“My price is a date with you, Marissa.”

Marissa gazed up at Kyle and slowly shook her head. “I can’t. What kind of matchmaker would swoop in and take the prize catch for herself? No client would ever trust me again.”

Upping his game, Kyle raised a finger to her upturned face and sketched a soft stroke down the length of her throat.

Her eyelids fluttered, her lips parting of their own accord.

“What are we doing?” she whispered helplessly, clutching his shoulders as if she were hanging on for dear life.

“Being impulsive.” He licked his way into the curve of her shoulder and she shivered. “Isn’t it the best?”

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

He ran his tongue along that same spot over and over until she trembled again.

“You are now.”

Dear Reader,

As if being married to a former sports editor didn’t fill my life with enough sports talk, I’m also raising three highly competitive sons. Team sports fill my days and reviewing game film often occupies our time between game days. It’s a fun family pastime and has given me lots of insight into all kinds of sports. I’ve written baseball players for Blaze in Double Play and Sliding Into Home. But my new series takes me to the world of hockey—which some readers may recall I touched on in Date with a Diva.

Welcome to “Double Overtime,” where hockey reigns supreme and hot athletes abound. What makes the stories all the more fun is the connection to the Murphy family, which I introduced in my WRONG BED books, Making a Splash and Riding the Storm. The Murphys are a family of five brothers and their foster brother, Axel, who gets a story next month in Her Man Advantage.

I sure hope you’ll enjoy these sports heroes as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them. Most of all, thank you for picking up one of my books and giving me the chance to share a story with you!

Happy reading,

Joanne Rock

About the Author

The mother of three sports-minded sons, JOANNE ROCK has found her primary occupation to be carting kids to practices and cheering on their athletic prowess at any number of sporting events. In the windows of time between football games, she loves to write and cheer on happily-ever-afters. A three-time RITA® Award nominee, Joanne is an author of more than fifty books for a variety of series. She has been an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award nominee and multiple Reviewers’ Choice finalist, including a nomination for The Captive Best Blaze of 2010. Her work has been reprinted in twenty-six countries and translated into nineteen languages. Over two million copies of her books are in print. For more information on Joanne’s books, visit www.joannerock.com.

One Man Rush

Joanne Rock

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my sons, Taylor, Camden and Maxim.

Thank you for the love, the laughs, and for

occasionally cleaning your rooms.

I could not be more proud of you boys!

1

MARISSA COLLINS WAS IN the market for a man. A tall, dark and gorgeous man. In fact, she’d set her sights on Philadelphia’s most wanted eligible bachelor.

Snagging that kind of prize target might intimidate most women. But since her work as a personal matchmaker had Marissa chasing single guys on a daily basis, tonight’s manhunt was all in a day’s work.

Handing her keys to the valet in front of the Normandy Farm Hotel in the Philadelphia suburbs, Marissa stepped out of the cramped hybrid car and stretched her legs at the scene of her evening’s mission. A tension headache that had started this morning after another call from a high-priority client twisted into a throbbing knot behind her eye. Hockey superstar Kyle Murphy was on her top client’s personal Most Wanted list, and Marissa had no choice but to deliver if she was going to keep her customer happy. Ever since her mother had been injured, Marissa no longer worked as a matchmaker just for the love of it. Being her mom’s primary caretaker necessitated an income.

“Enjoy your evening, ma’am.” The college kid in a bow tie and windbreaker grinned at her as she gathered her purse and an evening wrap to ward off the chill of a March evening.

She handled the silk chiffon carefully, the white showstopper a long-ago gift from her mother. Brandy Collins, her pop singer mom, had bought it while on tour in Italy back when she commanded standing-room-only audiences—before the traumatic brain injury that left her frequently confused and fighting to retain basic motor skills. There were experimental medicines available, but without FDA approval, Marissa needed funds to afford the care. She’d give anything to see the light of real recognition in her mom’s eyes again.

“Can you tell me which way to the Philadelphia Phantoms event?” she asked the valet as he slid behind the wheel of her vehicle.

She dug into her purse for a pair of rhinestone earrings and clipped them into place.

“The hockey team is in the main conference atrium.” The valet pointed as he checked for traffic near the unloading area. “There are signs when you walk in.”

“Thanks.” She hurried toward the main entrance between pillars wrapped in white lights, then took one last peek at the newspaper article in her evening bag.

Phantoms’ Playmaker Wins Shootout, the headline announced in a piece that ran in the sports section yesterday. But the text wasn’t as important as the photo of the team’s playmaker himself—power forward Kyle Murphy.

“You look like trouble to me,” she muttered, taking note of the hockey star’s square jaw and high cheekbones. Forest-green eyes glimmered with good humor while a slightly crooked nose prevented him from being Bachelor of the Month gorgeous. Every other trait belonging to Kyle Murphy was handsome as sin and surely as much trouble.

An opinion Marissa had no problem sharing with her client, local celebutante Stacy Goodwell. But Stacy, the daughter of the obscenely wealthy owner of the Phantoms’ arena, hadn’t cared the athlete had a reputation for arrogance. According to Stacy, the player’s hotness factor was off the charts. Her father had been willing to pay well above Marissa’s usual commission to arrange this particular date.

Folding the article back down into the bottom of her bag, Marissa took out one last accessory before she went to work. She slid a plain gold band on her left hand and snapped the purse shut. Some women took off real wedding rings before a night on the town. Marissa suspected she was one of the few who slipped on a fake one. But it helped speed along conversations with single, eligible men when they knew she wasn’t in the market for a date. Besides, any guy who didn’t respect a wedding ring wasn’t the kind of man she’d want for her clients.

“Welcome, miss.” A gray-haired hotel employee in a dark suit opened the door for her.

She gave him a nod as she stepped into the facility and strode toward the conference center, determined to sign on Kyle and hoping that he and Stacy were truly a good match. She’d gotten into this job because she worked well behind the scenes, orchestrating other people’s lives far more effectively than her own. She didn’t want to lose that personal touch now just because financial need had entered the picture. But her mother needed those meds. She deserved a chance to recover her past and her memories. Surely the hockey player could agree to just one date with Stacy. It wasn’t as though she was peddling her services to him for a fee since she already had a paying client in hand. She just needed Kyle to agree to a date.

Eighties rock music played by a DJ filtered through open double doors as she reached the atrium where the event was being held, the insistent guitar distinguishable even though the crowd noise swelled.

Rich red walls warmed the long corridor filled with people taking a break from the dance floor or escaping the music to talk. The party was in full swing, a fundraiser for a local children’s hospital, with the main attraction being the opportunity to meet Phantoms players.

“Excuse me,” Marissa all but shouted as the throng around the doors seemed oblivious.

The sea of bodies moved slightly, giving her room to bypass the social yakkers. A huge chandelier hung over the dance floor in a large hall designed to look more like a barn than a run-of-the-mill meeting space. For that matter, it had been a barn at one time. The high ceiling and rough wood beams of the original space remained.

But where was Kyle Murphy? Scanning the scene, she plotted how to approach a sought-after athlete. To be wealthy, powerful, talented and gorgeous had to be too many blessings for any one person to handle, a condition she’d witnessed in her time navigating her mother’s former world—the insane culture of pop music. While Marissa had never fit into the craziness and excess, she’d cobbled together a network of friends in her travels. Those same friends were her clients today thanks to a couple of great matches she’d made among her nearest and dearest back in the days before she charged for her skills.

