One Man Rush (3 page)

“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.