Matched: A Scorching Hot Romance

By Kelli Ireland

Opposites attract when a dating app error pairs free-spirited Rachel with Isaac, a seriously alpha CEO. Their red-hot chemistry leads to a no-strings weekend away, but can their connection last when the real world comes crashing in?

Rachel Stephens is back. Finally free of her domineering ex-husband, Rachel is ready to reclaim her fun, spontaneous, outgoing self. But a mix-up at the test run for dating app Power Match leaves her paired with a very unlikely suitor: the app’s biggest funder, CEO Isaac Miller.

Rachel has no interest in another super alpha power broker, even if Isaac seems to have walked straight out of her most explicit fantasies. But before she can swipe left, Isaac convinces Rachel to give them a shot…and proves that they’re exhilaratingly compatible in one area: between the sheets.

After a lust-fueled weekend in Dublin, Rachel starts to wonder whether she and Isaac should give their matchup a chance. But she’s in for a nasty surprise. The second they arrive back in New York, Rachel and Isaac find themselves on opposite sides of a corporate conflict. And Rachel is faced with an impossible choice: ruin any chance for promotion at her law firm or betray the trust of the one man who just might be her perfect match.

Harlequin Dare publishes sexy romances featuring powerful alpha heroes and bold, fearless heroines exploring their deepest fantasies.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Harlequin
• Release date: Oct 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781488048838

Kelli Ireland

Kelli Ireland spent a decade as a name on a door in corporate America. Unexpectedly liberated by Fate's sense of humor, she chose to carpe the diem and pursue her passion for writing. A fan of happily-ever-afters, she found she loved being the Puppet Master for the most unlikely couples. Seeing them through the best and worst of each other while helping them survive the joys and disasters of falling in love? Best. Thing. Ever. Visit Kelli's website at www.kelliireland.com.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

ISAAC MILLER WORKED to control his breathing, his heart rate, his every response as he stared out over the New York skyline. Behind him, his brother paced. Jonathan had never been able to settle when nervous anticipation got the best of him, even when they’d been children. But Isaac was less concerned with his brother’s anxiety than the predicament his younger sibling had finagled Isaac into this time.

He turned, every step controlled, his hands locked behind him. Less chance to strangle the little genius who stood in front of him if he kept his hands occupied. "I agreed to fund your new app, Jonathan, but I did not agree to be a test subject. You’re well aware I only answered the questionnaire to help with your testing. I neither intended nor authorized you to use my profile as part of your initial trial."

I know, Isaac. I know. Jonathan paced back and forth, his steps precise, his pattern across the room as tight as any military formation.

His brother would be counting every step to ensure he spent the same amount of energy crossing the room as he did coming back. Same number of steps to and fro. Same view from every window. Same length of stride, as if he’d measured it. The guy was obsessed with patterns and, as part of that, the accuracy of those patterns. He wouldn’t have made a mistake like this. He wouldn’t have accidentally put Isaac Miller, CEO of the capital investment group Quantum Ventures, in a speed-dating pool that would test Jon’s newest app—a dating app—tentatively named Power Match.

But, somehow, Jonathan had done just that.

Isaac crossed his arms over his chest. Just remove me from the pool of desperate singles willing to allow their love lives to be determined by digital algorithms.

His brother looked at him, regret and tension etching stress lines across his brow. I can’t.

Yes, you can. Just delete my profile and remove me from the group. If it creates an odd number, replace me with someone else. In fact, use someone from the office. He pulled out his desk chair and sank into it. "I’ll send out a request for participants. I assure you, someone will volunteer."

You can’t send out a request, Jonathan said in a tone Isaac rarely heard from him. It was a tone that was firm, even demanding. A tone that brooked no argument.

I beg to differ, Isaac said softly. Brother or not, Jonathan was here as a client—the head of a start-up venture that Isaac had financed. He believed in his brother’s vision. Even more, he believed in his brother’s history of success in creating apps that went viral. But no one—no one—told Isaac what he could and couldn’t do. He hadn’t become head of one of the world’s premier capital-venture firms by allowing others to dictate what he did, or did not, do. Even family.

I’m serious, Isaac. Jonathan dropped bonelessly into one of the guest chairs across from Isaac’s desk. I input all the data and the app has already pre-paired test subjects for tonight’s meet and greet. To take you out, I’d have to find someone with your identical personal parameters.

So do it.

I. Can’t. Jonathan slid lower in the chair. You’ve already been matched with three volunteer subjects the app determined would suit you. Well, two, anyway.

Isaac arched an eyebrow.

According to Lucky, you’re, uh, apparently a bit... Jonathan waved his hand in a dismissive manner. Anyway, I can’t just—

Isaac leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. I’m a bit what?

Jonathan dipped his chin, the younger brother overshadowing the tech genius as he mumbled an indiscernible answer.

Speak up.

Jonathan’s head snapped up, his eyes ablaze. You sound like Dad.

