“Maggie Conner, If You Were Going For The Drop-To-My-Knees, Howling-At-The-Moon, Begging-For-A-Kiss Kind Of Look Tonight—” Nick Paused And Grinned Slowly “—You Succeeded.”

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

MILLS & BOON

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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.

It was crazy, she knew. But she really did need the rent money—her store’s light bill alone was Pike’s-Peak steep—and it would be an unbeatable way to advertise to the male public while converting a nonbeliever. It would also give that nonbeliever what he needed most.

Excitement bubbled like soda fizz in Maggie’s stomach as she imagined the slogan:

Even A Skeptic Can See The Light. Let Maggie’s Matches Guide You On Your Way To Love.

She turned to Nick, a new confidence building inside her. “What if my matchmaking skills worked for you, Nick?”

His eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“What if I found you the love of your life?”

He snorted. “Impossible.”

Oh, she loved that word. “You’re really not all that confident, are you?”

“Maggie, save it for all those lonely schmucks who want your help.”

She grabbed his arm. “No one can resist the power of love, Nick.”

He looked down at her hand on his arm, then at her, his eyes dark and mysterious as a forest at twilight. “I can resist anything.”

Pure muscle, pure strength. And heat. She felt it beneath her touch. It was too much.

Maggie lifted her hand from his arm. “Are you willing to give your heart a little test in exchange for a six-month stay at Casa Conner?”

His brows drew together in a frown. “You lost me.”

“Give me four weeks to find you the love of your life,” she said as she pulled a set of keys from her pocket, “and I’ll give you these.”

Two

Nick felt suspended, as if he’d just taken his Harley over one of the roller-coaster hills in Colorado and was hovering a few inches off the blacktop, his gut tight as he waited to hit the ground. He stared at Maggie. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s simple. I’ll rent you the room at my house—” she looked up at him, hopeful “—and in exchange you’re going to let me find you a woman.”

He leaned in closer, breathing in her soft, floral scent. “I have no trouble getting women, I promise you.”

“Let me rephrase. I’m going to find you the perfect woman. The love of your life.”

“Lady, I just want the room. No love, no perfect woman.”

“I’m sorry.” Maggie held up the keys, they swayed like a pendulum between them. “But you can’t have one without the other.”

“I already gave your grandmother a hefty deposit.”

“No problem. I can get it back to you by the end of the day if you decide not to take me up on my offer.”

For one long moment Nick could only stare. Then he ground out, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

She nodded. “And when I find you Miss Right, you’ll become my walking advertisement. You’ll tell everyone, especially the men in this town, that coming to Maggie’s Matches was the best thing you ever did.”

“This is blackmail.”

“Yes, I guess it is. But my business needs a leg up—of the male variety. And though I hate to do it, desperate times…”

Forget about the teeth-rattling slam of Harley hitting asphalt, Nick thought. This conversation was like walking across a field of land mines. He had no clue when the next bomb was about to go off. He didn’t like being blackmailed or coerced. No one pushed him into something he didn’t want to do anymore.

He’d had enough of that growing up with a workaholic father who’d planned his future from the age of five. Nick hadn’t stuck around to follow that empty course, and there was no way he was going to follow Maggie’s.

“Just to sweeten the deal,” she began encouragingly. “I’ll even throw in board to go along with that room.”

He rubbed his jaw, his gaze traveling her face. She was brimming with anticipation, like a little girl on Christmas morning. Adorable as hell and just as hard to resist. But, shoot, he wasn’t a damn puppy in a box for her to open and show off. He wasn’t looking for the love of his life. He wasn’t looking to settle down and get caged.

“Listen, Maggie, I’d like to help you out, here, but I’m really not interested in getting involved.”

“I understand,” she said slowly.

“Good.” He nodded, relief casually passing through him. “So, can we get back to talking about—” He stopped short, studying her expression. She had a look in her eyes. Pity or…or what? Oh, hell. She was obviously abandoning blackmail for a new tactic. “What is it exactly that you understand?”

“That you must be a pretty scared and lonely man.”

She turned and walked out of the room, leaving him standing there, his jaw growing tighter by the second. Females. They provoked you, and you knew exactly what they were up to, yet you couldn’t stop yourself from following them into the other room and trying to convince them how wrong they were.

“I’m not scared of a damn thing!” There it was. What a sucker.

