Tommaso (Immortal Matchmakers, Inc. #2) Read online

  “Sorry. You’ll have to call back in an hour if you want the answer to that.”

  Godsdammit! She was so frustrating. “Cimil, please, I’m begging you. Can’t you for once answer a question like a normal person? I need to know if Char is really my mate. Will she cure me?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Huh? “To which question?”

  “Can you ask the questions again? I forgot them.”

  Fucking shit. Someone needs to end her. “Is she my mate or not?” he snarled.

  “I don’t know. Why does everyone think I know everything? I’m not a godsdamned unicorn.”

  I’m going to kill her.

  “Do you at least know if she can cure me?” he asked.

  “Hold on. Let me ask Minky,” Cimil replied. “Hey! Bitchface! Tommy wants to know if this chick he’s after will keep him from turning into a horrible monster.” There was a long pause and Tommaso almost imploded. “What! No!” Cimil began cracking up. “I don’t believe you! That’s too funny.”

  “What? What’s too funny?” he growled into the phone, but Cimil kept wailing on the other end of the line. “Cimil!”

  “Hello? This is Cimil. Leave a message at the tone. Beeeeeep.”

  “Cimil,” he snarled, “I know it’s you. Stop this juvenile behavior at once, and tell me what you know. Is Char going to cure me?”

  “Tommy? Is that you?” Cimil chirped.

  “Yes!”

  “What the hell are you doing calling me? You’re supposed to be at lunch with your future mate! Hurry or the window will close!”

  Son of a… He turned and Char was no longer on the course. She must’ve walked off while he’d been busy dealing with Jedi Master Fuck-Tard.

  “I’ll call you back in an hour,” Tommaso said, and was about to hang up when Cimil yelled.

  “I’ll be out of town! You’ll have to call when I get back!” The call dropped.

  You just spoke to me on your cell phone, you horrible, insane deity! Of course, he understood that though Cimil had put him through the wringer, she’d also answered his question. He rushed toward the main building to find Char.

