rock.
prologue
IT WAS OFFICIAL.
She was on the date from hell.
Kate Seymour reached for her wine, forced a bright smile, and tried very hard not to stare at the lump of cheese hanging from her companion’s chin. Okay, so he was a bit socially awkward. Still didn’t make it right not to notice chicken parm was stuck on his face.
She patted her chin in a silent plea for him to grab his napkin. Signals were the universal gesture women used when toilet paper was stuck to their shoe or a price tag was hanging from their skirt, but this guy hadn’t gotten the memo.
He kept talking about his marketing business, which was kind of interesting, but how could she focus when she stared at a lump of mozzarella?
Umm, Bradley? You’ve got something, umm, r-r-r-right there on your—
He swiped at it bare-handed like a bear grabbing a fish, and the cheese fell onto the plate. Thanks. So, I’m really glad we finally got to do this in person. I enjoyed talking with you over the phone.
Suddenly not hungry anymore, Kate pushed the last of her salmon around the plate and nodded. Me, too. Being a business owner, I’m always fascinated by PR and the best ways to brand. What type of s-s-s-services do you offer at your company?
Stupid stutter. It always slipped out when she was nervous about making a good impression. Not that her date seemed to care about her thoughtful question. In fact, he seemed more interested in the busboy, giving him a bright smile and respectful silence when he swooped in to clean up the mess at the table.
Bradley plowed through the spaghetti and sucked the loopy strands through his teeth with a hiss. When he finally managed to swallow, he looked up. An odd expression crossed his face. Well, I’m not exactly employed in that department. I will be soon, though, and I know more than most of the employees.
Huh. He’d insinuated that he ran an entire department. Odd. Your title is social relations, right? What department is that?
Doorman.
Kate blinked. Oh. Wow, I bet you meet a lot of interesting people.
Sauce stained his lips. She kept her gaze focused slightly to the left.
Yes, I figured I’d start off with an entry-level position and make my way up the ladder.
This could still work. She admired ambition in a man. Sure, he had kind of stretched the truth about his job, but maybe he was embarrassed to tell her over the phone. Not that she judged: Kate couldn’t care less what title a man bore as long as he liked his work. Even his looks weren’t bad, more the average Joe, which she courted. Short dark hair, brown eyes, round face. A bit overweight but nothing out of the ordinary in a world filled with fast food and instant gratification. Kate despised the charming, good-looking types who looked at women only as a way to serve their egos.
Smart. You went to NYU, right?
she asked. I graduated from there, too, in business management. What did you study?
I took a class there once. Didn’t get to finish, since I had to go take care of my mom.
Instant sympathy and hope flickered. A man who respected family was key to a good match. I’m sorry, is she ill?
Crumbs of Italian bread clung to the edge of his mouth. Yes, eating with him would be a chore, but a man who helped his mother must have a heart of gold. She’s got arthritis. Told her I’d move in and help her out.
Why did there seem to be more to the story? Does she have trouble moving around? I’ve heard of severe conditions that can be very painful.
Bradley paused to slurp his water, which added to the entire meal he now wore on his face. Her fingers hurt sometimes, so I can help her open jars and stuff. I keep her company, and she cooks and cleans for me. It works out pretty well.
The Titanic had nothing on this date, but she fought off the iceberg like a woman clinging to survival. Kate desperately needed Bradley to be the one. One hundred was a lucky number, wasn’t it? One hundred dates spoke of patience. She’d waited, invested her time wisely, and believed in the process. As the successful owner of Kinnections matchmaking agency, she lived and breathed her business. She believed, dammit. And it was getting a little weird for the owner to still be single with no prospect in sight.
She flexed her fingers and fought the impulse to touch him. If there was even a slight tingle of connection, she’d deal with the job and his mother. Her gift of sensing strong energy between two people meant to be together was also a curse. How many times had she gotten an electrical shock from a couple who were soul mates? How many men had she surrendered to other women because she realized her date belonged with the waitress or customer service representative or store clerk? It served her well as a matchmaker but was pure hell on her personal life. The touch ran through the generations of women in her family, but none had decided to use it for business. Still, she preferred using science and skill to make her matches in Kinnections, and tried hard not to let the touch interfere with her main business plan. It was more of a way to confirm they had made the right match once a couple got serious. Not that she was ready to tell Bradley or anyone else about her secret weapon.
