to need a glass of wine for that.”
“Are you allowed to drink on the job?”
She smiled as she shook her head. “I meant at home—I’m finished for the night.”
His brows lifted. “And you’re inviting me to go home with you—after only one kiss?”
“I’m offering to continue the explanation someplace where I can kick off my shoes and put my feet up,” she clarified.
He rose from his seat as she made her way around the bar.
“I’d offer to give you a lift home,” he said, “but I got a ride with my friends—and they all abandoned me.”
“So instead you’re asking me for a lift home?”
He flashed his usual bone-melting smile. “If it won’t take you too far out of your way.”
“Lucky for you, my car has a full tank of gas.”
* * *
He should have left the bar with his friends.
If Jay had walked out with Carter or Kevin, he wouldn’t have ended up kissing Alyssa. Because now that he’d kissed her, he couldn’t stop thinking about it—and wanting to do it again.
At twenty-nine, he was old enough to have learned that he couldn’t always get what he wanted. But as a bachelor and heir to the Blake Mining fortune, it wasn’t a lesson that seemed to apply in his relationships with women. Even back in high school, girls had practically lined up for the privilege of dating him, and he hadn’t wanted to say no to any of them.
It had taken some time—and the anonymity that came with being an unknown freshman at an out-of-state college—before he gained some perspective. He no longer hit on every attractive woman who crossed his path, he ensured that any woman he did go out with wasn’t under the illusion that a few nights in his bed would lead to a ring on her finger and he’d concluded that certain relationships tipped the scales against personal involvement—which was why he didn’t date friends, coworkers or neighbors.
Alyssa was the first woman in a long time who tempted him to break that rule.
Going back to her place—which was only one flight of stairs below his own—was an effective reminder of the most important reason not to make a move on his neighbor. And still, that reminder didn’t completely snuff out the temptation.
“You were going to tell me about your love-struck suitor,” Jay said, stepping across the threshold into her apartment.
She’d never invited him into her place before, and he was suddenly conscious of the fact that he was in her personal living space. A passing thought that turned his mind in a direction he was trying not to go. So he stayed where he was, just inside the door, while she crossed through the living room to the kitchen, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.
“I don’t think he’s love-struck so much as misguided.” She took a glass from the cupboard and removed the stopper from a previously opened bottle of wine on the counter. “And that’s my mother’s fault.” She held up the bottle to show him the label. “Do you want a glass?”
“Do you have any beer?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
“Then I’ll have what you’re having,” he said.
She poured a second glass, then picked up both and carried them toward the seating area.
“Are you going to come inside and drink it?” she asked, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and lighting her dark eyes. “Or would you prefer to have it by the door?”
He’d stayed where he was in order to put as much physical space as possible between them, as if that distance might somehow dull his awareness of her. “It’s a nice door,” he said.
“Similar to the one on your apartment, I’d guess.”
“Similar,” he agreed as he crossed the floor to join her, though he chose a deep leather chair rather than the sofa where she’d settled. “And having spent some time with Diego tonight, I can tell you that he’s more than misguided. In fact, I’d say he’s somewhere between seriously infatuated and head over heels.”
“What was that about, anyway?” she demanded. “He was ready to turn around and walk out the door when you asked him to stay.”
“It was...an impulse,” he told her, because he wasn’t entirely sure of the reason himself.
“Why?” She lifted her glass to her lips.
He shrugged. “Doesn’t the definition of impulse preclude there being a reason?”
“Not necessarily.”
“And anyway, you’re the one who promised an explanation,” he reminded her.
“You’re right.”
“Am I also right in assuming that what happened tonight is somehow connected to the conversation you had with your mother this morning—the one in which you lied about having a boyfriend?”
She nodded.
“And the reason you lied?” he prompted.
“Because of Diego.” She sipped her wine. “No, that’s not entirely true. Diego is only the most recent of my mother’s matchmaking efforts.”
“How many have there been?” he wondered.
“It seems as if there’s a new one every time I go home,” she told him. “At Thanksgiving it was Tony. At Christmas it was Evan—until she realized no progress was being made there and brought Diego in to celebrate the New Year with us.”
“Is your mother a professional matchmaker?”
“No. She’s a financial analyst, but trying to find the perfect man for me has become her latest hobby. Or maybe it’s an obsession. But it’s not because she wants to help me find the perfect guy—she just wants me to find a guy who will convince me to move back to California. And not only is Diego her best friend’s favorite nephew, he lives in the same neighborhood as my parents.”
“That kind of relative and geographic proximity is a definite red flag,” he agreed. “You never want to get involved with somebody that you might run into on a regular basis after the relationship ends, because those encounters can be awkward and messy.”
She studied him over the rim of her glass. “On the surface, that sounds like a valid argument—except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“It assumes that every potential relationship is doomed from the start.”
“Have you ever had a relationship that didn’t end?” he challenged.
“Since I just told you about my mother’s efforts to find my perfect match, it’s safe to assume you already know the answer to that