“Then what’s the problem, Nick?” She stood by the front door, her back to him, her trim silhouette outlined in the sun. “I mean, it’s a perfect solution. You get the room, and I get some free advertising.” She glanced over her shoulder, a brow raised in challenge. “That is, unless your bad attitude scares the ladies away.”

If he clenched his teeth any tighter they were going to crack. “I’m not looking for Miss Right. I don’t want—”

“To go out with a bunch of beautiful women?”

“I can do that on my own.” And he did. Nick loved women. The way they looked, acted, smelled. He even liked the strange little coy fronts they put up to catch a man’s interest. Above all, he respected them and made certain they enjoyed themselves when they were with him. He was always honest about what he could and couldn’t offer. Freedom. No complications.

The two things that Maggie Conner sought to destroy.

But, man, he mused, his gaze moving up the length of her as she turned to face him. She sure was equipped to change a man’s mind on the subject of commitment.

Exhaling heavily, he racked his brain for a solution. Maybe he could find some other place to stay. A shack on the beach. Or he could rent a trailer and pretend he was seventy-five and retired. No, that was no good. Too small, too cramped. There was always the unpalatable option of showing up on his father’s Italian marble doorstep, listening to the sonorous tones of an overpriced door chime. Anthony Kaplan was practically itching to get ahold of Nick so he could attempt to convince him he’d changed—that the older man’s accident a few years ago had caused him to realize that he suddenly wanted to be a father.

Nick narrowed his gaze at Little Miss Matchmaker. Not one of those options sounded remotely reasonable. He released a weighty breath. So, he had to go out on some dates…he wasn’t about to fall in love with any of them.

“How long?” he asked.

Maggie’s smile was as bright as a twelve-year-old college grad. “Four weeks. Just in time to put your glowing quote in the full-page newspaper ad announcing my grand opening.”

The salty air whipped around them. Four weeks of discomfort for six months of meals and a place to drop at the end of the day. He didn’t usually make quick decisions. A good, long ride on his bike was what he needed.

Nick glanced over at Maggie. She didn’t look like a woman willing to give him time to mull things over. Nope. She was ready to send him out among the wolves right now.

Her eyes sparkled, and she bit her lower lip loosely, seductively and—surely—unconsciously. His body tightened in response. He was damn sure that he wasn’t going to fall in love with any of Maggie’s blind dates, but in that moment he knew that he’d just fallen in lust with his new roommate.

“All right, Maggie.” He exhaled sharply and stuck out his hand. “You got a deal. Let’s prove each other wrong.”

Later that day Maggie sat at the edge of the swimming pool at the Santa Flora Retirement Village. With her feet dangling in the cool water, she watched as her grandma’s ivory swim cap surfaced and sank with the steady rhythm of the breaststroke. Maggie shook her head and smiled. At seventy-two the woman had more energy than she knew what to do with—not to mention more pluck.

The older woman’s red cardigan lay in Maggie’s lap, and instinctively Maggie lifted it to her nose and inhaled deeply. Lilacs. It was her grandma’s favorite scent. Even the slightest trace of that fragrance took her back to her childhood. Maggie, her mother and her grandma all living together in the same house that she lived in now. Sitting side by side on the backyard’s cool cement steps, laughing at the mountain of a watermelon that clung tenaciously on the vine in the garden they’d planted together. Two contented widows and one thoughtful child. They’d been the Three Musketeers. Then, when Maggie was nine years old, her mother had died. And then there had been just two.

“It goes over your shoulders, dear. Not up your nose,” her grandma chided as she swam toward her.

Kitty Conner could always be counted on to make Maggie laugh. But today Maggie didn’t feel much like laughing. She had a bone to pick with her grandma. Her new roommate was on his way over to her house, moving his things into his room, likely to drop off his toiletries and manly scented soap in the bathroom that they would share.

Maggie’s cheeks warmed.

She closed her eyes and took a slow breath. What was wrong with her? Her cheeks hadn’t burned this way since the day before high school started when she’d slathered herself in baby oil and accidentally fallen asleep on the beach.

And it wasn’t just the heat in her cheeks that had betrayed her when she’d been with Nick Kaplan. He’d grinned at her, eyes dark and intense, and every part of her had gone warm and tight. No man had ever caused such fireworks inside her. Around him, she felt on the verge of something…something unknown—something that stirred her blood.

But those first-day-of-spring flutterings didn’t matter. Her goal was to find him the perfect woman. Not an imperfect, cursed, inexperienced virgin.