She studied him from across the table and refused to lose hope. Bradley was meant to be hers, but she wasn’t ready to put her hands on him to confirm.
The waitress glided over and placed the check discreetly in the middle of the table. Kate held her breath, knowing this was the ultimate test. A man who paid for dinner on the first date had values. It was a make-or-break moment. Anticipation cut through her, and she held her breath.
Bradley reached over and grabbed the bill.
Giddiness spilled through her. Finally. She hadn’t been wrong. Sure, rough patches needed to be worked out, but Kate believed.
Bradley scanned the bill and whipped out a pocket calculator. Heart sinking, she watched his fingers fly across the keys. Okay, since it’s not even, I’ll take the higher portion. You owe $43.00 even and I’ll pay $44.63. That’s with a fifteen percent tip. Is that acceptable?
Kate stared as her dream of a soul mate withered as fast as the Wicked Witch’s body, but she didn’t get any cool ruby shoes left in the process. Sure.
Great. Cash or credit?
She reached into her Coach purse and pulled out her VISA. Here you go.
Thanks.
The busboy stopped at their table. Are you done, sir? Miss?
Bradley nodded, his gaze fixated on the young man’s broad chest and muscled shoulders filling out his smart red and black uniform. Panic fluttered in her belly as the air charged around her. No. Not possible.
But she had to know.
The busboy reached for the plate, giving her date a sidelong seductive glance. Kate dragged in a breath and brushed his hand with her arm at the same time her fingers touched her date’s.
A tiny shock shivered across her flesh and vibrated through her body. Bradley smiled at the busboy, his face carved out with pure want.
Ah, crap.
It was over.
She fought a sigh and surrendered number one hundred. Bradley, I’ll be right back. I need to go to the ladies’ room.
Of course.
She grabbed her purse and ducked down the hallway. After a few minutes, the busboy walked past and she reached out to touch his arm. Excuse me?
Yes, ma’am?
She glanced at his name tag. Gabe, I’m sorry, but I wonder if you can relay a message to my date? I’m not feeling well and need to leave. I’m sure he’d love to stay if possible. Would you be willing to buy him a drink on your break?
Gabe’s face reddened. Aren’t you together?
Kate smiled. No, I’m not his type. I’m sure if you offered, he’d be interested.
Recognition sparked in his dark eyes, and he nodded. I’d be interested.
Thank you. Good luck. I’m going to slip out the side door.
She vacated the restaurant, caught between despair for her plight and happiness she had made a match. Damn, her gaydar completely sucked.
The March night was brisk and cold in Verily, and she breathed in, not wanting to go home yet. The shops stayed open on Saturday night, and it was only eight thirty. Her high-heeled boots clicked on the pavement as she walked, enjoying the artsy Hudson River town that boasted a variety of stores and cafés with an edgy, funky feel. White lights glittered around the trees that lined the sidewalk, and music spilled from Mugs, the popular bar that also served as a nightclub. A full moon hung suspended over the river line, illuminating the Tappan Zee Bridge, which glittered in the distance. She weaved her way through pedestrians with dogs on leashes and giggling groups of college students, and dropped a buck in the pail of the young man playing a guitar and singing about broken hearts.
Loneliness hit. She was so tired. When was it her turn? When would she finally find the connection for herself? Unless . . .
She never found it. Bruised from the consistent disappointments, she wondered if maybe giving up on the dream of finding her match would serve her better. Maybe, just maybe, there wasn’t a man or woman meant for everyone. Maybe, just maybe, she was meant to be alone.
She fought the sudden urge to cry and wallow in a self-pity party. She was done. If she went on one more disappointing date, she didn’t think she’d recover. The hell with love. She’d buy a new book, go home to Robert, and snuggle under a blanket.
Kate paused in front of the used-book store. Time for a change. No more dating. No more chasing love. She’d concentrate on her business, her friends, and doing things that made her happy.
With her head up and her new resolution firm, she stepped inside, and the bell tinkled. Scents swarmed around her in wonderful familiarity. Leather. Paper. Mothballs. Perfection.
She crossed the worn carpet and stopped in front of the marked and battered front desk. Got anything for me, Hector?
The boy behind the counter was reed thin, with a smattering of pimples and spiked purple hair. Hector shook his head with a grin. Been waiting for you, Kate. I’m holding a new box of used books in the back. I had no time to sort them yet, so you may not find anything.
