little faith,” Jake chided. “Maybe you ought to stay here and work the case, and I’ll go to Cancún.”
Whitney pretended to consider his suggestion, then shook her head. “I don’t think Bill will go for that.”
“I won’t go for what?” the subject of conversation asked as he glided into view beside them, his sister in his arms.
Jake felt a jolt when Nicole Taylor’s gaze met his. From across the room those sapphire eyes had seemed vibrant. Close up, they were mesmerizing.
Whitney gave her husband a coy smile. “You won’t leave me here and take Jake to Cancún with you. Right?”
Arching a brow, the assistant D.A. glanced down at his sister. “I have no clue what’s going on, but it sounds like I got here just in time. Mind if we switch partners so I can reclaim my wife?”
Nicole’s gaze flicked back to Jake’s face, then her lips curved. “Get lost, big brother.”
He’s not my type. Nicole sensed it the instant Whitney fluidly handed off her dance partner and Nicole found herself in the strong circle of the man’s arms.
He was tall and lean, his straight, shaggy hair as black as the suit he wore. He had a handsome, rugged face with high cheekbones and a strong sweep of jaw. It was a combination that drew a woman’s gaze. He had certainly drawn hers while he’d stood alone at the bar, nursing a drink. The sight of him had brought to mind a sleek, dark panther, coiled to spring. The closed look in his eyes had not encouraged company.
It was those eyes that now had an alarm clanging in her head. They were the color of rich, aged whiskey, and she could only think that she could blissfully get lost in them…the same way she had a long time ago when another dark gaze had turned her system just as jittery.
The memory of that disaster had her struggling to clear her thoughts.
“I’m Nicole Taylor,” she said as he guided her over the floor with smooth steps. “Bill’s sister.”
“Jake Ford.”
“Whitney’s partner, right?”
“Right.”
Nicole followed his lead, moving to the music’s slow, sensuous beat. She told herself to relax, that their dance was just a casual social gesture that would last only a matter of minutes. Still, his body was so close, so firm.
She tilted her head. “I’ve heard about you.”
“Then why are you still dancing with me?” he asked, his gaze locked with hers.
When she’d spied him from a distance, she had decided he was compelling. Up close, his dark looks and strong features had a devastating effect. As did the warm, musky scent of his aftershave that curled into her lungs.
“I’m still dancing with you because I love to dance,” she answered. She knew the dim light and the piano’s soft notes were meant to soothe, yet that hadn’t stopped the nerves at the base of her neck from knotting. “Sebastian says dancing is good for the circulation. Helps your capillaries oxygenate.”
Jake’s forehead furrowed. “Whatever.”
She let out a measured breath. The man was definitely not big on conversation. Good thing she was.
“Anyway,” she continued lightly, “Whitney has only good things to say about you.”
“I pay her well.”
Inching her head back, Nicole stared up, studying his face. She found no glint of humor in those dark eyes. “If you didn’t pay her to say good things,” she began slowly, “what would Whitney have told me about you?”
“To stay away.”
Against all reason, his gruff words quickened Nicole’s pulse. She was suddenly aware of the firm presence of his hand against her waist. Cognizant that only a thin barrier of silk lay between his palm and her flesh.
“Why would your partner tell me to stay away from you?”
His gaze remained steady on hers. “Long story.”
Without conscious thought, Nicole splayed her fingers over his shoulder, then tightened them. She felt something beyond the ripcord of hard muscle. Stress. Strain. Jake Ford was as tense as wire.
“Are you on duty, Sergeant Ford?”
“Jake. No. Why?”
“You’re in cop mode.”
He blinked. “Cop mode?”
“Expression hard. Noncommittal.” Her fingers kneaded his shoulder. “Unyielding.”
“What do you know about cop mode?”
She smiled. “Oh, I’ve matched a few police officers.”
His eyes narrowed. “Matched?”
“Making matches is my business—”
“Matches, as in ‘close cover before striking’?”
God, he was so intense…and handsome. “Matches, as in relationships. I have a high success rate. I can just sense when two people belong together—it’s a gift.” Having found her opening, she plucked a business card from the evening bag that dangled on a slim chain from her shoulder.
“Here you go.”
Jake moved his hand from her waist to accept the card. “‘Meet Your Match,”’ he read, then moved his gaze back to hers. “You work there?”
“Yes. I also own the company.”
He looked back at the card, arched a dark brow. “You’re a romance engineer?”
“That’s right.” She was proud of the title, of her company’s success and the knowledge that she offered people the potential for a lifetime of happiness. “I engineer relationships. Quite successfully, if I say so myself. I’m working on franchising.”
As if mulling that over, he remained silent. Around them, muted conversations hung in the air as couples drifted past, swaying to the soft music.
“In other words, people pay you to fix them up on blind dates,” he finally commented.
“Not ‘blind dates.’ When we sign on a client, we conduct background checks and do an intense interview. The person actually knows a lot about their date, including what they look like, before they even meet.”
She gave a subtle glance at the firm left hand that cupped her right. Interest—a purely business one, she told herself—stirred when she saw he wasn’t wearing a wedding band. “So, Sergeant Jake Ford, is there a special woman in your life?”
The slow song ended, another began. Without missing a step, he continued moving in the same smooth rhythm.
“No.”
