Matched To Mr Right

“You mean sex?” Oh, Scarlett had just been chomping at the bit to get in the middle of this conversation, hadn’t she?

Leo gave a short nod. “Well, to be blunt.”

Oh, no. There was that word again. Her last fight with Rob flashed through her mind and she swallowed. Was she trying to ruin everything?

But Leo wasn’t a spineless, insecure guy like Rob who couldn’t handle a woman’s honest opinion. Besides, this was her marriage and she was prepared to go to the mat for it.

“Our marriage apparently calls for blunt. Since I might not get another opportunity to speak to you this century, here it is, spelled out for you. My offer of friendship is not a veiled invitation to jump me.”

His brows rose. “Then what is it?”

Laughter bubbled from her mouth. “Guess I don’t spell as well as I think I do. Didn’t we decide our relationship would eventually be intimate?” Not blunt enough. “Sorry, I mean, that we’d eventually have sex?”

To Leo’s credit, he didn’t flinch. “We did decide that. I envision it happening very far in the future.”

Gee, that made her feel all warm and fuzzy. “Great. Except intimacy is about so much more than shedding clothes, Leo. Did you think we’d wake up one day and just hop into bed? It doesn’t work like that. There’s an intellectual side to intimacy that evolves through spending time together. By becoming friends. I want to know you. Your thoughts. Dreams. Sex starts in here.” She tapped her forehead. “At least it does for me.”

“You want to be romanced,” he said flatly.

“I’m female. The math shouldn’t be that hard to do.”

“Math is one of my best skills.”

What was that supposed to mean? That he’d done the math and knew that’s what she wanted—but didn’t care? She stumbled back a step.

With her new distance, the colors of the Monet swirled again, turning from a picture of a girl back into a jumble of blotches.

She and Leo needed to get on the same page. She took a deep breath. “How did you think we were going to get from point A to point B?”

“I never seemed to have any trouble getting a woman interested before,” he grumbled without any real heat. “Usually it’s getting them uninterested that’s the problem.”

Ah, so she’d guessed correctly from the very beginning. “You’ve never had to invest any energy in a relationship before, have you?”

Gorgeous, well-spoken, rich men probably never did as often as women surely threw themselves at them. He’d probably gone through a series of meaningless encounters with interchangeable women.

“I don’t have time for a relationship, Daniella,” he said quietly, which only emphasized his deliberate use of her full name all the more. “That’s why I married you.”

Blunt. And devastating. She nearly reeled from it.

This was what he’d been telling her since the beginning, but she’d been determined to connect the dots in a whole new way, creating a mess of an Impressionist painting that looked like nothing when she stepped back to view the whole. The spectacular kiss, the security system, the gentle concern—none of it had signaled anything special.

He’d meant what he said. He didn’t want to invest energy in a relationship. That’s why he cut himself off from people. Too much effort. Too much trouble. Too much fill-in-the-blank.

There was no friendship on the horizon, no tenderness, no progression toward intimacy. He expected her to get naked, get pleasured and get out. Eventually.

She nodded. “I see. We’ll enjoy each other’s company when we cross paths and then go our separate ways.” He’d been the one euphemizing sex and she’d missed it.

Her heart twisted painfully. But this wasn’t news. She just hadn’t realized that being in a marriage that wasn’t a marriage was worse than being alone.

How could Elise’s computer have matched her with Leo? Oh, sure, neither of them had professed an interest in a love match, which was more of a tiny white lie in her case, but to not even be friends? It was depressing.

Leo looked relieved. “I’m glad we talked, then. To answer your earlier question, you’re everything I’d hoped. I’m very happy with my choice of wife. Jenna wasn’t right at all.”

Because she’d inadvisably bucked the rule: don’t ask Leo for more than he chooses to give.

“Speaking of which,” he continued, “I’d like you to plan a dinner party for twenty guests in about two weeks. Does that give you enough time?”

“Of course.”

Two weeks?

Panic flipped her stomach inside out. How would she organize an entire party in two weeks? Well, she’d just have to.

This was why Elise matched her with Leo, and running his personal life was what she’d signed up for. She couldn’t lose sight of that. “I’d be happy to handle that for you. Can you email me the guest list?”

He nodded. “Tommy Garrett is the guest of honor. Make sure you pick a date he’s available. No point in having the party if he can’t be there. Any questions?”

A million and five. “Not right now. I’ll start on it immediately.”

That was the key to enduring a marriage that wasn’t a marriage. Jump into her job with both feet and keep so busy she didn’t have time to castigate herself. After all, if she’d begun to believe this marriage might become more than an arrangement because of a few sparks, it was her fault. Not Leo’s.

Her mother was being taken care of. Dannie was, too. Furthermore, she’d spoken her mind with as much blunt opinion as she could muster and Leo hadn’t kicked her out. What else could she possibly want? This was real life, not a fairy tale, and she had work to do.

She bid Leo good-night, her head full of party plans. It wasn’t until her cheek hit the pillow that she remembered the total discomfort on Leo’s face when he thought friendship had been code for sex.

If he expected her to get naked, get pleasured and get out, why wouldn’t he take immediate advantage of what he assumed she was offering?

* * *

Leo’s forehead thunked onto his desk, right in the middle of the clause outlining the expiration date for his proposal to finance Miles Bennett’s software company.

That woke him up in a hurry.

Why didn’t he go upstairs to bed? It was 3:00 a.m. Normal people slept at this time of night, but not him. No—Leo Reynolds had superpowers, granting him the ability to go days without sleep, because otherwise he’d get behind. John Hu had slipped through his fingers at the alumni gala and was even now working with another backer. It should have been Leo. Could have been Leo, if he’d been on his game.

And not spending a good portion of his energy recalling his wife’s soft and gorgeous smile. Or how much he enjoyed seeing her on the porch waiting for him, the way she had been tonight.

Sleep was for weaker men.

Younger men.

He banished that thought. Thirty-five—thirty-six in two months—wasn’t old. But lately he felt every day of his age. Ten years ago he could have read contracts and proposals until dawn and then inhaled a couple of espressos to face the day with enthusiasm.

Now? Not so much. And it would only get worse as he approached forty. He had to make every day count while he could. No distractions. No seductive, tantalizing friendships that would certainly turn into more than he could allow.

Maybe he should up his workout regimen from forty-five minutes a day to an hour. Eat a little better instead of shoveling takeout into his mouth while he hunched over his desk at the office.

Gentle hands on his shoulders woke him.