She shivered with the lure of the unknown. Would she ever get tired of ripping open a new box of books and sifting through the treasures? No worries. I’ll go through them if that’s okay?
The teen motioned toward the back of the store. Help yourself. It’ll save me some work.
Thanks.
Kate walked down the deserted aisle and into the storeroom. The cramped space held an array of boxes, file cabinets, and papers in an extremely unorganized fashion. The new shipment was clearly marked, though, so she pulled it down from the pile and ripped it open with her own hands, rather than with the box cutter. She’d never be able to keep a perfect manicure anyway.
Kate sat cross-legged on the cold concrete floor and pulled them out one by one. Romance. Biography. Some dieting. She kept to the side a few that she wanted to try, then found a great one on love signs that seemed several years out of date. Hmm, you never knew what you’d glean from the eighties. Could be helpful. She added it to her growing stack. An interesting book on how males relate to dogs. Definitely couldn’t pass that one up. And then—
Her fingers closed on a fabric-covered book and she pulled it out. Bright violet assaulted her vision. The Book of Spells. Simple title. Small, square, not a novel but more of a how-to book? She cracked the binding a bit and glanced through the first page.
A low hum vibrated to the tips of her fingers. Her belly wobbled, as if she’d just seen a hot male prospect rather than a simple book. The hum grew stronger as she flipped through, making notes of an ancient love spell and a chant to Earth Mother. Fascinating. She’d never seen anything like it; there wasn’t even an author noted. How was that possible?
Definitely a keeper. Maybe something fun for her clientele.
Kate dropped the book on her pile.
A crackle of electricity shot through her body like a wet plug in an outlet. She yelped and yanked back, staring at the purple cover. What the hell was that? Maybe the fabric gave some type of shock. But damn, that hurt.
Need any help back there?
Hector’s voice echoed through the store. Shaking her head, she pushed to her feet and set the box back. Careful not to touch the purple book, she scooped up her treasure pile and made her way out of the storeroom.
Got everything I need. Hector, I took six books. Charge it to my account, please!
You got it. Have a good one.
Feeling a bit better over her new purchases, Kate headed toward her car and the typical Saturday night with her books and her dog.
Good-bye, number one hundred. That date belonged in the record book of disasters.
It was going to be a long time before she had the stamina to even think about one hundred and one.
one
I’M MOVING OUT."
Slade watched his sister drag her oversized floral pieces of luggage down the hallway and drop them at the front door. A strange panic roared through his system, but he stood frozen in the foyer, watching the scene unfold. Hell, no. She wasn’t ready to go anywhere on her own yet, but somehow he needed to convince her without looking like a crazed control-freak brother. He kept his voice gentle and firm.
Jane, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I know you want a place of your own, but I don’t think you’re ready. Besides, I’ll get lonely by myself. Give it some time, and I’ll help you find an apartment.
Jane turned fast, hands on hips, that furious female scowl he knew well. Bottom line, he’d screwed up his words again. First off, give me a little credit. I’m ready. I appreciate you letting me live here, but I should’ve moved out a year ago. And the only reason you’re lonely is your refusal to stay with a woman past one night.
Slade winced. Unfair. He was always discreet when it came to women, not needing his sister to try to bond with any of them, since long-term commitment was doomed from the start. The statistics alone of marriage breakups caused a shudder.
She marched into the open living room and headed toward the bookcase to grab a few off the shelves. Crap, was that The Chew’s new cookbook? He hadn’t even looked at the pictures yet. Be reasonable, Jane. You have nowhere to go, and I don’t want you staying at a crappy studio in Manhattan. It’ll cost a million dollars and won’t be safe. Are you still upset over your breakup? We can go slash his tires, get drunk, and watch chick flick movies. That’s what women do, right?
Jane tipped her head back and laughed. God, Slade, if I didn’t love you so much I’d murder you. I have a place already. I rented an apartment in Verily on the river. I quit my job and lined up a new one at the local community college there.
The room spun. He stared at his normally shy, logical, steady sister and wondered what she’d drunk to turn into Mr. Hyde. Quit your job? You were working on tenure!
And I hated it there. Stuffy, pompous, and boring. I hate Manhattan, too. It’s crowded and hurts my head most of the time.
