Jennifer Probst - Searching for Someday

Her words crashed over him. He had little time to process, because everyone did a group om—at least he was right about that—and then it was over. Slade chugged the rest of his water, dragged a towel over his face, and watched while Kate chatted with Trent and Meat.

Arilyn packed up and left the studio. After a solid fist bump to regain their manhood, he watched Meat and Trent drift toward the weights, and the glass door shut behind him.

Kate dragged the mats over to the pile, her perky ass high in the air on perfect display. A wave of lust grabbed him in a chokehold, and suddenly he knew the session wasn’t over.

He headed across the room.

KATE CONCENTRATED ON CLEANING up the studio so she wouldn’t have to face the sweaty, irritated, gorgeously sexy client behind her. When Arilyn told her the plan, she had little faith Slade would even participate. Halfway through the grueling class, one glance at his face confirmed he’d never make it. Arilyn was wicked smart when it came to knocking down barriers. Kate had been the recipient of many of her sessions when her frustration with her stuttering caused her to shut down. Kate figured she’d get a kick out of watching Slade’s confident charm slip.

Instead, he’d impressed the hell out of her.

He never quit, and his honesty in the circle was dead-on. He told the truth, after first trying to tell them what he thought they’d want to hear. She’d seen many men storm out during these sessions, not ready to go deep.

Of course, what really pissed her off was his body.

Slade Montgomery was sheer perfection.

Every muscle was lean and defined. Golden hair sprinkled over brown skin reminded her of delicious Honey Nut Cheerios, and she craved a taste. Even sweaty and irritated, he held a core center within him that told her this man knew who he was and didn’t apologize. He liked to win. He liked to get what he wanted. He didn’t apologize for his beliefs and never backed down from a challenge.

Her body wept, so she kept far away, careful not to touch him.

The door shut behind her and she sagged in relief. Finally. Kate dropped the last mat on the pile, pushed it neatly in the corner, and turned.

“Hi.”

She jerked back. He stood before her and dominated her personal space. Hair damp and lying over his forehead, T-shirt sticking to his chest, he smelled rawly masculine and delicious instead of yucky. Damn, the man even sweats musk. How was this fair?

“H-h-hi. Thought you’d left.”

“Not yet. Interesting session. Do you torture all clients equally or just ones you don’t like?”

She fought the smile and tried to ease back, but there was nowhere to go. “There’s no discrimination at Kinnections. You should see some of Arilyn’s other sessions. You got off easy.”

“She’s scarier than a drill sergeant ’cause you don’t see her coming.”

“You did good,” she admitted. Forced herself to hold his gaze, though she felt stripped and vulnerable. Her skin prickled with awareness as the heat surged between them, strangling her air.

“I held my own. Bet you lose a lot of clients forcing them into one-hundred-degree heat.”

She lifted her chin a notch, but he still towered over her. Damn bare feet. “Some do. But if they’re not ready to do some hard stuff in search of love, they’re not meant to be with Kinnections. Relationships aren’t all fluff and fun. It’s tough work.”

“At least you’re preparing them to be strong when the divorce happens.”

Ah, they were back on solid terms. She smirked. “You know, the divorce rate is actually decreasing due to couples living together for longer periods of time. Afraid you’ll be out of a job with me in business?”

He threw back his head and laughed. The growly roar stroked her ears and between her legs like a rough caress. “Statistics can be manipulated to present any conclusions you’d prefer. But the simple fact is first marriages end at a rate of forty-one to fifty percent. Children of divorced parents are four times more likely to divorce, so the numbers will skyrocket. I’ll end up retiring a rich man.”

The verbal sparring leaked into the physical, her body sparking to life as quickly as her brain revved up. Her nipples twisted tight and poked against her Lycra tank. “If everyone lived their life by stats, or fear of taking a chance, we’d be a nation of robots. Love is the only mysterious magic in the world that gives us hope.”

He studied her face, leaning in an inch. Two. “I agree. But magic is an illusion, Kate, just like love. Friendship lasts. Family. But romantic love is just a mirage—a glass of ice-cold Coca-Cola in the middle of the desert. You stumble and reach to quench the thirst, then find the glass vanishes right through your fingers.”

“If you don’t reach and believe in the glass, you’ll die anyway.”