  He hoped he would find her there.

  ~~~

  After doing several laps around the large restaurant, Tommaso finally spotted Char sitting next to an older man with hungry eyes and a wolfish smile. Tommaso could see the look on her face—polite, closed off, and weary.

  He’s hitting on her! Dammit. He didn’t want to be rude and make a public scene, but this was his “window” and he couldn’t afford to let it close. Not now. Not when he was so close to becoming something he’d be so ashamed of.

  Tommaso weaved through the dining room and approached the small table near the window overlooking the outdoor patio seating.

  “Char, honey,” he said in a deep confident tone, “I’m sorry that my business call took longer than expected.” He dipped down and kissed her on the cheek. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

  There was a moment, just a small one, where she seemed confused, but then she caught on. “No problem, honey. Oh, Tommaso, may I introduce you to Mr. Lenox. I gave him a lesson yesterday. He’s here on a boys’ golf retreat weekend.”

  Tommaso turned to the man, who wore a peach-colored sweater-vest and white slacks, his thinning silver hair neatly combed back. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Lenox. And thank you for keeping my seat warm. Char is far too precious to be left alone for even a moment around here. You’d be surprised how many men—married men—try to pick her up.”

  Mr. Lenox smoothly slid his left hand with a wedding ring under the table. “Well, I will leave you two to your lunch, then.” He rose from the table. “Nice meeting you, Tommaso. And Char, I’d say that I’d see you for another lesson, but you’re all booked up for the weekend.”

  For the rest of her life, actually.

  “See you next time, Mr. Lenox,” Char said.

  The man scurried away, and Tommaso triumphantly took the empty seat and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Thank you. That was very kind,” Char said, stirring her red straw around in her glass of what looked like Sprite or some other clear fizzy soda.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  The waiter showed up and took Tommaso’s drink order. He asked for a martini. No olive.

  “So,” he said, thinking carefully about his next words and knowing there was much at stake, “I know this seems very forward, but—”

  A panicked look took over her face and her eyes widened.

  He held out his hand in a “stop right there” gesture. “Before you get the wrong impression, I’m not going to hit on you.”

  Not today, anyway. Okay—maybe.

  “Oh.” She suddenly looked guilty. “I’m sorry. I just assumed that…”

  “Don’t worry. I understand. You are, after all, a very beautiful woman, and it’s only natural that any man with a sex drive takes a swing.” Oh. That was a good one. A golf pun. He mentally patted himself on the back. “But what I was about to say was that you don’t seem like the type who’s intimidated easily. So why are you offended when a man shows interest?”

  She nodded and stared at her glass, but didn’t reply. There was a quiet yet mysterious serenity in her gaze that he found alluring. This woman is filled with many secrets. Not so dissimilar to himself.

  “I apologize,” he finally said after a few moments of enduring her silence and trying not to look at the soft-looking breasts pressing against her shirt. Godsdammit. I just looked at them. Maaskab. Baby spiders. Puss. “That was not very gentlemanly of me to pry.”

  He suddenly realized she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. She was off somewhere else.

  “Char?” He rapped his knuckles on the table, jolting her in her seat.

  “Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m not myself lately.”

  “Because of the recent breakup with your boyfriend?” Tommaso guessed.

  “What gives you the idea that I’ve gone through a breakup?”

  “Anyone who’s paying attention can tell you’ve recently had your heart trampled.”

  She reached for her glass and squeezed her fingers around it tightly—too tightly—as she sipped. Tommaso couldn’t help imagining how those fingers might feel wrapped around something else that was also nice and thick.

  Dammit! Golf pants. Plastic silverware. The God of Death and War. Tommaso had successfully headed off another boner.

  “He didn’t break up with me,” she said stiffly, setting down her drink. “We never started because he didn’t want me.” Her eyes glossed over a bit.

  But how dare this prick make her feel less than beautiful and lovely? He’d kill him! Then he’d send him a thank you card.

  “Whoa.” She shook her head and blew out a breath. “This is so not like me to blubber and whine to a stranger, let alone a client. My apologies.”

  “No, please do not apologize. I don’t mind at all.” She was beginning to open up. This was exactly what he needed—to break through that wall.

  Tommaso slid his hand across the white tablecloth and gave her wrist a little squeeze. “Obviously, this man didn’t know what he was giving up, Char. Anyone can see you’re a special lady.”

  “Oh no, he knew. He even said I was perfect for his soul, but his heart belonged to her—my cousin.” She swept away an escaped tear. “It’s probably for the best; he hung out with all of these crazy people who called themselves vampires and wore bright turquoise contacts. Seriously, L.A. has the craziest people.”

  Uh-oh. Wait a second. This sounded familiar. This sounded like…

