Mismatch - By Nana Malone Page 0,19
“Yes. Better than good. More like I’d stuck my finger in an electrical socket. “
“But now you have no way to find him again. If you wanted to find him.”
“Exactly.”
Izzy raised a delicate brow. “Which you don’t.”
“That’s right.” Liar. Sex that good deserved an encore.
“Because it was what, more than just sex?”
“Now you think I’m one of those fruity L.A. girls talking about how sex is transcendent or some shit.”
Izzy gave her a little sassy eyebrow. “You should know better. Besides, I have a solution to your problem. If you did want to find him—which you don’t—but if you did, why not just go back to the bar and see if the bartender knows him?” Then as if remembering Jessica’s reason for being at the club in the first place she asked, “So how did it go with the artist?”
“He emailed me this morning. I'm meeting him tomorrow afternoon. Izzy, he's good. Forget the actual art; his performance alone had the whole place mesmerized. He's pretty incredible.”
“Well, at least one thing went your way last night.”
Now, all Jessica had to do was get green-eyed sex god out of her head. How hard could that be?
Chapter 6
Jessica wobbled in her heels as she pulled open the door to Bodega Wine Bar. Her usual wardrobe choices or platforms seemed wholly inappropriate for her first real client meeting. Whether she was in the mood to deal or not, she needed an artist, and he needed a manager. And thanks to her mother, she had the in. So big girl panties in place, here she was.
The stunning blonde hostess slinked up to her, and Jessica felt like a painted Harajuku doll in comparison. “Hi, I have a reservation under Marks.”
The hostess eyed her and took in her multicolored patchwork designer suit, and Jessica suddenly wished she'd gone more conservative. Regardless of Jessica’s appearance, the hostess plastered a neutral smile on her face and led her through the back to the private tables. Only a few diners littered the ultra-modern courtyard dining area. With the chill in the spring air, the warming pits and lamps were on full blast.
As the hostess led her to the far corner, she noticed the man sitting with his back to her. Dark hair curling at his collar, something about him had Jessica halting in her Jimmy Choos. She tried to shake off the heebie jeebies crawling up her neck, but her inner alarm bells kept ringing.
The hostess’s smooth soprano lilted out, travelling to Jessica in a fog as the man stood. Over six feet of lean muscle unfolded out of the chair and turned in her direction. Hair so dark she would have thought it jet black save the lighter brown highlights. California tanned skin, yin and yang tattoo on his forearm.
Jessica froze. No. This. Could. Not. Be. Happening. Her brain tried to assert authority and tell her to run. But her body continued its path as if drawn by a magnet. Her eyes roved over the familiar body, and she bit back a groan. When she met the intense, jade green stare, she swallowed hard.
The hostess placed the menus on the table and looked between the two of them like she was watching a tennis match. She must have been bored because she eventually excused herself, and Jessica was left with the man from the club.
“So your name is Samson Marks?” She might have asked the question, but it was more like an exclamation.
The corner of his lips twitched, and Jessica's skin pricked. She knew what he looked like when he smiled. And she was not mentally prepared for the libido inducement.
“And you're J. Stanton.” He waved her business card. “Or should I say Jessica.”
The way her name rolled of his tongue should have been illegal. It sounded like dirty talk. But no, he'd just said her name.
What to say, what to say? She obviously couldn't continue with the meeting, but she certainly couldn't run away form a client. “Well, this is awkward.”
He shrugged. “Wouldn't have been if you'd given me your full name last night.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be seeing you again, remember?”
This time he did smile, and Jessica swallowed again.
“That’s what I love about L.A.. There's always room for the impossible.”
***
Eli knew Sam would be the death of him. But what could he do? Sam was his twin. Sam loathed the business end of being an artist, so he always tapped Eli’s expertise. Eli had a feeling it was more out of laziness than inaptitude. If