Seducing The Matchmaker: One Man Rush / Taking Him Down / The Personal Touch

“Excuse me?” Her heart beat fast as she realized how isolated they were. The doorman seemed a million miles away and her touchy-feeling former dancing partner must have given up.

The man bent to retrieve her keys, which she’d dropped when he’d scared her to death. They were at least four feet away and half under the vehicle in front of hers.

“I wanted to know if you’re trying to break into my van or if you’re just doing your damnedest to scratch the paint.” He handed over the keys and dropped them into her palm, careful not to touch her.

The gesture was so remote and aloof that she felt both grateful he didn’t crowd her and miffed that he’d made such a production of not touching her. A silly thought, obviously.

“Your van?” She scrutinized the vehicle. The gray cloth interior was just as she remembered.

“Yes. Mine.” His gaze narrowed. “Have you been drinking?”

“Of course not.” She tried to put her key in the lock again.

“Would you like me to call you a cab?”

“I’ll be fine, thanks.” Flipping the key, she tested the lock in vain and got a sinking feeling in her stomach.

This wasn’t her van.

“Why don’t you try this one?”

Turning to face him, he held out his set—two keys on a plain silver fob, a far cry from her set of seven on a ring stuffed full of charms, including a stuffed leopard that helped her find them in her purse.

“I must have made a mistake,” she admitted, feeling oddly foolish. She did things like this all the time, so it wasn’t as though she had a problem being in the wrong. She’d accepted her lack of grace long ago—about the same time she’d realized men had tunnel vision when it came to women. Guys who were staring at your cleavage didn’t notice when you tripped over your feet.

Yet the stranger in the Phantoms shirt didn’t seem distracted by her cleavage. He zeroed in on her eyes in the dim light of the parking lot and seemed to see straight through her.

“Do you drive a Caravan?” he asked, not glaring anymore.

“Yes.” Pivoting, she stretched up on her toes to see around the lot. Where the heck had she parked?

And why did the guy in the Phantoms’ shirt make her feel so suddenly naked when he didn’t look at her with even the tiniest bit of male interest?

“I have to say I’m surprised.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t look like you belong in a minivan.”

“I love my Caravan,” she said fiercely, probably because her choice in cars had been questioned by her dad more than once. As she shifted her weight, her feet protested how long she’d spent on the tarmac.

“Me, too. Can I give you a lift to help you find yours?” He edged past her cautiously, giving her plenty of personal space until he took her place in front of the driver’s-side door. “You look like your feet hurt.”

How had he noticed when he hadn’t looked anywhere but her eyes?

“I—um. They do. But I’d better not.” In a conversation full of surprises, she realized she’d had no problem telling him “no.” Maybe because she knew it wouldn’t disappoint him, unlike the guys who tried hard to catch her attention.

“Right. Probably best not to take a ride from a stranger. But I’m sure hotel security has a car. They can help you find your van.” He opened the door easily and shoved the poster he’d been carrying inside. “I think you’re going to need them because there are no other silver Caravans nearby.”

“How do you know?” She craned her neck again.

“I make it a point to know my surroundings at all times.” He extended his hand. “Isaac Reynolds.”

“Stacy Goodwell.” Tentatively, she accepted the handshake. “I’m sorry if I’ve scratched your paint.”

Warm strength surrounded her fingers as he gave her hand a friendly squeeze. Gentle, but competent. She couldn’t remember caring one way or another about a handshake before, but she liked the feel of Isaac.

“I have touch-up paint at home. I’m sure it will be fine.” He released her fingers long before anyone could ever accuse him of flirting with her.

Maybe that was the problem. She didn’t know quite how to relate to a man who showed utterly no interest in her. She was confounded. And, perhaps, charmed because of it.

“On second thought.” Why should she fear a man who was in a hurry to go home and put touch-up paint on his van? She had mace in her purse if her instincts were wrong. “I’d actually appreciate some help finding my vehicle. Would you mind walking down the row with me?”

As flirtation attempts went, it wasn’t much. But she didn’t have any experience on this side of the equation. She’d been pursued so often, she’d never had to do the chasing.

