Читать книгу Seducing The Matchmaker: One Man Rush / Taking Him Down / The Personal Touch - Meg Maguire - Страница 13

MARISSA RETURNED HOME after midnight, her headache now outweighed by a heartache so complex she couldn’t quite put a name to it. Regret, guilt, sexual frustration … a mixed bag of negative emotions she wished she could lock down and forget about.

Quietly, she opened the back door to her mother’s house in west Philly, not all that far from where Kyle had driven her around Chestnut Hill. She had liked being with him. Even before the kissing, she’d enjoyed sitting beside him in his car. He’d taken her for a ride because he’d upset her, a small gesture she’d found endearing.

Then, the kissing had been transporting. There was no other word for the way his touches had inflamed her until she’d been ready to leap across the console and straddle him. She’d been out of her mind for him while he’d been controlled and composed, pulling away so that he wouldn’t take advantage of her mindlessness, apparently.

How mortifying. It had been all she could do to restore order to her hair, let alone resurrect any semblance of pride. Shoving that damn dating questionnaire in his face had been a last-minute attempt to resurrect some boundaries. Self-respect.

Maybe she ought to be dating, after all. Who knew she was so affection-starved that she’d wrap herself around Kyle like a boa constrictor in search of a meal? Perhaps she should try to be objective about making a match for herself. Look for a candidate on paper where all the attractive intangibles didn’t get in the way and cloud her judgment….

“Marissa?” a frail voice called from the dining room, which they’d converted into a bedroom after her mother’s accident. “What are you doing out of bed, young lady?”

Regretting whatever noise she’d made to disturb her mother, Marissa set her keys on a kitchen counter and stepped out of her shoes before pushing open the swinging door to the dining area in the turn-of-the-century mansion. She nodded to her mother’s caregiver, relieving her from duty.

Surrounded by glossy mahogany paneling that rose three-quarters of the way up the walls, a queen-size bed sat illuminated by a reading light clipped to the headboard. Marissa had lined the walls with guitars and sequined stage costumes in an effort to help her mother remember who she was on a daily basis; a décor built on remnants of a life fragmented by the traumatic brain injury resulting from the late-night car crash when Brandy’s agent had flipped her convertible. Those reminders were one reason Marissa had worked so hard to keep the house for her mother, selling off anything and everything else to maintain consistency in Brandy’s life so that nothing would upset her while she healed.

At the center of all the memorabilia sat Brandy Collins, her glossy dark hair missing patches in front from a surgery to slow down swelling in her brain. Her face remained as lovely as ever. If anything, the medications that sedated her had relaxed the animated age lines around her eyes and mouth, making her appear younger. On the wall behind her, a poster from a concert ten years ago showed her as she used to be—clad in black leather, head thrown back as she belted out a song with an angel’s voice that hadn’t been handed down in the DNA code to her daughter.

As exasperating as Brandy used to be at times, Marissa missed her passion. Her zest for life.

“I’m fine, Mom.” Marissa sidestepped a table with a jigsaw puzzle and photo albums, more tools in a recovery that had shown little progress in the past six months. “Just getting a drink of water.”

Marissa never knew if her mother would address her as an adult, a teenager, or a five-year-old. Some days she cycled through all three, as if she’d stepped into a time machine and made random stops along the journey of their lives together. But that was normal for traumatic brain injury patients, where the patient’s life was affected in myriad ways. Some people lost the capacity for speech or lost all their memories. Sometimes people lost motor coordination, or their personalities were completely altered. Doctors assured Marissa that they wouldn’t know how extensive the damage would be until the brain’s swelling had gone down completely and cerebral blood flow had returned to a regular pattern.

“You shouldn’t have eaten so much cotton candy at the VIP party,” Brandy fretted, dredging up some long-ago memory. “I knew I should have hired a sitter instead of letting you come with me.”

Settling on the bed beside her, Marissa noticed her mother held a magazine upside down, her gaze glassy and unfocused. Gently, Marissa righted the glossy periodical—an old issue of Vogue.

“But I had the best time. Thank you for letting me go to the party.” She played along whenever possible, trying not to add any details that might conflict with her mother’s memories and agitate her more. The doctors all insisted it was best to keep her peaceful while her brain struggled to heal itself.

