The memory of that disaster had her struggling to clear her thoughts.
“I’m Nicole Taylor,” she said as he guided her over the floor with smooth steps. “Bill’s sister.”
“Jake Ford.”
“Whitney’s partner, right?”
“Right.”
Nicole followed his lead, moving to the music’s slow, sensuous beat. She told herself to relax, that their dance was just a casual social gesture that would last only a matter of minutes. Still, his body was so close, so firm.
She tilted her head. “I’ve heard about you.”
“Then why are you still dancing with me?” he asked, his gaze locked with hers.
When she’d spied him from a distance, she had decided he was compelling. Up close, his dark looks and strong features had a devastating effect. As did the warm, musky scent of his aftershave that curled into her lungs.
“I’m still dancing with you because I love to dance,” she answered. She knew the dim light and the piano’s soft notes were meant to soothe, yet that hadn’t stopped the nerves at the base of her neck from knotting. “Sebastian says dancing is good for the circulation. Helps your capillaries oxygenate.”
Jake’s forehead furrowed. “Whatever.”
She let out a measured breath. The man was definitely not big on conversation. Good thing she was.
“Anyway,” she continued lightly, “Whitney has only good things to say about you.”
“I pay her well.”
Inching her head back, Nicole stared up, studying his face. She found no glint of humor in those dark eyes. “If you didn’t pay her to say good things,” she began slowly, “what would Whitney have told me about you?”
“To stay away.”
Against all reason, his gruff words quickened Nicole’s pulse. She was suddenly aware of the firm presence of his hand against her waist. Cognizant that only a thin barrier of silk lay between his palm and her flesh.
“Why would your partner tell me to stay away from you?”
His gaze remained steady on hers. “Long story.”
Without conscious thought, Nicole splayed her fingers over his shoulder, then tightened them. She felt something beyond the ripcord of hard muscle. Stress. Strain. Jake Ford was as tense as wire.
“Are you on duty, Sergeant Ford?”
“Jake. No. Why?”
“You’re in cop mode.”
He blinked. “Cop mode?”
“Expression hard. Noncommittal.” Her fingers kneaded his shoulder. “Unyielding.”
“What do you know about cop mode?”
She smiled. “Oh, I’ve matched a few police officers.”
His eyes narrowed. “Matched?”
“Making matches is my business—”
“Matches, as in ‘close cover before striking’?”
God, he was so intense…and handsome. “Matches, as in relationships. I have a high success rate. I can just sense when two people belong together—it’s a gift.” Having found her opening, she plucked a business card from the evening bag that dangled on a slim chain from her shoulder.
“Here you go.”
Jake moved his hand from her waist to accept the card. “‘Meet Your Match,”’ he read, then moved his gaze back to hers. “You work there?”
“Yes. I also own the company.”
He looked back at the card, arched a dark brow. “You’re a romance engineer?”
“That’s right.” She was proud of the title, of her company’s success and the knowledge that she offered people the potential for a lifetime of happiness. “I engineer relationships. Quite successfully, if I say so myself. I’m working on franchising.”
As if mulling that over, he remained silent. Around them, muted conversations hung in the air as couples drifted past, swaying to the soft music.
“In other words, people pay you to fix them up on blind dates,” he finally commented.
“Not ‘blind dates.’ When we sign on a client, we conduct background checks and do an intense interview. The person actually knows a lot about their date, including what they look like, before they even meet.”
She gave a subtle glance at the firm left hand that cupped her right. Interest—a purely business one, she told herself—stirred when she saw he wasn’t wearing a wedding band. “So, Sergeant Jake Ford, is there a special woman in your life?”
The slow song ended, another began. Without missing a step, he continued moving in the same smooth rhythm.
“No.”
“Maybe you’d like to check out our services?”
He handed her card back. “No.”
This time, his hand settled against her back where silk gave way to bare skin. His touch was light, but potent enough to widen her eyes as an unexpected flash of need took her by surprise. Air clogged her lungs. She stiffened her spine beneath his palm and willed her feet to keep moving while she kept her gaze on his.
He was watching her with seeming ease, but she could see the shimmering intensity in his dark eyes.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fine.” She needed oxygen. She wasn’t into self-deception. Just like another man in her past, Jake Ford’s looks, his demeanor…his touch were tempting. Too tempting. Already, her hormones were surging in a direction where the fine edge of reason began to blur.
Now that she’d felt the heat of his flesh against hers, she wanted his touch to continue. Deepen.
Not going to happen, she told herself, putting mental skids on her thoughts. She would never again approach a relationship with her emotions calling the shots. She’d been down that road with her ex, and found it was full of potholes. Now she was smarter. Wiser. And she had learned how to face a problem head-on. The thing to do in this instance was to take control and go on the defensive.
She would feel a whole lot better—safer—if Jake Ford were off-limits. And she was the perfect person to make that happen.
“I have a client who might be perfect for you,” she said as she began tucking the card into the breast pocket of his suit coat. “She’s a doctor. A medical doctor, intelligent and gorgeous. Let me know if you change your—”
Her words slid back down her throat when he snagged her wrist. His hand was steady, his fingers unyielding as steel.
His dark eyes narrowed. “Not interested. And I won’t change my mind.”
The image of those firm, controlled hands exploring every inch of her body clicked into her brain, sending heat surging into her cheeks.
A shadow flickered across his eyes, then disappeared. He released her wrist. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Pursing her lips, Nicole dropped the rejected card back in her purse while regarding him. “Has anyone ever mentioned that your biorhythms might be in the negative range?”
He missed a step, picked the beat back up again. “My what?”
“Biorhythms. You strike me as being overly tense, so yours might be in a negative cycle. Sebastian says if a person’s biorhythms are negative, it’s hard to do well in certain areas.”
“Who