“May I get you anything, hon?” a frizzy-haired blonde waitress asked as she tucked an empty serving tray under one arm.

“No, thank you.” Waiting for a drink at the bar would be a better way to scope out the bash.

Marissa headed toward the line at a freestanding bar in the corner of the room. With some more perspective on the party, she could see a few Phantoms players seated at signing tables against a back wall. No doubt that’s where they’d stationed Kyle Murphy.

Could she outlast the line and corner him after he’d dispensed with the fan meet-and-greet? When he didn’t have twenty people around?

Racking her brain for a plan to get him alone without crossing into stalker territory, Marissa was suddenly next up at the bar.

Still with no strategy in sight.

“Can I have a Diet Coke?” she asked the bartender as the women who’d been in front of her finally giggled their way back to the dance floor. The high-octave girly laughter raked along Marissa’s already tense nerves, cranking up the ache behind her left eyeball. “Actually, could you add a Macallan over ice to that order?”

She’d be stuck here for a couple of hours if she wanted to wait out the crowds. A little whiskey might take some of the meanness out of the headache, at least.

“I don’t know,” the bartender shot back with a deep bass, drawing her attention from the mob around the hockey players. “Can I see some ID?”

Frowning, Marissa knew she didn’t look remotely close to the minimum drinking age. If anything, she dressed like someone a couple of decades older than her twenty-seven years in an effort to keep herself out of the fray when it came to discussing dates. Still, she reached for her purse to retrieve her license, her gaze moving toward the guy behind the bar who was dressed incongruously in a crisp white tuxedo shirt and a baseball cap.

Forest-green eyes glittered back at her in the icy fluorescent glow from a lamp on the bar. A crooked nose hovered above full, sculpted lips. Even with a Phantoms cap pulled low over his forehead, the shape of the bartender’s face remained familiar, perhaps because she’d studied it in a newspaper clipping so recently.

The Phantoms’ playmaker stood right in front of her.

She’d wanted a one-on-one with power forward Kyle Murphy. Unfortunately, the sudden appearance of so much potent sex appeal robbed her of speech, thought and good sense.

Silence stretched while her heartbeat thundered.

As professional first impressions went, she couldn’t imagine making a worse one.

NO WORDS WERE NECESSARY when sexual attraction spoke a language all its own.

Kyle Murphy enjoyed the moment as he assessed the reed-thin female on the other side of the bar who’d been struck speechless ever since he’d asked for her ID. The old-fashioned tortoiseshell cat’s-eye frames that perched on her nose were vintage 1960s. In fact, she looked as though she could have stepped off the set of Mad Men with her vintage dress and perfectly applied lipstick. Her dark hair was yanked back in an unforgiving twist rarely worn by young women.

Her style seemed purposely quirky. But if she intended to hide behind the glasses and the severe hairstyle, she’d failed miserably. Dressing twenty years older than she was didn’t disguise her subtle curves. If anything, the clothes accentuated her hips and her narrow waist. Sometimes the more a woman covered up, the more a guy noticed. Especially when the rest of the women in the room were dressed in spaghetti straps and short skirts. Besides, this female had pretty features. High, arched brows topped off eyes so blue they were practically violet. A slightly upturned nose gave her a patrician look. Creamy, pale skin contrasted sharply with inky dark hair.

Sexy. Unusual. And the first woman who hadn’t ordered an appletini or a cosmo in the half hour he’d manned the bar.

She was the kind of woman that appealed to him—the kind who didn’t look as if she was trying too hard. But he reminded himself that he was done with casual hookups. First of all because it was deep into the hockey season and he needed to be focused on his game. He hadn’t been with anyone since last autumn, when he’d convinced one of the nurses on an opponent’s medical staff to come home with him. Turned out she’d only been in the market to see how many pro athlete conquests she could make and she was gone before dawn. So he planned to be more careful with dating when he got back around to it—after he took home the Stanley Cup this spring.

After a long deer-in-the-headlights look, the woman at the bar finally spoke.

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “On second thought, I definitely don’t need the alcohol. Diet Coke will be fine.”

“I was only messing with you about the ID,” he confided, taking his time with the ice cubes so he could keep her there longer. Figure out what it was that drew his attention like a magnet. “Anyone who rakes in enough dough to warrant a plate at this party deserves a drink.”

He wasn’t the kind to flirt, so he didn’t understand why he found himself sliding closer than necessary to speak to her. Her whole bookworm vibe was an intriguing change from the women who threw themselves at him because of his job. But he had no business getting attached to anyone when he was on the road for most of the year and could be traded at any time. He’d been in Philly for less than a month after playing in Boston for most of the season. For all he knew, he could be on the roster in Edmonton this time next year. The Phantoms had wanted the scoring magic he offered in tandem with his foster brother, Axel Rankin. The two of them had been reunited on the ice at the start of the season when Kyle had started the year with Axel’s former team, the Boston Bears. They’d each posted record-breaking stats with the club, but had been picked up by the Phantoms at the trade deadline when the Bears showed no signs of making a play-off run.

“Anyone talented enough to make an NHL roster deserves to enjoy a team soirée rather than work the bar.”

“Shh.” He put a finger over his lips, wanting her to keep a lid on his secret, and cracked open a soda from a nearby cooler. “Not many people have spotted me over here yet.”

“You like downplaying your role?” Her eyebrows knitted, as if she found that hard to believe.

“I prefer to let my stickhandling do my talking.” He cut a fresh lemon and tossed a slice in the glass, still stalling and determined to make the most of this little moment. “I’m not much on the dog-and-pony-show promo events, but this is different since it’s for a group of the Phantoms’ charities. Still, I’d rather offer up manpower behind the bar than sign hats or total strangers’ breasts.”

He couldn’t imagine this woman digging under a T-shirt to offer up her wares at a public autographing event, and that made him all the more interested in earning the privilege to see them privately.

A ghost of a smile played along her lips so quickly he wasn’t sure it had even been there. She leaned over the bar just enough to lower her voice.

“Aren’t you a little young for the thrill of strange breasts to have worn off already?” She eyeballed him above the rim of those librarian glasses, and he felt latent naughty-teacher fantasies spring to life.

“In my experience, the best things in life don’t come easy.” He topped off the soda she’d ordered, unable to stall any longer with a scowling, red-faced guy in a tux in line behind her. “I’d rather invest the time necessary to do the undressing myself.”

She eased back, nodding her approval. “Very commendable. You are a welcome surprise, Mr. Murphy.”

“Kyle,” he corrected her, feeling as though she’d just pasted a gold star to his forehead in front of the whole class. He couldn’t recall the last time anyone had called his actions commendable. “Here you go, Ms.—”

He passed her drink to her.

“Marissa Collins. And thank you.” She reached for the glass, her fingers grazing his for one electric moment before she drew back.

He had the urge to ditch the barkeeping duties and pull Marissa Collins into a dark corner.

“Marissa, I finish up here in an hour. Can I interest you in that glass of scotch at around ten?” He hardly ever drank during the season and never on a game night. But he had tomorrow off, and he’d take any excuse to spend a little longer with the unusual beauty who made him think about something besides hockey for the first time in a long time. Not to take her home. Just to talk.

