Hearts Are Wild

Maggie broke into a wide smile, suddenly feeling as if she were walking on a cloud.

Be still my heart, she mused, then paused at that thought. Wasn’t she the one trying to find him true love? The woman of his dreams? She swatted away all thoughts of making a match for this gorgeous man. She wasn’t finding him anything or anyone. Not tonight, anyway.

Well, this was it. Decision time. Did she buy a ticket to Uninhibited City or stay in Safe-and-Dull Junction forever? She grabbed the champagne from the tray and was about to take a sip when Nick stopped her.

“We haven’t made a toast.” He raised his glass, his eyes smoky. “To a magical night.”

Maggie smiled, clinked her glass with his and added, “To a magical night for everyone.”

Hearts are Wild

Laura Wright

LAURA WRIGHT

has spent most of her life immersed in the world of acting, singing and competitive ballroom dancing. But when she started writing romance, she knew she’d found the true desire of her heart! Although born and raised in Minneapolis, Laura has also lived in New York City, Milwaukee and Columbus, Ohio. Currently, she is happy to have set down her bags and made Los Angeles her home. And a blissful home it is—one that she shares with her theater production manager husband, Daniel, and three spoiled dogs. During those few hours of downtime from her beloved writing, Laura enjoys going to art galleries and movies, cooking for her hubby, walking in the woods, lazing around lakes, puttering in the kitchen and frolicking with her animals. Laura would love to hear from you. You can write to her at P.O. Box 5811 Sherman Oaks, CA 91413 or e-mail her at laurawright@laurawright.com.

To Julie Hogan, you’re the best!

And to David Ankrum—a big thank-you, my friend.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

One

Tired Of Kissing Frogs? Find Your Prince Or Princess Today, And Live Happily Ever After!

Maggie Conner drew a line through the ninth slogan idea scribbled on her yellow legal pad. It was ten-thirty in the morning and already she was sweating. June in Santa Flora was paradise, seventy-two degrees with ocean breezes to make you sigh, so obviously the heat that raced through her blood stemmed from her encroaching anxiety, not the weather.

After years of working days, weekends and holidays at an assortment of jobs, Maggie had saved enough to open her own matchmaking service. Her family’s legacy would finally be recognized now that she’d hung her shingle over the sandy sidewalk that ran along the main drag of the small California seaside community she loved so much.

Even though Maggie’s Matches wasn’t officially opening for another four weeks, her sign had been out for a few days and word was spreading fast. She’d already had several people sign up in advance. Sure, they were all women, she mused as she flicked an errant strand of long, dark hair back off her heart-shaped face. But the men would follow. At least, she prayed they would.

Leaning back in her chair, Maggie glanced up at the picture that hung above the front door. The photograph that would always serve as a reminder—a testament, really—that love can always be found especially if you have a determined Conner matchmaker in your corner.

In the black-and-white photograph, the Santa Flora Botanical Gardens served as backdrop to three figures dressed in forties garb. A man and a woman faced each other, hands held, gazes locked, mouths curved into brilliant smiles. And standing beside the happy couple was Maggie’s grandma, not a day over thirty, beaming like a new mother. It had been her grandma’s first “case.”

Her grandma was retired from matchmaking now, but Maggie could still look at that picture and feel the woman’s pride at bringing those two people together.

Throughout most of her twenty-five years, Maggie had yearned to feel that pride, longed to capture that look of happiness that twinkled in her grandma’s eyes. And Maggie just knew that carrying on her family’s legacy would give her that happiness for the first time.

“Well, Mags,” she said, glancing down at slogan number ten. “You sure won’t be a success without customers.”

Get A Good Girl Here! the next slogan read.

Maggie rolled her eyes. That one definitely came from the four-in-the-morning brainstorming pile.

Don’t Let Your Soul Mate Slip Away! the last one read.

She snorted and dragged the pencil over the scrawled line until it was completely obscured. Everything was riding on Maggie’s Matches being a hit, but she wasn’t ready to resort to scare tactics.

