future was in matchmaking. Ten years later, she was doing exactly that. She had a solid list of clients and a growing list of success stories. And now that she’d met Rob, she could count herself among them. “I have to confess, I have reservations about accepting the fee he’s offering,” she told Rob. “It seems excessive, even for someone who can afford it.” “I disagree. I think what he’s paying is just. I mean, think about what you’re providing. For one, you’re making house calls. And two, he’s expecting you to find his mother a date with one hand tied behind your back. That’s definitely worth the bump in pay.” She hadn’t thought of it that way. “It’s going to be a challenge,” she admitted. “And you’ll rise to it, I’m sure. You’re very competent, Margot. I think you’ll have fun trying to figure out how to hook this woman up without thinking she’s using a matchmaker.” Her heart swelled with his assurance. “Thank you.” “You’ll do fine. Instead of worrying, you should celebrate your new client.” “That’s a great idea. How about we have dinner tonight? You might even coax me into cooking.” Which would keep him at her place for who knew what afterward. “I’d love to, babe, but I’ve got plans.” She waited for him to elaborate, and when he didn’t she resisted the urge to pry. “Well, tomorrow maybe.” “Yeah, give me a call.” She heard papers shuffling before he added, “And speaking of plans, I need to take off now, but I’m glad you called. Congratulations. I’m proud of you, babe.” “Thanks.” She wanted to say something more, but she didn’t know what, so she opted for a simple goodbye before hanging up the phone. Though her sensible side told her to keep taking things one day at a time, she had to admit a sense of anxiousness when it came to their relationship. She was so sure of their future together, of him being the ideal man for her in every way, she wished they could skip the formalities of dating and go straight to the altar. Of course, that went against every rational word of caution she handed out to her friends and clients. She’d never felt that rushing a relationship was prudent, and she intended to heed her own advice. But having some permanence and formality between them would certainly be nice, especially when she considered having to deal with men like Clint Hilton. Clint’s musky scent still hung in her office, taking her mind back to their meeting this afternoon. She recalled the silky way his gaze had slid over her when he’d demonstrated the vibe. Remnants of that look still tingled in her insides, calling to her in forbidden temptation. Now that she’d seen the man in action, she didn’t doubt all the stories Carmen had told her about him—the womanizing, the playboy vacations in every party spot on the globe. The man had the “It” factor and knew how to use it, which made him dangerous to any woman who didn’t watch herself. Margot had to admit that when he’d caressed that smooth gaze over her body, she’d felt naked and unguarded. Even a little aroused. An engagement ring would make a nice safeguard against a man like Clint. Because while Margot had her preferences set firmly in mind, she had no doubt Clint Hilton could turn a woman stupid with the wink of one crystal blue eye. Blinking away the thought, she gathered her things and shut the lights in the office. While Clint might have touched her lustful side, her good senses reminded her that Rob was her future, and she’d simply keep that in mind as she played this phony courtship. But as she locked the door behind her and headed for her car, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it might be easier said than done. “TELL ME AGAIN where you met this woman?” Jillian asked as Clint dropped four bags of groceries on the stone counter in his kitchen. “Capras. It’s a deli down on 4th.” He stepped over to his wine rack and pulled off two bottles of cabernet. “Hmm, you don’t waste time, I’ll give you that. It was barely a week ago that treacherous blonde stormed out of here and you’ve already found someone new.” He would have moved a lot sooner if work hadn’t kept him so busy this week. But now that he considered it, it probably ended up for the better. It would have looked strange suddenly bringing Margot around if he’d just had another date two nights before. He winked. “Have you ever known me to beat around the bush?” She gave him a wry smile. “I suppose not.” She began helping him unload groceries, surveying every item in the bags as though she could size up his intentions based on his shopping list. Eyeing a small can of imported caviar that cost nearly as much as the blue sapphires on her ears, she stated, “My, you’re putting on quite a spread tonight. Are you sure you want me to stay and join you?” The comment was made under the guise of a considerate gesture, but Clint knew damn well his mother would hold it against him if he asked her to take a hike for the night. It was a little game they’d been playing for years. She made polite offerings and he had to figure out which ones were sincere. Like the time he’d inadvertently made plans on a Sunday that ended up being Mother’s Day. His mother insisted he keep his reservations and swore that it would be perfectly fine to celebrate Mother’s Day two days early. So he’d believed her and went on his trip, only to spend the next three years hearing about that one disappointing Mother’s Day where she didn’t have both sons with her. That was when Clint discovered that what his mother said and what she expected were two different things. “Absolutely not. This is your home, and you are joining Margot and me for dinner.” She tried to keep a poker face, but he