And considering a pressing need to figure out her love life before her father contracted away her rights to it, Stacy liked the idea of making a move on Isaac Reynolds.

For a moment, he studied her with what almost looked like suspicion in his eyes. But that was crazy. Suspicious of what?

“I can do that,” he agreed, nodding.

She must have imagined his hesitation.

Following him with a new spring in her step, she could almost forget about the relentless clench of her shoes on her heels. Until a stone on the pavement made her turn her ankle. Sending her right into Isaac’s arms.

“I’M SURE YOU’RE NOT a sellout.” Kyle regretted his earlier accusation after seeing how much it affected Marissa. “I have a bad habit of saying whatever comes to mind without thinking it through.”

They drove around his Chestnut Hill neighborhood since it was one of the few areas of Philadelphia that he knew. He’d only been in town for a few weeks and with his team in the play-offs, hockey had consumed every second of his time. But Marissa didn’t seem to care where they were going, her eyes fixed out the front windshield, her gaze a million miles away.

“Being spontaneous doesn’t make it false.” She tugged off her glasses and folded them up, tucking them into a small evening bag. At the same time, she pulled a folded newspaper page from her purse. “And I knew about your tendency to speak your mind. I thought that would give you and Stacy a common trait. But I realize now that she tends to comment on more irreverent topics that feel like they come out of nowhere, while you cut to the chase.”

“Sounds like there would be a huge lack of impulse control in a relationship like that,” he observed, turning down the street where Axel had bought a house. “We’d probably kill each other in a week.”

“So tell me what you think would make for a good relationship for you. I’m not asking to try to find you a date. I’d just like to know how I went wrong since I’m usually good at this kind of thing.” She smoothed the folded newspaper clipping and he recognized the headline from yesterday’s sports section. “All I know for sure is that you’re great at scoring shoot-out goals.”

He tucked into a dead-end street with an outlet onto a vast park. Technically, it was probably closed, but houses backed up to the public property for miles, and it wasn’t fenced. He parked there and cut the headlights. Surrounded by maple trees full of new spring leaves, he cracked the window to catch the breeze.

“Well, you know the most important stuff.” Glancing at the paper she held, he imagined her carefully cutting out the story and folding it into neat sections. He enjoyed the idea of her carrying around his picture, even if it had been for business. “I grew up on Cape Cod. I have five brothers, four by blood and one because I picked him.”

Even Kyle didn’t know the full story about Axel’s past, but he’d urged his family to foster Ax in the U. S. because the guy had gotten into trouble with a bad crowd while he was in high school. But he was aces on the ice.

“How does one go about picking a brother?” She swiveled toward him in her seat and he was mesmerized by the unobstructed view of her gorgeous eyes.

“Axel and I played on an international junior team together. From day one, he told me that if I scored the goals, he’d make sure no one got in my way.”

“He sounds sure of himself.”

“He talks smack but he backs it up. The guy cleaned up the ice with the competition. He was like a Murphy separated at birth.” Kyle hadn’t realized how effective they worked as a team until they’d been reunited this year, each of them experiencing record-breaking seasons. “Ax wanted to come to the U.S. for a better shot at making it in the NHL, so I hounded my mom and dad to take him in.”

“You must have great parents.” Tucking the newspaper back into her bag where it lay on the console between them, she was ready to snap the purse closed when he noticed the decoy wedding ring inside.

With the lightning-fast hands that allowed him to compete at the highest level of his sport, Kyle reached in the bag to filch it.

“You must not date enough if you’re wearing a wedding ring every time you go out.” Rolling the band between his thumb and forefinger, he held it up to one eye like a monocle.

Too bad it didn’t really work to bring this mysterious woman into better focus.

“You said you have no time for dating right now, either, so I’m not alone in putting my career first,” she said carefully.

He had to admire how easily she’d turned that one around.

“So we agree seeing people isn’t a good idea because we’re too busy.” He lowered the ring and slid it back into her bag, not wanting to see it on her finger.

She frowned. “I still believe you would benefit from expanding your horizons.”