The bell over the door jingled as she tore off the piece of paper, crumpled it up in a ball and tossed it across the room. “This is hopeless,” she said, and heard the defeat thick in her own voice. “I’ll never come up with the perfect slogan for this place.”

“How about, Warning—Dangerous Curves Ahead. Turn Back Now?”

Maggie gasped at the unfamiliar baritone and looked up. Straight into a pair of the sexiest green eyes she’d ever seen. For a moment, she was hypnotized by the man standing before her. Her pulse racing, she stared—into the two deep, playful and highly mysterious pools of emerald—as the moments ticked anxiously by.

Swallowing hard, Maggie forced her gaze away and fought for the control she’d always prided herself on. From the day she’d discovered that the men in her family didn’t stick around, she’d also learned how to keep men from affecting her.

And she’d been darned good at it, too, Maggie thought as she reached for the locket around her neck. Her pulse hadn’t hopscotched about in her throat at the sight of a good-looking guy for years. But then, she hadn’t met too many men with eyes like this one.

After standing and smoothing the wrinkles from her wrinkle-free pants, she met his gaze once again. “I’m sorry, sir, but I was—” She stopped midapology and blinked. Several times, in fact. Perhaps it was time to get her eyes checked, because just a second ago, with the sun pouring in behind him, she would’ve sworn that this man was dark, suave and sophisticated. But he wasn’t. Far from it.

Sure, he was tall with a powerful, well-muscled body, as far as she could tell under all that leather and denim. But, she mused, taking in the motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm, unless the Harley-Davidson that she was certain sat parked outside happened to be named Sophistication, he was far from refined. Rugged was the word that best described him. A sexy, rough-and-tumble kind of man that you might see in an action-adventure movie.

Her gaze moved over his strong, angular face. His rich-brown hair was pulled into a long, loose ponytail. His hands were large and callused and he had a few days’ growth of stubble on his jaw.

If this man was looking to find a love match, it wasn’t going to be an easy undertaking. The women in Santa Flora were particular and liked their men well-groomed and stylish. In her conversations with them, she’d found out that her female clients were looking for long-term relationships, marriage and children. Not tearing down the Pacific Coast Highway on the back of a motorcycle with Russell Crowe’s twin.

That’s not to say she wouldn’t try to find him a match. She was all over a challenge. And, jeez, who knew? There just might be a bad girl out there for this bad boy.

She applied her most professional smile. “Welcome to Maggie’s Matches, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Her heart executed a perfect somersault. Deep eyes, deeper voice.

“Didn’t mean to startle you when I came in,” he said, his husky tone wrapping around her like flannel pajamas on a rainy night.

“It’s no problem,” she managed. “I was just doing some paperwork. Getting ready for my grand opening.” Feeling at a disadvantage, Maggie walked around the desk and stood beside him. But being so close to him didn’t make her feel the least bit in control. Instead she felt rather breathless, as if she’d just sprinted up ten flights of stairs.

Lord, he was tall. The top of her head barely cleared his shoulders. He looked like a modern-day warrior in his white T-shirt and worn leather vest, his tanned arms corded with muscle and sprinkled with hair.

If her female clients reacted to him the way Maggie was, then maybe this man’s search for love wouldn’t be as difficult as she’d first thought. “We’re not opening for another four weeks yet, sir. But if you’d like to fill out a questionnaire, I’ll put you on the list. We’ll schedule a time for the video whenever it’s—”

He laughed, a rich sound that filled the room. “I’m not here to get a date.”

Her smile faded as she watched her first potential male client try to wriggle off the hook. “I understand. Coming to a matchmaker is a little weird at first, but if you’d—”

“Honestly,” he said quickly. “I’m not looking for a match or a matchmaker. I’m Nick Kaplan.”

He was looking at her as though he expected her to know that name. Know him. She took several mental steps back. Could he be a referral from a friend?

“Your grandmother sent me over,” he said.

Maggie’s brow furrowed. “My grandmother?”

