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Perfectly Ms. Matched

By´╝ÜTamra Baumann

Perfectly Ms. Matched (Rocky Mountain Matchmaker Series Book 2) - Tamra Baumann



When Joann Westin spotted Chad Jenks, aka, the son of Satan, sitting at a table in her busy café, she pulled up short. That snake had some nerve.

Weaving through the crowded four tops, her feet moved of their own accord toward his table. Well, technically it was her table. She owned the place.

His sandy-blond hair was still just a tad too long, and she’d swear he had even more muscles than the last time she’d seen him. Nine years ago.

A quick inventory showed her only weaponry consisted of a pen and her glass of iced tea. The pen could get messy, especially if she hit an artery. The iced tea might be the better choice.

But it’d be juvenile to dump the tea over his head. She was thirty years old, not ten.

Besides, he might think she was still hurt—she hadn’t realized how badly until seeing him again. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing it.

She lowered her glass just as Chad looked up after finishing his turkey sub. The gleam in his eyes told her he knew exactly what she’d been tempted to do. In a move so quick she never saw it coming, his hand stretched out and grabbed the glass.

“For me?” he asked all innocent-like as a slow grin tilted his still sexier-than-sin mouth.

“No.” She played tug-of-war with a man so big and strong, it was a doomed battle from the start, so she let her glass of tea go.

“Thanks.” He took a long, slow drink while her head threatened to explode.

Smiling, Chad said, “Mmmm. Just the way I like it.”

“I added a little extra rat poison, just for you.”

“Since I’m allegedly the biggest rat bastard of all time, it’ll probably take something stronger than this to kill me.” He lifted her glass in a mock toast. “Nice to see you too, Jo.”

Oh, she wanted to hit him. But she hadn’t been raised that way. She crossed her arms to restrain her baser urges. “Why are you here? We agreed to never speak to each other again, remember?” Although she feared she knew exactly why he was taking up space in her restaurant.

He tilted his head back and finished off the iced tea. Probably so she wouldn’t pick it up and dump it over his head. There was still the ice left in the glass . . .

In an old familiar move, he hooked a finger into the vee of her T-shirt, pulling her close. His breath warmed her lips as his finger stayed put in the middle of her cleavage. “I never agreed to that. It was just one of the many ultimatums you didn’t really mean at the time.”

She slapped his hand aside, ignoring the quick thrill his touch had sent up her spine.

Leaning even closer, so close she could smell his yummy aftershave, she gritted her teeth. “I meant every last one of them.” Using her own vintage move, she drilled her index finger into his chest. “Go away!”

“You know how I hate the poking thing.” He trapped her hand, splaying it against his overdeveloped chest. His heart pounded beneath her palm. Seemed he wasn’t as calm as he appeared on the outside.

He pulled out the chair beside him and gently but firmly planted her butt onto it. “Have a seat, and we’ll talk some business.”

“Business?” She folded her hands in her lap as she searched for calm. “I’d run naked through downtown Denver before I’d do any business with you.”

“I’d pay big to see that.” He chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “You haven’t changed a bit, Jo. Feisty and pretty as ever. And just the woman I need to get me off the injured reserve list.”

So that explained his sudden appearance after so many years of avoiding her every time he came home to see his family and friends. He’d been hurt in an NFL game a few weeks back. Badly.

Not that she still kept track of him anymore. His behavior after they’d broken up had been legendary. Naked women, parties—it’d been too painful to watch. He’d done a one-eighty from a one-woman man to a new woman every night. But his latest injury had been plastered all over ESPN because it threatened to be a career-ending one.

“I don’t help spoiled athletes anymore. Especially if they play for a team in the same division as the Broncos.” She waved a hand in the direction of all the customers. “This is what I do now. And I do it well. As you can see for yourself.” She nodded toward the line of people waiting out the door to be served.

“No doubt. But I need a physical therapist, and you need money to expand your restaurant so you can serve all those folks faster. Let’s make a deal.”

“I don’t make deals with the devil.” When she started to stand, his big hand landed on her thigh, holding her in place.