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 shot. “You’re selling something that doesn’t exist. Do you take responsibility for the broken relationships and hearts you created along the way? Is there a disclaimer clause for divorces that occur from your matches? Do you like taking a lonely woman’s hard-earned savings while she keeps pouring money into a search that never gives her what she wants?”

The blond half rose from the chair, fists clenched, anger pouring from her figure in choppy waves. Triumph coursed at finally breaking the hard shell of pretense. Get someone angry, push their buttons, and you get the truth. Tricks of the trade. Slade waited for the long tirade with a bite of enjoyment he rarely experienced out of the courtroom.

Those luscious lips opened. Then shut. She dragged in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and seemed to do some type of meditative thing. When she opened them, she seemed calmer. Her hypnotic voice sang in his ears and promised him earthly and heavenly delights. God, what sounds did she make during sex? Moans? Husky whispers? Screams?

What the hell was that thought?

“You’re good. You almost got me to lose it, but I’m working on my anger management skills, so I win this round. I’m very sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

A touch of gentleness lit her eyes. “For what happened to you. You were obviously hurt by a partner. Man or woman?”

Slade yanked his hands up and broke his position. “You think I’m gay?”

She clucked her tongue. “No need to be embarrassed. We match all kinds of sexual interests at Kinnections.”

His breath choked him. “I’m not gay! And stop poking around in my head—I’m a master and know all about manipulation games. No wonder my sister fell for this charade.”

She frowned. “Sister?”

“Jane Montgomery. She signed up with your agency last week. I’m sure you remember her.”

The hot blonde tapped her finger against her lips. Slade noted the lack of stylish nail polish in favor of clear. A definite contradiction to her American cheerleader looks. “Of course. We’re very excited about working with Jane.”

“And she will no longer be working with you. I came here to tell you personally to shred her file and do not contact her again.”

She had the audacity to look puzzled. “Why would you do that? We’ve already spent some time going over her wants and needs, and she’s enthusiastic about starting to date.”

Obviously this woman needed therapy. Or reality counseling. He spoke slowly, as if talking with one of his dim-witted clients strung out on too much extramarital sex. “Jane is sensitive and quite emotional. You may have a misguided idea of helping, but you will shatter her self-confidence, and I won’t allow that. She’s had a hard time in the past. If you continue to see her as a client, you will destroy her.”