Before she could answer, his gaze fell on her left hand as she reached into an evening bag for a few bills to pay for her soda. A shiny gold band winked at him from her ring finger.

He shouldn’t be surprised. She’d struck him as more aloof than the women he usually met. But he’d assumed she was just self-assured.

“Never mind,” he corrected himself, right about the same time she said, “Sounds great.”

He guessed his expression must be a mirror of her frown. Damn it. Didn’t she see anything wrong in having a drink with him when she was already taken?

Shutting down thoughts of Marissa Collins as fast as possible, he ignored the money she slid across the bar, turning instead to the sweaty and cranky-looking customer who’d been fidgeting impatiently behind her.

“May I help you, sir?” he asked, realizing the guy didn’t recognize him as a player and therefore didn’t appreciate having to wait so long for a drink.

Right now, Kyle was just another working stiff whose flirtation with a pretty girl hadn’t amounted to anything. He shouldn’t feel any different from when he left the hat signings and the female fans who hoped for hookups he’d rarely indulged.

But regret burned now in a way it never had before. With an effort, he kept his eyes off Marissa as she disappeared into the crowd. The last thing he wanted to see was her with some guy who had the right to call her his.

2

NO MATTER THAT MARISSA had always worked hard to take herself out of the equation when it came to arranging dates, she had been sucked in by Kyle Murphy with just one look.

What had happened back there?

Chugging her cola as if it were some magic elixir that could bring her back to sanity, she felt as though she was shaking from the aftershocks of a cataclysmic event. No wait, that was her phone vibrating away in her purse. She ducked into a corner of the room to check her messages, telling herself all the while to forget her strange reaction to the hockey star. She was a healthy, red-blooded female with little to no love life to speak of. Was it any wonder she occasionally got tripped up by the sight of an appealing man?

Although tripped up wasn’t exactly accurate. More like knocked stupid by a two by four to the head.

Cursing herself and hormones that only got in the way of her job, she yanked her phone free from her purse and saw a terse text:

Where R U?

Did no one bother with hello anymore, let alone identifying themselves? She squinted in the dark to read the numbers on the display. A local call.

The buzzing sounded again, along with a new message.

Have U found him?

It had to be Stacy, the client who wanted desperately to meet Kyle. Frustration heated through her while the dance floor erupted with cheers at the opening strains of “Cotton Eyed Joe.”

Plunking out a response on tiny keys, she reminded Stacy that she would be in touch with news next week. In the meantime, another text came through.

Am by autograph tables. I don’t C him!!

Marissa stopped in the middle of typing to peer around the room. And, crap, there was Stacy’s asymmetrical platinum-blond bob, a standout in any crowd. The bright, shiny hair topped off a silver metallic dress and neon-blue vinyl heels.

Stacy was bending low over a table to have a giveaway hat signed by a player Marissa didn’t recognize. Her posture brought to mind Marissa’s conversation with Kyle. His comment about being offered strangers’ breasts. Damn it, why couldn’t Stacy have stayed home and waited for her introduction so Marissa could have coached her on making a positive impression? She hated the little voice in her head reminding her Kyle had flirted with her, so she must have made a good impression. The last thing she needed were personal feelings getting mixed up in a must-do business deal.

Pocketing the phone, Marissa marched toward the client who was determined to give her ulcers.

“Stacy.” She reached the other woman’s side and tugged her away from a hulking Czech player whose face was stitched up like a football. “Will you excuse us?”

“Marissa!” Stacy hugged her, an oversize cocktail ring catching Marissa’s hair while the woman’s silver sequins snagged on the silk shawl Marissa wore. “Have you found him? Does he want to meet me?”

Stacy looked flustered. Embarrassed at having been caught chatting up another player when she was trying to arrange a date with Kyle Murphy? Marissa couldn’t tell. But when Stacy yanked back, she dragged half the evening wrap with her while Marissa tried to pluck the delicate fabric free without tearing it.

“Hang on,” she warned, knowing Stacy’s uncanny ability to wreak havoc wherever she went. Oddly, her tendency toward clumsiness was part of her charm since it softened a personality that seemed—at first glance—a touch abrasive.

Twenty-four-year-old Stacy Goodwell was noisy, effusive, careless and utterly good-hearted. A writer for the Living section of the local paper, she spoke first and thought later, which was half the reason she needed a matchmaker. The other reason was that, while she was both rich and drop-dead gorgeous, she could be naive when it came to men. She tended to fall in love indiscriminately with guys who didn’t have her best interests at heart.

She was a beautiful, lovable mess, and Marissa felt for her because her father was a pompous, overbearing gazillionaire who tried his best to run Stacy’s life. He cared more about seeing her paired off with someone well-connected than someone who loved her. Sweet-natured Stacy hadn’t quite figured out how to tell her father to stay out of her life, but for now she and her father agreed Kyle Murphy would be a great choice.

Mr. Goodwell was keen on Kyle because he was a wealthy, famous athlete and Goodwell liked to hobnob with that sort of person. Stacy had agreed, Marissa supposed, because Kyle was gorgeous and had a reputation for being charming—something Marissa had seen firsthand.

“Look at me!” Stacy laughed and her throaty humor drew stares from all the men within a ten-yard radius. “I’m here for five minutes and I’m already wrecking things.”

Marissa freed herself with only a little damage done to the wrap. Frazzled and still reeling from her encounter with Kyle, she tucked her arm around Stacy’s waist and drew her toward the ladies’ room.

“You’re fine. But can we talk somewhere?” She peered around the room and her eyes connected with Kyle’s as if drawn by magnetic force.

Holy heat wave. The momentary connection was so sultry it curled her hair.

She didn’t know who whipped their head away faster—her or him. Apparently, he was as determined as her to write off their little moment of sexual chemistry insanity. She needed to reroute his eyes toward Stacy, pronto.

“Of course,” her client agreed, teetering carefully on her sky-high blue stiletto heels. “I finished my feature piece on the season’s new hemlines early tonight, so my father encouraged me to be here in case you were ready to make an introduction—”

“No.” Marissa shook her head to emphasize the point. Stopping at an empty table shoved against one wall, she pulled a chair over for Stacy. “I know you’re anxious for this, but good relationships aren’t something you race into. I need time to screen him—”

“That’s okay.” Stacy’s blue eyes were as wide and earnest as a Japanese anime character. “He has a good reputation in the league, so the screening doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” In fact, Marissa had spoken with Stacy’s father about this point, since he was footing the bill for the matchmaking even though Stacy had wanted to go it alone. “I can gather information that will help make a date successful, okay?”

Assuming Marissa could get her head out of fantasy land and stop seeing Kyle through the fog of attraction that had struck her speechless earlier.

“Marissa.” Stacy peered around and then leaned close to speak more softly. “I really need this date. My dad is putting on the pressure about settling down.”

The idea bugged Marissa since Stacy didn’t need to settle down at twenty-four. More likely, her father simply wanted to make the business connection with Kyle Murphy of Murphy family fame. The Murphys owned a global resort chain, a fact that might bring lucrative business toward Goodwell, who owned arenas worldwide.