Resting her arms on the side of the pool, her grandma let out a contented sigh. “So, are you going to lay into me or what?”

Maggie tried to look perplexed. “Now, why would I do that?”

“Maybe because I gave you a gorgeous hunk of man for a roommate and you’re afraid you won’t be able to control yourself around him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Maggie scoffed, but inside her heart something fluttered. “Maybe it’s that you lied to me and told me that that hunk of man was really a shy, sweet girl.”

“You know, there actually was a girl, but when the boy came along…”

“You couldn’t help yourself.” Maggie sighed. “You’re not even going to apologize for tricking me, are you?”

“For being a matchmaker, you mean? No, I don’t think so. I will always be on the lookout for you.” Kitty grinned at Maggie’s frown. “Look, sweetheart, Nick really needed the room. And he was willing to pay a little bit extra. And with you getting your business up and running I knew you could use it.” The cunning in her eyes warmed to grandmotherly affection. “Oh, my, I can’t wait to see Maggie’s Matches. I’m so proud of you. When can I come by?”

Temporarily forgetting her irritation, Maggie allowed her grandma’s interest to veer the conversation off course. “The weekdays get pretty hectic with all the last-minute fix-ups—electrician, plumber, that sort of thing. How about next Saturday?”

“Next weekend’s no good, honey.” Kitty winked at her. “A group of us are going to Vegas.”

Vegas! Her grandma didn’t gamble, or at least Maggie wasn’t aware that she did. Kitty had always said that gambling was for people who had the social skills of a hermit and who kept the hours of a vampire.

But before Maggie could inquire further about the impromptu trip, something caught her grandma’s eye and she turned. Curious, Maggie followed her line of vision and saw a tall, tanned and very good-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair waving at them from the other side of the pool. Well, not at them, she realized quickly. The man was waving at her grandma.

“Who’s that?” Maggie asked.

Kitty turned back, her eyes bright. “Just a friend.”

Maggie stared at her grandma in astonishment. “Are you blushing, Grandma?”

“Of course not. It’s just the exercise.”

Maggie didn’t buy it. “Is he a client?” Kitty was supposed to be retired from matchmaking, but Maggie knew from very recent and personal experience that the older woman just couldn’t seem to help herself.

Kitty grinned. “You mean, am I helping him to find love?”

Maggie nodded, her own grin widening.

“I’m going to do my very best to help Ted find love, honey.” She had a faraway look in her eyes.

Was her grandma actually dating? Was she in love? Happiness filled Maggie’s heart as she watched Kitty walk up the steps of the pool. Happiness and concern. She couldn’t stop her hand from going to her throat, touching her gold locket—her constant reminder that the Conner women were great at finding love for others. Just not for themselves.

Her grandfather had died just six months after he’d married Kitty. Maggie’s mother had thought she’d found the love of her life at eighteen, but the man had taken her virginity and left her pregnant.

It was The Conner Curse.

But as Kitty watched Ted move away from the pool area and out of sight, the glow emanating from her face looked like excitement, not worry.

“Good men are hard to come by,” Kitty said as she sat down next to Maggie, swept off her swim cap and ran her hands through her short, dark-gray hair. “Nick Kaplan is a good man, Maggie.”

Maggie handed her a towel. “I’m sure he is.”

“Helping others find love doesn’t mean you shouldn’t find a little for yourself.”

“I don’t have time to think about myself right now.” She’d never told her grandma that she believed their family to be cursed. Kitty would call it rubbish and try to convince her otherwise. And Maggie didn’t want to hear it. She knew what was true, and she wasn’t going to tempt the Fates. “I have a business to run. A future to think about. I’m hoping that this new roommate you’ve found me will actually help to make it a success.”

Kitty shook her head dejectedly. “That doesn’t sound at all like what I had in mind. How is he going to do that?”

Maggie told her grandma about the four-week agreement with Nick. She tried to sound as professional as possible. She didn’t want Kitty to even suspect how incredibly attracted she was to Nick. It wouldn’t do to give the woman any room to hope that her little plan might work. And besides that, Maggie was convinced that any and all feelings for the man would subside over time like the heat of a chili pepper after an ice-cold lemonade.

