“You’d be surprised.” She gave a coy smile and dangled her cherry for a moment before popping it into her mouth and pulling off the stem with a gentle tug. The things that girl could do with a cherry stem…

Des swallowed, resisting the flood of heat that coursed through him whenever he watched Gracie eat. “I’m never surprised.”

The ambient light of the bar caught on her red, lacquered nails as she gesticulated. “We couldn’t be related. No one in my family would ever go a whole week without shaving.”

Des ran his hand along his jaw, stubble rough beneath his fingers. “Two days, Baby. You can thank my Mediterranean genes for that.”

“Hairy bastard.” She threw her head back and laughed, the sound much richer than one might expect from such a petite woman. Like most things about Gracie, it was deeply appealing.

“Tell me,” he said, “what was wrong with Mr. Shiny Shoes?”

What wasn’t wrong with Mr. Shiny Shoes?

He’d seemed great from his dating profile. He’d ticked all the boxes—suitable career as a finance manager at a Big Four bank, an economics degree from the University of Melbourne, he came from old Brighton money, and there wasn’t a single thing on his Facebook page that hinted at any deviant personal habits.

Yet he was wrong…on all levels.

Gracie sighed, taking another sip of her Bellini. It was hard to concentrate with Des leaning in like that, the muscles in his arms bulging as he crossed them. She forced her eyes away from the intricate patterns that decorated his biceps, up and under the edge of his fitted black T-shirt. Unfortunately for her, staring and Des went hand in hand.

“He was…pompous.” She traced her fingertip around the opening of the champagne flute. “He was boring, too. All he talked about was his car and how much money he earned. That’s two out of three strikes right there.”

“What’s the third strike?”

“Mentioning an ex, but we didn’t even get that far into the conversation.”

Des frowned. “Why do you always go for those stuffy corporate types?”

“I do not.”

She absolutely did, but she wasn’t giving Des the satisfaction of that little admission. In fact, a corporate job was high up on her list of dating criteria because she needed to treat all guys as though they had the potential to meet her family. Therefore, if there was no suit there was no date.

“Yes, you do. That guy you brought in last week had his briefcase under the table.”

“He came from work.” She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s a date, Gracie. If he can’t make time to go home and change before meeting you, how is he going to have time to treat you right later on?”

“I’m assuming ‘treat me right’ is a euphemism?”

Des grinned, his eyes nearly onyx in the dim light of the bar. “Forgive me for being old fashioned, but I think a man should make time for his woman.”

“His woman?”

“His lady?” Des scratched his head. “Is that more PC?”

Gracie laughed. “You’re a lost cause, Desmond.”

“Don’t call me that.” He flicked his towel at her and she squealed. “Only my mother calls me Desmond.”

He winked, wiping down a set of clean glasses, working methodically, though his eyes never left her. The bar had almost emptied out. It was a Wednesday night and soon it would be only the two of them. She shouldn’t like the idea of that as much as she did.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I mean, I’m not hideous am I?” Gracie frowned.

“You’re not and you know it.”

“Then what else can I do?” She threw her hands in the air. It was a lost cause and yet she kept searching and searching. She’d tried internet dating, speed dating, blind dating, matchmaking…the list went on. Still, finding a suitable guy who ticked all the boxes and was tough enough to put up with her batshit crazy family was proving to be a challenge.

“Why don’t you meet a guy the old fashioned way?”

“In a bar?” she teased. “If I sit here and wait for a guy to come to me then I’ll be waiting a long time.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’d scare them away.” She smiled at him, taking another sip of her drink. The fizzy liquid slid down her throat, the crisp taste lingering on her tongue.

“True.”

“Why aren’t there any good guys left?” Gracie sighed.

Des frowned, his dark brows knitting together above thick-lashed eyes. The man looked like a model no matter which expression he pulled, even his scruffy stubble walked the fine line of perfection.

Why couldn’t he be a lawyer or an accountant?

“Of course I don’t count you in that group,” she said. “You’re one of a kind.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep, not every day you meet a guy who’s willing to play the part of angry ex-husband to save a gal from a bad date.”

“I must be a frustrated actor.” There was a hint of a smile on his lips, though hunger resided in his dark eyes.

Her stomach flipped. Heat moved through her system like wildfire. That meant it was time to get out. Gracie had no desire whatsoever to see how far she could push herself without getting burned.

“Like I said, one of a kind.” She drained the last of her Bellini and slung her coat over one arm. “I’d better head off. It is a school night after all.”

“Sleep tight, Gracie.” He looked her up and down in a way that made Gracie certain sleep would elude her.

Fantasizing about a man like Des was unproductive and against the rules, not to mention it was a danger to her slumber. Gorgeous as he was, he wasn’t the guy she was looking for. So she would—as she always did—remind herself why he was wrong for her and put him far, far out of her mind.

…

The man sitting across from Gracie prattled away about himself as she pretended to study his résumé. He had the right qualifications for the job, excellent experience across several industries, including a stint in Hong Kong, but something was off about him and she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“I was nominated for an excellence award by the CEO of my last company…”

Gracie couldn’t keep herself tuned in to what he was saying. He seemed to love the sound of his own voice so much she couldn’t be bothered paying attention. Taking a subtle glance at her watch, she decided to put an end to the interview.

“Thank you for those insights. The employer is looking to progress to second round interviews in the next week or two,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’ll be passing on your details and we’ll contact you if you’re successful in moving to the next stage.”

“I’ll expect your call then,” the candidate replied with a smug smile.

Think again, buddy.

She stood, shook his hand, and escorted him out to the reception area of the recruitment firm’s thirtieth floor office. She kept the smile plastered on her face until the elevator doors slid shut between them.

“Any good?” The receptionist asked as she peered over the shiny silver desk emblazoned with the firm’s logo.

Gracie gave her the thumbs down. “Not a good cultural fit for the client. Too full of himself.”

The receptionist nodded sagely. “Some people don’t know the difference between confidence and cockiness.”

“It’s a fine line.”

The receptionist leaned forward at her desk, her eyes sparkling. “How’s the man hunting going?”

Gracie shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Don’t even ask.”

“C’mon, Gracie,” she wheedled. “I’ve been with my fiancé since we were sixteen, throw me a bone. I need to live vicariously.”

“I don’t understand why it’s so tough to find a good guy,” Gracie said, sighing. She tapped her lacquered nails against the surface of the reception desk, noticing that one nail had a tiny chip on the edge. Damn, that was going to bug her all day, until she could get home to repaint it. “I mean, I match people to jobs for a living. I’m good at reading profiles and figuring out where people belong. But I can’t seem to get it right personally.”