“Which is why we should focus some of our search on men who are at a point in their lives where they’re really interested in a commitment—”

“My dad thinks the world of Kyle Murphy,” Stacy reminded her, those blue eyes tracking around the room as if she could find her dream date if she searched long enough. “Kyle has talked to my father about sponsoring a youth hockey camp for underprivileged kids and Dad thinks it’s great. Plus, despite my protests, he’s already hired a few other matchmakers to make sure I have a chance with Kyle.”

Marissa reeled. Honestly, she was fortunate she hadn’t worn heels or she might have toppled over at that bit of news. The revelation applied so much pressure on her, she felt lightheaded.

“You’re kidding.” Sure, she admired the idea of starting a youth hockey camp. But for Stacy’s father to go after Kyle with such a heavy hand?

Stacy shrugged. “I wish I was, because I’d rather work with you, and I wanted dating to be one area of my life that I kept my father out of. But once my dad gets an idea in his head …” She shuddered. “It’s next to impossible to talk him out of it. At least, I’ve never had much luck in that department.”

Great. So the almighty Phil Goodwell called all the shots for his daughter’s romantic future. However, by creating unhealthy competition and putting the focus on a specific end result rather than on the journey to true love, he wouldn’t be doing her any favors. Did the man have any idea at all how matchmaking worked?

Marissa was in the business to help people find soul mates and to bring lasting happiness, not to arrange specific introductions dictated by heavy-handed coercion.

“I’m not going to second-guess your father’s approach, but this is an unorthodox way to work.” Read: completely ludicrous. “Remember that you want to find a relationship that will make you happy, and ultimately it’s your decision.”

Stacy’s smile slipped for a moment and Marissa wondered if she’d gotten through to her. What daughter wouldn’t balk at the idea of her father buying off her dates?

“But I think Kyle is great, too.” Stacy pounded the table for emphasis, knocking over a glass of melting ice someone had left behind. “Sorry!”

Marissa edged her knees aside so the cold water could drip off the edge of the table unimpeded.

“Excuse me.” A young man approached the table, his eyes lingering on Stacy’s cleavage while a series of diamond studs winked above one eyebrow. “Would you like to dance?”

Stacy brightened, the spilled drink forgotten. “I’d love to.” Then, sobering, she turned back to Marissa. “Is that okay?”

They were three years apart in age, but to Marissa it felt more like twenty-three. How had she become such a wise old sage before she’d turned thirty? Even before her mother’s accident, she’d been a serious person. Now she divided her time between care-giving and negotiating dates for women who actually had lives.

But then, it was easier to orchestrate love from the sidelines than to navigate that rocky terrain for yourself. Sometimes Marissa wondered if that was half the reason she’d gotten into this business in the first place. Sure, she made other people happy. But standing in the wings also meant never risking a broken heart.

“Of course. But after that, I hope you’ll consider going home.” She lowered her voice and whispered in Stacy’s ear. “Alone.”

Rolling her eyes, Stacy trotted away with Diamond Brow, clinging to his arm so she didn’t fall off her stiletto heels.

Marissa lifted her glasses and tucked them on top of her head so she could pinch the bridge of her nose. The tension had moved from her left eye to center between them. When she’d gotten into matchmaking, it had been about the fun of bringing two people together who really belonged with each other. Back then, she’d seen the job as a fun side interest to her main job of overseeing her mother’s career. Brandy Collins, before her car accident, hadn’t been all that different from Stacy Goodwell—charming and completely impractical. And she fired managers as easily as she agreed to random gigs without ever checking her schedule.

After Marissa finished college, it had seemed a natural fit to help her mother manage her career, especially after a financial advisor had absconded with a sizable portion of her mom’s fortune. Someone needed to make sure no crackpots has access to her mother. But matchmaking had been one arena that was hers alone, and she’d really enjoyed it. Eventually, she’d started a private, personalized matchmaking service catering to an elite client base—wealthy singles who either didn’t have enough time to meet new people or who had trouble meeting the right people. But Marissa had a knack for bringing couples together. Her theory was that seeing a good match required objectivity. But who could be objective when you were wildly attracted to someone?

Anyhow, she loved the job. She’d just never anticipated a day when it would become a high pressure, door-die proposition. Like now. What would she do if one of the competing matchmakers swooped in and wooed away the Goodwell business? The depleted Collins’ coffers couldn’t afford the hit.

“You really look like you could use that drink.” The male voice emanated from just above her right ear.

She didn’t need to look to know who it was. Her whole body hummed in recognition, reminding her of the second biggest problem of the night.

Despite the fact that she needed to win over Kyle for Stacy, Marissa wanted him for herself.

She opened her eyes to find the man of the hour standing mere inches away, a tumbler in hand. He held the amber liquid out to her, the ice cubes clinking.

Deep green eyes regarded her left hand for a moment before they darted north to meet her gaze.

Left hand?

She looked at the place his stare had vacated and spied her fake wedding band. Her thumb went automatically to the thin gold, smoothing it absently.

“I’m not hitting on you,” he assured her, seeming to catch the gesture. “If anything, I wanted to apologize for asking you to have a drink with me before. I didn’t realize you were, ah—married.”

Marissa recalled the way he’d shuffled her aside so abruptly. She’d been so caught off guard by her attraction earlier that she hadn’t even fully processed what had happened during that encounter. And while it would be really convenient to hide behind that wedding band, she felt strange overtly lying to him when his expression seemed so sincere.

“I’m not, actually.” She reached to accept the drink.

He yanked it away.

“Hey, I’m trying to do the right thing by you, okay?” His brows plunged together at an ominous slant. “I don’t touch married women.”

His protest only charmed her more.

“That’s admirable.” She rose to her feet, hoping to clear the air with him so they could get down to business. “I wouldn’t expect you to touch me either way, Mr. Murphy. Do you have a moment to speak somewhere privately? I only need a moment of your time.”

The sharp angle to those eyebrows lifted. Arched. He seemed to consider stepping outside with her. Then his frown became more marked. He slammed her drink on the table she’d just vacated.

“Absolutely not. I’m flattered, but I take wedding vows seriously, and so should you.” He folded his arms and made like an immovable wall, possibly to show her that she had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting him to go anywhere with her.

Absurdly, her wayward gaze fell to the pronounced line of strong biceps and square shoulders, his body a gorgeous testament to the results of hard work. And she’d bet her open ogling would not help her cause. Where the heck was her usual reserve?

The last person she’d ever get involved with romantically was someone in the public eye. She’d taken a backseat to her mother’s career forever. She knew better than to put herself in that same position with a man.

“That’s fine.” She spied a handful of guests headed their way, giveaway hats and Sharpie markers in hand. “But I really would like to just speak with you. No touching. Do you think we could step into the hall for a minute?”

His eyes darted to the oncoming group. It was clear they hadn’t identified him yet, but his size had drawn their attention and they craned their necks for a better view.

“This way.” He tucked her under his arm, surprising her with his sudden proximity. “We can sit out on the terrace.”

One hand gripping her shoulder, he steered her through the crowd, using his body to clear a path. The warmth of his fingers drifted through the silk of her evening wrap, soaking into her skin and making her feel … too many things to count. Secure. Aroused. Vibrantly alive.

Dragging in a deep breath as her feet stepped faster to keep up, Marissa inhaled the scent of him—she detected a slight hint of spicy aftershave, the starch in his tuxedo shirt and the undiluted masculine musk of the skin beneath.

