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Miss Matchmaker: A Small Town Romance
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I can find anyone’s perfect match, except my own.
A small town is the last place I ever thought I’d find myself, but I’m desperate to save my failing business, and a mysterious client makes an offer I can’t turn down.
She wants me to match her with the man of her dreams, and if I pull it off, she’ll pay me more than I can imagine.
But when a cowboy everybody calls “Country” welcomes me to town with a “get lost” and a side of drop-dead gorgeous, well, things get a little more complicated.
I mean, what kind of woman wouldn’t go following a guy like that back to his ranch? And what kind of woman wouldn’t go marching up to tell him off, even if he was shirtless?
Between my insane client and my inability to stay away from the cocky cowboy, I have my hands full.
And Lucas Tate, the man my client wants? It turns out he’s also my cowboy.
**As always, this is a totally SAFE, full length book with a happily ever after, no cheating, and plenty of steam.**
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His fingers are rough against the tender skin of my neck–calloused from a life of hard work. The faint lines at the corners of his deep blue eyes speak of countless days squinting into the sun, of laughter, and of experience. Lucas Tate. The absolute last man on Earth I should be touching or even thinking about romantically.
“I can’t do this with you,” I say, trying to pull back, but there’s something magnetic drawing me to him, despite the alarm bells going off in my mind. Do not get involved. Do not get involved, Mila. No matter what you do…
“You don’t have to do a thing, darlin’,” Lucas says with an irresistible smile. “Just put those pretty lil’ hands over your head and let me take care of the rest.”
Air rushes from between my parted lips, as if pulled out by the sheer magnetism of him, as if my body is trying to give itself over to him no matter what my brain is telling me. Just tell him the truth. Tell him why you can’t. “I can’t…” I whisper, but the rest won’t come out. The truth stays lodged in my throat, as thick and heavy as molasses.
He’s not shaken by my refusal. He only brushes my chin with his thumb, tilting me up to look into those eyes that are so blue they send a chill down my back despite the heat. “Tell you what,” he says, voice so low and smooth it rumbles through my chest. “Give me one good reason why you can’t, and I’ll walk away. One reason. That’s all, darlin’.”
I meet his gaze, trying to summon up any of the thousand reasons this is a terrible idea, but every last one of them refuses to come up, leaving me speechless and helpless, knowing with a sinking inevitability that I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life.
A Few Days Earlier
I take one last look out at the view from my office window. I have a perfectly depressing view of the mold-crusted apartment complex next door. It’s not all bad though. If I squish my cheek against the glass I can almost see a sliver of blue sky. Almost. It’s more like a reflection off a window, but hey, if you can’t find positivity, make your own. At least that’s what mom always said.
“Are you ready for this?” Amy, my business partner, asks. She’s sitting across from my desk on a cardboard box that was supposed to serve as a temporary chair. Through some combination of being broke and laziness, it ended up becoming the permanent second chair in the cramped space I call a workplace. Amy’s just a few years older than me, maybe just barely in her thirties, but she has the somewhat irritating habit of getting prettier every year.
“Ready? No,” I say with a little laugh. “What if she takes one look at me and changes her mind?”
Amy hops off her box and moves to where I’m standing by the window. She gently puts her hand on my shoulder and leans in until I’m forced to look at her.
“Mila, listen to me. You’re going to be fine. Fan-fucking-tastic. Okay? I’ve never found a woman you couldn’t match with the man of her dreams. Never once. This isn’t going to be any different.”
“Except this time the client is paying us a small fortune,” I say. “And I’ve never let a client pick the guy I’m supposed to match them with. I’m really starting to wonder how I let you talk me into this.”
“You’re the one always telling clients the nerves they feel are in their head. Right?”
“You’re right,” I say, taking a deep breath. I can do this. It’s just like any other client. Except this time, the client is offering us enough money to change our lives overnight.
“I’m usually right,” Amy states matter-of-factly. “You should probably just get used to it.”
It’s only then I notice the small suitcase sitting beside the box Amy was using as a chair. “What’s that?” I ask.
“You didn’t think I’d let you go out there by yourself, did you? C’mon. You need me! Besides, I can do my job from this,” she says, holding her phone up and winking at me. “I won’t miss a beat. Promise.”
I narrow my eyes. “Since when do you volunteer for extra work?”
Amy makes a show of being offended. “I’m your best employee. You take that back.”
“You’re my only employee.”
She shrugs. “Still.”
“Don’t you think two strangers showing up out of the blue might draw some attention?”
“No,” she says, “because I already cooked up a cover story for us. We’re reporters!”
I wait for the punchline, but it doesn’t come. “A cover story? Since when have we used cover stories?”
“Since when have we gone on the road for a match? Hm? Exactly. See? This is just a perfect example of why you need to have me come along.”