# Chapter 32: The Matchmaker’s Impossible Match
Hello everyone, it’s me again! How have you been? I’m so glad you’re back with me today, because we’re continuing our journey through *Searching For Someday free digital audiobook*, and Chapter 32 is an absolute storm of chemistry, jealousy, longing, and a little bit of magic. If you thought Kate and Slade had already pushed each other to the edge, wait until you see what happens at this bar. So grab your favorite drink — maybe a chocolate martini — and let’s dive into this deliciously messy chapter.
We open with Kate tucked into a cozy corner of a bar, trying to have a conversation with Bruce, a man who apparently has the emotional availability of a locked vault. Slade? Oh, he’s already hovering in the background, watching like a wolf who has decided the sheep is his. Bruce asks Kate what she does, and she tells him she’s a matchmaker. He immediately assumes something cheap and escort-like, and Kate has to clarify that she’s the owner of a real matchmaking business, not an online dating service. Already, there’s friction. Bruce then reveals he’s Air Force, served in Iraq, and he’s carrying a lot of anger toward an ex-girlfriend who cheated on him and dumped him while he was deployed. Kate feels genuine sympathy and tries to honor his service, but Bruce’s wounded pride keeps leaking out. He’s not just hurt — he’s bitter, and he wants the world — especially women — to pay attention to his pain.
Then, like a perfectly timed thunderclap, Slade appears. He slides a chocolate martini in front of Kate with that wicked, sensual grin, and Bruce’s face turns into a thundercloud. Slade acts casually, almost innocently, but there is nothing innocent about him. He squeezes himself between Kate and Bruce, clinks his beer against her glass, and tells her she looks amazing — especially the shoes. Kate tries to keep her composure, pretending Bruce and she were having a wonderful time, but inside she’s battling the urge to laugh, scream, or kiss the arrogance right off Slade’s mouth. He is charming, frustrating, overwhelming, and completely impossible to ignore.
Then Slade starts talking about his date with Hannah. He describes the restaurant, Carbone near Hell’s Kitchen, the lobster black tie pasta, the mussels, the Chianti, the tiramisu — every detail except the one Kate actually wants. She keeps pressing: Did you connect? Did you like her? Do you want to see her again? Slade says Hannah is nice, accomplished, intelligent. Kate did her job perfectly. But then he drops the bomb: he’s not going to see Hannah again. Kate chokes on her martini. He pounds her back, which only sends electric currents through her body, and she demands to know why. Slade’s answer is devastatingly simple: Hannah is too perfect. There’s no spark. And then, with his blazing emerald eyes holding her captive, he leans close and whispers the words that change the entire temperature of the night: “I want you.”
Kate’s body opens like a flower to his voice, but her mind slams the brakes. She reminds him they can’t do this. She reminds herself of all the reasons: he wants to expose Kinnections as a fraud, he doesn’t believe in love, he’s a client, and she promised to find him a match. It’s wrong on every level. But her body doesn’t care. It hums and purrs for him. Slade offers to take her home, to end the torture tonight. Kate laughs, but it’s a strangled, desperate sound. She tells him sex won’t end anything — it will only make everything messier. Slade, being Slade, turns the heat up even more, murmuring exactly how he wants to taste her. Kate shudders, teeters on the edge of surrender, then forces herself back.
She tells him he needs to honor the contract. If Hannah wasn’t right, she’ll find someone else. Slade lifts her chin, temper and lust swirling in his eyes, and warns her: if she keeps sending him to other women, he’ll only take so much, and then he’ll go after what she’s offering. Then they both lose. Kate swallows past the terrifying truth — that if she sleeps with this man, he might take something far more precious than her body. Her heart. Her soul. Her sanity. He’d leave her sated, challenge over, and she’d have to pick up the pieces. No. Not in this lifetime. So she offers him a different ending: they both win. He finds his mate, she proves her point, Jane finds happiness. A perfect circle. Slade agrees, but only on his terms. He doesn’t want to pick the woman. He wants Kate to prove she knows what he needs. He wants her to show him the woman who will make him walk away from Kate without a single glance back. Her gut lurches, but she agrees.
