Джоанна Рок – Seducing The Matchmaker: One Man Rush / Taking Him Down / The Personal Touch (страница 20)
“Thank you.” She blinked up at him, her gratitude apparent in her eyes. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“My pleasure.” He kissed her cheek, wishing he’d done more to earn that kind of thanks. She was a sweet, selfless person, taking care of her mom. All he was doing was writing a check. But her dedication made him all the more determined to do more than win a Stanley Cup. He’d contribute something good to society through that hockey camp.
“I’ll have to make some arrangements for my mother before I can go. One of her nurses should be able to take an extra shift.”
“That’s fine. The team flight leaves at seven. I’ll see if I can find you a flight that leaves a little later than that.” Checking his watch, he realized he’d need to floor it to get home and pack some things before he went to the airport.
She nodded. “Any ideas where we can go tonight to be seen? Or would you like me to do some research on that?”
“I wouldn’t have any idea where to begin.”
“My mom has had concerts in Pittsburgh before. I’ll check my notes to see where we ate or if she went to any media events there.”
“Great.” He found it hard to walk out the door. “But I have to admit, I’m looking forward to what comes after our date.”
“You think you’ll get lucky twice in one day?” She looked skeptical but he could see the hint of a smile lurking.
He leaned in for one more kiss, needing a taste of her.
“I’m a very lucky guy.”
AS A MATCHMAKER, Marissa would have never chosen herself as a candidate match for a superstar athlete.
But maybe she wasn’t such a bad choice, after all. She’d chosen to meet Kyle in a popular Pittsburgh nightclub where a local radio station was broadcasting live. As she sat alone at the bar, she admitted to herself that she would never make much of a trophy wife with her average looks and habit of shunning the spotlight. Yet she was skilled at calling in the media, something she’d done often when her mom had wanted to spread the word about an appearance or a new project. It had been simple to round up some well-placed reporters with the promise of a scoop on hockey sensation Kyle Murphy.
Drumming her fingernails on the clear Lucite bar in a club coated with neon signs and pink spotlights, Marissa ordered a ginger ale and waited for Kyle to put in his appearance. She’d only been in Pittsburgh for about an hour. She’d checked into a hotel near where the team was staying and then changed into a more traditional “date night” outfit. As much as she liked her vintage clothes and retro glasses, she didn’t want to attract attention to herself with anything too quirky.
Besides, Kyle deserved to be photographed with someone marginally attractive, and Marissa had the costume skills necessary to foster that illusion. Her mother had given her a lifetime’s worth of advice about making the most of her dark hair and high cheekbones, as if correctly applied blush could detract from the fact that she had a flat chest and a face that was too square. But tonight wasn’t about her.
Kyle had left a blank check for her before he left Philly and she’d simply written it to the drug company for the one-month supply the doctor had recommended. The treatment would begin three days from now, assuming the postal service could hold up its end of the deal.
She’d have to find a way to pay Kyle back at a later date. For now, she could only help him out to the best of her ability.
Where was Kyle?
Paying for her ginger ale, Marissa rose from her seat at the bar to wander the perimeter and look for him. Dance music pulsed through the floor and vibrated her toes, reminding her how long it had been since she’d had a night out. Sure, she’d attended plenty of social functions as part of her matchmaking responsibilities or in helping her mother manage her career. But she regarded those events as work. Now, she walked past a packed dance floor as a guest. Instead of assessing the scantily dressed men and women eyeing for signs of potential chemistry, she would be generating some public chemistry of her own.
With Kyle Murphy.
The idea intrigued her. Maybe it was the way her knee-length skirt skimmed her thighs when she walked, the silk lining teasing her bare legs. Her body still felt sexy and desirable after Kyle’s touch back at the guest cottage. She felt as though she still had a visible after-sex glow and she was ready to bask in the warmth.
No amount of cosmetic blush could put color in a woman’s face like sensual fulfillment.
“Hey beautiful. Want to dance?” A sweaty, mostly drunk dude wearing cargo shorts and a black silk dress shirt breathed down her neck.