  “Hey, Charlotte. How’s it going?” A redheaded waitress strolled by, flashing a quick smile at Char.

  Charlotte…Charlotte… “Your name is Charlotte?” Tommaso felt like a brick of cement had rammed down his throat.

  “Yes. Charlotte Meyer.”

  Tommaso bolted to his feet, almost knocking over the table and its contents onto Charlotte’s lap. �
�And this man who rejected you, his name wouldn’t happen to be Andrus, would it?”

  Her brown eyes widened. “Oh, God. Please don’t tell me you know him? Please don’t tell me that you’re one of his freaky friends who wear those contacts and—”

  He held out his hands. “I don’t know him,” he lied. “I know of him. We, uhhh—go to the same tailor.” Gods, what the hell is going on?

  “But then how did you guess?” she asked.

  How did I guess? How did I guess? He came up empty.

  Then the only thing that popped into his head was another fib. “We go to the same tailor. I was getting fitted for a new suit and…overheard him talking about some wild singles party and a woman named Charlotte. And her cousin—yes, I think it was his cousin, a…Betsy or Bambi…or…”

  “Her name is Sadie. We haven’t spoken or seen each other since we were little. Then this woman, Cimil, tracked me down and—”

  “Cimil,” he whispered to himself, realizing that this was just one of her giant cluster-drama-mind-fucks. I’m going to kill you for putting me in this position.

  “You know Cimil, too?” Charlotte asked.

  “Oh, uh…she also goes to my tailor,” he lied again. Gods, he hated deceiving this woman. She deserved his honesty and utmost loyalty.

  She looked at him suspiciously. “It’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely.” He had to think quickly. Oh gods. Charlotte even looks like Sadie. Why didn’t I notice before? They looked like sisters. Cimil. Cimil did something to me!

  He had been trapped in her basement for half a day. She could’ve easily had the Goddess of Forgetfulness whip up one of her famous Faghetta Boutit concoctions and slip it into his water.

  “Tommaso?” Charlotte said. “How do you really know Cimil?”

  Crap. Ummm… “My tailor. Like I said. She came in with Andrus that day. She was the one he was talking to.” Phew.

  She gave him a look and then shook her head. “I don’t know what those two were on, but it had to be something powerful.”

  Still standing, he dipped his head. “If you’ll excuse me for one moment, Charlotte, I must make a call. I won’t be long.”

  He turned and tried to conceal the fact that his innards now felt like tofu scramble—an unnaturally squishy mess that had no business being in his manly stomach. Emma had made it for him once when she was on one of her many health kicks.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Charlotte’s in love with Andrus, he said to himself while strolling through the restaurant with a blank expression. As soon as he turned the corner, he blacked out.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Tommaso? Are you all right?”

  Tommaso found himself sitting in front of an uneaten shaved steak sandwich and an empty martini glass, with Charlotte snapping her fingers across the table.

  What the hell? His eyes moved around the room, his brain now feeling like that tofu scramble he’d been thinking of moments earlier.

  “What happened?” he asked himself aloud.

  “I don’t know,” Charlotte replied. “You just sat down, started smiling, and chugged your martini. Are you all right?”

  Tommaso frowned, feeling completely discombobulated. “How long have I been sitting for?”

  “About five minu—”

  “Excuse me, but there’s an urgent call for Mr. Fierro.” The tall waiter with a dark crew cut, large biceps, and a perfectly straight back loomed over the table like a death threat.

  He was not their waiter. He wasn’t a waiter at all. The man’s name was Brutus and he was one of the elite Uchben he used to work with.

  Tommaso offered a calm, collected smile to Charlotte, as he’d been trained to do in stressful situations. “One moment, Charlotte. I’m afraid this urgent business matter has me losing my mind.”

  “Go right ahead,” she said, her eyes tinged with annoyance. Tommaso would not win points leaving like this, but what could he do? Tell Brutus to pound sand? That would likely end with Brutus trying to take him out by force and Tommaso beating the crap out of him.

  Just then his phone went off—it was Andrus, calling to check in, no doubt.

  Fuck! Andrus! The shocking memory jolted his nervous system back to the shittastic cluster fuck he’d landed in.

  Charlotte was Andrus’s mate, godsdammit. The mate Andrus had tossed aside—an unprecedented move—to be with Sadie, Charlotte’s half-human, half-incubus cousin. Their human mothers were twin sisters, and Charlotte completely human, but none of that mattered. If Charlotte was meant to be with Andrus, then she could not possibly be Tommaso’s special someone. And that meant his attraction for her was just that: an attraction. She probably couldn’t save his soul any more than a good jerk-off. Sure, it might feel good, but it lacked a deep connection. And without that, there would be no way to counteract the evil vacuum slowly syphoning off his soul. He’d be lost to the darkness that represented the murder of his family.

  Tommaso silenced his phone and followed the “waiter” outside and around the corner to a narrow, flower-lined walkway where Guy stood, arms crossed, feet apart, looking like he was going to kill something.