“And I think going out with me would be great for you.” He shifted closer, leaning one arm into the console where her fingers rested. “You see how I have you cornered? Any argument you make for me dating is only going to be an argument I’ll make for you to date me.”

“That’s not logical.” She angled forward, too, so she could argue with him; whereas he was leaning forward in order to kiss her. “If you don’t have time to be matched with a woman, you wouldn’t have time for me.”

“There’s always time for the things in life that are most important.”

“You don’t even know me,” she protested, her tone conveying a large dose of exasperation that he felt only a little guilty about. Her violet eyes sucked him in and made him want to linger in the spotlight of that gaze.

“I know you a whole hell of a lot better than I know the Ms. Anonymous who wants to go out with me.” He’d been attracted to Marissa from the moment she ordered a shot of Scotch with her Coke. She was an original from head to toe, oddly unassuming and obviously comfortable on the sidelines, but that was exactly why he wanted to be with her. A woman like that would never date someone just for fame and fortune. “It would be hypocritical of me to date someone else when I’m really, insanely attracted to you.”

Watching her, he let the heat build all around them without saying a word. Without moving an inch. He didn’t need to. The magnetism simply existed, as surely as a scientific principle, whether or not they acted on it.

Slowly, she shook her head. “I can’t. What kind of matchmaker would I be if I swooped in and took the prize catch for myself? No client would ever trust me again.”

Her voice, so impossibly soft, was the only hint that her resolve might have weakened. She sat utterly still, caught in the same heat wave as him, but she seemed determined to ignore it.

“So stubborn,” he observed, taking her hand in his to stroke the backs of her fingers. Trace the rise and fall of her knuckles where her skin was smooth and creamy. “But who would trust you if you set me up with someone else and, in the meantime, you and I couldn’t keep our eyes off each other?”

A breeze drifted in through the window and Marissa lifted her chin as if to catch the cool air on her face. He had the feeling she was trying to find the will to tell him off and shut things down between them. So, upping his game, he raised a finger to her upturned face and sketched a soft stroke down the length of her throat.

Her eyelids fluttered. Her lips parted. And he would have had to have been superhuman to resist the way she looked right then.

“Marissa.” Her whispered name was the last warning he intended to give. Even that was more invitation than anything.

Skimming a touch behind her neck, he drew her closer. His pulse revved as if he’d been running a speed workout as he imagined taking down her hair and letting it spill all over his hands. He caught the floral and spicy scent of her, something exotic and sexy but so slight he’d have to really inhale to identify it.

His lips hovered over hers as he savored the moment and the woman. At the last minute, though, she hooked her fingers over his shoulders and pulled him into her, taking the kiss.

Her mouth was slick with lip gloss and cinnamon flavor, a surprisingly girlish touch on a woman who worked hard to deflect attention. He wanted to lick and nibble away at the flavor until he’d uncovered the woman beneath. Hunger surged after being reined in all night, and he battled to keep the kiss light and seductive. This could not be a one-time deal.

Suppressing the urge to let his hands roam freely, to explore her slight curves, he distracted himself by tugging pins out of her hair. One. Two. Three.

The shiny mass tumbled down to her shoulders, releasing the scent of citrus. Her hair was so thick it was still damp in some places, as if she’d washed it before she went to the fundraiser. He combed his fingers through, unable to get enough of her. He wanted to taste her, touch her, breathe her in. Lips traveling down her neck, he sought the source of her scent while he savored her creamy skin. Spearing his fingers deeper into her hair, he cradled the base of her skull, angling her this way and that until he found the hint of scent behind one ear. Orchids maybe. Or some extravagant night-blooming flower.

Inhaling deeply, he rubbed his cheek there, bathing in a fragrance he knew he’d never forget.

If not for the constraints of the car, he would have been all over her. No. He would have pulled her on top of him, pressed her against him. He didn’t know whether to curse the damn console or be grateful for the restraint it imposed.

“What are we doing?” she whispered helplessly against his ear, her fingers clutching his shoulders as if she was hanging on for dear life.

The image pleased the hell out of him. “Being impulsive.” He licked his way into the curve of her shoulder and felt her shiver. “Isn’t it the best?”

