Their Matchmaker Page 2

  GAVIN HEARD THE click of the front door.

  Aaron’s voice carried through the house. “Honey, I’m home.”

  He was in a good mood. Gavin smiled and rolled his eyes. “In the office,” he called back. He turned back to his computer long enough to save the search engine spider he was debugging.

  “You missed a fantastic gallery opening.” Aaron strode toward him, still wearing his tux, bowtie undone and hanging loose around his neck.

  It didn’t matter how many times Gavin saw him like this; it never stopped being sexy. “You sound like you mean it. What happened to God, this is going to drag?”

  “I was being melodramatic.” Aaron stripped off his jacket as he talked, and draped it over the back of his office chair. “The artwork was stunning. The scenery was better. You should have gone with me.”

  Gavin wasn’t big on social gatherings. Those were Aaron’s thing, especially when they had to do with the investment firm Aaron was a partner in. Their agreement was simple—Aaron didn’t push Gavin to attend, and Gavin didn’t mind if Aaron hooked up while he was there. After dating for more than five years and living together for three, Gavin never worried about the nature of their open relationship. Aaron always came home to him, and frequently had scorching stories to share. When there wasn’t a tale for the evening, Aaron improvised. That could get a bit ridiculous, but it was no less fun.

  “Did the scenery have a name?” Gavin asked.

  “Cyn. With a C.”

  Ridiculous story it was. “Now you’re making shit up.”

  “Nope.” Aaron closed the distance between them. “She was witty, intelligent, and honest to God, her name was Cynthia. But it didn’t pan out, so I’m about to make shit up.”

  Gavin shook his head, but he couldn’t hid his amusement. “You go out and play all night, while I’m home working, and you think you can come home and tempt me with a raunchy fantasy because you met some hot girl?”

  “Hot and intelligent.” Aaron leaned over, rested his hands on Gavin’s shoulders, and hovered his face less than an inch away. “And your self-righteousness loses its oomph when you’ve got a raging hard-on.” He dragged a finger down Gavin’s chest, along his stomach, and over his waist.

  Gavin let out a long groan when Aaron gripped his dick through his jeans.

  “But I know. You’re a gentleman.” Aaron made quick work of Gavin’s belt, then his button and zipper. “Talk like that isn’t appropriate.”

  When they started dating, Gavin wasn’t comfortable with conversations like this. He had exes, male and female, try to trip him up with questions like do you think they’re prettier than me? When he figured out Aaron not only wanted the truth, but it also turned him on, it only increased Gavin’s attraction. “I don’t have a problem with it if she doesn’t.” He struggled to keep his voice even, despite the skilled fingers freeing him from his pants.

  “Hmm...” Aaron knelt in front of him, sending a heady shudder through him with each gentle stroke of his shaft. “Say you’re working in the shop late one night. Running analysis on some project that’s caught your eye. No one’s in the office.” Aaron trailed his thumb over the head of Gavin’s cock with each stroke, pace never increasing. “A call echoes down from reception. You go to investigate, and the woman waiting by the front desk is gorgeous.”

  “What’s she doing there so late?” The fantasy—regardless of how it played out—would be completely implausible. The kind of stuff porn scripts were based on. That didn’t stop every word from dialing up his arousal.

  Aaron flicked his tongue out and glided it up Gavin’s shaft, before resuming the steady attentions with his hand. “She wants to use your phone. She was supposed to meet a boyfriend in a different office, but walked in on him with his secretary. In her frustration, she fled without her purse and can’t stand to go back and get it, so she needs to call a friend. As she dials, she shifts her weight to sit on the edge of the desk, and her long coat peeks open at the throat, and along her thigh. You realize she’s not wearing much underneath.”

  Gavin’s pulse scored through his veins, burning with the images of the gorgeous mystery woman. He hissed from the sensations of Aaron taking him in his mouth.