The ballroom trappings disappeared, the light brightening and then darkening again as he pushed open a door to the outside. Cold spring air rushed over her skin and she welcomed the way it cleared her head even as goose bumps covered her arms.

An unused terrace ringed with a low stucco wall held outdoor couches and chairs. A few cast-iron sconces on the walls illuminated the space, but they seemed to flicker at half power.

“Here.” He gestured toward a moss-colored love seat. “Will you be warm enough?”

He pulled his arm away now that they’d ditched the crowds. And no matter that it was wrong of her to notice, she felt a sharp pang of loss at the disappearance of his touch.

She couldn’t remember ever feeling an attraction this tangible, let alone this ill-advised. Dropping into a cushioned chair, she planned to make sure they didn’t touch again. She’d learned the hard way that a lack of objectivity with men could have devastating consequences. If her mom’s relationships hadn’t proven it—Marissa had never even met her birth father, a European tenor who’d fled the scene after a torrid affair with her mom—then her own experience should have sealed the deal. The one time she’d fallen head over heels, she’d been taken for a ride by a guy who’d only wanted to cash in on her mother’s music industry connections.

That’s why she preferred matchmaking others to romance for herself. All the fun of playing Cupid, none of the heartache. Besides, this way she helped other people avoid the mistakes she’d made. Her service ensured prospective daters looked beyond the physical.

“This is fine.” The nip in the air would help keep her thoughts from overheating. She finally had Kyle Murphy all to herself. It was go-time to pitch her business. “I won’t keep you for long—”

He waved away the concern as he took a seat on the cast-iron coffee table across from her. Removing his baseball cap, he tossed it on the couch nearby.

“I’ll stick around the fundraiser late and meet with fans. It’s not a problem. But I’ll admit you’ve got me curious since you don’t look like the kind of person to—you know—mess around behind someone’s back.”

It bothered her that he would think for a moment she was. He seemed to study her expression, as if he could gauge whether she had lied to him.

“I’m not.” Before she could launch into her explanation, however, he continued.

“I guess that’s a superficial judgment, though. Just because you dress like a sixties librarian doesn’t mean you’re necessarily the conservative type.”

“Excuse me?” She straightened, her fingers clutching her shawl tighter to her shoulders.

“It’s the clothes, I guess. Or maybe the glasses.” He tipped his head sideways as if to get a better view. “You give off a buttoned-up vibe—”

“Like a Sixties librarian?” She tried not to be offended. She dressed modestly for a good reason. And she’d dressed sort of quirky her whole life since she wasn’t a beautiful woman like her mom. Fitting into the superficial world of pop music hadn’t really been an option for Marissa, so she’d deliberately chosen to be “interesting” instead of glamorous.

Her mom dressed for attention. Marissa dressed for deflection. Sometimes it was easier to be in costume than to show the world your true colors.

“I call ‘em like I see ‘em, but I’ll admit I’m no fashion expert. So I’m going to shut up now and you can tell me what you wanted.” He crossed his arms, as if he could rein in his commentary.

For a moment, she wondered if he’d get along with Stacy pretty well, after all. The arena heiress had a habit of speaking her mind, too. Maybe the pair would have something in common. And, of course, Stacy was stunning. Who wouldn’t want a vivacious beauty?

“I’m a matchmaker,” she blurted with renewed vigor for her mission. “That’s why I wear the wedding band. It’s helpful when I meet single men to take myself out of the equation since I look at them professionally and not personally. Although, maybe I don’t need to bother with a ring if I come across as a buttoned-up librarian.”

She hadn’t meant to say that last bit out loud, but maybe his observation had stung a smidge even if it was probably accurate. Her one chance to convince Kyle to meet Stacy seemed to be going up in flames.

“You’re really not married?” He seemed to key in on that fact, missing completely the rest of what she’d said.

“Never. But my point is that I wanted to speak to you from a professional perspective—”

“That’s great.” He touched her cheek with warm fingertips, smoothing along her skin in a slow sweep until he lifted her chin to meet his gaze in the electric glow of faux candle sconces.

“No, it isn’t,” she protested, scrambling to her feet. Away from the touch that distracted her completely. “I’m not here to talk about me. I—”

He rose, his big, athletic body straightening. His white shirt was bright next to his tanned skin. Damn it, she couldn’t think when he came closer. She found herself staring at the column of his throat above his collar, his broad chest that loomed close enough to touch.

“It’s okay. I believe you.” He reached for her and she thought all was lost.

Heaven help her, she’d never pull herself together if he kissed her.

Thankfully, he did nothing of the sort. Instead, he took her left hand in his and drew the gold band off her finger. His touch was gentle. Slow. Deliberate.

When the ring was off, he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, never releasing her. She peered up at him, to find him grinning, his teeth a flash of white in the moonlight.

“Then let’s just get this out of the way.” He pressed the ring into her palm and folded her hand around it. “No sense complicating things.”

“Yes. Okay.” When he finally relinquished her, she seemed to be able to think again. She backed up a step, only to find herself against one of the low stucco walls ringing the ground-floor terrace.

Kyle’s eyes locked on hers.

“Looks like you’re between a rock and a hard place, Marissa Collins.”

NORMALLY, KYLE DIDN’T play games with women.

But the jumpy, jittery, delicious female in front of him had played one hell of a game on him with that ring. So he wasn’t going to second-guess what he was about to do for payback.

“I—beg your pardon?” She pushed her glasses up higher on her nose and he could almost imagine her trying to resurrect that good-girl armor she wore.

Who was she beneath the carefully constructed facade?

“No need to beg.” He edged closer, cornering her as effectively as he checked opponents on the ice. “I’m at your service.”

“Excellent.” She feinted left and ducked right with shifty moves that surprised the hell out of him. Suddenly, she was behind him, and by the time he spun around to catch sight of her, she’d yanked that white silk shawl so tight around herself that her shoulders were effectively shrink-wrapped. “Then I would ask you to seriously consider my services, Mr. Murphy. As someone new to Philadelphia, I’m sure you’d enjoy the benefit of meeting a few nice girls without the hassle of trying to seek them out on your own. I’m sure you’re a very busy man.”

His pulse throbbed faster than normal and he realized it was out of frustration. Disappointment that he’d missed out on a kiss he’d really, really wanted.

“Are you honestly giving me a sales pitch?” Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he tried to get a handle on Marissa Collins. “Here? Now?”

“I’m not selling anything. And I apologize if the timing is less than ideal, but I assure you that I’m excellent at what I do. I work with men and women who are looking for that special someone—”

“I’m not looking for anyone special.” He spread his arms wide and declared the point loud and clear to the world at large. “But I will tell you what I am looking for.”

Lowering his arms, he reevaluated his approach to the cagey matchmaker who insisted on talking business when he had better things in mind. He calculated the best angle of pursuit and stalked toward her slowly. Carefully.

Because damn it, he hadn’t been reading the signals that she’d been giving him wrong.

There was more at stake between them than a sales pitch.

“Mr. Murphy—”

“Kyle.” He got closer without startling her.

“Kyle.” She licked her lips, and he wondered if she liked the taste of his name there. “I represent some of the city’s most beautiful, eligible women.”

