It's always best to make sure your mouth is big enough before you insert your foot in it. I hadn't intended my comment about the reality show to be taken as a challenge. But pride is a funny thing. A guy can either have too little or too much.

I'm obviously packing heavy in the pride department. Shit.

We stand in the Vanderbilts’ living room. This place makes me nervous, with its off-white furniture waiting for a dirt stain and breakable stuff on every table. I only dropped in to talk with Ed and maybe secretly get a glimpse of Kiley. Now, I'm somehow trapped in this conversation with Kiley, her dad, and this stranger in their living room, who look at me with all this expectation.

“I could do the show if I didn't have to work.” I smile, hoping my backpedaling isn't too obvious. “Reality shows are for those guys who don't have jobs. I don't think my clients would appreciate me taking off.” I can’t think of anything more excruciating than being on a television show. I have better things to do.

Owning a small business at my age takes a lot of hard work and capital. Long hours and pure determination.

“Oh, come on,” Ed Vanderbilt says. “You're the boss. Surely you can make arrangements for any time we'd be filming.”

“Wait a minute. You're the boss?” Kiley couldn't sound more surprised if you'd said I was king of a small nation.

I nod and I’m positive I’m wearing the same face I do in poker when I put down the straight and rake in the winnings.

“It's his company. He can set his own schedule.” Ed gives me a smile that says we're equals in the world of business. This is why I respect the guy. Even though Ed's net worth is a couple of billion times mine, he still treats me the same as he does the suit standing next to him. “Also, you'd get paid a sum that would be well-worth time away from clients,” he says, his speech getting faster. “Or the show can help you find someone to sub-contract the jobs taking place in your absence. Not to mention the prize money if Kiley fails to find your match. A million dollars.”

The guy I haven't met, the slick-looking suit, strides across and holds out his hand. “I'm Tony Tolino, the co-producer of Forever. Maybe you could drop in the studio and we could discuss the show. Take a few test shots.”

“Gunner Parrish,” I say, taking his hand and shaking it. “I haven't agreed to anything.”

Tony has this smug air about him. No bullshit with a lot of eye contact, strong grip, but smooth hands. He's confident and well dressed. I'm not sure I like him, but I can’t isolate which part of him bothers me.

“Sure, sure,” he says. “But there's nothing wrong with considering it.”

“He doesn't want to do it.” Kiley says to Tony.

She's fighting this awfully hard. You'd think she believes I'm a lost cause. This hurts for some reason.

“I can talk for myself,” I say.

She looks like a colt ready to jump the fence. “We can't use you. You're not the right sort for this kind of thing. I mean, I want someone I can find a match for and win.”

“I get it.” My voice grates in irritation. I'm not good enough for the show and certainly not good enough to be someone's husband.

“Gunner.” Ed steps between us. Somehow, Kiley and I are only feet apart, as if we're magnets pulling toward each other. “Kiley,” he says.

“What?” We answer in unison.

He faces Kiley. “If Gunner will agree to do the show, I'll leave you on as Matchmaker this season. That's my offer. There's a chemistry between you two that would work for this competition idea that Tony has. If he doesn’t agree, we’re probably going to postpone filming and I’ll put another show in the slot. I’m afraid our ratings will fall if we rush in and put just anybody in as our substitute bachelor.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” Kiley mutters.

Ed gives her a patronizing smile with a consoling nod. “All I'm saying is this: If I can't find the right bachelor to co-star with you, then we may have to rethink this entire season. I know what’s best for your career.”

Damn. I’m not crazy about the way Ed treats his daughter as if she’s some kid. Also, I'm going to decline and now Ed's made it my fault that Kiley won’t get to do the show. Thanks a lot, Ed.

“Ed,” I say, avoiding Kiley's gaze. “I have to meet a client.”

Kiley's mouth purses into a little bull’s-eye of tension. Her picture could be in the dictionary beside “pissed-off woman.” Her hands ball into tight fists at her side. She’s probably not even aware she’s doing it, but I notice everything about her.