I’ve been insulted more gravely than that, Isaac said. Though not by much, or by anyone Isaac cared about. The coarse observation stung, but he buried the emotion behind the facade he wore like a custom-fit suit. "Go on, then. I’m a bit what?"

Jonathan crossed his arms over his chest. Lucky says you’re difficult to get along with.

And who, pray tell, is Lucky, and why should I give a good goddamn about what he thinks?

Jonathan snorted. Lucky is the app’s nickname. You know, like ‘get lucky.’ It’s a play on the common vernacular for getting laid.

I get it, Isaac growled.

"When’s the last time you got lucky? Because, brother to brother, you sound like you could use a little somethin’. Why don’t you shed your corporate persona for a single night, stop suspecting that everyone wants something from you and simply work on getting laid. We’d all be grateful." The last was muttered with more than a little snark.

Jaw set, Isaac stared at his younger brother. My private life is off the table.

In other words, it’s been a while. Jonathan shook his head. When are you going to relax?

When it’s reasonably justified.

Which will be when...never? Jon ran both hands through his mop of hair, pushing it off his forehead as he closed his eyes. I know what this is. I’m not stupid. It’s about Mike. Like everything is always about Mike.

The name hung like a silent condemnation, and Isaac fought to keep his face neutral as his brother continued, blissfully ignorant of the pain just the name could elicit.

When are you going to let go of his death, Isaac? The question was delivered softly, but there was an unmistakable need to understand within the words. He’s been gone more than twenty years now. And what happened wasn’t your fault. No one blamed you for it. Not even Dad. We all knew it was an accident. There was no way you could’ve stopped it.

An accident. No way to have stopped it.

Isaac refused to let his brother lure him into discussing the past. They were here to discuss the future. More specifically, the risk he’d taken on Jonathan’s new project. This app was an unknown. That made it dangerous in its own right. It was one thing to invest in it, given Jon’s history of success. It was another to be subject to the initial testing of an unproven product. Take me out of the test pool, Jonathan. That’s an order.

A finely shaped eyebrow rose in sardonic, wordless response. An order? You really do sound like dear old Dad. Look, Isaac, you clearly haven’t been listening to me. What do I need to do to make you understand that what you’re ordering me to do can’t be done? Do I need finger puppets? Flash cards? I’m telling you, Isaac, I can’t take you out of tonight’s test run without scrapping the whole event. My team and I collected information on roughly six hundred volunteers and entered all their data into the software. Your profile was accidentally included and, God only knows how or why, you made the cut. Lucky selected the top ninety-eight that were most likely to find a suitable match. If we pull one participant, we have to find an identical replacement. That’s not possible. So we’d have to cancel tonight’s event, collect a new sample group, reenter their data, rerun the program and reschedule the test event. We can’t do that. Not even for you. The app is set to launch in thirty days, Isaac. I don’t have time to start over with a new test pool.

You’re sure there’s not someone who could pose as me? A last-ditch hope, yes, but Isaac didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to sit across from strange women and see what did, or didn’t, spark between them. He opened his mouth to tell Isaac to simply remove the women he was supposed to meet with when his brother played the one card Isaac had never been able to say no to.

I need your help. Bad. I don’t want this to go south, Isaac. Not for me and definitely not for my team. They’re depending on this to pay out. I don’t have the same financial demands thanks to my trust fund, but... He sat up and leaned forward, forearms propped on his knees, and looked at Isaac with undeniable, wholly authentic sincerity. They have families counting on them. Most of them have kids. You’re my only family. Forget the capital-investment side of things. Just— Jonathan tunneled his fingers through his hair "—use an alias for all I care. These people don’t run in your social circle. The chance that anyone will recognize you is slim. I need you, Isaac. As my brother. Please."

It was the please that broke him. That and the reminder that, with their father gone and their mother suffering severe dementia, the two of them were truly all that remained of their family. They had each other. Brothers.

Don’t expect me to ‘hook up’ with one of the test pool or whatever you’re calling them.

TPCs. Test-pool candidates.

Whatever. I’ll show up tonight, and then I’m out. Nothing more, Jonathan. Promise me you’ll remove me from the unalterable ‘TPC list’ when the night’s over. No finagling me into a second event. Are we clear?

Jonathan beamed. Absolutely. I’ll make sure you’re declared unsuitable for the project at the end of the night. That way you won’t be selected for future events. I promise.

Isaac sat back in his chair and looked out at the New York skyline. He’d do this for his brother before he slipped back into the predictable solitude of life as he’d crafted it. A life he lived alone.

And alone suited him just fine.

CHAPTER TWO

RACHEL STEPHENS GLANCED at the clock on her bathroom wall for the fourth time in ten minutes. If she called a cab now, she’d be early. The last thing she wanted was to be the first person there. But she didn’t want to be late, either. If only she hadn’t agreed to participate in this ridiculous dating-app test. Her best friend, Casey, had pushed her to apply a couple of months ago during a stay-in movie night—a night that had involved too much wine followed by too many hormone-igniting Chris Hemsworth flicks. Devastating consequences always occurred when she indulged in too much of a good thing. And the wine had been good. But Chris...oh, Chris. He made her thoughts go in directions that were decidedly unsafe.