“I have no time for dating at this point in my career. And to be honest, I’m not interested in any matchmaking service right now whether or not I pay for it.”

His summer would be spent setting up his youth hockey camp, in fact. He’d already talked to some potential sponsors for Full Strength Hockey Camp, a place where kids could learn the sport and gain confidence on the ice. Hockey was expensive and not everyone had the kind of support he’d had growing up. Seeing the kind of background his Finnish foster brother, Axel, had come from made Kyle want to give back. The world would have missed a great hockey player if Ax had been left to languish in Helsinki with a mom who’d already written him off.

So his short-term goals didn’t include anything serious in the dating department. That didn’t mean he couldn’t cash in on a taste of Marissa Collins.

“You wouldn’t,” she assured him quickly, cutting him off. Her grip on her silk shawl loosened.

“Okay.” He noticed she’d stuck the fake wedding band on the thumb of her right hand. Her short fingernails were neat and free of polish, as perfectly groomed as the rest of her. “This is really important to you, isn’t it?”

“Finding the right person should be important to you, too.” She dug in her purse and came up with a navy-blue linen business card with a local address.

“But you’ve sought me out for a reason.” He didn’t take the card. He had the feeling she’d bolt from the terrace the second she closed this deal. “And since I’m not paying you to locate potential candidates to hook up with, someone else must have a bounty out on me.”

She straightened, her indignation wiping away the expression of polite, professional distance.

“I do not facilitate hookups, Kyle. My track record for arranging long-lasting, significant relationships speaks for itself.”

“Then you can arrange an enduring relationship for another guy, okay? Not me.” He’d followed her back to the center of the terrace near the low couch and chairs they’d first sat in.

While it was tempting to back her up to the coffee table and take that kiss his mouth was watering for, a better plan came to mind involving more finesse and less coercion. More of a give-and-go play as opposed to a hard-core slap shot.

Crumpling her business card in her hand, she studied him as if he was a particularly vexing opponent. The fact that she hadn’t walked away yet spoke volumes about how much she wanted his cooperation. He’d all but insulted her business and he’d tried to corner her into a kiss. It wasn’t one of his finer moments, but she’d caught him off guard at every turn.

“Unless …”

He let the word dangle between them, the carrot he needed to entice her.

“What?” She halted the idle mangling of her business card.

“Maybe we could work a trade.”

“I don’t follow you.” She shook her head, a furrow creasing the creamy skin of her forehead.

“Let’s say that I agree to one date with this client of yours who has a hankering to meet me.” He knew that had to be the case. She wouldn’t have pursued him this hard unless someone has specifically requested him.

Did she owe that client a favor or need to impress that person for some reason?

“You’d want something in return.” Her gaze narrowed behind the heavy tortoiseshell frames. “Something beyond the obvious benefit of a pre-screened, beautiful, intelligent date.”

“Since we’ve already established that I don’t see that as a benefit to me, I think it’s only fair I receive some other advantage.”

“Unconventional. But I’m listening.” Her tone was all business.

“In exchange, you have to arrange a date of my choosing.”

She waited a beat, as if looking for the catch.

“That can easily be arranged, of course,” she agreed finally, the genial cooperative note in her voice a surefire indication that she was pleased with the deal. “Orchestrating dates is my specialty.”

“With you.” As he let the words sink in, he caved to the impulse to touch her. Hand settling on her forearm, he made sure she understood. “My price is a date with you, Marissa.”

Her mouth opened. Snapped shut. The surprise in her eyes morphed into worry so fast he almost missed it. But then, her spine straightened and determination lit her expression.

“Impossible. That would be completely unethical.”

He rolled his shoulders in a shrug—he couldn’t show his disappointment or else he’d risk giving her too much power. Like getting a good deal on a car, you had to know when to walk away. But putting off the kiss he wanted wouldn’t be easy. Especially not when they were alone out here under the stars. He stood inches from her and her chest rose and fell rapidly under the dark fabric of her dress. He’d bet anything he could take the kiss now and she wouldn’t object.

At least not at first.

On second thought, this was the better plan. Hold out for the date that would lead to the kind of kiss he really had in mind. One where Marissa wouldn’t come to her senses for hours. Days, maybe.

“Okay. If you change your mind, you can always ask for me at the Phantoms’ practice rink. We’re there every morning except Sundays unless the team is on the road.”

He watched her a second longer, trying to read her expression. Then, with more effort than it took to battle through a penalty kill at the end of a long shift on the ice, Kyle turned and walked away.

3

“WHERE THE HELL HAVE you been, Murph?” Finnish defenseman Akseli Rankinen slugged Kyle in the shoulder to punctuate the question. “You’ve been MIA half the night.”

Stationed along the back wall of the atrium behind the row of autographing tables, Kyle signed a vintage Phantoms jersey as the fundraising event came to a close. Lights came up in the conference center and his teammates squeezed in a few final autographs.

Akseli—shortened to Axel Rankin early in his career—seemed to be done with his signing obligations. He held his BlackBerry in one hand while his other massive palm boxed Kyle’s shoulders. The player had lived with Kyle’s family for his last year in high school to ease his transition into the NHL, so the friendship went deep. The Murphys had become a foster family for the Finnish transplant, giving him a home away from home after being raised in a rough neighborhood in Helsinki. Axel had been part of the trade to Philly in a package deal three weeks prior, but no matter what their future professional lives brought, they were brothers in every way that counted. Which meant Kyle wasn’t about to share details on Marissa. Axel would have a field day if he knew Kyle was a wanted commodity for a matchmaker.

Ax might be his inspiration for the Full Strength Hockey Camp, but that didn’t mean he’d let his brother give him a hard time.

“I had to school the bartenders on mixing drinks, remember?” He returned the jersey to a longtime fan, flattered the guy had wanted him to autograph alongside signatures he’d collected from some hockey greats over the past three decades. “I worked the bar for a while.”

He might have gotten away with the excuse if the young backup goalie hadn’t chimed in. A recent Russian import, the kid pointed a finger in Kyle’s face.

“He go with girl.” The goalie grinned as he threw him under the bus with a basic command of English they understood well enough.

All the other players hooted in a collective razz as the event planners began ushering out guests. Kyle waved over a few more fans anyhow, signing their programs at the last minute to make up for the time he’d been with Marissa. He hadn’t seen her since she’d rejected his offer, though he’d kept a close eye on the crowd.

“Come on, Murph, you can’t hide behind the fans forever,” Axel called, slapping the Russian goalie on the back. “Since when are you distracted by the ladies during a play-off run?”

“Since never.” He wouldn’t jeopardize his focus on hockey; he’d worked too hard and his family had supported him too much to enable him to play at this level. Not many families would give their kid a season to play in a European youth league as a way to catch the eye of hockey scouts.

“I don’t know about that,” Leandre, the French-Canadian forward who played in the second line, piped up. His knuckles were still taped from a brawl on the ice two nights ago. “I saw the female in question. Great legs and a tight skirt. She had a naughty secretary thing going on with her hair all pinned up.”

Kyle’s grip on his pen tightened as he scrawled his signature on a souvenir-size hockey stick, two event programs and a bar napkin in quick succession. While he agreed with the other player’s assessment, he sure as hell didn’t appreciate the team’s resident Casanova noticing Marissa. Finishing up the autographs, he gestured to the team gear around the tables.

