dating profile.”
“There are a lot of weirdos out there.” Steve’s voice grew concerned. “You’re steering clear of the stalkers, right?”
Jessica smiled. “No stalkers yet.”
“Good. But if you need me to hire a hitman to break some knees, just let me know.”
“A true sign of a good friend.”
Steve paused before he went on. “I just want to see you happy, Jess.”
Jessica gripped the wheel harder, and signed off, disconnecting her cellular.
She was happy. And one day she’d find someone to share that happiness with. Because he was out there. She could feel it. The perfect man for her. It was like she told her customers at Perfect Pairs.
“You have to be open to love to find it. And you have to be willing to work hard, before and after you do.”
Steve was a great guy; he just hadn’t been the right guy. And all the hard work in the world couldn’t overcome a mismatched choice. The blues threatened to color her mood, and she swatted them back.
For now, it didn’t matter anyway. Her life, full with running her business, had taken on a bursting-at-the-seams quality since she’d dragged Cutter into the fundraiser. For a little while, dating would have to take a backseat.
And she’d learned a lot from her mistakes; next time she was positive she’d get it right. Then again, as a child she’d been positive her parents were happy, too, and look how wrong she’d been about that. She ignored the dull ache in her heart, the pain an unwelcome guest she’d learned to live with.
She pulled into the driveway of Cutter’s modern three-story home, hidden from the street by a jungle of thick, woody banyan trees and patches of bamboo. A yard as wild as the owner itself. The garage constituted the entire first level, and on the door was a note: Come Around Back.
After rounding the house, Jessica passed a sparkling blue pool and headed down the grassy, palm-tree-studded backyard that ended at Biscayne Bay. A powerful-looking speedboat was parked at the dock, and Cutter was on deck, coiling a rope with easy, confident movements.
She crossed to the end of the dock. His brown hair had streaks of gold that glinted in the sunshine. In khaki shorts and a knit shirt, he made casual cool.
“You look like you’re feeling better,” she said.
“I’m waiting on a part for the ‘Cuda, so I spent the day tuning up the boat. I figured we could take a test run and woo my contestants at the same time.” His sea-green eyes roamed down her peach princess-styled dress to her two-inch sandals. “But you look overdressed.”
“Much like blood, silk is always in style.”
A twinkle appeared in his eyes as he held out his hand. “Then climb aboard.”
As he helped her onto the boat, the skin-on-skin touch was more disturbing than she’d prepared for. Perhaps she simply needed to acclimate to the sight of bare, muscular legs. “Nice boat,” she said, carefully removing her fingers from his.
“With a four-hundred-and-thirty-horsepower engine, she’s one of the fastest crafts in the neighborhood.”
Jessica settled onto the leather bench that stretched across the stern, resting her arms along the back. This was one element of Cutter Thompson she was equipped to deal with. “That’s because your neighborhood is full of wimpy vessels.”
From the bucket seat in front of her, hand on the key in the ignition, Cutter turned to shoot her a look. “Are you saying my equipment is small?”
She smiled and crossed her legs. He was defending his boat the way he’d defended his car. He was such a guy. “I’m telling you your equipment is slow.”
“Sunshine—” he hooked his arm on the back of his chair “—nothing about me is slow.” He lifted his brows. “Including my boat.”
“I’ve driven faster.”
His face exuded skepticism. “What boat would that be?”
“A Mach III Sidewinder.”
He stared at her, the chiseled, masculine planes of his face lit by the sun. Finally, he let out a reverent whistle. “Damn. Those top out at a hundred and seventy miles per hour.”
“I know. My father builds them.” And after her parents’ divorce, she’d spent hours with her father at his plant, her life divided evenly between two worlds. One ultra-feminine, the other pure male.
“I suppose my plan to impress you with speed won’t work,” he said.
“I’m afraid not.”
Suddenly, his mouth held the potential for a smile, but even skirting the edge of possibility he managed to leave her breathless. “Guess I’ll have to come up with something better.” His look brimmed with cocky promise.
Stunned, Jessica realized her heart was thumping in her ribs. Cutter’s mesmerizing gaze released hers when he turned to start the boat and eased them out into the channel, where she finally inhaled a breath of salty, fresh air. The sun was warm, and, without his focus on her, she was able to relax. But since when was she even fleetingly susceptible to Neanderthals?
She pushed the thought aside as they cruised past exclusive homes with tropical landscapes, private boats aligned in a parade of wealth, under bridges, and finally through downtown. Columns of condominiums and skyscrapers dwarfed them, stainless-steel-and-glass giants gleaming in the sun.
After finding a safe spot with a view of the city, Cutter cut the engine and tossed out the anchor, taking a seat beside her. He propped his legs up on the edge of the boat, the extension of hard muscle seemingly going on forever.
Yes, it had to be the naked limbs that were getting under her skin.
But she was here to complete her task, not gawk at powerful legs dusted with dark hair. Jessica sat up a little higher and forced her gaze to his face. But the square-cut jaw, green eyes and brown hair with touches of gold were striking in a wholly masculine way. Not exactly the visual relief she needed. Jessica cleared her throat, reining in her reaction. “We need to discuss social-networking etiquette.”
The grimace on his beautiful face was absolute. “I’d rather you pull out my fingernails.”
She went on, ignoring his lack of enthusiasm. “You need to remember that your words minus the facial expression and the inflection in your tone are open to interpretation.” Holding his gaze, she used her tone to emphasize her point. “You think you’re being charming and witty, and the recipient thinks you’re being insulting.”
“Most of the time I am.”
She stared at him and realized he was telling the truth. Why would someone go out of their way to be disagreeable? “Well … that won’t work for us.”
“I don’t know how to be a suck-up.”
She held back the lift of her brow at the understatement. “Just be aware