Jane dragged in a breath and walked over, stuffing the books into her tote bag. Her long jet-black hair sprung into a whirlwind of curls, and her cocoa-brown eyes peered at him sadly from behind thick black glasses. I can’t do this anymore,
she said. I need a fresh start on my own terms. Verily is small and quaint, and the college focuses on using creativity in literature. I can grow there. Maybe meet a man who won’t wring me dry and dump me.
Her laugh was totally wry, and Slade’s heart squeezed in sheer fear.
He couldn’t let her go. If something happened, it would be his fault. Again. At least if she were under his roof, he could easily gauge if she was down-spiraling. Slade swung into lawyer mode. Being one of the top divorce lawyers in the state had to be good for something other than money. I understand you want to be on your own. I agree it’s time, but quitting your job and running off to a town you don’t know is dangerous. I’ll go with you to Verily this weekend. I’ll help you look, maybe meet some people there so you’re not alone, and we’ll figure it out together.
Her voice rose to a dangerous level. I don’t want to figure it out together! I want to figure things out myself. Oh, for God’s sake, look at this place.
She flung out her arm and gestured to his expensive loft apartment situated in the coveted location of Tribeca. The huge open space was split into two levels with a sleek glass staircase connecting them together. Windows lined the walls and overlooked the city of Manhattan. Pricey art, bamboo floors, edgy glass tables, granite counters, and huge leather recliners completed the look of bachelor in the city.
What’s wrong with it? We have plenty of room here.
This is your place! I haven’t had anything for myself in the past three years. I’m twenty-eight years old. It’s time I do things on my terms without anyone worrying if I’m going to emotionally lose it when something goes wrong.
He winced. Jane was extremely sensitive and had always struggled in such a brutal society. He watched a long line of men crush her like a gentle flower under their heels until there was nothing left but a few stray petals. He’d sworn never to let anyone hurt her again. He had to make her stay.
Sweetheart, I know you’re much stronger now. Don’t ever think I’m waiting for you to implode. I just think it would be better to wait.
I don’t.
Jane opened the closet door, grabbed her black wool coat, and stuffed her arms into the sleeves. When I get settled, you can bring the rest of my stuff and visit. I think you’ll like it in Verily. And I won’t be lonely for long. I’ve decided to sign up with a matchmaking agency.
Yep. She’d definitely slugged the Mr. Hyde punch. Are you kidding me? Do you know how many of those get closed down for fraud? There’s no such thing as the perfect match, and you know it. What is going on with you?
She stuck her chin out. I’m tired of being afraid and meeting the wrong men. Kinnections is a well-respected company. I like the women I met there, and I trust them. So don’t worry about me holing up in my apartment and getting depressed. I’m going out there and meeting people. I’m different this time.
This place is going to take your money and give you false expectations. What if it doesn’t work out and you crash? I’m not going to stand around helplessly while you’re destroyed again by some ruthless people out for your money.
She let out an outraged squeal. Are you listening to yourself? God, stop protecting me. I’m a different person than I was three years ago and you’re stifling me! Mom and Dad wouldn’t want me to live tucked away in your man cave while I watch life happen to other people.
Mom and Dad never found you on a bathroom floor overdosed on pills. Mom and Dad didn’t hold you in their arms, praying you wouldn’t die!
The silence shattered around them. Slade closed his eyes briefly, grief cutting out pieces of him. The words entwined with a blame and a plea that twisted his stomach. The memory of finding her suicide attempt changed him. He wanted her safe. Couldn’t she understand?
His voice broke. I’m so sorry, Jane. I didn’t mean to bring that up.
Hurt carved out the lines of her face, and her lower lip trembled. Yes. You did. I’m sorry I put you through that. But I’m not the same person anymore. I deserve happiness and I’m going to take it. Yes, I may get hurt along the way, but I can handle it now, Slade. I’m stronger.
She tossed her tote over her shoulder and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. I don’t blame you for not trusting me. But I’m going to prove myself. You’re not responsible for me any longer.
For God’s sake, let me help you. I’ll buy you dinner and we’ll talk more about this.
She threw open the door. No. The doorman is meeting me downstairs.
But I need a number, an address, something.
I’ll call when I get settled. Love you.
She left. This time, he didn’t stop her. Part of him recognized it was important she carve her own way. The other half decided he’d rip apart anything that tried to hurt her. Or anyone.
With a low curse, he stalked to his computer and typed in the words.