A month ago Kitty Conner had packed up all her stuff and moved into a retirement village. She’d wanted to be near her friends, and even though Maggie had assured her grandmother that she didn’t feel the need for privacy, Kitty had told Maggie that she was getting it, anyway. It was no secret that Kitty wanted her granddaughter to find a man. And she’d thought that moving out was a sure-fire way to get the ball rolling. To help with living expenses, her grandma had offered to find Maggie a suitable roommate. Someone closer in age and energy level. And supposedly she had. An out-of-towner. The girl was moving in this weekend.

Perhaps Mr. Harley-Davidson here was helping with the move, Maggie thought. Heck, maybe this was the roommate’s brother. A shot of awareness erupted in her stomach. If that was the case, this hunk of man would be hanging around her house from time to time.

“No one was at your house,” he said, breaking off her horrifyingly alluring thoughts. “So she gave me your business address.”

“What can I do for you?” Good Lord. Had she drenched that query in “come-hither” cream or what?

A sparkle of amusement played in his eyes. “Well, the keys would do for a start.”

Yep. Friend or boyfriend or brother. The almost desperate desire for it to be brother surprised her. “Keys. Sure.” She reached over the desk, grabbed her purse and took out three small plastic bags with crisp labels on them. She took a set of keys from one.

“Are you taking her over to my house now?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is she in town yet, or is she still getting in this weekend?”

“She?”

Maggie glanced up at him, frustrated. “The woman who’s renting the room in my house?”

“I don’t understand. There’s no—” He stopped midsentence, his brow furrowed. Then a slow smile made its way to his lips. “Let me introduce myself again,” he said, amused. “I’m Nick Kaplan.” He stuck out his hand. “Your new roommate.”

Maggie just stood there, blank and wordless as the sounds of another Saturday at the beach floated through the open door. Her roommate? What was he talking about? He couldn’t be serious. She cocked her head, narrowed her eyes. Then again, he looked pretty darn serious.

“Mr. Kaplan,” she began slowly, her tone controlled. Very controlled. “Obviously, there’s been a mistake.”

He grabbed a bunch of papers from his back pocket. “There’s no mistake.”

“Misunderstanding, then.”

“I don’t think so.”

She stared blindly at the pages he thrust at her. “What’s that?”

He handed it to her. “A copy of the signed lease agreement.”

Grasping the paper with two shaky hands, Maggie scanned the paper. “This shows my room was rented to a quiet, responsible, nonsmoking—” She gasped, stared at the box checked “male,” then lowered her gaze to the chirpy signature at the bottom. Kitty Conner. No. She didn’t. No. She hadn’t. Maggie looked up, feeling like a balloon that had just had all the air let out of it.

“Well, I am quiet and nonsmoking.” His grin widened. “And I’m definitely male.”

She swallowed tightly. He was most certainly male, she thought a little bit hysterically. An incredible hunk, in fact. If you liked that type and—God help her—apparently, she did. This was horrible, not to mention incredibly embarrassing. How could her grandmother have rented a room to this man without even telling her?

Well, it didn’t matter how. She’d just have to undo what her grandma had done. It was one thing to have Nick visiting his sister at the house once in a while, but living, sleeping…showering…

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Kaplan, but you can’t live in my house.”

He leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest, flashing her a grin. “You got a body buried in the backyard or something?”

She inhaled sharply. “Of course not.”

He chuckled. “I was joking, Maggie.” He shook his head. “Look, I understand you think there was some kind of error here. But if that’s the case, it was you or your grandmother’s mistake, not mine.”

The scents of leather and salt air and sunshine emanated from him. Maggie had a most undignified desire to grab the lapels of his jacket and bury her face in his chest, breathe him in. But she didn’t do things like that. She didn’t even entertain thoughts like that. She thrust the papers at him. “I’m very sorry, but I can’t live with a—” she looked him over from head to toe “—a guy.”

“Why not?” His amused query was accompanied by a devastating grin.

Why not? Why not? She racked her muddled brain for the right answer. Preferably one that didn’t make her sound as if she was on medication: I don’t trust myself around a man like you; You are a direct threat to my self-imposed resolve; Hormones I didn’t even know I possess are doing jumping jacks in my blood-stream since you walked in. Oh, yeah, that explanation would go over big.