“OK,” she says. “I'll do it.” The sound of ambition is palpable.

“I won't.” I take a step back.

“Scared you might find the woman of your dreams and end up walking down the aisle?” she asks, sarcasm dripping in her tone. “Buying a house in the suburbs and having a couple of kids?”

One minute she's arguing that I can't do the show, the next minute she's arguing that I must. Typical woman.

Also, if I wanted to argue with Kiley—which I do not—I could mock her in light of her own recent dilemma with Moneyclip. I involuntarily glance at her folded arms and her ring finger. Still bare.

“Well?” Kiley widens her eyes and then lifts one eyebrow as she waits for my response.

Oh yeah. She mentioned weddings. “I don't believe in marriage.”

Kiley flinches. You’d think I had made some jab at her personally.

“But if you found someone you loved, you'd reconsider. Wouldn't you?” she asks with this hopeful expression.

“Nope. A man asks for trouble when he gives his life over to a woman.”

“I'll give you overnight to think about it,” Ed says. “We'll need your answer by tomorrow. Tony can send you the compensation packet by email. That will surely add some incentive.”

“I appreciate the offer, but…” I look away from everyone in the room and then back at Kiley. “I'll think about it tonight,” I lie.

Lord help me, but there's only one thing I'll be thinking of tonight.

I'll think about how she makes my blood run hot every time I look at her. I'll imagine showing her my new hot tub on the other side of the deck. We could have fun if she would forget about getting me on the show.

I half-turn toward the entry so they'll know I'm done with this talk about a show that has nothing to do with me. “I have to get back to work now. Ed, I wanted to let you know we're finished with everything. Let me know if there’s anything else you'd like done. Otherwise, I'll send you a final bill.”

I walk from the room, ready to have some time alone to plan how get her back over to my place. These people talk too much.

All she's worried about is whether or not she can make the damned show. I stayed away from Kiley for days to give her plenty of time to be sure about me. Time to make sure she doesn’t regret what happened between us in her kitchen. I refuse to be her rebound guy—even for a hook-up.

But I knocked on that door today knowing she'd be inside and I couldn't wait.

I’m infatuated with her, the same as in high school. Now she's ready to sacrifice me to another woman to further her career. Won’t I ever learn?

This is why a man should only look out for himself.

* * *

A soft rapping sound startles me. I glance up at the clock. It's almost midnight and I never have visitors, unless you count the raccoon that raids my trashcan and periodically attempts to break through the back deck.

The first thing that pops into my head is Veronica, my stepsister. Maybe something bad has happened. A wreck. A shooting. Something with that new fiancé of hers.

My life has been too much on the upswing lately and I'm due for a swift kick of reality. In two seconds, I'm at the door. My heart pounds, despite the fact that I know I'm overreacting. I jerk the door open with sweaty palms.

“Hi.” Kiley says, appearing disheveled as if she's recently crawled out of bed. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and folds her arms over her body like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.

Fear squeezes around my chest, making it hard to breathe. “What's wrong? Are you all right?”

And even though Kiley didn’t cheat on her ex, that fucker Moneyclip couldn’t stand the thought of me getting his girl and he’s done something to her. He’ll be sorry he ever laid eyes on me.

“Sure.” She smiles, a real smile, not that wide fake one. “Couldn't sleep. Are you busy?”

I gulp to grab a bit of air. She's fine. Dragging one hand over the top of my head, I step aside so she can enter. I'm disconcerted by how scared I was that something was wrong with her.

I need to get a grip. She’s OK, but here for some other reason. The only one that springs to mind is the conversation at her house today with her dad and that director fella.

My heart and voice harden in defense. “If you're here to try and convince me to do the show, you can go home.”

“You think that's the only reason I'd talk to you?”

“Maybe.” I've spent today thinking about how she threw me under the bus in favor of keeping her spot on the TV show.

