Page 9 of Make-Believe Match

“Maybe you haven’t been with the right person,” I suggested. “A lot of guys are pretty fucking clueless.”

“I haven’t been withanyone. Just by myself.” She slapped a palm to her forehead. “I cannot even believe I’m having this conversation with you. What is thisday?”

She was so beautiful, and so distressed, I wanted to toss her over my shoulder and carry her out of here, make everything better—if she’d let me. “Tell me something. How long has it been since you’ve...had a proper finish?”

She sighed. “About six months. It’s probably just because of anxiety—I’m dealing with a lot of family stuff right now that makes it tough for me to relax.”

I finished off my whiskey. “Okay. You’re not making this easy for me, but I’ve never been one to back away from a challenge.” I set the empty glass on the bar and faced her. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” I met her eyes and leaned toward her slightly. “You give me fifteen minutes in the backseat of my car, and I will give you a hand-crafted, responsibly farmed, artisanal orgasm that will make you forget all your troubles.”

Cocky as fuck, aren’t I?

But listen, I’m not saying I’m amazing at everything. There are some things I’m not good at. Relationships. Cooking. Observing the speed limit. And I don’t admit this to many people, but I’m fucking terrified of heights, so don’t ask me to go skydiving or bungee jumping or even skiing.

Chairlifts, man. Fuck those hanging death traps.

But delivering an orgasm? That was about communication, patience, and strategic navigation of female anatomy—three things I happen to excel at.

She laughed nervously. “Hand-crafted, huh?”

“Well...” I leaned in closer. Spoke lower. “My tongue might get involved too. If that’s okay with you.”

A small gasp. Her lush mouth stayed open, and the surprise in her light brown eyes turned to curiosity. And then to desire. I watched it happen, willing myself to stay quiet, to letherbe the one to decide. If this was going to work, she had to trust me.

Then a flicker of doubt crossed her face, and I prepared myself for the rejection. Which would be fine, I wasn’t going to pressure her. I was just—

“Okay.”

My dick sprang to life inside my pants. “Huh?”

“Okay.” Deep red roses bloomed in her cheeks. She slid off her stool and stood between my knees, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes.”

Nowmyjaw dropped.

Could this be real?

The joke in my family has always been that I can talk anyone into anything and make it seem like their idea in the first place. It’s what makes me good at my job brokering multi-million-dollar real estate deals—I understand the art of persuasion, which isn’t about coercion, manipulation, or intimidation.

But I hadn’t expected her to seriously entertain my offer.

Honestly, I sort of felt like this could be a setup, and any minute now, a hidden cameraman was going to pop out and a cackling reality show host was going to inform me I’d been had. Would it be my punishment for coming back to town to persuade an old lady to sell her family’s historic ski resort?

No, fuck that. I was doing that old lady a favor, and everyone else in her family too. Times had changed. The resort was a cadaver. And they’d walk away with millions.

I realized I’d been paralyzed with shock when Lexi backed away. “Maybe I shouldn’t,” she said, clearly flustered. “This is not like me at all, and I—”

I locked a forearm around her waist and pulled her in close. Buried my face in her hair and spoke low in her ear. “If you walk out of here with me right now, I will do everything in my power to give you the best fifteen minutes you’ve ever had—or ever will have.”

“Really?” Her voice was breathless.

I locked my arm around her so tight her back bowed. “I will make you come so hard you see stars. As many times as you let me.”

“Why do I believe you?” she asked, her voice bewildered.

I grinned. “It’s a gift.”