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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.