She takes timid steps into the cabin. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. You have a low opinion of me.”

I shrug. “So, talk.”

“It’s usually polite to offer someone a seat when they visit.”

I motion toward the sofa. “By all means. Can I make you some hot tea? Cookies?”

“That would be nice.” She sits in the middle of my sofa. Due to the limited space, I only have a sofa in this room. It's nice to fall asleep on while I watch television.

“Now, I'm joking. You think a confirmed bachelor like me stocks up on tea and cookies?” I sit next to her on the sofa, which seems too intimate in the dimly lit room.

“Beer?” she asks.

“Always.” I stand and go into the kitchen, glad to have something to do. Is the girl here for some other reason than the reality show?

When I return, she’s going through a stack of hunting magazines on my coffee table. “How long have you lived here?”

“Why?” I frown at the way she's examining the mailing labels and the magazine dates. Our fingers brush as I hand her the beer bottle. A pleasant rush of adrenaline shoots through me.

“These magazines are all new. Did you move in recently? Also, you don’t have anything hanging on the walls.” She motions around the room. “Usually people hang a picture or two.”

“Moved in earlier this year.” I sit beside her and lean back. “Are we doing small talk?”

She shrugs. “I guess. Am I being too nosy?”

“I don’t mind. You can ask me anything.”

“Oh.” She sounds pleased. “Do you have other family here?”

“No.” I study her lips, so dark pink and full. Erotic.

“Your dad?”

I take a long pull of beer without answering. She continues to stare, so I give in. “No. My dad's in prison. I don't know his family. They live in Nebraska. Got more questions?”

“What did he do?” She takes a drink of her beer and raises one eyebrow.

“What didn't he do is more like it.”

“Murder? Robbery? Treason?”

“Maybe. I wouldn't know. He did get charged with drug manufacturing, intent to sell, assaulting a police officer, possession of a deadly weapon.” I expect a shocked look from her, but it's strangely missing. Instead, she seems interested.

“How long will he be in?”

“I don't know and I don't care. Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure.”

“Have you talked to Moneyclip lately?”

Kiley has taken a drink of beer and begins choking. I pat her gently on the back. A stupid gesture. I'm not sure if that actually helps a choking victim.

She begins laughing and wipes moisture from the corners of her eyes. “Oh, I forgot you called him Moneyclip earlier. No. I am so done with Mason. I swear, that is my new favorite thing—you calling him that.”

I grin, her response spreading a warm feeling into my chest. “How are you doing?”

“About like you'd expect. I thought I had a future planned and now it’s all up in the air. No wedding. Possibly no show. I’m living with my father. I have no idea what I’m doing with my life.”

“It’ll work out.”

I slide a little lower on the sofa and prop my feet on the coffee table. Kiley does the same, except she kicks off her flip-flops and wiggles her pink polished toes. “Why don't you want to get married?” She lifts the bottle to her lips.

“Are you proposing to me?”

She struggles to swallow the beer in her mouth, her lips holding a smile in. Finally, she gulps it down and exhales while shaking her head. “No.”

I place my beer next to hers and give an unmanly sigh for effect. “Maybe you and I are all chemistry, and you came over here to take advantage of me.”

“Yeah. We have chemistry. We always have.”

I grin at her blatant admission. “Chemistry ever since you poked me with pencils in the back of the neck back in second grade.”

“You said it.” She jabs me in the arm with her finger.

I glance down at the spot where she poked me. “Don't start flirting with me now.”

“That's not flirting. I've grown up a lot since grade school.”

“I've noticed.” I lay my arm along the back of the sofa. A faint scent of tangerine drifts my way and I'm tempted to bury my face in her hair, along her neck, wherever that fantastic smell lives on her.

Although we both stare straight ahead, as if afraid to look at each other and see too much, my hand rests on the back of her head. I give in to my instincts and stroke the back of her silky hair.

