Jennifer Probst - Searching for Perfect

He meant it. Many men either buried the past or used it as a crutch to explain away bad behavior. Ned accepted his circumstances and moved on. Admiration cut through her. Yes, he possessed character. She could work with that.

“How about past relationships?”

He shrugged. “Not many to talk about. I graduated early, got recruited by NASA, and worked nonstop for a number of years. Went out a bit here and there but rarely got past the third date or so. Most women were bored by my career once they discovered I wasn’t an astronaut. Now that I’m back in New York, it took me a while to get settled. I moved in with my brother and delved into a new project, so I haven’t had the chance to meet someone yet.”

She struggled with the urge to ask him about his sexual past, then scratched it off the list. Too personal for now. She doubted he was a virgin, but it sounded as if his bedroom antics had been . . . limited.

“I’m not a virgin.”

Kennedy couldn’t remember the last time she had blushed, and swore this wouldn’t be the first. “I didn’t ask.”

His lips twisted in a self-deprecating smile. “I heard your thoughts loud enough. I’ve had sexual experiences. They just usually lead to a parting of ways because of our lifestyle differences. If I felt lacking in that department, I’d find a way to fix it.”

Her nerves tingled. Odd to hear a man talk so honestly about sex in a way that wasn’t defensive. She bet he’d be open to all sorts of suggestions with one simple focus: a woman’s pleasure. Like he attacked his job and his life, the bedroom would only be another obstacle he wanted to overcome. She scribbled on her notepad and cleared her throat.

“Understood. Let’s talk a bit about women. I made note of your survey answers. You don’t seem to have many strict requirements. Are you open to ethnicity? Age? Backgrounds? What type of woman do you imagine sharing your future with?”

“Anyone.”

Kennedy stared at him. She’d counseled hundreds of men, and there was always a list. A type. Someone to avoid at all costs. “You’re willing to date anyone? There must be a few qualities you want in your wife.”

He picked at his nails, seemed to catch himself, and rested them on the arms of the chair. “Of course. I can waste our time giving you an inventory of qualities that each person dreams of in a soul-mate. Generosity, humor, attractiveness, intelligence, sexual chemistry. They won’t mean a thing until I meet her, though, will they? If I love her, I’m willing to compromise. I want to share my life and have a family. So my true answer remains. I am open to anyone. I just need to find her.”

Odd, the way he communicated made perfect sense. There would never be any guessing with this man, and no games. Direct, honest, unflinching. She just needed to find him a female who owned the same type of qualities, or one who was the complete opposite. Either he’d get along best with similar types, or he’d need the balance of contradiction.

Definitely a mixer. Targeted, maybe four to five women of all types, a melting pot he’d be able to delve into. But it wouldn’t work until she made some major changes on the outside.

Ken smiled. “I think that was a great answer.”

“Then why does that expression on your face make me nervous?”

She laughed. “I told you I’m not looking to change who you are, but I need to tweak the surface. For the next two weeks, I’ll be attached to your side. Other than work, we’ll be spending evenings together, and weekends. When I feel you’re ready, I’ll schedule the first mixer. Is that agreeable?”

The unibrow lowered. “What are you going to do to me?”

Her palms literally itched, a sure sign of success. She lowered her voice.

“Everything.”

NED ALMOST JERKED IN his seat from that husky, sexy spill of voice. Like velvet and gravel mixed together. The word drilled in his brain over and over, bringing up an array of delicious images.

Yep. She was a definite distraction.

He pegged her for a major flirt, but he didn’t think she realized what she’d just done to him. Probably looked at him more like an amoeba in her scientific experiment. Her black pencil skirt emphasized the toned muscles in her legs, which were a deep golden brown. The snug jacket cut over the natural fullness of her breasts and lifted them up like a present. Today, she wore a glittery silver ankle bracelet with tiny charm things. As she shook her leg, they tinkled and brought attention to the strappy platform sandals no woman should be wearing in the cool March weather. A natural sultriness radiated around her figure, and though she obviously knew how to use it, Ned figured that most of the time she had no clue how insanely attractive she was. Something seemed to hold her back, as if she hid a big secret at her core. Would be interesting to explore those limits and see inside. But that wouldn’t happen in his lifetime.

She was already looking back down at her papers. Dismissed, without a thought what that husky voice could do to a man. “Let’s talk about your hobbies outside of work. I see you golf.”

She uttered that word with pure disdain. He itched to show her the excitement of the subtlety and mental challenge of the sport, but obviously, she was more of a baseball or football fan. “Yes. I golf.”

Her gaze probed under the cotton fabric of his lab coat to get an idea of his biceps. He may not have a killer body, but he wasn’t soft. He ate healthy, golfed, and did regular crunches to keep his abdomen tight. Irritation bristled. What would it feel like to be a man she lusted after? Those gorgeous eyes reminded him of a sleek, strong lioness, pure gold shot with a touch of amber. Fogged with desire, he bet they’d get soft and sleepy. Maybe she bit and sucked her lower lip, which had a natural pout. She was probably trained to know exactly how to elicit a man’s response, down to the last detail. She was so out of his league, it was like Butch Harmon versus Happy Gilmore. Ned shifted in his chair and tried to refocus. Golf.

“Golf is good. Anything else?”

He pulled back his shoulders. “Books.”

She scribbled something. “Reading is a definite plus. What were the last three books you read?”

“ The Kama Sutra . The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty . Fifty Shades of Grey .”

The pen stilled. Her mouth opened, and her tongue slid over her lower lip. Ah yes, he’d finally elicited a feminine reaction. He tamped the flood of satisfaction. She was his matchmaker, intent on finding him his soul-mate. No reason to muddy the waters by crushing on her like a schoolboy. Still, he enjoyed the dilation of her pupils as she processed his statement. “Interesting. More research?”

“Yes. Research.” Once he got a woman into bed, he intended to keep her there. Part of his study to understand women included a range of erotic novels and how-to manuals to guarantee perfect sexual stamina and performance.

She regained her composure and clasped her hands together, index fingers touching. Her nails were dark purple today. An intricate silver ring flashed in the light. He wondered if she had a lover. He wondered if she had many.

“I’d like to change your name to Nate.”

He waited a beat. “My name is Nathaniel. My nickname is Ned.”

She seemed to choose her words carefully. “Ned evokes a certain image. Think of this as a reinvention. Since your birth name is so beautiful, I think we should go back to Nate as a nickname.”

Ned analyzed her statement. He’d always preferred his real name, but the kids in school hadn’t let him use it. They loved to torture him, calling him “Ned the Nerd.” He never thought of taking back his birth name after high school and claiming it for his own. He nodded. “A good idea. Nate it is.”