“You’re welcome, princess.” Smiling the dazzling grin that had made her a video queen back when MTV reigned supreme, Brandy Collins patted her daughter’s head. “Off to bed now. Mommy has an early rehearsal.”

On impulse, Marissa hugged her, soaking up all the maternal affection she could on a rare night when she really, really needed it. Kyle’s suggestion that she’d sold out had bothered her, probably because it resonated with her own fears.

She didn’t want to match up people who didn’t belong together. And she sure didn’t want to set up Kyle with Stacy after a kiss that had knocked her off her moorings. But without a payday in sight, how would she help her mother? She hoped Kyle’s teammate, Leandre, would sign on as a client. He’d confided that he was tired of his ladies’ man reputation and ready for something more serious. She could really help him.

But without the bonus Phil Goodwell had offered her for matching up his daughter with Kyle … even a new client wouldn’t make up the difference she needed for her mother’s new medicine.

“Good night, Mom.”

Pressing a kiss to her cheek, Marissa left the dining room to think up a plan. Selling the house or anything else from her mom’s past was out of the question since those familiar items grounded her when she was confused. And with those assets off-limits, what choice did she have but to find another way to make her matchmaking service work? Only this time, she’d restrict herself to pairing people who both really wanted to find true love.

Which meant she needed to speak with Stacy Goodwell and tell her the news.

Pausing at the turn of the stairs to fish her cell phone from her purse, Marissa dropped into the deep cushions of the window seat tucked on the landing. She’d sleep better tonight if she sent Stacy a message and got it over with.

Tomorrow, she’d worry about finding new clients. Multiple new clients. For now, she clicked out a message.

I’m bowing out of the race to land Kyle Murphy. If you’re interested in other options, I’d be happy to help you.

Jamming a finger on the send button before she could change her mind, Marissa opened her purse to put the phone back. The newspaper article with Kyle’s picture fell out so that he seemed to be grinning at her even now.

Even if breaking her contract with Stacy cleared the path for Marissa to see Kyle, she still didn’t trust the way she felt about him. That crazy, upside-down attraction could never be a good thing. At very least, it impaired her romantic judgment.

What if she was just another conquest to him, forbidden fruit his über-competitive side couldn’t resist trying?

“I knew you’d be trouble,” she whispered, stabbing the paper with an accusatory finger. “And I was right.”

THE DAY HAD STARTED out like any other for Isaac Reynolds.

Ten hours at the office of his tech company messing with a top-secret idea for new 3-D technology for his graphics chip, an hour at the gym and a half hour supporting a worthwhile cause in the form of a fat check written to the charities the Phantoms hockey team supported.

A normal day for a successful geek trying to get a new product to market. Or it had been normal until now, when Isaac found himself with an armful of lush female who was light-years out of his league.

There’s no way a woman like this fell into his arms unless she was an industrial spy sent by his competition. He had a long track record as a bachelor that proved it.

“Are you okay?” He tried to steady her after she’d stumbled into him, but she winced in pain.

“I hurt my ankle.” Her grip on his shoulders tightened.

A whole hell of a lot more than that tightened on his end of the equation as she hopped around on one foot, her hip grazing him in ways that even a lap dancer couldn’t have dreamed up. Whether she was a spy or not, he wasn’t immune.

“Hold still,” he barked, clamping his hands around her waist like a vise in order to save his sanity.

And while that halted the teeth-grinding tease of the dance she’d been doing, it introduced his hands to an inviting new landscape that practically begged for exploration. It wasn’t fair a woman who felt this good would work for the competition.

“I’m trying,” she protested. “These shoes have been killing me, and I ripped open a blister when I twisted my ankle.”

Her eyes were squeezed shut as if she was fending off pain, and her genuine hurt chased away his cynicism for the moment. He tried not to think about the sweet indent of her waist above the soft flare of her hips. It wasn’t easy with his body still dogging him to cop another feel. She was pure fantasy material.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to find hotel security?” He could pass her off to someone else.

“I can manage. That is, if you’re still amenable to looking around the parking lot with me?”

He gritted his teeth at the thought of touching her again—a sweetly torturous thrill.

“Sure.”

“Thank you.” She blinked up at him so gratefully he felt like a low-life for fantasizing about her.