His eyes darkened to a deep forest green. Kate froze, helpless to fight the crazy electric jolts between them, like a magnet forcing an object to cling. His husky whisper wrapped her in intimacy. “At least you die knowing the truth. On your terms.”

She dug deep and rallied. “On your terms, yes. But with a cowardly pride and alone. Don’t you want more than that?”

He leaned in. Kate licked her lips in typical romance novel cliché fashion as if waiting for the kiss. God, how humiliating. She fought for sanity, but her head swarmed with a cottony daze that kept her feet pinned to the ground, helpless under his spell. He was a client. A client. A client. This was bad . . . bad . . . bad . . .

“Why are you so innocent?”

“Why are you so hopeless?” she asked.

“Because my job taught me the truth.”

“So did mine.”

They stared at each other, not moving, barely breathing. Slade muttered something under his breath. She opened her mouth to stop the insanity, step away, and go back to business.

Too late.

He closed the last few inches between them, snagging her around the waist and lifting her up to meet his lips.

Snap.

Crackle.

Pop.

Like Rice Krispies gone berserk, a live jolt of electricity hit her hard, wringing a gasp from her lips. Her insides shuddered, and raw, burning heat poured through her body, lighting her up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.

His fingers tightened around her waist, and his tongue dove deep between her lips, devouring her in a hungry kiss that drove every other thought from her mind except the need for more. Kate moaned under the sensual assault and reached up, stabbing her fingers into his surfer hair and twisting. The kiss devoured her whole. He tasted of coffee and mint and hot masculine need, and like a drunk, she took it all and demanded more. It went on and on, drowning her in pleasure and ratcheting up the lust and drive to get him naked, climb on top of him, and take him between her thighs, turning her into a wild animal she didn’t recognize.

The door opened and a strange voice cut through the air. “Oh! Sorry, dudes, didn’t know you were making out.”

Kate yanked back, her whole body shaking. The charged air shimmered with electricity.

“Holy shit.” Slade looked down at their broken connection. He blinked and shook his head. “What the hell was that?”

Oh. My. God.

The touch. The curse.

Him.

Kate had no time to decipher the crazy flood of emotions that pumped through her. She almost fell backward in a rushed attempt of retreat, stumbled, and madly dashed to the side when he tried to steady her. “N-n-n-no, don’t touch me. T-t-t-that was a mistake.”

Her words caught, tumbled, caught again. Kate scrambled for her center as her stutter grabbed hold and threatened to dominate.

“Kate, wait.”

He put out his hands, palms up. A frown creased his brow, and he didn’t make a move toward her, but panic reared. If he touched her one more time, she’d crumble beneath the crazy need to have him without consequence.

“I h-h-h-have to go. Let’s just forget this happened.”

“Kate!”

She took off and didn’t look back. Scooping up her shoes, she headed through the gym barefoot, shoved her feet into her moccasins at the door, and raced to her Ford Fusion like the last survivor in a horror movie running from a serial killer.

As she pulled out of the lot, Kate realized her lifelong dream of meeting the man meant for her had just occurred. For more than four generations, the touch had bound male to female over and over without fail, confirming a true match of a love slated to last with the right man.

Until now.

Because he was the wrong man.

SLADE SAT ON the sleek pewter-colored couch in Kennedy’s office and tried not to scowl.

He was in a bad mood.

After the hot yoga session, he figured he was done with Kinnections’ torment. Seems that he also signed to a mandatory makeover meeting, which besides getting his man card pulled, he didn’t need. As a lawyer, appearance was key, and he made sure the jurors and his clients always saw a crisp, clean image. He tried to remain patient and stared moodily at Kate, who flanked Kennedy’s side and looked as miserable as he felt.

The kiss haunted him.

Caught up in their banter at the gym, Slade decided to test the waters. Just once. He ached to kiss her, glean if her lips really tasted like the cotton candy he adored, and put to rest some of the crackling sexual tension.

Instead, he’d been electrocuted and shredded to pieces by a clawing hunger to have her. Mate, claim, possess. It was as if his inner caveman sprang to life and he’d sunk to an animal instinct. Her taste was like pure sugar, and once he got a sample he was afraid he’d be addicted. He expected teasing, warm, and satisfying. He got hot sex and pure need.