“You’re not regretting your break-up with Moneyclip, are you?”

She doesn't move away. “I could've married Mason. It's what my dad expected. What everyone expected. But I knew deep in my heart that I'd regret it. He wasn't the one.”

“The one.” I take a piece of her hair and allow myself to play with it. The texture alone is enough to make me imagine all the things I've wanted to do to her. With her. If I had her naked underneath me, I'd wind her hair around my hand and tether her to me.

“Yeah,” she responds. “I think there's a soulmate out there in the world for everyone.”

“That's nuts. Is the soulmate the person who makes you happy or sets your world on fire?”

She sits straighter and I miss the feel of her hair as it slides out of my grasp. “Both. You think that's impossible?”

“If you believe two people could be struck by one bolt of lightning.”

“What's happened to you to make you so cynical?”

“Life. You of all people should know that it's damned near impossible for a person to find that one who is perfect for them. I'm sorry to be blunt, but you almost married a guy you admit couldn't make you happy. You aren't exactly the one to be handing out fictional promises of one man for one woman.”

She hangs her head, looking at her bare ring finger and I'm immediately sorry for what I've said. It's not her problem that I'm so jaded. Not her fault that I've loved people who left me.

“I shouldn't have said that.” I reach out and tilt her chin up with a finger so she can see I'm earnest.

“It's OK. But it's the reason I broke up with Mason. You see, I know he isn't the right one for me. Even before I discovered I couldn’t trust him. I think when you find the right girl, you'll know. Your world won't be right until she's part of it.”

I pull my hand back. “I can tell you really believe what you're saying. It's…I don't know. It's tough to give over your happiness. Because that's what happens. You put yourself out there, put your sanity and well-being in the hands of someone else.”

“You know, you're right. That's what so flipping wonderful about it. You said it right earlier. Like being struck by lightning—it's magical.”

Dammit. Her eyes practically sparkle as she says the words.

My breath catches at the way she radiates, making me want to move near her. She's a warm fire on a chilly night, drawing me closer.

I reach out a hand and grasp the back of her head in a light hold, drawing her to meet my lips. The light scent of her perfume, a fresh citrus smell reminding me of sunshine, assaults my senses. I breathe her in during that brief second between knowing I'm going to kiss her and then my lips touching hers.

There's not a bit of hesitation from her. I drag my hand through her hair, a sensation I've dreamed of all week.

A groan.

I'm not sure if it's me or it's her, but the sound sends desire slamming into me. Common sense escapes and my heart pumps blood in anticipation of more.

Her hand lands on my chest, gripping the fabric of my T-shirt like she'll never let go.

I feel her opposite hand suddenly high on my thigh, inches away from my dick that pulses to attention.

The taste of her mouth and the oh-so-right feel of her body pressing against mine is that elusive magic she's mentioned. My tongue strokes the softness of her mouth. I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, amazed at the powerful rightness of a kiss.

It's as if I've waited all my life to experience this kiss and I've kissed hundreds of girls. Girls who didn't send my system into shock and scare the shit out of me.

I’m so tempted to carry her to the bedroom.

But neither one of us is ready for that tonight. First, she needs to understand that I can give her everything in the bedroom, but I can't give her my heart. I'm not a forever-after kind of guy. Some guys are like a wolf mating for life. Not me.

I touch my lips gently to the corner of her mouth and sit back a little. We're both breathing hard. Her hand releases the tight grip on my shirt and I drag both my hands from her hair.

My body aches for her and the physical connection that's damned near electric.

She pulls back. “I think I'd better head home.”

Crazy warring thoughts fill my head. I have to think of a way to get her to stay.

She checks the time on her cell phone. “It’s late. Thanks for the talk. I don’t want to be accused of trying to seduce you onto the show. It’s actually for the best that you aren’t interested.”

Is she trying to pull some reverse psychology on me?