  “She sees you watching her and hangs up the phone. Maybe you’d like to help her get revenge on the bastard down the hall?” Aaron alternated between sucking and talking, and the words vibrated against Gavin’s skin. “It only takes the twist of a few buttons, before she slides her coat off and it tumbles to the ground. You were wrong a moment ago. She’s not wearing anything under the coat. And damn, she looks good. Round tits, firm and full. Pink nipples standing at attention. You slide your fingers between her legs, and she’s already wet. Her mouth opens in a tiny gasp when you touch her, and she says she doesn’t want foreplay. She needs you now. Inside her.”

  “Fuck.” Gavin tangled his fingers in Aaron’s hair, lost in the visuals and the touch. The story was ludicrous, but the accompanying blow job made all the difference. Intense, raw desire throbbed inside. “I like the sound of that.” In a single motion, he nudged Aaron back, stood, and pulled him to his feet. He held Aaron’s gaze. “I need to fuck you.”

  He spun Aaron, so his back was to Gavin’s front, jerked his slacks open hard enough the zipper protested, and shoved the clothes to the floor. Aaron’s grunts and groans spurred him on. He pressed closer, cock digging into Aaron’s back. The familiar scent of aftershave mingled with the faint tingle of sweat, plunged into his thoughts, making him stiffer than he thought possible. He reached around and grabbed Aaron’s erection. “I need to drive inside you and pound you till you can’t stand.” He tugged Aaron’s shaft. “And I want you to come hard.”

  Aaron fumbled with the desk drawer for a second, before grabbing the lube and handing it back. Gavin squeezed a generous amount into his palm. He applied it to his dick, inhaling sharply through his teeth when the cold hit his heated skin, but the temperature balanced quickly. He was grateful their relationship had moved past the needing condoms phase.

  He slipped two fingers along Aaron’s skin, eliciting an Oh God when he teased the entrance and applied more lube. He was done waiting or stringing out a ridiculous fantasy. He thrust inside Aaron hard and fast, past the instinctive clench, burying himself deep inside.

  Aaron gripped the edge of the desk until his knuckles paled, his hiss of pleasure mingling with Gavin’s grunts.

  Gavin set a rapid rhythm, pounding... pushing... losing himself in the tight grip on his dick. With his free hand, Aaron stroked himself. Gavin gripped his hips, digging in his fingers, needing that connection to keep stay grounded.

  As their groans blended and grew in volume, Gavin’s head swam. He slammed his pelvis against Aaron’s ass. The familiar grabs for breath told him Aaron was close. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out either.

  “God, Gavin. Fuck. I’m gonna come.” Aaron’s words were punctuated by gasps. A shudder rolled over his body and tingled through Gavin’s fingers, clenching around his cock and squeezing his afire nerve endings.

  Now, Gavin could finish. He let go of the reins of restraint, and his balls tightened. The edges of his vision danced and fuzzed, and still he pounded hard and fast. A wave of euphoria nudged his thoughts, and he yielded to it, letting release flood him as he spilled inside Aaron. After he climaxed, he continued to pound until he was spent.

  He pulled Aaron upright, back into him, and held him as the haze lightened but didn’t vanish. He loved this man. He rested his forehead against Aaron’s shoulder. “Welcome home.”

  Aaron responded with a light chuckle and settled more of his weight against him.

  Ten minutes later, both of them cleaned up, they sat in bed next to each other, TV playing and ignored in the background. “Are you going to tell me how the evening actually went?” Gavin asked.

  “Same shit, different day. Someone recognized me—a different someone than Cyn—and that sucked. Cyn was fun, though.”

  “Re
cognized you how?” Gavin didn’t want to spoil the mood, but he had to know. It was the one thing they always argued about—where the nickname The Four Billion Dollar Master came from. It was a cocky as hell moniker, and for someone who insisted he didn’t want to make a big deal out of how they’d made their billions, Aaron didn’t do a lot to dissuade its usage. He’d gotten better over the past couple of years, playing down the past and focusing on who they were now. It always stung, though, when the reminder came up.

  Aaron scooted closer on the bed and intertwined his fingers with Gavin’s. “She knew the nickname but didn’t seem to have any details.”

