Tamed by You (5 page)

Marley drained the last of her espresso. "
Except you don't know how to stitch a pair together for anyone.
"

Nicole shoved their mutual friend.

"
What?
"
Marley said with a frown.

Nicole shook her head before returning her attention to Valentine. "Since Isabella has the matchmaking skills, doesn't it prove she was the firstborn?"

"If you're logical. I'm not sure Mom can handle logic right now. She insists I'm the firstborn, and I can't push it, especially in light of how fragile she is."

Marley nodded in sympathetic understanding. "
So what are you going to do?
"

"
What
can
I do? I'm going
to prove to her that
I'm
the best
matchmaker
ever. She'll feel happy again and go home to my dad, and they'll live to be old and cranky."

Marley and Nicole exchanged looks. "And how are you going to do that?" Nicole asked.
"Didn't you just say you were no good at matchmaking?"

"
Yes, but I'm going to overcome my limitations. I signed you up, didn't I? Which means I only have nine more people to sign up. And I'm going to make the most impressive match of the decade
."

Marley wrinkled her nose. "My match wasn't impressive?"

"It was, but only to those who really know you," Nicole joked.

Marley
rolled her eyes and turned back to
Valentine
. "So who's impressive?"

Valentine had no idea.

She looked around the cafe, but everyone was attractive and seemed capable of finding their own romantic interest
s
, regard
l
ess of age. S
h
e needed someone who was beyond
hope
.

Then she
glanced
outside and saw him. She gasped and pointed.

Her friends followed her finger and
then
gasped
,
too. "
The Hulk?
" Marley exclaimed.

Valentine sighed happily. "
He's perfect.
"

"
He's scary.
" Nicole shuddered.

"
But attractive.
" She stared at him through the window.

"
Really?
" Marley sounded doubtful.

Oh yeah. He needed a haircut—his hair was mangy—but underneath he was
hot
.
She'd thought that from the very first moment she'd seen him.
He had strong chiseled features and muscles on top of muscles. She supposed the macho throw-her-over-his-shoulder-type wasn't suited to everyone, but she thought he had merit.

She was going to make sure he had merit. "
If I can make him dating material
and
hook him up with someone, my mom
won't be able to doubt me. She'll be happy to help me, which means she'll have purpose again. And the Hulk will get the love of his life. It's good for everyone involved."

Marley nodded. "
There's just one problem.
"

"
What?
"

"
He's scar
y.
And he
only
grunts.
"

"S
ome women like the caveman type
," Nicole
offered helpfully
.

Valentine
didn't pay attention to them.
The Hulk was coming into the cafe.
This was her chance. "I'll be back."

She stood up,
tugged her jacket down, and headed straight for him at the counter
. She
watch
ed the way he watched
Eve, the cafe owner, assemble his drink
. He had
the intensity of a hunter.

He could focus—that was a good thing. S
h
e just had to get him to
train
that focus on the right woman
, wh
oever she was.

She'd deal with
the details later
. First things first. She stopped behind him and cleared her throat.

He didn't respond.

Narrowing her eyes, she
tapped his shoulder
.

The Hulk turned around,
kill
in his eyes.

If he thought that was going to intimidate her, he was in for a surprise
. He was nothing compared to her mother. "I gave you my card a
few
weeks ago, remember?"

He stared at her
like she had the sense of a mouse in a cat's domain
.

Better to take the
offense, s
o she poked his chest. "You haven't stopped by or called. Are you married?"

He blinked. "No," he rasped, sounding like he barely ever spoke.

"Are you dating someone?"

"No." His brow furrowed as he took the
paper
cup Eve pushed across the counter at him.

Valentine crossed her arms. "Then you're going to come see me. Tomorrow afternoon. Two o'clock sharp. Understood?"

He stared at her like she was insane
. Just when she thought she was going to have to beg and plead,
he nodded.

"Good." She smiled. "See you then."

She turned around and
gave
her gawking friends a
thumbs-up
.

"You're insane,"
N
icole said
once she'd rejoined them
.

"With a death wish,"
M
arley added
,
awe in her voice.

"
I can do this.
"
Valentine
downed the rest of her drink
and slammed the cup upside-down on the table
. "
I'll find the perfect woman for the Hulk.
You guys wait and see."

Chapter Five

Sophie woke up with the sharp realization that Tony Rossi's house was her biggest problem. It
had everything she could possibly want: privacy, a juicer,
a workout room,
and a huge marble Jacuzzi.
She could have hidden there forever
.

She
had
hidden there forever—at least according to Tony—and it wasn't doing her any good.

So that morning, instead of huddling in the kitchen nook and writing, Sophie put on a disguise, packed up her journal, and went for a walk. "Take that," she muttered in Tony's general direction as she slammed the door behind her.

Since she'd come to San Francisco, she'd been careful to maintain her exercise routine. At home, she had a trainer who flogged her, but she'd been doing everything on her own in private. She didn't want to stir up the tabloids by being sighted in San Francisco. Questions would abound, especially since no one suspected where she was.

Walking outside instead of on the treadmill felt great. The air smelled different in San Francisco than it did in Los Angeles. Hopeful and untainted. Instead of stretches of flatland, there were hills. She liked the variety.