Rachel’s phone buzzed on the bathroom counter. Her stomach clenched. Around the office, rumors were flying that a big case was coming in, a case that could make or break a junior attorney’s career. Her boss had intimated that, if the filing came through, he would be selecting her to work with him. If he called now, she wouldn’t have to go to this dating-app trial.

A glance at the display dashed her hopes. She swiped to answer, then tapped the speaker icon. I still blame you for getting me into this.

Best friend, coworker and fellow junior attorney Casey Bass snickered. You know you’re glad you were drunk enough to accept the challenge. I’m just pissed that I didn’t make the final cut. I could’ve used the compensation they were offering to help pay for our trip to the Dominican Republic in March. Who was it that told us becoming attorneys would make us rich?

A private student-loan officer who spun wild tales of riches beyond our wildest dreams.

Casey sighed with enough drama for the both of them. I’m still waiting for my ship to come in.

So that’s why you’re always hanging out by the docks. And here I thought you were just trolling for sailors.

Her friend’s laughter soothed her nerves some. Whatever works.

Look, I’m just happy I was able to afford real chicken and fresh vegetables on my grocery list this month. And the trip to the Dominican will help ease the pain I experience every time I write out the current month’s student-loan check.

True enough. Casey sighed as she shifted her bedding around, and Rachel could imagine Casey curled up in a nest of blankets and pillows with her laptop, working, as some random Netflix show looped in the background. So. What are you wearing? Casey asked.

If you’d asked me that in a deeper voice, I’d tell you. Rachel leaned forward and applied her mascara with care. As it is, you’ll have to wonder.

Just promise me you’re not wearing your black power suit, black heels and carrying your black Burberry bag. You think it’s stylish, but you look like a monochromatic ad for a high-end funeral home. A gorgeous one, mind you, but still. Wear something with color. Oh! Wear that dark green dress—the one with the V-neck and the slit up the thigh.

"Casey, that dress was the result of a sip-and-shop event. Seeing as tonight is a result of another night spent with wine as my intimate companion, I’ve decided the fermented grape and I are absolutely not friends."

I disagree. Wine is generally the catalyst behind your best decisions.

You’re an enabler. Rachel capped the mascara and stepped back, taking in her black power suit, black heels and black Burberry bag, which sat on her bed. When had she become so—so...predictable? She used to be spontaneous, fun, outgoing. A bit of a rebel, if truth be told. The way her life had played out over the last several years had made her overly cautious, had taught her to be conservative when making decisions. She’d become content blending into a crowd instead of standing out. Truth? If someone accused her of being a total bore, she had no defense.

Safe, she whispered. She would argue she was safe.

What’s safe? Casey asked.

The question hung between them, and Rachel had no doubt that Casey knew exactly what was going through her head.

Stop playing it safe, Rach. Jeff left, but you survived. It’s time to thrive. Take the fact that you made the cut for tonight’s little experimental soiree as a sign that it’s time to start living again. Maybe even time to get laid.

Casey!

Oh, c’mon, Rachel. It’s not like I don’t know you and your vibrator are ridiculously intimate.

No more than you and yours, Rachel countered.

Not denying it. But at least I’m out there, playing the field, looking for someone. Even if he’s a Mr. Right Now versus Mr. Right. You need to do a little of the same. No one is ever going to be one hundred percent safe, Rachel. No one is ever going to be able to chase away your demons. You’re the only one with that power. She paused, took a deep breath and let it out before continuing, her next words so much softer. "Honey, you have to stop holding on to Jeff’s memory. He was an asshole. You can’t see it now, but trust me. I’m begging you. His walking out? It was a good thing and, deep down, you know it. He changed you, nearly suffocated you with his dos and don’ts. He tried to make you into the breadwinner, the Stepford wife and his personal fetch-it girl. For God’s sake, he was unemployed more than half your married life."

He managed to snag an heiress. The admission was thick. Heavy.

An heiress whose family made their money by revolutionizing the laxative industry. A shit for a shit. It’s so apropos.

The sound Rachel made was half laugh, half sob.

Like I said, what you need is Mr. Right Now, Rachel. Stop disqualifying every man who comes on to you. Instead, look for the opportunity to have fun. It’s the only way you’re going to break that last tie, Rach. And it’s time. Let. Him. Go.

She knew Casey was right. Even if it was just for a single night, Rachel needed to try to relish every moment. She needed to be adventurous instead of cautious, a sexual creature who took chances despite the odds and dared Fate to strike back.

It was time she proved to herself that, though Jeff might have left her damaged, he hadn’t been able to break her.

No one was that strong.

Casey’s voice was softer when she spoke, as if she knew where Rachel’s thoughts had taken her. "Pull your hair down out of the predictable chignon, put on that damn green dress and