As he locked his van for safety, he was surprised she hadn’t tried to talk her way into his vehicle. Not that he carried research development notes with him. But she didn’t know that.

“Are you okay to walk on that foot or do you want me to … carry you?”

He looked over her short, strapless dress, already regretting the offer. She possessed an incredibly sexy body and the dress showed it off to mouthwatering advantage. Her platinum blond hair had an asymmetrical cut that made her look as though she’d walked out of a futuristic video game—a zombie-killing spaceship captain, maybe. A character you could only access deep into the game, late at night. And only if you were very, very talented with your hands.

“I’ll be fine.” She—Stacy—bit her lip, appearing entirely unsure of herself as she tested her tender ankle.

Stifling an inward curse, he sent a stern message to his hands not to get used to this. But he needed to help her if she was going to find her van. Decision made, he bent forward to slip an arm around her shoulders, bolstering her so she leaned into his side. He was careful not to hold her too close since he hadn’t quite willed away his earlier reaction to her.

“Oh!” Gasping in surprise, she wrapped her arm around his waist and wriggled infernally near.

“Did I hurt you?” Sticking to the main aisle where the light was best, Isaac began a methodical scan of the rows, searching for her vehicle.

“No. I was just startled since you didn’t give me a warning. You don’t have much to say, do you?”

And wasn’t that the beginning of the end of this parking lot relationship? Isaac had scared off more than a few women with qualities they’d diagnosed as everything from “inability to relate” to “freakish quietness.” So interludes like this one would only happen to him if a woman literally fell into his lap, as this hapless, hot blonde seemed to have.

Or she’d been paid to seduce his secrets from him. Being with her would almost make it worth selling out.

“Not really.” He needed to drop her off somewhere else, somewhere she belonged, because she sure as hell didn’t have any business here, plastered to his side.

“Are you still mad about me wrecking your paint job? Is that why you don’t talk to me?” She leaned forward to peer down another row of cars and her breasts strained against the fabric of her sparkly dress.

Or so he imagined, since he kept himself occupied not looking at her.

“I live in my head a lot,” he explained, forcing himself to slow down even though he wanted to sprint. He figured he’d go with the obvious answer instead of trying to dress up the truth.

“What do you mean?” Her frown created the perfect pout, her lower lip full and glistening.

“I think too much. Half the time I don’t hear what people say, and the other half of the time, I’ll think I’ve answered them when I haven’t.” Although he’d been shockingly tuned into her since he’d discovered her trying to break into his van.

He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had so thoroughly claimed his attention.

“I wish the people in my life wouldn’t hear half of what I say. Fifty percent of the time I haven’t thought it out and wish I could take it back.” She brightened, pearly white teeth as perfect as the rest of her. “Now that I think about it, we’d make the perfect couple.”

“Ah. I see what you mean.” He shook his head and paused to take in the shape of a minivan at the end of one aisle but realized the rear window was too sloped to be a Caravan.

The parking lot was thinning rapidly, but he still didn’t see another vehicle like his in front of them so he steered around to the back to search there.

“You do?” she said, surprised and—oddly—a little breathless.

Isaac peered over at her and was taken aback by the warmth in her eyes. Could he be reading that right? A man could lose himself in that clear blue gaze of hers. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what she was talking about and he had to run back through the conversation.

“You said you wished people would ignore half of what you say, then proved your point by suggesting you and I would make a good couple.” Clever illustration, that. “Point taken.”

“Oh.” Her voice hitched and she cleared it, her hold on him loosening. “Yeah. Okay. I think I see my van.” She pointed toward another Caravan in the back row of the lot, far from where they’d started out. She pulled her cell phone from her bag with one hand and studied the screen.

Apparently, she’d finished conversing with him. Maybe he’d offended her when he said he didn’t talk much.

Then again, why would someone sent to learn his secrets allow herself to be offended? Shouldn’t she keep up her chatty patter to try to see him again? Talk her way into his house or his office? His bed?

He was bizarrely disappointed she didn’t at least try. She was the most interesting thing to happen to him in months. But maybe she knew he wasn’t fooled by her act. Had she really expected him to buy her story that she’d confused his vehicle for hers when she hadn’t even tried to park in the same vicinity?

Isaac guided her down the row of cars to the van with fat rhinestones around the license plate. Yeah, no way she would mistake that girly grill for his.