Liking her reaction, he ran his tongue along that same spot over and over again until she trembled again.

“I’m not impulsive.” She said it even as she arched her neck to give him more room to work.

“You are now.” He wanted to press her back into the leather seat and see if he could make her whole body shudder. But he wouldn’t taint that victory with the knowledge that he’d pushed his luck on a night that had been tough on her.

A night where he’d made her cry.

His conscience kicked in then, reminding him that he needed to play fair.

With more than a little regret, he eased back, breaking away in slow degrees since he didn’t think he could quit touching her completely. She blinked up at him, passion-dazed and breathing fast.

Exactly what he wanted and yet precisely why he needed to take a break. He’d be willing to bet that, under normal circumstances, she would have battled the attraction more.

But something upset her tonight and he had the feeling there was more to it than just him.

“You’re realizing we made a huge mistake.” She released her hold on his shoulders, her hands sliding away to fold neatly in her lap. “I agree.”

“No. Hell, no.” He took in the sight of her with her hair down and tousled around her shoulders, liking the idea that he’d been the only one to see her this way tonight. “I just didn’t want to push my luck, and I knew if I didn’t quit soon … there would have been no stopping.”

As it stood—and wasn’t that an apt expression considering his current condition?—Marissa would be a fixture in his dreams, most certainly at the cost of sleep.

All of which would be a detriment to his practice tomorrow, but he couldn’t bring himself to care right now.

“That was thoughtful of you.” She picked up a pen from the change tray in the console. “May I borrow this?”

“Sure.” He shrugged, wondering what she could want to write at a time like this. “I don’t have any paper.”

“That’s okay.” Gathering her hair, she twisted and rolled the dark strands and then jammed the pen down into the center of the roll, magically keeping the whole thing in place. “I should be getting back to my car.”

She studied him in the dim light of the half-moon and a streetlamp behind his car. Then, like a lady warrior who hadn’t finished putting on her armor, she retrieved her glasses from her purse and slid them into place on her nose.

Kyle ran a finger along the top of the frames.

“You might as well put a tissue between us for all the good those do.”

“The more barriers the better.” She dug into her handbag again.

“What else do you have in there? A false nose? A burka?” How much more could she distance herself from him? Would he ever have a shot at being with her again or had he already seen as much impulsiveness as she possessed?

She withdrew a folded sheet of paper and handed it to him.

“No. Something else guaranteed to send you running.”

Frowning, he unfolded the heavy stock and saw the fine print of a detailed questionnaire about his dating preferences. It was a matchmaking form, probably standard issue for her clients.

“After what just happened, you’re giving me this?” He’d taken shots to the jaw that had had less impact. “You can’t be serious.”

All traces of the violet-eyed temptress were gone. She straightened in her seat and smoothed her skirt.

“Just in case you change your mind.”

5

MARISSA RETURNED HOME after midnight, her headache now outweighed by a heartache so complex she couldn’t quite put a name to it. Regret, guilt, sexual frustration … a mixed bag of negative emotions she wished she could lock down and forget about.

Quietly, she opened the back door to her mother’s house in west Philly, not all that far from where Kyle had driven her around Chestnut Hill. She had liked being with him. Even before the kissing, she’d enjoyed sitting beside him in his car. He’d taken her for a ride because he’d upset her, a small gesture she’d found endearing.

Then, the kissing had been transporting. There was no other word for the way his touches had inflamed her until she’d been ready to leap across the console and straddle him. She’d been out of her mind for him while he’d been controlled and composed, pulling away so that he wouldn’t take advantage of her mindlessness, apparently.

How mortifying. It had been all she could do to restore order to her hair, let alone resurrect any semblance of pride. Shoving that damn dating questionnaire in his face had been a last-minute attempt to resurrect some boundaries. Self-respect.

Maybe she ought to be dating, after all. Who knew she was so affection-starved that she’d wrap herself around Kyle like a boa constrictor in search of a meal? Perhaps she should try to be objective about making a match for herself. Look for a candidate on paper where all the attractive intangibles didn’t get in the way and cloud her judgment….