Then she turns to speak with Bruce — and he’s gone. He’s already chatting up a pert blonde at the other end of the bar. Kate’s plans for the night wither, but what really pisses her off is that she doesn’t even care. She glares at Slade and tells him to stop running off her dates and stalking her. He throws his hands up in mock surrender, saying he was just talking business and dancing with his sister. He also adds that Bruce has way too much hidden anger — Arilyn would have a field day with him. Kate grits her teeth, thanks him for the opinion, and escapes to the ladies’ room.
In the stall, she sits with her head between her legs, trying to breathe. She tells herself there’s no need to get this upset over something — or someone — that was never hers. But Slade rattles her with just a look, and that doesn’t bode well for their future working relationship. She might have to step back and force him to deal with Kennedy instead. After regaining control, she washes her hands, checks her hair, and walks out. Then it happens so fast she has no time to react. Someone grabs her hard, lifts her, and drags her deeper down the hallway, into a dark corner by an abandoned coat closet. The smell of wood and must hits her, along with a familiar scent that calms the instinct to scream. It’s Slade.
“Are you crazy?” she hisses, shoving against him. He barely moves. She tells him he scared the hell out of her; she thought he was a rapist. Slade’s warning is all raging male hormones and a sexual claim: maybe he needs to show her again what she’s trying to give away. Kate fights between dark thrill and sheer panic. She knows if he kisses her, she’ll lose it. She jokes that she needs to change his intake form — there’s a bit of a dom in him. Slade says lately he’s been feeling like the slave in this relationship. She ignores him, though the image of herself on her knees, servicing him, leaves her hot and tingly. She tries to redirect him to Emma, another possible match: a college professor, less serious than Hannah, his perfect physical type. Slade grins like a pleased wolf about to show his mate who’s boss. “You drive me crazy. Shut up, Kate.”
Then his mouth covers hers. But he doesn’t give her the deep, commanding kiss she craves. He only runs his lips lightly over hers, licking at her bottom lip, teasing her sanity. She softens under him, all bark and no bite, but he punishes her well. He never gives the pressure she needs. He plucks at her nipples through the delicate lace top and seesaws his thighs between hers. Kate moans and reaches for more. He moves back an inch and twists her nipples. Red-hot lust shoots through her. She rises on her tiptoes, breasts swollen and aching. Slade murmurs that she has to let him in, nibbling her bottom lip, keeping barely any contact with their mouths while his hands cup her rear. He digs his fingers into her ass and rocks his hips against hers. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”
She tries to force him to kiss her without words, sliding her tongue between his lips, but he refuses entry. He presses gentle, unsatisfying kisses across her jaw and cheeks while his hand lifts the back of her skirt. His finger slides underneath to trace the wet lace of her underwear. Her clit throbs for relief, and she twists for more, knowing one dip of his finger could bring her off to a shattering release. He laughs low and dirty, teasing her through the damp material. “Oh, no you don’t. I’m not letting you come this time until you beg. Invite me in so I can remind you what you’re missing by sending me to another woman.”
Rage and frustration rush through her like a choppy tidal wave. She curses him and his games. He pushes his knee into the center of her pussy, and her legs give out. He tells her he intends to fuck her all right — all day and all night, making her come in so many ways she begs him to stop. But he won’t stop. He’ll use his dick, his teeth, and his tongue to make her scream. The shock of his words rips a shudder from her weak muscles. She hates him. She curses him. But she gives him the words: “Kiss me. Put your tongue inside my mouth and kiss me properly.”
“About time.”
He ravages her mouth. His tongue sweeps and licks and conquers every slick corner. He drinks in her essence like a vampire draining her soul. Kate tilts her neck back and gives him everything he wants. She surrenders to the dark embrace, no thoughts of holding back. His raw male need is a complete aphrodisiac to the empty, lonely corner of her soul. Her fingers dig into his scalp and tear at his hair. He grinds her against the wall, into that musty corner, and shows her everything she’s lacking and everything he intends to give her. Then he steps back.