She began to pace. “I don’t even know you.” That sounded good—and it was true, very true.

“I’m thirty years old, I own a construction firm. I love motorcycles, mutts and Louis Armstrong.”

She squinted at him. “Harmless, huh?”

The devil himself couldn’t have grinned any wider. “I didn’t say that.”

She caught the gasp before it could escape her parted lips. “Look, again, I really do apologize, but I think it’s best if you find another place.”

“That’s not possible.” All humor evaporated from his voice. “It’s summer. Santa Flora’s packed with tourists. No apartments, no hotels, no nothing.”

“You could stay outside the city,” she offered.

“No, I can’t. I have to be here in town. My job starts Monday and I need to be close to the site.”

She stopped and looked at him, desperation making her clutch at improbabilities. “Maybe you could find a camper? Or a large van?”

He turned and pointed to the parking lot where his motorcycle sat parked under a large oak. “That’s the only transportation I own.”

“How about friends?” she asked. “Family maybe?”

His jaw tightened. “No.”

Her hands on her hips, she stared at him. He stared back. They were like two gunslingers waiting for the other to back down.

Her grandma’s clock chimed. Eleven o’clock.

“I have clients coming,” she said, her gaze locked with his.

“And I have a signed and very legal lease agreement.”

Ohhh, she really despised people who stated the obvious. Her grandmother was going to hear about this. The bell over the front door rang and her “appointments” came sashaying through the door in a cloud of bleached-blond hair and siliconed curves.

With practiced professionalism and a forced smile, Maggie asked Nick to excuse her, then greeted the two women and ushered them into the video room. When she returned, Nick hadn’t moved an inch. Which didn’t surprise her.

“Maybe you could come back this afternoon,” she began.

“Sure, no problem. If you just hand over those keys, I can get settled and meet you back here by—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Maggie, I’m not going anywhere.” He dropped his helmet on her desk with a thud. “I start the most important job of my career on Monday, and I’m not going to be living out of a cardboard box while you work out your fears of cohabitation.”

Soft giggles twittered from the other room. Her buxom clients were getting restless. She needed to get to work. She tipped up her chin in the universal symbol for “So, you wanna go a couple of rounds?”

Okay. If he was going to act like a jackass, she’d just treat him like one.

A half hour later, the storefront air heavy with expensive perfume, Nick wished he’d done as Maggie had asked: left and come back later. That damn stubborn streak of his had landed him in the middle of a circus—forced into service by one sexy little ring-master.

Because Maggie’s tripod hadn’t arrived yet, she’d dropped the video camera on his shoulder and told him to hold it steady while she conducted the interviews with the Baywatch twins.

Obviously, she saw him as labor, pure and simple. No shock there. From the moment she’d pinned him with that liquid-blue gaze of hers, the assumptions about who he was and what side of the tracks he’d crossed over had read crystal clear. He was used to that look—the one that declared “I bet his brains are in his biceps.”

Little did Miss Librarian know. And Maggie Conner could sure put on the librarian routine. Hell, she even dressed like one—simple, no frills—in tan pants and a blue blouse. But her bossy attitude and husky voice told an altogether different story. Not to mention her petite figure. Which was all curves.

And there was nothing Nick Kaplan liked better than riding risky curves. On his bike or off.

But this road was off-limits.

He could tell that the dark-haired beauty was one of those girls with a bookful of rules—strings, home and hearth commitments and all that. Hell, she was a professional matchmaker. He didn’t mess with people who believed in love, no matter how strong the attraction. Especially not now.

Three weeks ago he’d won the bid of a lifetime—the bid that had brought him here. The bid that would catapult him into the leagues of the big boys of the contracting world. He didn’t need distractions. He just needed a room.

“I like Mexican food, fruit smoothies and going to the beach,” one of the Baywatch twins said into the video camera.

