Mitchell Saltonstall gave the speech of his life in front of the reporters and four dozen employees at the press conference to officially open Match Play to the world.
He breezed over the statistics, which were excellent, because the reporters had already gotten a fact sheet with those talking points.
Instead, he told the story of how a thirty-something golfer friend of his from the Connecticut Chamber of Commerce (whom he’d begged and bullied into the by-invitation beta test) had found his Match during the first weekend, played golf with her five times in the first month and taken her out to dinner more, and were now inseparable. He winked and told the reporters that he expected more news from the couple soon.
The pretty girl in the red dress distracted him, though. Every time he looked over at the hot little brunette, she made eye contact with him.
That dress might have been painted on her, and he made a note to himself to talk to her after the speech, just in case he could get her phone number.
Mitchell explained to the reporters how Match Play had a thriving LGBTQIA+ division that rivaled the straight section, and preregistration for all areas was fifty percent better than they’d planned for, and they’d planned for a lot.
The sexy little brunette was still watching him while he talked, and he could practically feel her dark eyes on him through his clothes.
This trip to Phoenix might be more interesting than he’d thought it was going to be.
By the end of the speech, Mitchell suspected that at least two reporters were planning to sign up because they’d picked up their phones and swiped excitedly.
The hot brunette wasn’t among the people downloading the app, though. She stood almost in front of the podium, fidgeting from foot to foot in high heels that made her legs shapely and curvy, her chest straining against the neckline of her scarlet dress every time she inhaled.
Hey, Mitchell was a reasonably attractive man with a personal trainer, a high-end BMW in his garage, and enough money to throw around at whatever he felt like. Women wore slinky dresses around him and usually said yes when he asked them out. He was good at pattern matching, and this voluptuous woman seemed to be sending out all the fun signals that meant he might have a very interesting night in Phoenix before he flew back to Connecticut tomorrow.
He tore his gaze away from the pretty woman who was giving him all kinds of direct eye contact that sent hot shivers down his spine to his pants—and he was damn glad he was standing behind a podium because things began to get heavy down there—and he looked back at the assembled reporters. “Any questions?”
A slender woman with long blond curls smiled at him with lips painted bright hot pink and batted her eyes with dark eyeliner that extended almost to her eyebrows. “My name is Elli Gelashvili of Golf Today for Women. Are you a Match Play customer?”
Mitchell’s brain screeched to a halt. “I beg your pardon?”
“Are you a customer? Are you single?” she giggled.
Oh, crap. He hadn’t anticipated this line of questioning.
If that question had come from a local golf magazine, Mitchell would have blown them off and taken the next question. However, Golf Today for Women had an extensive readership among the ladies, and women’s memberships would make or break Match Play. Straight men wouldn’t stick around if the app was a sausage-fest, and neither would the lesbians.
The Black woman sitting beside the blonde stood. She was slim, fit, and wearing a black pantsuit. Her lustrous black hair was styled long, and her immediately businesslike demeanor suggested that she could have run a country as president.
Mitchell smiled at the reporter, thinking he might ask this smoking-hot woman for her contact info if the number in the red dress didn’t work out. He wasn’t the kind of guy who was always on the hunt. That was his business associate Jericho Parr, the wolf. But this particular meeting was rich with beautiful women. He’d be a fool not to notice.
He cocked an eyebrow at the gorgeous reporter. “Yes?”
“Monica Matthews of Golfers Digest,” the reporter said. “Yes, how could anyone trust an owner of a dating app who is single?”
Golfers Digest was a powerhouse journal and website where a single snarky review could ruin any golf business.
Mitchell paused because he did not want to stammer an answer, and then he said, “The app was designed with the latest social science research to match people with the highest compatibility.”
Monica Matthews followed up with a snap in her voice. “Are you single? Because if you’re not in a relationship, how would you know what goes into one?”
Everything was falling apart. “I’m not prepared to discuss my private life today.”
She pointed her pen at him. “What on freaking Earth could a single business guy know about love?”
The blond reporter from Golf Today for Women tilted her head, contemplating.
Crap, this was all breaking down. This could destroy Match Play before they even got out of the gate.
The smoking-hot beauty in the red dress standing two people away was now smiling at him. Mitchell hadn’t even looked at the two people between them. She drew his attention like a fire crackling just a few inches away from his pants leg.
But she’d been eye-humping him for the last ten minutes, and now her mouth curved into a sexy, dangerous smile.
Mitchell Saltonstall was a high-powered businessman not only because he could hammer out impossible deals but also because he knew when to roll the dice.
Match Play’s chances were slipping away if he didn’t do something outrageous and do it fast.
Mitchell stared the flirtatious brunette right in the eyes, and she kept smiling at him. Her lips were plump and as red as her stunning dress.
All the signals said go.
Mitchell held out his hand to the seductive brunette, palm up, and smiled with a devilish twinkle in his eye. “Do you want to come up here?”
She blinked and bobbled just the tiniest step backward, looking from his hand up to his eyes and back.
But she didn’t say no, and Mitchell was trying to save the goddamn bet, his business, and his friends.
He reached down and grabbed the woman’s hand, dragging her past the two people standing between them who gaped at what he was doing, but he wasn’t too concerned about them just then.
She stumbled toward him, and he flipped his hand from under hers and wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her against his side.
As he was reaching to cover the microphone with his other hand, the feel of her delicious, womanly flesh pressed against his side struck him. He’d been right that she jiggled in all the right places, and her curves softly surrendered to the hard edge of his side.
Her soft female fragrance filled his nose, and the blood left Mitchell’s head and pooled lower.
He sucked in a deep breath because he was dizzy from the feel of her against him. While he was covering the microphone with his hand, he bent and whispered into her ear, “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars to kiss me for the cameras.”
She gasped, pushing her soft curves around him.
Damn, his head was spinning so hard that he thought he would pass out.
When she didn’t nod fast enough, Mitchell whispered, “Fifteen.”
This time, the woman in his arms nodded.
Mitchell ran his hand up the side of her neck and slid his fingers into the soft strands of her hair as he bent and pressed his lips to hers.
Her full lips were as pillowy as he’d suspected, yielding softly as he kissed her.
Mitchell hadn’t intended to turn toward her and run his hand up her back, pressing her against his stomach and chest, but the instinct happened before he could control it.
Her lips parted under his, and the sweet taste of her breath filled his mouth.
Mitchell took an iron grip on his desire and lifted his head, his neck creaking with the strain. He didn’t want the golf magazines to write that he had been making out like a teenager at the podium.
The edges of the room were blurred as he looked at her. Her eyelashes fluttered open, and she seemed to feel at least somewhat as stunned as he was.
Without removing his arm from around her, Mitchell grabbed the microphone and held onto it so he wouldn’t twist back and kiss the gorgeous woman pressed against his body again. He said, “I not only own Match Play, but yes, I was a customer. I met my match the second week of the beta test, and I will not be taking any further questions about my private life.”
The reporters started going wild, waving their hands and shouting questions in a barrage that Mitchell’s lust-addled ears could not begin to comprehend.
He held onto the woman with one hand, the podium with the other, and tried to breathe until some of his blood returned to his brain.
Mitchell really should figure out what this woman’s name was.