Matchmaker

*Lane

The major difference was I would be out of my comfort zone and away from home for a month, with a man I didn't know. That was when Brooklyn had really set the hook. She'd said, 'It wouldn't be an adventure if there was no risk.' I smiled to myself as I turned to pace the other way. Brooklyn was good. She was really, really good.

Middle of February was when I started getting busy at work, so getting a month-long break in January worked out. I kept reminding myself that Bryant was in the same situation. Just like I knew only his first name, he knew only mine. Everything else about each other we had to discover for ourselves.

My heart nearly stopped when I heard the rumble of the garage door going up. I'd had almost an hour to prepare myself for Bryant's arrival, but knowing he was here made my heart pound and it felt like a longhorn steer was standing on my chest. I stood at the top of the steps, my fingers twisting and untwisting as I waited.

A man stepped in from the garage at the bottom of the steps. He was dressed in what I called business casual, jeans, a white shirt with a dark blue sweater, and a dark grey blazer. He was a big man, his height hard to judge at the bottom of the steps, but certainly not short. He was well muscled without being bulky, and his dark hair was slightly windblown.

He was wearing stylish glasses, but they seemed to fit him. Between his style of dress and the glasses, he was working the sexy nerd in a big way.

"Lane?" he asked as he started up the steps.

"Yes. Bryant?"

"That's me." He paused in front of me and extended his hand. I took it as I revised his height upwards an inch or two. He had to be at least six-one. "Bryant Legato, from New York City."

I couldn't stop the small smile that tickled my lips. As if I couldn't tell from his accent. "Lane Carlisle, San Antonio, Texas."

He looked me over and smiled down at me. "Brooklyn was certainly right."

"About what?"

His smile spread. "The only thing she would tell me was your first name, that you were beautiful, and you had a Texas accent that could melt a man's heart."

Oh, he was delightfully bold. "That's more than I know about you. All I knew was your first name."

"She must have told you something else."

I shook my head. "Not a thing."

He looked down at me, slightly puzzled. "Really. Why did you agree to meet me, then?"

"Brooklyn is a very good saleswoman."

He smiled again. "And obviously a woman of impeccable taste. Oh, and she told me to tell you that I'm aware of the ground rules."

"Ground rules?"

"Yes. Basically, if I make you uncomfortable, you can leave on a moment's notice, and there's not a thing I can do to stop you. Short of kidnapping," he added with a grin.

"Is that something I have to worry about?" I asked. I tried to make the question light and teasing, but I'm not sure I was completely successful.

His smile faded and he looked at me seriously. He slowly took my hand, placed a Range Rover key in it, and closed my fingers over it. "Hang onto that. It's your way to the airport. It's full of gas."

I couldn't hold his gaze and looked away. "Thank you."

"Now!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. "I have to get my bag and skis. Have you picked your room?"

"Yes."

"Great. When I come back up, you can show me which room is mine."

"Need some help?" I offered.

He paused on the first step. "I only have one bag. Normally I have someone do this kind of stuff for me, but Brooklyn refused to let me bring anyone. I'm actually looking forward to doing for myself for a month. It's kind of like roughing it, without the bears, bugs, dysentery, and other unpleasantness."

I snickered as I followed him to the lower level of the chalet where the garage, storage, and a game room resided. I'd already figured out he had to be rich to pay for all of this with no assurance of me sleeping with him, but I was starting to suspect he might be more than 'rich.'

He only had one small case in the back of the car, along with skis. "That's it?" I asked.

He shrugged as he pulled them out. "It's part of the adventure."

"What is?"

"Doing things together, one of which is shopping."

I took the bag as he pulled out the skis. I pushed the button to start the hatch of the SUV closing before I led him to another room I'd found as I explored the cabin.

"Shopping?" I asked as I pushed open the door, flipped on the light, and stepped out of the way so he could enter.

"Yeah. How many changes of clothes did you bring?"

"Three. I was told to pack light."

"Same for me. You think that's enough for a month?" he asked as he placed the skis in the holders mounted on the wall. "Where's your equipment?"

"What equipment?"

"You don't ski?"

"I've never even seen snow except on television."

"Are you serious?"

"Well, no, not completely. I've seen a few flakes, but nothing like here."

"That'll have to change," he said as he took his bag from me. "Now, which room is mine?"

I led him back upstairs. The chalet had three bedrooms. I'd left the largest of the three, the one with the view, for him, taking one of the smaller ones at the back.

"Nice place," he said as he threw his bag on the bed.

"Is it yours?"

"No. I have place in Vale, but I couldn't use it. We had to meet on neutral territory."

I swallowed hard. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Before I answer that, will you answer a question for me?"

"Okay."

"Can you cook?"

I was so surprised at his question I giggled. "Yeah, I do okay."

He nodded and gestured out of the room. "If I teach you to ski, will you teach me to cook?"

"You want to learn to cook?"

"Why not? I enjoy learning new things, and I'm roughing it, remember?"

I grinned. "Then sure."

"So, why am I doing this?" he asked as I led him out of the room. "How long do you have to listen to my tale of woe?" he continued, the lightness in his tone preventing him from sounding like he was looking for sympathy.

He was charming, I'd give him that. "An hour."

"Plenty of time."