“And what kind of man are you looking for, Heather?” Maggie asked. Maggie sat on a chair just below the camera so it would look as if Heather was speaking directly into the lens.

“I’m looking for a sweet, sensitive man,” Heather practically cooed. “A man who wants to come home to a good woman every night.”

Nick snorted. His reluctant roommate was casting her line into a pond of sitting ducks. A pond he, himself, was never going to swim in. He enjoyed his freedom way too much. When you knew firsthand how it felt to be stifled, held back and restricted, nothing and no one was incentive enough to let your wings get clipped.

“He should be very intelligent,” Heather said.

On the sidelines, the second blonde nodded her agreement. “And smart, too.”

Nick coughed to cover his laughter.

Maggie glanced over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed in warning. He winked at her and she blushed, turning right back around. But the image of her was already burned in his mind. Hair pulled off her flawless face in a bun style, full, pale-pink lips and large, bright eyes in the exact shade of a Montana sky first thing in the morning.

He remembered that sky well. A few years back, he’d been traveling to Iowa for a job and he’d stopped his motorcycle on the side of the road and stared at it for a good hour. Prettiest sight he’d ever seen.

“And of course, he’s got to know how to dress,” Heather continued.

Nick stifled a groan. This was ridiculous. This wasn’t how two people got together. Videotapes and a grocery list of attributes. Chemistry was chemistry. Man and woman. Heat and passion and sparks—there was no getting around that. And no way to tell whether you had it until you were face-to-face, not video screen to wishful thinker. But, hey, it wasn’t any of his business. He just wanted those keys and a couple of good nights’ rest.

“And I like to read,” Heather said. “So it would be great if he could read, too.”

It felt as though a week had gone by when Maggie finally thanked the Baywatch twins and walked them to the door.

But she wasted no time in rushing back into the video room and scolding him. “Well?” she demanded, looking like a grenade whose pin had been pulled.

“Well, what?” he asked as he removed the videotape from the camera and handed it to her. “What did I do?”

“You were laughing at my clients.”

“I didn’t laugh at them,” he said, curbing a chuckle. “Now, can we talk keys?”

She ignored his request completely. “Oh, please. Do you really expect me to believe that coughing spasm was some preliminary sign of bronchitis?”

“Listen, sweetheart, I thought that their requirements for the perfect guy were anything but funny.” He put the camera back in its case and zipped it up. “That woman had a list. Like she was going shopping.”

“We all have things we want in another person, Mr. Kaplan. The list may be in your head, but it’s still there.”

“I don’t have a list,” he said. “Just one simple requirement.”

She smiled smugly. “Oh, and what’s that? That she drive a motorcycle and wear combat boots?”

“That’s two things, Maggie,” he retorted with a grin.

“You’ll change your mind someday. Chance meetings are more difficult in today’s world.” She shrugged. “No one wants to be single forever.”

“As far as I’m concerned, forever doesn’t sound long enough.”

Maggie felt weary, as if she was about to hike a hill she’d been up a thousand times. Bachelors, playboys and bad-ass bikers. They all wanted freedom. They had no idea that being loved by the right woman beat that idea all to hell. But how in the world was she going to convince a townful of guys that true love awaited them if she couldn’t even convince one?

“I have a great idea,” he said. “Let’s discuss it at home tonight.”

“Mine or yours?”

“Ours.”

She sighed. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”

“When I want something, Maggie, I’ll go to great lengths to get it.” He stood before her, all six feet three inches of him, the scents of leather and virility oozing from him. “But when I need something, I’ll do just about anything.”

She shivered at his tone, and her pulse danced a samba at the way his gaze moved over her face.

Go after what you want. It was certainly something they had in common. She wanted people to find love and would go to extraordinary lengths to help them. But Maggie needed her business to be a success and would almost sell her soul to achieve it.

As she tossed the videotape from one hand to the other, an idea began to take form in her mind. Her first two campaigns to attract men to Maggie’s Matches hadn’t yielded one eligible guy. So she knew free sign-ups and comped first-date expenses weren’t going to have them lining up out the door. What she needed was a success story.