Kinnections. Matchmaking. Verily.
He stared at the screen for a while and made his decision.
two
SLADE STOPPED IN front of the glass door of Kinnections and took in the festive white lights and artistic sign. Scrolled in purple and silver, it promised passersby a happy ever after
rolled up in excitement, hope, and mystery.
Temper snapped his jaw up like a well-trained karate kick. A bunch of con artists selling dreams that didn’t exist. To him, it was worse than those emails promising a cut of a million dollars for a small standard fee. Worse than identity theft. In his estimation, the true evil lay not in stealing money, or goods, or even services. No, this was theft of the heart—a blatant lie to the lonely and broken to heal them with a ghost image of the perfect man or woman.
He wouldn’t allow such scum to tear his sister apart.
Slade pushed open the door and strode in.
The woman at the main desk seemed surprised to see a client, as if the cheery bell warning her of his entrance hadn’t worked. His gaze dismissed her as the receptionist, but he refused to waste his time moving up the chain. He switched into his lawyer voice that brooked no refusal. I’d like to see the manager, please.
One brow arched. Yes, she was perfect for the first appearance of a matchmaking agency. Her hair was magnificent, so blond it was almost white, hanging past her shoulders in pin-straight strands that shimmered like corn silk. Her wide blue eyes assessed him with a thoughtful air, as if deciding whether or not to call her boss. Not a deep blue like the ocean, but more of a cornflower, so light her features seemed to blur in a type of angelic radiance. He shook himself out of his trance and wondered what the hell he was doing thinking in corn terms about a woman he didn’t intend to have a conversation with.
Can I ask what this is about?
Smooth and mellow, her voice teased his ears like a wisp of smoke before vanishing. He wanted to hear more, but the whole meeting was beginning to freak him out. He cleared his throat and looked over his gold-rimmed glasses. None of your concern,
he clipped out. Please get me your manager.
She crossed her arms in front of her and studied him with a thoughtful air. If this is regarding a client, we won’t be able to give you any information. We adhere to confidentiality agreements.
He snorted. Convenient way to try to avoid lawsuits, huh?
Having a bad day, sir?
Was he amusing her? He drew himself to full height and leaned over her desk. His court presence was well known to be deadly, but this slip of a woman dared mock him? Now I am. I’m sure it will get better once I speak with your boss.
Okay. Go ahead.
He let out a short breath. Can you please get her?
I’m already here.
He barely concealed his jerk but fought through giving her the satisfaction. Slade knew two things well in life: the law and the way people worked. He’d used both to live quite successfully and remain mainly unscathed.
He blanked his features to hide any emotion. I see. Somehow I’m not surprised.
Her pale pink lips tightened. Ah, good-bye amusement. Hello irritation. Much better. Why do I suspect you’re rarely surprised?
Her correct assessment threw him off. Because I’m not. People are quite predictable if given certain circumstances. Take love, for instance. The promise of something Disney has made into a fortune with kids’ movies is like the Holy Grail. They’ll fight, steal, and pay money they don’t have for the opportunity of believing in a mirage.
He waited for a feminine temper tantrum and got . . . nothing. A gleam of interest sparked in her eyes. She waited him out, taking her time studying his appearance and making her own judgment. Oh, yeah, this one was good. There wasn’t a man alive who wouldn’t put himself in her hands, and not a woman who wouldn’t want to be like her. The perfect combination to sell love.
You seem a bit jaded for thirty, sir.
Thirty-three.
Ah, I see. Well, let me try to clear something up immediately. At Kinnections, we use a wide variety of services to help a person find a companion. What that means to him or her is subjective. Some want friendship, some want sex, and some want the crescendo of music playing when their eyes meet. I’m not here to judge. Our job is to try to get our clients what they want in a safe, consensual environment.
He clasped his hands in front of his chest and tapped his thumbs together. A favorite position with the jurors, giving the appearance of relaxation with full control. He eased his voice to a conspiratorial tone. A lofty ambition. And if it doesn’t work? Do your clients get a refund?
Her chair squeaked. No, they sign a contract up front agreeing to the terms.
"Convenient. I must give you credit, ma’am. You have a nice setup here. The businessman in me respects it. But I have one question I’m dying to know the answer to."
What?
How do you sleep at night?
Finally. Her muscles tightened, and Slade circled his prey for the kill