didn’t miss the twinkle of pleasure in her eye. “Really, it’s your first date and you obviously want to impress her.” She held up a bottle of finely aged balsamic vinegar. “I’d be a third wheel.” “You’ll be pleasant company.” Then he shoved a bunch of garlic chives in her hand and asked her to chop them. Round one; advantage Clint. For the next hour the two worked together in the kitchen, preparing one of the many meals he’d learned to cook from his father. Cooking had been one of Jerald Hilton’s hobbies that had grown out of necessity when he was a young college student at UCLA. Unlike Jillian, who was born into wealth and had staff to take care of the family’s basic necessities, Jerald had worked his way to the top. Of course, the rich relations he’d married into hadn’t hurt his career, but at his core, Jerry Hilton was part of the working class who took pride in the things he could create with his own hands, a superbly crafted meal being one of them. “This is nice, cooking with you,” Jillian said as she whisked together a vinaigrette for the salads that sat chilling in the fridge. “It reminds me of the early days with your father.” Then she looked around his high-tech kitchen. “Although the accommodations are quite a bit better than the tiny apartment we had when we were first married.” The tiny apartment she referred to was the two-thousand-square-foot penthouse three blocks off Wilshire Boulevard her parents had bought the young couple as a wedding present. “You know, your father cooked a meal like this for me on our first date,” she added. “It’s how I knew he was serious about me.” She threw him a glance that asked if the same significance applied to Margot. “I like Margot,” he said. “As far as being serious about her, it’s a bit premature to say at this point.” The look on her face said she knew he was lying, and that was okay. As long as she didn’t know why Margot was special, she could think what she wanted. In fact, it was probably best his mother presumed he had serious intentions. She might open up more freely if she thought she was conversing with a future daughter-in-law instead of another one of Clint’s casual flings. And in reality, if it weren’t for what he’d heard from Carmen, that might have been true. Clint had already been impressed with Margot after their meeting, and then the contract she’d drawn up etched another checkmark in her favor. She hadn’t missed a beat in the five-page document. Every point had been covered in a manner that was clear and firm, yet fair to both parties. And the fact that she’d whipped it up overnight underscored the fact that his intuitions had been on the mark. Margot Roth was as sharp as she was sexy, a fact that both intrigued and dismayed him. Because after returning from her office, he’d made a beeline to Carmen to find out everything he could about the beautiful matchmaker with the big brown eyes. And what he’d learned was that if he wanted more than her business, he’d come around a month late. Apparently, Margot had a boyfriend, and though the relationship was new, Carmen seemed to think it was already serious. Clint couldn’t deny that the news irked him, not so much because she was taken, but because he’d only missed her single status by a few short weeks. He hated being denied something he wanted, but even more than that, he couldn’t shake the inexplicable feeling that she should be his. He didn’t know where it came from. Hadn’t felt that way about a woman before. It was just this thing that had come over him and kept sticking like glue. An overwhelming feeling of possession. It was like walking into a gallery and seeing a painting he knew he had to have. If pressed to articulate why, he’d have a hard time because it wasn’t simply the colors, or the style, or the frame or the subject matter. It was the way they all came together in a package that hit that special sequence of buttons. Except this time, the artwork had a big Sold sign on it. “Have I seen her in any films?” his mother asked. “Margot isn’t an actress.” “Oh, so she’s a model?” He frowned. “I date women besides models and actresses, Mother.” “Then what does she do?” “I don’t know. Some kind of counselor.” He followed her onto the terrace, where she proceeded to set the table while he put out the steaks and readied the grill. “We only spoke briefly while we were ordering lunch. I intend to find out the details tonight.” “Well, I’ll hand it to you. You don’t have trouble finding women, that’s for sure.” The doorbell rang and he glanced at his watch to see that she was exactly fashionably seven minutes late. Hell, even her promptness was perfect. As he trekked to the front door, he reminded himself that Margot was here on business, and as much as he would have liked to throw in the pursuit of pleasure, it wasn’t worth harming his integrity. His father had always told him that in their business, honor and reputation meant everything, and one’s personal life could never be separated from the job. Few people could get away with being unscrupulous in private while still maintaining respect in the business world, and rather than test those waters, it was best to regard all aspects of his life as a piece of the whole. Do right by people, and for the most part, people will do right by you. In this case, that meant not trying to steal a woman from another guy, no matter how much he might want her. But as he opened the door and saw Margot standing there in a sexy yellow sundress, her dark coffee eyes bright and dewy and that smile wide and inviting, he couldn’t stop one phrase from taunting him. All’s fair in love and war. 5 CLINT OPENED the door wearing