  “Nice shirt,” Tommaso said, commenting on Guy’s very tight white T-shirt. “Love how it accents your nipples.”

  Guy narrowed his turquoise eyes. “Shut up, pretty boy, or I’ll crack you in two like a wishbone.”

  Tommaso stopped right in front of Guy and was about to tell him that he’d gladly fight any day—the seven-foot deity didn’t frighten him. Nothing did. Well, except turning into a Maaskab—but Guy cut him off.

  “Speaking of outfits,” Guy said, suddenly noticing Tommaso’s unsophisticated, popsicle-colored clothing, “I see you’ve turned over a new fashion leaf. Let me guess, it’s called ’80s kindergarten chic?” Guy let out a self-congratulatory chuckle.

  Tommaso shook his head. “What do you want, Guy? Besides to grow up. Oh, wait. Is it to yell at Emma some more?”

  “What did Emma tell you?” Guy snarled.

  Sadly, he’d promised Emma he wouldn’t intervene. Otherwise, he’d be tearing into Guy about what a giant prick he was for not getting up every morning and thanking the good Universe for giving him such a wonderful mate.

  “Never mind. What do you want?” Tommaso crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I want to know why you were just in the kitchen, spitting in the soup of the day.”

  “What?” Tommaso frowned.

  “Do you not recall strolling in there while the staff was not looking and hocking a loogy into the clam chowder?”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “Oh really?” Guy slipped his cell from his pocket, hit the screen, and then held it up. A tiny video played of Tommaso strolling into the kitchen, sucking back a ball of phlegm, and then coughing it out into the soup.

  “Holy fuck.” Tommaso let out a breath and then scrubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t remember a thing. I just blanked out.” But why the hell would he do something so…so…so horribly rude? “It’s happening. I’m turning evil.” He looked up at Guy. “I’m fucked. Completely fucked.”

  “Yes, yes, you are. In the head. But we already knew that.”

  Ass. “This isn’t a joke, Guy. The woman sitting at the table, the one who I was certain was my mate, is actually Andrus’s mate. She’s not going to be able to help me.”

  Guy’s jaw went slack. “You mean she’s the woman Andrus rejected for Sadie the succubus?” His tone indicated he already knew the answer.

  Great. Here it comes in three, two—

  Guy burst out laughing hysterically.

  Tommaso crossed his arms. “Go ahead and laugh, but if I end up in jail, so will you.”

  Guy jerked his head and pff’d. “You really think I’ll go to jail? I’m the only god who gets his hands dirty, and my brethren have no desire to fill in for me should I be indisposed. I thought we covered this.”

  “Perhaps they won’t jail you, but what will Emm
a say if I end up rotting in prison?”

  “She’ll get over it,” he snarled.

  “No. She won’t. She’s too good a person. Which is exactly why she’s never given up hope that you’ll act like a grown-up someday. And it’s why you love her.”

  Guy’s turquoise eyes flickered with irritation. “Don’t drag her into this. Besides, what do you propose I do? Wave a magic wand and make this woman fall in love with you?”

  “That’s not a bad thought.” It was just an idea and a long shot, but time was almost out. He felt an attraction to Charlotte—a very strong one. And Cimil had said that Charlotte was his mate. The point being that if Andrus could pick a mate by choice, why couldn’t he? The only hurdle was getting Charlotte to reciprocate the interest.

  How about getting her to open up? That might be a good place to start.

  “I’m the God of Death and War,” Guy said, “not love.”

  “Funny. I thought you were the God of Teeny Tiny Man Tees.”

  “Tommaso, do not mock me,” Guy growled.

  But you make it so easy. “I’ll make you a deal. You bring me the Goddess of Love and I promise that whatever happens, I’ll make sure Emma knows how hard you tried to save me.”

  Guy mulled it over for a moment. “If I do this for you, then we’re even. No more threats. No more trying to make me look bad in front of my wife. Deal?”

  “Will you apologize for ripping a hole in my stomach and leaving me for dead when I’d been mind-fucked by the Maaskab and my entire family murdered?”

  Guy stared at him for a slow, strained moment. “Yes. I will apologize. Just as you will for leaving Emma for dead on the Maaskab altar to be bled out as a sacrifice because you were too weak to fight the darkness.”

  “Fucker,” Tommaso proclaimed.

  “Right back at you. Do we have a deal?” Guy snarled.

  “Deal.” Tommaso held out his hand and Guy gave it a shake. “Now, fuck off.”

  “You first.”

  Tommaso dipped his head. “With pleasure.” He needed to get back to Charlotte and start groveling ASAP. “Call my cell and let me know when Ashli arrives.” Ashli was the human wife of Máax, the God of Time Travel. And in a very strange turn of events—another very, very long story—she ended up inheriting some of his powers which, unbeknownst to Máax, because he was too busy running around trying to save everyone, included the gift of Love. But the moment Ashli met Máax, she began to change as their souls began bonding. Now the woman was the full-blown Goddess of Love. She merely walked into a room and everyone instantly felt like writing poetry or singing sappy songs. Cimil and Zac had been begging her to come on full time to the matchmaking agency to help out, but Ashli had a new baby. She was only game to help out on very specific cases.