I stand, straightening up and aware that the wood I'm sporting certainly tells her how much I want to keep her with me. “I'm sorry I don't want to be on TV. But there are millions of guys out there who'll jump at the chance. How soon do you have to find someone?”

Her crestfallen expression is enough to make me want to change my mind, if only to please her. Crazy talk. But I know one thing. Her body was made for mine. That kind of lightning strike I understand.

She gets to her feet and doesn't meet my gaze. “The show isn't your problem. Hope I didn't keep you up too late.”

“Kiley—”

“No, don't say anything. It's OK. I should really go. I have a big day tomorrow. I'll see you around,” she says as she strides to the door without looking back at me. “Take care, Gunner. You're a special kind of guy and any girl would be lucky to have you.”

With those words, she leaves my cabin. Five minutes later, I'm still looking at the door.

“A guy would be lucky to have you, too,” I mutter to the empty room. I need more time with her. The time I was cheated back in high school. I picture her dancing in my arms, laughing at my lame jokes, responding to my every touch.

I slide back onto the sofa and kick my feet up on the coffee table. The cabin practically echoes with the ticking of a clock on my kitchen wall.

She’s only been gone a few minutes and I already want her back.

I open the drawer underneath my coffee table and remove the DVD of The Princess Bride. The cellophane still covers the new disc and I carefully tear it off. I flip the package over and read the description on the back.

So, Kiley named her dog after the character in this movie.

Maybe she wants to live in a fairy tale, thinking that some guy will rescue her. I could be that guy…if real life were different. If people didn’t disappear as soon as you cared too much.

I’m an idiot. Worse than an idiot. A dreamer. She’s not asking me to ride in like a white knight and rescue her. She only wants to keep her role on the TV show. That’s it.

And what will it hurt? Doing the show would be easy—a little like the school play from junior high. If I don’t do the show, I might not see her again.

Worse, some other guy will be on the show spending time with her. I rise from the sofa and stride across the room and insert the DVD in the player.

The movie begins and I return to the sofa. My cell phone buzzes with an incoming call. I check the number.

It’s like a strange emotional telepathy that I thought about my stepsister earlier and now she calls me.

“Hey Nicky-girl,” I say.

“Hi. Am I calling too late?” She sounds relaxed, her voice a low hum.

“Everything OK?”

“Everything is great. Quit sounding so worried all the time.”

“Good.” I grimace at her scolding. I do expect bad things to happen. Some habits are harder to break than others.

“Thanks for sending the money. I told you the wedding is small, and I don’t need it.” She pauses. “But thanks anyway.”

She’s always turning down help, so independent. “I didn’t know how much weddings cost. You have to tell me if I should send more.”

“Stop. Gun. You’ve done enough. Too much. Collin—”

“This is my present to you.”

“Show up with a suit on and give me away. That’s all I want.”

I groan. Loudly.

She giggles, as I knew she would.

“I already said I’d be there.”

“Gun?”

“Yes, Veronica?” I say teacher-like, as if responding to a question about the lecture. I rarely use her full name. It’s always been Nicky-girl to me.

“You remember when you came to the hospital and saw me?”

My stomach bottoms out.

An ex-boyfriend had almost killed her. I flashback to how small and defenseless she looked.

It was a cruel lesson. Life can be over in a flash. Everything taken away the moment you aren’t looking.

“Gun? You still there?” she asks.

“Uh yeah. Just got distracted.”

“Are you happy? Please, please tell me you are. You promised me in that hospital room that you’d be happy. Remember?”

“Yeah,” I say, rubbing one hand over my eyes. “Sure.”

“That’s why I called. To make sure you keep good on the promise.”

There’s a smile in her voice. A distinct note of relief.

“Thanks for calling. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

“Bye for now.”

“Bye.” I toss my phone to the cushion and lean my head back.

And that's when I decide I'll do the show, tempt Kiley Vanderbilt into my bed, and take the cash.

I'm living for today.