Page 64 of Over the Limit

“That’s wonderful. And it’s perfect that you’re here today to watch my magical matchmaking skills in action.” She wiggles her fingers, prisms moving everywhere from the sun reflecting off her diamonds. “And once you see them, then maybe you’ll let me use them on you.”

I cough out a laugh as my mind goes to the only person I can see being matched with.

Seven days.

“Your magical matchmaking skills?”

“Mm-hmm. I need to do something to entertain my time.”

“I don’t know if I should be scared or amused,” I tease. “Dare I ask who you’re trying to play matchmaker to?”

She purses her lips and nods as she looks around at her guests. “I’ve had a man in mind for quite some time.”

“For you?” I cough the word out.

“No. God, no.” She huffs impatiently because I’m not following her. “For Zola,” she says referring to her late twentysomething daughter. “I had my sights set on another—Baron von Steubing—to be exact.” As if that name means something to me but no doubt the man has more money than he can spend in a lifetime if Monica is picking him for her daughter. “His mother and I have been busy plotting their nuptials. Lake Como. Four grandchildren. Family vacations in the Seychelles.”

“Oh. Wow.” Sounds . . . horrific.

“In fact, I invited him here today to try and work my magic between him and Zola, but then she showed up with a date. And . . . as disappointed as I am that Baron is going to have his feelings hurt, I will not be deterred from getting them together.”

Poor Zola.

“Who knows, maybe she’ll talk to Baron today, things will click, and plans will fall into place,” I offer politely.

“Perhaps,” she murmurs. “But truth be told, as much as she must at least test the waters with Baron for my sake, she seems quite smitten with her date. And if I’m honest with myself”—she leans in and covers her mouth so only I can see it when she whispers—“so am I.”

“Wow. That’s high praise,” I say, more to be polite than anything, but with a huge dose of curiosity.

“It’s Lachlan Evans. I’m sure you know him from the circuit. The real question is, do you like him?”

Her words are like cold water being thrown on me. I snap my head up and, luckily, she’s looking the other way. If only she knew how much I liked him.

I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. “Yes. Of course. He’s—”

“Simply charming. Witty. Intelligent. Has that adorable Australian accent. And my oh my, is he handsome,” she says dreamily. I thought she was a fan of Baron von Whats-his-name? Can she go back to adoring him and leaving Lachlan out of her master matchmaking plans?

I follow her stare and as if on cue, Zola steps out of the sliding glass door in a bikini that highlights every sculpted inch—no doubt from her hard work in the gym and the pristine skill of a plastic surgeon—of her incredible body.

Well, fuck.

I glance down at my own body—one I’m not ashamed of by any means—but one that sure as hell doesn’t look like hers and . . . sigh.

A billionaire heiress who looks like she belongs on the cover of Vogue versus a working-class, plus-size army brat.

Like that would be a hard decision to make.

But before I can fall down that rabbit hole of insecurity, Lachlan strolls out right behind her.

In an equally devastating piece of swimwear. His shorts are a bright blue and then there are what feels like mile after mile of his own bronzed skin, stretched taut over corded muscle. There’s a tattoo that snakes up the side of his torso that I can’t exactly decipher but that my fingers itch to touch.

Who am I kidding? They itch to touch every damn inch of him.

Jealousy streaks through me. It’s red hot and tinged in green.

I’ve waited fourteen fucking days. Fourteen days of silence. Of long looks across the paddock. Of wondering if he’s going to let his principles override whatever it is between us.

And this is how I get my answer? Seeing him on a yacht catering to Zola the beauty queen? The same Zola who Monica plans on setting up with him?