  “Good.” When they pulled it off—selling their first startup for an ungodly sum of cash, six months out of the gate—people clamored to figure out how they’d driven the value so high with a simple contact-tracking app in the early days of smartphones. The last thing Gavin needed was for someone to dig too deep into that sale. The basic details were out there, but they were all attached to Aaron. Gavin wanted to stay as far off the radar as possible.

  “And it’s not like figuring out what you did then will give her any hints into your past. No one’s going to associate the master social engineer with the child star they worshiped in their teens,” Aaron said.

  “I suppose you’re right.” Though Gavin wasn’t as convinced his past would stay hidden.

  Chapter Three

  “CYNTHIA TREMAINE,” she said to the woman at the front desk. “I have a ten-thirty appointment.”

  “Of course. Have a seat, and someone will be right with you.”

  Cynthia took a seat in one of the padded chairs surrounding the glass coffee table in the office lobby.

  The lobby looked like so many others she’d seen over the past few months, each intended to show off the bank or investment firm's personality, but looking instead like they’d been copied from a catalog.

  “Miss? Mr. Woodhouse will be right with you. He apologizes—he's running a few minutes behind.”

  Cynthia gave her a practiced smile. “That's fine. Thank you.” When she’d started looking for expansion capital for her business, those extra few minutes would have been a grace period to run the highlights of her presentation through her head one more time. To swallow back the nausea and psyche herself up.

  After twenty-three no’s—she told herself she wasn't keeping count, but the data never lied—this ritual was habit. Extra time was used to go through her to-do list or simply let her mind wander. Today she was thinking about Aaron. She didn't want to be. The banter, the kiss... It shouldn't get to her. He was better than most at reading her cues, but it wasn’t anything to lose sleep over.

  That wasn't what gnawed at her, though. Her mind screamed there was something more she needed to notice, and she couldn't figure out what.

  She could focus on it later or not at all. She needed her head on straight, for today’s meeting. After going through a list of all the banks and investors she could find, who would work with projects like hers, she’d been ready to give up. When this angel investor firm popped up in her search and had time to see her today, she couldn’t believe her luck.

  They were new, so they didn’t have a huge track record, but the one they had was good. Their investments tended to be successful and unique. The firm had a good grasp of technology, and they were willing to take bigger risks if they liked the numbers they saw. In a way, she was grateful it took her so long to discover them. Now she had her ducks in a row, instead of walking in green and new.

  “Ms. Tremaine?” A male voice drew her attention. “Jonathan Woodhouse. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Sandy-blond hair, brown eyes, and about her age. Recognition flooded her, and the database in her brain spun, until she found a match. She stood and shook his hand. “It's not an issue. I appreciate you seeing me.”

  “Your premise has us intrigued. This way.”

  She fell into step beside him. “You were at the exhibit downtown last night?” She hadn’t met him, but she had a good memory for faces.

  “The firm owns the property, and the gallery is my wife’s.”

  “She’s done an amazing job with this newest artist.” Cynthia was relieved at the chance to break the ice. The stilted small talk that came with these meetings was only one of a list of many things she’d never gotten used to. Today’s appointment would be her one in twenty-three, though, where she finally found the funds she needed and never had to do this again.

  “I’ll tell her you said so. Here we are.” He held open the door, so she could step inside the conference room. “We’ve got a couple of our local partners joining us, and some remote from Salt Lake.” He called out the names of the partners on the phone, first, and she was greeted with a chorus of digital hellos. She wasn’t paying attention. Her gaze was stalled on Aaron’s face. She should have taken the offer for something to drink after all.

  “This is Murdock Birch,” Jonathan said.

  Aaron rose to shake her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Cyn.” His grip was firm and tempting, but the different given name crawled under her skin and soured her fascination.

  “Same.” She gave him the same polite smile as everyone else. He might have sunk so low as to lie about something as basic as his name, but that wasn’t a reason to blow her chance with this firm.