Her breath shudders. A hazy mist of lust clouds her vision. His erection strains the fabric of his pants as he stares at her, jungle eyes wild with desire, sweat shining on his forehead. She opens her mouth to tell him she made a mistake, that she wants him, that she’ll take the chance — but it’s too late. “Set me up with Emma for Friday night. Good night, Kate.” He walks away. Kate turns her face to the wall, fighting back tears, and wonders why getting what she wanted is so painful.
Hours later, she’s cuddled in her favorite chair, staring at infomercials. Robert, her dog, snores beside her on his orthopedic mat, grunting and moaning through heavy dreams. Restlessness nips at her nerves. She can’t sleep and needs to get her mind off sex. With Slade. She grabs a bunch of secondhand books to research for Kinnections. She skims a few, making mental notes, until an electrical shock jolts her fingertips. She jerks back, annoyed, and reveals a purple, fabric-colored book: *The Book of Spells*. She remembers discovering it in the stack before, and the weird electrical thing had happened then too. Strange. It had only ever happened when she met people, never with inanimate objects. Wary, she gingerly opens the cover. A mild tingle travels up her arm, but no pain.
She relaxes and flips through. The illustrations are beautiful, and only one strange spell is contained within the faded pages. An odd scent of incense and smoke drifts to her nostrils, and she shakes with a sudden need she can’t make sense of. Crap, what if this thing belonged to a real witch? It holds some sort of spooky power. But the spell seems pure — stripped down to the essence of what a woman craves in her lifetime mate. Make a list of all the qualities wanted in a soul mate. Write them down on two pieces of paper. Burn one in a fire and tuck the other under the mattress.
Kate remembers reading about the power of the written word, the unconscious magic of dreams, and an empty craving squeezes her heart. God, she is so tired of being alone. What would it be like to meet someone who actually believed in love and commitment? A man to grow with in this lifetime and beyond? Someone who saw all her faults and accepted who she was? She sniffs and rubs her eyes. Ridiculous. She’s a big baby. Maybe she’ll bring the book to Kennedy and see if one of her clients would believe in it. Sometimes a woman needs a placebo to fight for love. If she thought a love spell could work, she’d be more open to opportunities in the dating world. She closes the book, deciding to bring it to Kinnections in the morning, when the idea crystallizes before her: Complete the spell.
The voice whispers in her ear, a lilting, pleasurable rumble that gives her shivers. She huddles under the crocheted blanket and looks around. Very weird. She doesn’t believe in that stuff. It would be ridiculous to try a love spell. Right? She stares at the book, and again the overwhelming urge to follow the instructions burns within. Kate hesitates, listening to Robert’s snoring and the infomercial urging her to buy the latest ab equipment to get skinny and turn back the clock. Complete the spell.
## Reader’s Impressions & Star Rating This chapter is a masterclass in tension. Kate and Slade are caught in that agonizing push-and-pull where every glance, every breath, every cruel little tease feels like a declaration of war and desire at the same time. Slade is arrogant, infuriating, and yet so vulnerable in the way he refuses to pretend he wants anyone but Kate. Kate, meanwhile, is trying so hard to be professional, to protect her heart, and to believe she can match him with someone else — even though every cell in her body screams that she is the match. The bar scene, the dark hallway, the devastating “Set me up with Emma” exit — it all hurts so good. And then the *Book of Spells* introduces a thread of magic that feels both whimsical and dangerous. I loved the shift from raw, almost painful intimacy to Kate’s lonely, late-night yearning. It makes her feel so real.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 4.8 / 5 Stars
## Next Chapter Prediction I predict Kate will actually complete the spell. She’ll write down every quality she wants in a soul mate, burn one paper, and tuck the other under her mattress — maybe half convinced it’s nonsense, half desperate for something she can’t name. But the magic won’t stay quiet. Slade will go on the date with Emma, and it will be a disaster — not because Emma isn’t wonderful, but because Slade can’t stop thinking about Kate. Meanwhile, Kate will try to act professional, but the spell will start pulling strange coincidences and undeniable signs into her life. I also think Kennedy or Jane will notice something is off with Kate, and the pressure to prove Kinnections can work will collide with Kate’s growing feelings for the one client she absolutely cannot have. The next chapter is going to be full of magic, jealousy, and one very stubborn matchmaker trying not to fall in love.
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