“Are we going to yammer or load this stuff up for Coach?” He pulled out a box and started tossing in signs, flyers and magnets with the team schedule on it that they’d used for giveaways. “Last I knew, we signed up to volunteer and help out.”

“Blonde or brunette?” Axel grabbed a box and went to work pulling down a team banner overhead, but he kept his BlackBerry in hand, obsessively checking for updates of a competitor’s game in Tampa.

Kyle ignored him.

“Brunette. Sort of mysterious looking,” the mouthy Canuck offered as he headed for the door, ditching on the event cleanup. “She hid behind sexy glasses.”

“I’d hardly call it hiding,” Kyle called as he shoved a pop-up display of the team’s most famous players toward the Russian goalie to dismantle. “Besides, she wore a wedding ring. Did you notice or were you too busy checking out her glasses?”

Let them think she was already taken. Selfishly, he figured it would shut them up. Besides, Marissa hadn’t seemed interested in dating so it wasn’t as though he was scaring off potential admirers.

Although, maybe she simply hadn’t been interested in dating him. The notion ticked him off.

“Dude, don’t even tell me you left with a married chick.” Axel stuffed his BlackBerry in his pocket, giving Kyle his undivided attention. Or perhaps he was just freeing up his hands in case a beat-down was in order.

Kyle knew Ax’s code of honor wouldn’t accept infidelity any more than he did. They shared more than family—they shared values that weren’t always upheld by other pro athletes. Two players on the Phantoms were in the process of divorce this season thanks to philandering on the part of one partner or the other. So yeah, cheating was a sensitive issue. One of many reasons Kyle had no intention of getting involved with anyone right now.

“Of course not.” Kyle realized his remaining teammates were staring at him. They’d forgotten the task of packing up. “She’s a friend. We just needed to speak privately for a minute.”

When no one moved, all intent on sticking their collective noses in his business, Kyle shoved away the box he was packing.

“I’m going to leave the rest to you guys since I did my share while you gossiped like a bunch of freaking teenage girls.” He had better things to do than listen to overgrown pee-wee players dish about women.

Especially when the woman happened to be Marissa Collins.

He hadn’t figured out his next move with her, but he was already regretting not taking her business card. He’d walked away, so he couldn’t very well hunt her down now or he’d have to change his terms. And he really, really wanted that date.

The kiss.

Levering open a back door that led directly out onto the hotel’s grounds, Kyle welcomed the night air in his lungs to cool the heat in his chest. He was frustrated with his teammates, sure. No guy wanted to see a ladies’ man like Leandre Archambault salivate over a woman they were remotely interested in. But the greater fire in his veins came from the thwarted move he’d made on Marissa.

Just because he wasn’t interested in pursuing a full-blown relationship didn’t mean he wasn’t plenty interested in pursuing … something simpler.

Taking the long way around to the parking lot gave him time to cool off and prevented him from having to deal with anyone else from the team. On his right, he noticed the low wall of the terrace where he’d spoken privately with Marissa an hour ago. Slowing his step, he saw the lights from the sconces still burned, but the patio was vacant now.

Had he really expected to see her?

He picked up his pace and jogged toward the valet stand to retrieve his car. He’d make a few discreet inquiries tomorrow to see what he could unearth about Marissa. As the regular season came to an end, his days in Philly could be numbered if the Phantoms didn’t make the play-offs. That sucked for all the usual reasons since he wanted to make his mark on this team and take them to the next level. But now he had a new reason for wanting to stick around Philadelphia, at least long enough to …

His feet skidded to a stop.

Because there, at the valet stand, stood Marissa. She still wore her sexy glasses and her silk wrap, her dark hair tucked in a neat twist. Only now, she was chatting away with Leandre Archambault, the teammate who’d thought she was so damn hot he’d catalogued everything about her in his description to the team less than ten minutes earlier.

A fierce wave of possessiveness rose up out of nowhere. He could totally appreciate why cavemen brandished a club to ward off their competition. In hockey, he could battle for what he wanted, but out here, he couldn’t bodycheck his teammate into the boards or throw down gloves in the parking lot of a fancy hotel.

“Marissa.” He hadn’t meant to announce himself until he had a plan, but her name rolled off his lips unconsciously, a primal need to stake his claim.

Both heads turned. Marissa gave him a distant, polite smile that was a far cry from the fireworks he’d seen in her eyes earlier. Leandre presented a Cheshire cat grin that told him he’d been making a play for the sizzling-hot matchmaker.

“Can I give you a lift?” Kyle offered, urging her silently with his eyes. Didn’t she recognize a player when she saw one?

“I have my car, thank you.” She kept her chin high, no doubt enjoying her opportunity to rub his nose in the fact that he’d walked away from her before.

An awkward pause followed where Leandre seemed to be waiting for him to get lost and Kyle fought the urge to haul Marissa away to address the unfinished business between them.

Finally, Leandre spoke up. “Marissa is a professional matchmaker. I thought I might test out a new way of dating.”

Kyle nearly choked on the guy’s gall.

“You’re kidding, right? Have you told her that your idea of a first date involves a hotel room? Or that you have about as much intention of committing as—”

“Okay.” Marissa slid her hand around his forearm, her fingers spread wide like the talons on a bird of prey. “Enough. Did you have something to discuss with me, Mr. Murphy?”

“Damn right, I do.”

“Hey, I was here first,” Leandre whined until Marissa smiled serenely at him.

“And I’m so grateful that you’re considering my offer, Mr. Archambault. May I give you a call tomorrow to follow up on our conversation?”

Leandre grinned like a kid playing teacher’s pet, his smile so ingratiating and fake it was all Kyle could do not to snarl.

“I look forward to hearing from you.” He acted as if he wanted to say more, but the valet rolled up with the guy’s flashy black-on-black BMW X5. “I’m very interested.”

As he slid into his car like a snake into its den, Marissa released her hold on Kyle’s arm.

“What business did you want to discuss?” She turned on him, arms folded, her manner decidedly less pleasant under the harsh exterior lights surrounding the valet’s key rack.

“I was trying to save you from that low-life.”

“The only thing you accomplished was scaring off business and potentially harming my bottom line.” Her violet-blue eyes gave no quarter, the unusual color vivid even through the glasses. “In a night when you’ve already cost me a bundle, how can you honestly deny me the chance to sign on some potential candidates for my services?”

“Is that what dating is all about these days?” He snagged his keys and handed them to one of the kids retrieving cars. “Fattening up your bottom line?”

MARISSA FELT AS THOUGH a pin had been stuck in the balloon of her frustration. All her righteous indignation at Kyle’s he-man tactics hissed away as she deflated right there in the parking lot.

Kyle’s words exposed a weakness she wasn’t proud of, the fact that she might be selling out to help her mother. But, oh, God, what choice did she have?

“What’s the matter?” he continued to rant, oblivious to the raw nerve he’d struck. “Cat got your tongue? Truth hurt?”

A snappy comeback was really called for right about now. She needed to deflect and march away. But she’d failed on every level tonight and she didn’t have it in her to argue with a man who hadn’t let her off the hook for her shortcomings.