  They finished the formalities, and she took her spot at the front of the room. This bit was easy. She could shift to autopilot and let her mouth run. “What’s The Glass Slipper Theory?” The rehearsed words rolled out without thought. “The practice so many of us engage in that has us waiting for fate to step in and show us the one true love of our life. To give us a sign that some random person is the one. A shoe left behind after a surprisingly good dinner. A sleeping princess on a pillar in the forest—not that we see that one too often.” Even her chuckle was part of the presentation.

  The room laughed with her, and some of the tension in her loosened. “Love isn’t so uptight and whimsical, though. Frequently, someone wonderful is waiting next to us—at the bus stop, the coffee shop, or the gym—and we’re too busy waiting on the one, to see what’s in front of our faces. My service takes the fairy godmother out from under fate’s control, and gives you direct access to her contact list. Using a series of computer algorithms and face-to-face evaluation, we point clients toward potential matches that are guaranteed to keep them up past midnight. Or for the sake of legalese, at least one matches our unique system provides them will result in three dates. But that takes too much of the whimsy out of things, don’t you agree?” Another laugh from her was backed up by the room, and she knew she was nailing this.

  Now she just had to keep them intrigued through the less flashy stuff. Like convincing at least one person in the room that they’d make their money back on her service, showing them how she stood out from the standard dating website or matchmaker, with her mix of personal touch and computer logic. She’d struggled to sell this idea in San Jose, because nothing was unique there. Making the drive out here to L.A. might be the change of scenery she needed.

  Everyone asked questions, and hope grew inside. She knew better than to get sucked into counting on a yes before it happened, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Excuse me,” Aaron said. Or was it Murdock? “This Glass Slipper Theory of yours—is it ever metaphorical? As in, someone leaves something emotional behind, rather than a physical object?”

  Cynthia’s brain ground to a halt on the question. No one had ever gone back to the lead-in that way before. It was meant to be a clever story to prove that type of fairy tale wouldn’t get someone anywhere in real life.

  “You’re being too literal.” A woman’s voice echoed from the phone. Liz.

  Cynthia smiled at the speakerphone in gratitude. “Exactly.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’ve already found not one, but the two loves of your life, thanks to a random meeting in a bar, a thousand miles from where any of you lives.” Aaron’s tone was playful.

  That was int
riguing, borderline unprofessional, and none of Cynthia’s business, except that the details helped make her point. “With my service, you could have skipped the long-distance trip, to make that connection.”

  That brought the conversation back on track, and she finished answering their questions without further hiccups. She met their gazes one by one, giving each of them a warm smile as she wrapped up her presentation. “I appreciate your time. When would be a good time to follow up with you, for a decision?”

  “You’ve got a fantastic platform,” Jonathan said, “but I don’t see any longevity in it. It’s the kind of offering that runs on novelty, and once that wears off and something flashier replaces it, the product fades into the background.”

  Once upon a time, that phrase sank into her soul and crushed her hope. Now it was one of several thanks but no thanks reasons she heard at the end of a presentation. That didn’t stop her from being disappointed. She kept her friendly expression in place. “I understand. Thank you again for your time. I’ll let you get back to your day.”

  She’d spent the last several years of her life building this. It wasn’t some noble pursuit, but it was the sum of her adulthood. Everything she had, financially and emotionally, had been poured into this.

  That was what she got for turning silly dreams into business plans.

  WHEN AARON ASKED CYN his questions, he hoped for more of the back and forth they had last night. He would have been disappointed with the lack of exactly that, but her professionalism and pitch impressed him. He was irritated to hear Jonathan’s it’s not for me at the end of the presentation. Not because Aaron thought everyone in the firm had to agree, but it meant Jonathan went into the meeting expecting to turn down the project, and it wasn’t fair to stack the odds against an entrepreneur without warning them they were up against that prejudice.

  Aaron cringed as one partner after another passed on the deal. This was a sure thing—he felt it—but it would be nice to have backing. He’d made a couple of bad predictions lately, and his own capital wasn’t as big a cushion as he’d like. That was okay; he simply needed a win.