Somewhere between one big hill and another bigger one, she lost her way. She spent a few minutes trying to figure out which direction she'd come from, but she gave up and took a taxi back to Laurel Heights.

She paid the cab driver and got out in the not-so-familiar neighborhood. Why anyone lived there, she had no idea. It was upper crust, she gave it that, but it lacked a certain glitz.

Charming, though.
Adorable in a very quaint, little town kind of way. Small, cutesy shops, with flower pots lining the street. An estate
jewelry
store. A cafe called Grounds for Thought that was bustling with people.

Settl
ing
her sunglasses more firmly on the bridge of her nose,
she ducked
her head as she walked by. The last thing she needed was for someone to
spot
her.
Not that anyone would. She'd taken pains to disguise herself in
head-to-toe black
. She was known for always being in vivid colors. S
he
never wore
black.
Since she'd been in San Francisco, she'd shrouded herself in it.

Sophie had so many disguises she wasn't sure even she'd recognize the real her.

She turned off what seemed
to be
the main street. She stopped and looked around, wondering which direction
Tony's
house was in. In LA, she had a driver. People assumed it was because she was snooty, but really it was because she constantly got lost.

The story of her life—in more ways than one.

Hearing
footsteps behind her
, s
he glanced over her shoulder. Walking about twenty feet behind her was a man in a trench coat. He
wore
slacks and dress shoes that needed a polish. His gaze was hidden by mirrored sunglasses.

Was he following her? Sophie's heart began to pound. He looked like a detective, straight from central casting. But why? Were the tabloids looking for a scoop?

Determined, she walked ahead, looking for a place to duck into. She wasn't ready to be found yet.

The first shop she came upon had its door wide open, and she walked straight in, closing the door firmly behind her. Looking out the window in the door, she watched the man walk right on by.

What a relief. She sagged against the doorframe.

"Can I help you with
some
thing?"

Whirling around, s
he
found
a thin woman in jeans and a tank top holding a bunch of colorful flowers in her hand.
Behind her, there
were assortments of flowers and plant-like things
in buckets
, a large refrigerator lining one wall, and
a space
that was obviously a work area, with a great rustic table and leafy scraps all over the place. "You're a florist."

"Yes. What can I help you with?" The woman
gawked
at her like she was an escapee from a mental institute.

S
ophie
sighed. Lately she felt like one. "Do you have an hour?"

"Sure." The woman rolled her eyes and gestured to the counter by the register. "Just lie down and tell me all your problems."

Sophie heard the blatant sarcasm in the florist's voice, but
she couldn't help thinking what a great scene it'd make. The heroine, entering a flower shop and lying down on a counter to bare her soul to a skinny woman in faded black Converse shoes. It made her chuckle.

Wanting to see what it felt like,
Sophie walked to the counter, pushed everything out of the way, and lay down. The surface was short, so her legs dangled off the edge, but it was oddly comfortable. S
h
e stared at the cracks in the ceiling, hands folded on her abdomen
, trying to channel what Desiree would think.

Was there such a thing as a method writer? She'd always made fun of method actors who needed to live a part for months before they understood it well enough to act it. You weren't really an actor then, were you?

But now she saw the appeal. She could imagine exactly what Desiree would be thinking and feeling. Except her heroine's life was so close to her own that Sophie wasn't sure what was pretend and what was real.

"Um, I didn't actually mean for you to lie down there," the woman said
from across the room
.

"I know, but it sounded like a good idea." She shifted her body a little. When was the last time
she'
d had someone to talk to? Other than her therapist, and she suspected he only tolerated her because she paid him three hundred dollars an hour.

"It's not a good idea.
"
The florist
came to stand over her,
fire in her eyes. "Look, I don't know who you are, but if you don't get up and get out I'm calling—"

Sophie took off her sunglasses and pushed the hood off her head.

"Holy crap." The
woman
goggled at her. "You look just like—"

"My name is Sophie," she said flatly.

"Martineau," the woman added. She shook her head. "I don't understand. Why are you here?"

"I don't know!" S
ophie
hugged her wrap around her
,
miser
y crashing down on her
. "
I thought this was about Desiree, but now it's about me.
Tony says my life is meaningless and all fluff. I always thought I filled a need for people, but now I wonder if it's all been for nothing. What
does
it all mean? What am I doing really?"

"I just meant what are you doing in my store," the woman mumbled.

"Better here than Tony's house." Sophie glared at the ceiling. "He hasn't been the most hospitable host. Of course, it's understandable why he's acting the way he is. I guess it'd be mildly disconcerting to have an unexpected guest come and stay for a bit."

"A bit?"

"Okay, a month and counting.
" She glanced at the florist.
"Don't judge. And
it's not like the house isn't more than big enough. He could avoid me if he wanted to."

The woman shook her head. "Who's Tony?"

"The bane of my existence
."

"Is he
cute
?"

R
oll
ing
onto her side
, she
glared at the woman. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering."

Sophie pictured the florist on Tony's arm and had to force herself not to grind her teeth. "He's not your type."

The woman grinned, a crooked lilt of her mouth that revealed a charming dimple. "But is he yours?"

"
No.
" She imaged his lips lowering to hers, his big hands pulling her close, and she shivered. "
No
," she said again, for emphasis.