“Marissa?” a frail voice called from the dining room, which they’d converted into a bedroom after her mother’s accident. “What are you doing out of bed, young lady?”

Regretting whatever noise she’d made to disturb her mother, Marissa set her keys on a kitchen counter and stepped out of her shoes before pushing open the swinging door to the dining area in the turn-of-the-century mansion. She nodded to her mother’s caregiver, relieving her from duty.

Surrounded by glossy mahogany paneling that rose three-quarters of the way up the walls, a queen-size bed sat illuminated by a reading light clipped to the headboard. Marissa had lined the walls with guitars and sequined stage costumes in an effort to help her mother remember who she was on a daily basis; a décor built on remnants of a life fragmented by the traumatic brain injury resulting from the late-night car crash when Brandy’s agent had flipped her convertible. Those reminders were one reason Marissa had worked so hard to keep the house for her mother, selling off anything and everything else to maintain consistency in Brandy’s life so that nothing would upset her while she healed.

At the center of all the memorabilia sat Brandy Collins, her glossy dark hair missing patches in front from a surgery to slow down swelling in her brain. Her face remained as lovely as ever. If anything, the medications that sedated her had relaxed the animated age lines around her eyes and mouth, making her appear younger. On the wall behind her, a poster from a concert ten years ago showed her as she used to be—clad in black leather, head thrown back as she belted out a song with an angel’s voice that hadn’t been handed down in the DNA code to her daughter.

As exasperating as Brandy used to be at times, Marissa missed her passion. Her zest for life.

“I’m fine, Mom.” Marissa sidestepped a table with a jigsaw puzzle and photo albums, more tools in a recovery that had shown little progress in the past six months. “Just getting a drink of water.”

Marissa never knew if her mother would address her as an adult, a teenager, or a five-year-old. Some days she cycled through all three, as if she’d stepped into a time machine and made random stops along the journey of their lives together. But that was normal for traumatic brain injury patients, where the patient’s life was affected in myriad ways. Some people lost the capacity for speech or lost all their memories. Sometimes people lost motor coordination, or their personalities were completely altered. Doctors assured Marissa that they wouldn’t know how extensive the damage would be until the brain’s swelling had gone down completely and cerebral blood flow had returned to a regular pattern.

“You shouldn’t have eaten so much cotton candy at the VIP party,” Brandy fretted, dredging up some long-ago memory. “I knew I should have hired a sitter instead of letting you come with me.”

Settling on the bed beside her, Marissa noticed her mother held a magazine upside down, her gaze glassy and unfocused. Gently, Marissa righted the glossy periodical—an old issue of Vogue.

“But I had the best time. Thank you for letting me go to the party.” She played along whenever possible, trying not to add any details that might conflict with her mother’s memories and agitate her more. The doctors all insisted it was best to keep her peaceful while her brain struggled to heal itself.

“You’re welcome, princess.” Smiling the dazzling grin that had made her a video queen back when MTV reigned supreme, Brandy Collins patted her daughter’s head. “Off to bed now. Mommy has an early rehearsal.”

On impulse, Marissa hugged her, soaking up all the maternal affection she could on a rare night when she really, really needed it. Kyle’s suggestion that she’d sold out had bothered her, probably because it resonated with her own fears.

She didn’t want to match up people who didn’t belong together. And she sure didn’t want to set up Kyle with Stacy after a kiss that had knocked her off her moorings. But without a payday in sight, how would she help her mother? She hoped Kyle’s teammate, Leandre, would sign on as a client. He’d confided that he was tired of his ladies’ man reputation and ready for something more serious. She could really help him.

But without the bonus Phil Goodwell had offered her for matching up his daughter with Kyle … even a new client wouldn’t make up the difference she needed for her mother’s new medicine.

“Good night, Mom.”

Pressing a kiss to her cheek, Marissa left the dining room to think up a plan. Selling the house or anything else from her mom’s past was out of the question since those familiar items grounded her when she was confused. And with those assets off-limits, what choice did she have but to find another way to make her matchmaking service work? Only this time, she’d restrict herself to pairing people who both really wanted to find true love.