flip-flops, tan cargo pants and a Hawaiian shirt, which on further inspection, had barely conspicuous UCLA emblems printed among the palm fronds. It was classic California weekend attire, but coupled with his good looks and perpetual aura of wealth, he looked less like a typical beach bum and more like a guy who’d just spent the weekend kicking back with Jimmy Buffett. He scanned her over and flashed that million-dollar smile. “You look beautiful.” It was a compliment he’d probably tossed to dozens of women at his door, but she still couldn’t help the giddy thrill. As if the cutest boy in class had finally turned his attention to the studious bookworm parked next to the teacher’s desk. She shook it off and reminded herself that this was a business meeting. It would be bad enough having to fake her way through this night; she didn’t need to get carried away with the idea this was a real date. Because when she stepped through the door and into the foyer, she realized how ridiculous that notion was. She’d been surprised when pulling up to the address. From the front, the house looked like a simple mid-century modern with nice but modest landscaping. But when he opened the door and she crossed the threshold, she realized the facade was only a portal to a level of extravagance she’d never witnessed without having to pay for the tour. Immediately upon entering, her eye was drawn through a vast great room to the floor-to-ceiling glass walls that showcased a spectacular view of the city. To her right, a soaring stone fireplace made the backdrop for a print that was unmistakably Warhol, and she didn’t even want to get a closer look at the Picassoish looking piece that centered the ebony wood dining table. “I hope you like steak,” he said. “Carmen said you weren’t a vegetarian.” “No,” she replied absently. “Steaks are fine.” She counted three separate seating areas, each adorned with sleek modern furniture that would have made Alan drool. Heywood-Wakefield, Eames, Knoll, all the classics were here as well as the contemporaries responsible for reviving the minimalist, modern style of the 1950s and 1960s. The colors were bright, the layout meticulously arranged so as not to compete with the showcase of the room, which was the view of West Hollywood. Margot had always had an interest in design and had even taken some courses in college. And though this particular style was far more Alan’s taste than her own, she couldn’t help but appreciate what she’d walked into—not to mention the amount of money in the room. She tried not to gawk, knowing that to pass herself off as one of Clint’s real dates she’d have to eventually close her mouth and push her eyes back in their sockets. But it was hard. She’d known the man was rich, but even Alan’s friends—the bulk of whom came from big money—didn’t hold a candle to this. “Did you have trouble finding the place?” Clint asked. Her gaze went to an oversized glass mobile that reflected prisms of colored light onto a stark white wall. “I just followed the cast of Cribs.” Clint laughed. “I doubt MTV would be interested in me.” His modesty was cute, but it didn’t keep her from feeling insignificant and entirely out of place. Having spent the bulk of her life in military housing, she couldn’t imagine living somewhere like this. She doubted she’d ever get past the sensation that some day the real owners would come home from their villa on the Riviera and wonder what the hell she was doing in their house. And she was expected to pretend she was actually dating this man? He led her through the room, and when she got closer to the Warhol, she had to ask. “That’s real, isn’t it?” She didn’t know how she could tell. Maybe only because it had a different look from the Warhol prints she’d seen at the local poster shops. He shrugged. “I like art,” he said, making her feel even more like a wide-eyed social misfit. She had the fleeting fear this was all a big mistake. There was no way Clint’s mother would believe he’d actually date a woman like her. Not that Margot walked around with an inferiority complex. She was simply a realist. She’d been around L.A. long enough to know that guys like Clint didn’t go for regular working girls who barely knew the difference between Gucci and Prada, who wouldn’t consider shooting up Botox or shoving silicone in their boobs, and were revolted by the thought of intentionally throwing up a perfectly good meal. It just didn’t happen. Which meant not only did she have to convince his mother to use her services, she had to do it all while selling the notion that she actually belonged in a place like this. Suddenly, five times her regular fee seemed like a pretty reasonable deal. “My mom’s on the terrace. Come on out and I’ll fix you a drink.” He must have noticed that she needed one, and once again, she had to mentally pull herself together. Her father hadn’t raised her to freeze up with fear. On the contrary, he’d spent most of her life preaching that in his line of work, fear got you a bullet through the head. He used to say that if a kid could overcome fear in the jungle of Vietnam, she could overcome anything the streets of America could throw at her. She stood for a moment and imagined him in the room with her, urging her along, even though in reality he was probably in his underwear, tipping back a Budweiser watching FutureWeapons reruns on the Military Channel. But still, it calmed her, and she managed to cross the room and step onto the back terrace without ogling anything else. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/lori-borrill/the-personal-touch/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.