“Yes, I know that scenario well,” Kitty said finally. “Converting the nonbeliever. It was one of my favorite challenges.” She slipped the red cotton sweater over her shoulders, then turned and gave her granddaughter a kiss on the cheek. “I think you’ll be a wonderful success, Maggie. But take it from me, try and make a little time for romance. All the success in the world can’t make up for the lack of it.”

If there was one thing Nick Kaplan hated it was shopping malls. Miles of stores, tons of people and a food court that sent up the unmistakable stench of fake international cuisine. He slowed his bike when he entered the parking structure, pulled his motorcycle into a space and cut the engine. He still couldn’t believe that he’d let Maggie talk him into this. He was the damn head of a construction company—not some teenager with a point to prove. But at least he had a place to leave his toothbrush.

And what a place. Situated high up on what the locals called the Riviera because of its similarity to the French Riviera, it overlooked everything—town, mountains and the ocean. Like most of the homes in Santa Flora it was Spanish in style, with two small balconies attached to the bedrooms. Lemon, orange and fig trees dotted the lush front lawn, while pots of flowers decorated the front stoop. Inside the small home, the mood was something he could definitely appreciate: comfort. Cozy couches, rustic oak tables and colorful rugs. Elegant and simple, just like her, he’d remembered thinking. No surprises there.

That was until he’d gone upstairs, into the bathroom.

Hanging over the shower rod like a scene from some racy foreign film were undergarments. And not white cotton briefs as he would have expected. Hell, no. These were male torture devices!

Nick had started to sweat while he’d mentally counted off each piece of lingerie: one red-satin teddy, one lacy black bra, one black-lace thong.

Conservative Maggie Conner wore a thong?

He hadn’t stuck around to contemplate that erotic little fact. He’d gotten the hell out of there, jumped on his bike and driven like a madman down the highway—making a pit stop at his new construction site before heading to the Santa Flora Mall where Maggie had told him to meet her at four o’clock.

“Four o’clock, and don’t be late. We have a lot to do,” she’d said as though she were instructing a child.

He’d agreed but hadn’t liked the sound of a mall on a Saturday and didn’t even want to imagine what her plans for him were.

But he’d given his word. And he never went back on his word.

If Nick understood Maggie’s personality at all, she was going to do everything in her power to prove to him that she could find him the perfect woman. Hell, she probably already had someone she thought was Miss Right all picked out and ready for him.

He cursed under his breath as he strode into the open-air mall with its endless sea of useless junk. Frowning, he shook his head. He wasn’t hanging around in here for more than an hour, deal or no deal, or he might run into someone he knew or—God forbid—his family.

But he’d agreed to this ridiculous challenge. And if Maggie wanted to introduce him to some woman who worked at the Hoagie Hut, he’d have to do it.

Beside him a couple of teenage boys whistled under their breath, and Nick looked up, following their gazes. His chest tightened as the reason for his presence in this shoppers’ Babylon walked toward him in a pink sundress. She’d gone home to change. He must’ve just missed her.

Maggie moved with grace, with just a soft sway of the hips—not too obvious. But, man, she was all female. Long, tanned legs, trim waist, full breasts, her dark hair piled high on top of her head. She still looked fairly conservative, but he knew now what she wore underneath her conservative clothes. And that made her simple, pale-pink dress sexy as hell.

Damned if she wasn’t looking just a little bit like Miss Right herself.

The thought dropped into his mind with a noisy crash. Kind of like a wrecking ball, he thought as he promptly shoved it aside. He and “Matchmaking Maggie” were roommates with a business arrangement. And he didn’t mix business and pleasure. Besides, she wasn’t even remotely close to his kind of woman. She probably dated accountants with beige Volvos, not a man who worked with his hands and drove a Harley. She was classic, elegant—a good girl with crazy ideas. Not to mention a major pain in the—

“Hi, there,” she called brightly. “Get settled in all right?”

“Fine,” he said, his body stirring from looking at her too long. “Why am I here?”

“Well, good afternoon to you, too.”

He arranged his face in what he hoped passed for a smile. “Afternoon. Now, why am I here in this gulch of discounted garbage?”

Her gaze roamed over him. “Before I send you out to find that special someone, we have to do something about—” she waved a hand at him “—this.”

“You have a problem with the way I dress?”

She seemed to consider this.

“You’re not going to turn me into one of the suits that you probably date,” he said.

“I don’t date suits.”

He raised a brow. “Oh, really? Then what kind of man turns your crank, Maggie?” What’s good for the goose, he thought. If she got to dig into his personal life, he was just as entitled.