“I can give you a hand getting in.” He steadied her while she searched for her keys, feeling strangely guilty for her retreat into quietness.

He should be grateful that he was sending her on her way, damn it. Releasing her, he saw a glint of tears on one cheek. Did her foot hurt that much? She clutched the cell phone to her chest as she came up with the keys.

Maybe she’d realized how badly she’d bobbled the task of spying on him. Steeling himself for whatever sob story excuse she might concoct to go home with him, he simply pointed toward her keys and ignored the tears.

“Would you like me to open your van and start it up for you?” Now who was the chatty one?

“That’s okay.” Hobbling forward, she jingled a noisy assortment of keys and plastic cartoon characters, most of which were painted pink and covered in glitter. Then, unlocking her vehicle, he noticed a fairy air freshener swinging from the radio knob. And someone had modified the glove compartment so that every inch was covered in rhinestones. She’d taken a lot of time with the details in creating a cover as an ultra-feminine bombshell.

But even now that the door was open, she didn’t move.

“You’re all set.” He prodded, memorizing her license plate so he could have his security team investigate her tomorrow.

“My matchmaker just quit,” she blurted, swiping away the tears on her cheeks. “My father is going to use his own and try to buy a man for me.”

Whatever ploy Isaac had been prepping for, it hadn’t been that. A matchmaker?

Standing on one foot, she took off her shoe and planted her injured heel on the ground.

“Be careful,” he warned. “There could be glass—”

“I don’t need help.” Stacy turned on him fiercely, pausing in her hobbled progress into her vehicle. “Doesn’t he get that? I need to figure out who to trust on my own and if I make a mistake along the way, that’s how I’ll learn. Can I help it if I figure things out the hard way?”

She started hopping again, her breasts threatening to break free of the neckline a little more each time. But given how upset she seemed, he didn’t take the same pleasure in the show.

“Can I—” He reached to help her again.

“No.” Collapsing into the driver’s seat, she tucked the skirt around her thighs. “I put myself on the line for the first time ever to ask a guy out tonight, and you thought it was so ludicrous an idea you didn’t even take me seriously. Another hint that I suck at dating, I guess. But I’m not giving up.”

Huh?

She started the van and hauled her door shut, leaving him to scratch his head. Whatever had just happened here, Stacy Goodwell didn’t behave like any corporate spy he’d ever met.

Rolling down her window, she seemed to be gearing up to rant at him more but he beat her to the punch.

“You asked me out?” Funny, because he’d been specifically listening for a pitch like that, figuring it would confirm that she was after the plans for his new 3-D graphics chip.

But apparently, he’d missed it.

“I said we’d make the perfect couple,” she retorted. “Remember? You don’t listen enough and I talk too much. I thought it sounded perfect. As an added bonus, you don’t stare down my dress and you haven’t paid me a bunch of ridiculous compliments meant to get me into bed. And for some reason—maybe because you don’t seem like you’re trying to impress me—I don’t feel intimidated to say what I think with you.”

She tried to turn the car over, but since the engine was already running, it made a scraping, squealing sound.

“Stacy.” He had zero experience with hysterical females since he’d never incited this much emotion from a woman outside of bed. He wasn’t quite sure what to do next.

Could he have read the situation wrong? What if she wasn’t a spy and she was just a very unusual beauty with an overprotective father and a matchmaker trying to call the shots?

“Sorry again about trying to break into your van.” Putting the transmission into drive, she kept her foot on the brake and met his gaze under the buzzing fluorescent glow of a street lamp. Her eye makeup had smudged under one eye. “Goodbye, Isaac Reynolds.”

Tearing out of the lot, she left him shaking his head and wondering what had just happened. As spy missions went, she’d obviously failed. But on the off chance that she hadn’t been sent to learn his company’s secrets, it was he who’d messed up royally. No man with red blood in his veins and a few functional brain cells would let a woman like that get away.

A woman who might have been attracted to him.

The possibility blew his mind.

The only thing left to do was run a check on her and see what he found. Because if she wasn’t working for the competition, Isaac had a new goal in life, the first that didn’t have anything to do with his business model. He’d chase his sexy, futuristic spaceship captain all the way back to her home planet if he had to. He’d do whatever it took to get her back.