“Actually, yes.” She shoved her glasses higher on her nose, wishing she had a plastic barrier to shield the rest of her body from this man’s appeal. “Perhaps you have struck too close to the truth for my liking.” She cleared her throat to get rid of the frog that lurked there. “I will take your complaint under advisement.”

Blindly, she reached for her keys on the valet stand, but they all looked alike to her, and for some reason, the display appeared blurry.

“Oh, crap.” Suddenly, Kyle was right beside her, tilting her chin up in his big, broad palm, angling her face under the hideous fluorescent lights. “I made you cry.”

The utter horror in his voice snapped her out of the momentary self-pity. Thankfully, her voice was steady.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she chided, mustering all the cool disdain possible. “Spring is hay fever season. Something on the grounds has been making my eyes water all night.”

“Do I look like I was born yesterday?” He held his hands away from his body and stepped back, as if to give her an unimpeded view.

She wanted to laugh, her emotions boiling over after a day from hell. No, a year from hell. But no matter that he was being irreverent, her gaze raked over him from head to toe, lingering in the middle. Heat flared inside her as she responded the way any red-blooded woman might to an invitation to ogle a man who looked like him.

“Um. No.” Her grip tightened on her shawl, her arms hiding her body’s reaction to him. “You look full grown to me.”

The throaty hitch in her voice couldn’t have sounded more sexually aggressive if she tried. But damn it, she hadn’t tried. She just felt inexplicably attracted to him and that scared her.

“Your car’s ready, sir,” a young valet informed them from behind Kyle. She hadn’t heard Kyle request his car—the kid must have just recognized him and brought the automobile around.

The teen must have been there for a while as he’d already vacated the driver’s seat of the midnight-blue Audi coupe. Now he held the passenger side door open, as if he fully expected Marissa to get into the car with Kyle.

Her excuse hovered on her lips.

But the sexy hockey god shut it down by darting in with a precisely aimed kiss that sealed in the words.

It was more functional than anything, but that didn’t stop her heart from leaping into overdrive in her chest. Before she even had the chance to process what had happened, his lips were beside her ear, whispering softly into her hair.

“The night is young. We’ll go for a quick drive and I’ll have you back in an hour, safe and sound.”

She seriously doubted she’d be any more “sound” after spending time with a man who scrambled her thoughts and made her pulse race. But the night had done a number on her. The pressure had built to such a boiling point with her mom that she didn’t know where to go next to afford the medicine she needed. And in order to snag the man she’d promised Stacy, Marissa would have to beat out the competition.

“Come on,” he urged, his lower lip grazing her cheekbone in a caress that kicked off a hum of awareness deep inside her. “I think you’d agree we have some unfinished business between us.”

Easing back from him, she found his steady gaze on her and realized she couldn’t even look away, let alone walk away. She had no idea if the unfinished business he referred to had to do with her matchmaking proposition or the heat sizzling along her skin. Right now, she wasn’t sure she cared.

With an unsteady nod, she agreed to his terms and headed for his car.

4

IN THE PARKING LOT OF THE Normandy Farm Hotel, Stacy Goodwell tried to say good-night to the man stuck to her like glue.

“Thank you for offering to walk me to my car.” She stepped back from the overeager concert promoter she’d danced with earlier tonight and promptly caught her heel in a crack between the pavers. She stifled a wince. “But I’ll be fine from here.”

“Are you sure?” He reached to steady her and looked skeptical about her ability to navigate the parking area.

“Absolutely.” She danced away again and gave him a friendly wave. “Good night.”

Blake had seemed harmless enough at first. But she was a wretched judge of people. It had been proven many times in a colorful dating career that included a charming thief who’d stolen all her jewelry and an in-the-closet gay man who’d only wanted her as a smoke screen for his disapproving parents. True to form, Blake had gone from fun to pushy about twenty minutes ago and Stacy was stuck trying to send him on his way.

In some ways, she didn’t blame her father for wanting to help her find a great guy through a matchmaking service. She could honestly see his point. On the other hand, how could she look at herself in the mirror if she allowed her father to pick the men she dated? The idea was ludicrous. But telling that to her dad was even tougher than shaking her clutching escort.

Initially, she’d hoped that setting her sights on an impossible date request in the form of hockey star Kyle Murphy would buy her time until she figured out what to do next. Sort of a passive-aggressive rebellion. She hadn’t counted on her father being on board with the plan—micromanaging the process and bullying her into attending the fundraiser tonight. In hindsight, she realized the idea of her landing a socially acknowledged great catch had appealed to his competitive side, which was legendary. He’d made Kyle Murphy a personal mission.

What a mess.

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I left a lady alone out here?” Blake Someone-or-other caught up to her and gave her a knowing you’ll-be-mine-soon look that set her teeth on edge. The diamond studs in his eyebrow winked in the light of a streetlamp.

It was a flaw of her character that she couldn’t just tell guys like this to buzz off. For one thing, she expressed herself better in writing, where she had time to think and formulate her ideas. She loved her job with the local paper even though her dad considered it a waste of time. For another thing, she was a confirmed people-pleaser and preferred to coast along without making waves. She was the queen of disappearing after a trip to the ladies’ room.

But Blake Whoever was proving tough to shake. Where was Marissa Collins to run interference?

“Actually,” Stacy improvised, her feet killing her in the new stilettos that had pinched her heels even before she’d twisted her ankle. “My matchmaker insists I don’t start any relationships unless she’s involved. She already spoke to me tonight about agreeing to dance with you without—you know—following proper procedure.”

A flimsy excuse or a stroke of genius? She’d realized early on that Blake had only been hitting on her because of her wealthy father. Concert promoters liked to cozy up to the folks who owned big arenas, the same way her father hoped to woo business from the Murphy family if Stacy dated Kyle.

“You have a matchmaker?” He raised his diamond-studded brow.

“A strict one, unfortunately. My father insisted on it.” She extricated her arm from his hand and hated herself for playing the “dad” card. How would she assert her independence when she still relied on the family clout? “If you’d like, you can catch her in the lobby. Her name is Marissa.”

Putting her feet in high gear, she took advantage of her escort’s hesitation and hurried away as fast as her tyrannical shoes would allow. Weaving around a commercial truck, she never looked back, stopping only when she arrived at her base model American-made minivan. She’d bought the used silver Dodge Grand Caravan after her father berated her for wrecking the new Jaguar he’d bought for her twenty-first birthday. She’d only just gotten her license at twenty-one, after years of being chauffeured at his insistence. Who gave a new driver an expensive foreign car as a first vehicle? He’d been so mad about the wreck, he hadn’t dared yell more when she’d replaced the ride herself with money earned working for the local paper.

She dropped her keys twice and hurried to put the right one in the lock. Was it upside down? The fit seemed tight.

Come on.

Peering toward where she’d left Blake the Snake, she jammed the key in again and twisted hard.

“Are you trying to wreck my van on purpose?”

A male voice behind her startled her into a partial coronary and she jumped backward half a foot. A rumpled, grouchy-looking man wearing a faded Phantoms T-shirt glared at her. Thick, dark hair curled around his forehead and stood straight up in the middle as if he’d recently tried to pull it out. Low slung jeans revealed a good body, if a little underfed. Dark heavy eyebrows needed waxing about a decade ago. He carried a rolled up poster under one arm, probably fan paraphernalia from the hockey team’s fundraiser.

“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?

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