“No one turns my crank,” she said in a hushed whisper. “I don’t date.”

“Come again?”

She hesitated, her gaze slipping to the floor. “Well, what I mean is that I haven’t dated in a while and I’m not planning to date anyone until my business is a success.”

A splash of ice water in the face couldn’t have shocked him more. “That could be months, maybe years.”

She nodded. “Maybe.”

Dating was her business. And she was too busy? He’d heard a lot of bull in his life, enough to know when he wasn’t hearing the whole truth. But he didn’t think she was going to tell him anything—not here anyway, not now. Hell, they were going to be living together. He’d find out soon enough the real reason why she didn’t want to date. His inexplicable curiosity about her seemed to demand it.

Without thinking, he leaned in and brushed her cheek with his thumb. He heard her gasp softly, and he felt like an idiot. He showed her the tiny eyelash he’d rescued from her cheek and said, “Make a wish,” feeling like an even bigger idiot. But her skin was so soft he’d forgotten himself for a moment.

“Just one?” she asked with a shy smile.

At that moment he’d give her any little thing she wanted. But he wasn’t the kind of man who showed a woman her effect on him. “Don’t get greedy,” he grumbled.

She laughed, then blew her eyelash off his thumb.

Desire poured through him. Not good, he thought. He needed to keep his distance or he was going to pull her close and kiss that long, graceful neck of hers. “If that wish was for me to go clothes shopping without complaint, it’s not coming true.”

She tilted her chin up at him. “You’re being unnecessarily stubborn.”

“I’m not changing. This is who I am, Maggie. Take it or leave it.”

“This is not about who you are. This is just about your clothes.” She smiled. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”

“Fun for who?” he asked.

“For me. And it’ll be my treat.”

“Oh, please,” he grumbled. “I own my own company. I can pay for a few pairs of jeans.”

“Pants,” she corrected. “Nice pants.”

“I hate to point this out, but I never agreed to a wardrobe change.”

“Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward a men’s store. “You have a roof over your head—and I have you. For four weeks. Body and soul.”

He liked the way that sounded. He knew he shouldn’t. But he did.

She glanced at her watch as they walked. “Then after you get clothes we’ll go see Domingo.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What’s a Domingo?”

“Not what, who,” Maggie explained. “Domingo is a hairstylist. Well, actually he’s a hair genius, but—”

“Hell, no. No way. No!”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“No.”

She stopped at the store’s entrance, crossed her arms over her chest. “Is this a Samson thing? Shed your locks and lose your strength?”

“First of all, I don’t have locks and second, women find my hair sexy.”

“It’s not the hair, Nick,” she said.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Her gaze flickered from his face to the floor and back. “Well, maybe it’s not the hair they find sexy. Maybe…ah…maybe it’s just you.”

His gut tightened as if he was taking Suicide Pass at eighty miles an hour. She wasn’t supposed to be talking to him like that or looking at him like that, either. This whole day was just plain strange. He had no idea how it could get any stranger.

But it suddenly did.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a young woman. Blond, pretty, with eyes like his own.

He muttered an oath, grabbed Maggie’s hand and pulled her into the men’s store.

“Good decision,” she said as he turned to see the woman glance in his direction. “They have very nice things in here.”

What was she doing home from college? Nick wondered, his gaze fixed on the huge plate-glass window, on the young woman and her searching eyes.

He dropped to the floor behind a rack of pants.

“What on earth are you doing down there, Nick?” Maggie asked as she peeked around the rack and looked down at him.

“Looking for the lowest prices,” he muttered, pulling apart several pairs of pants to get a better view. She was still there.

Maggie stared at him, questions behind her eyes, then she began to laugh. “I had no idea you had a sense of humor, Nick,” she said, hunkering down on the ground next to him. “That’s going to be a big plus with the ladies.”

Yeah, right. He was a regular Jim Carrey, he mused as his gaze flickered to the store’s entrance. The woman was gone. Relief swept over him.

“We can get up…” His words petered out and he stayed where he was. Maggie was close, inches away, her sweet scent impaling his senses.

Under the soft lights, beside a mess of pressed pants, she smiled at him again, her eyes still glowing with laughter. At that moment he would’ve worn a sweater vest if she’d asked him to.

And for Nick Kaplan—a man who hadn’t worn a sweater since the third grade—that realization meant he was headed for trouble.

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