Where was her decoy wedding ring when she needed it?
“No. Thank you.” She took another drink of her ginger ale and hoped Kyle would arrive soon. He’d needed to check in with his team and have some kind of group dinner before he met her.
And then suddenly, there he was.
Her very own match. Kyle wore a dark T-shirt under a black jacket. Faded jeans.
His eyes met hers across the bar. Held.
Just looking at him made her heart beat faster. It was a strange sensation winding her way through the crowd of the two-story club while staring at him, feeling his gaze on her. Usually when she trolled places like this, she was purposely conservative, keeping herself out of the mix for professional reasons. But tonight, she felt the electricity of the lights and music, the titillation of a man’s hot gaze. Mere hours ago, she’d been beneath him, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as he took her body to never-before-scaled heights.
Sidling through the cloud of perfume and cologne that hung thickest near the bar, Marissa finally reached him.
“Who are you and what have you done with my librarian?” he whispered into her hair, pulling her against his side.
She shivered at his touch, wishing they were all alone.
“I wasn’t sure if we might be photographed and eyeglasses can reflect the light.” She shrugged. “I thought I’d glam it up a little.”
“You look gorgeous either way.” His hand palmed her waist. “But too many men notice you like this. I’ll have to keep you close.”
KYLE MEANT EVERY WORD. He couldn’t believe how many guys followed her with their eyes when she wasn’t wearing conservative clothes or sporting the twist in her hair. Obviously, some men had no imagination if they hadn’t been able to see how hot she was either way. Tonight, her hair fell to her shoulders in a dark, sultry wave. A light silk dress skimmed her slight curves and wrapped at her waist, the skirt swishing against his leg now and then in a teasing caress.
She rolled her eyes. “Everyone looks hot through beer goggles. How about we find my reporter friends and then we can blow this joint?”
“Not a fan of club life?” Thank God. He’d never been much of a party guy. Even in college, he’d been focused on his sport.
“I’ve seen too many victims of excess in the pop music business to be impressed by the club scene.” She took his hand and stepped toward the VIP room in back. “Come on.”
Heads turned as she walked through the haze of purple neon lights as if she owned the place. She might not be Cover Girl pretty, but she had a strength of purpose and a comfort in her own skin that commanded attention. Hell, it seized his like a magnet.
Their path cleared except for a few unwise males who tried to lean into her view to claim her attention. Kyle flexed his muscles like a caveman and moved closer, clamping his hands around her waist on their way to the VIP room.
Every guy in the place needed to know Marissa was going home with him.
Strobe lights flashed, and from the DJ booth, some sort of siren sounded. Like a cue to the crowd, the ringing got everyone screaming.
Ignoring the racket, Marissa spoke to the muscleman guarding the rope at the VIP booth and had the guy lifting the velvet barrier in no time.
“Your reporter friends hang out in the VIP section?” Kyle peered around the smaller room where the music was quieter and champagne buckets sat on every table.
A few of the guys on his old teams would haunt places like this in the summer when their training program wasn’t as rigorous. But Kyle always preferred to have his friends over to shoot pool or throw darts. Something a little more competitive than who could toss back more shots.
“I told them to meet us here.” She turned around with an apologetic smile. “The tab is on you. I hope that was okay.”
“Sure.” Didn’t matter to him. It was worth far more than a few bottles of Dom to make this matchmaker frenzy go away.
His brothers would give him hell when they found out. Bad enough Ax already knew. Danny—the second youngest and the one who’d broken Kyle’s nose once upon a time—would love giving him a hard time about that.
“Hello, Shawna,” she said, greeting a young woman at a table full of females in the center of the room.
For the next twenty minutes, Kyle basically watched Marissa do her thing—convincing two reporters for the social pages that she and Kyle were an item—while the reporters’ noisy friends drank the champagne he’d provided and took pictures of them. It seemed obvious to him that the members of the media she’d chosen didn’t have a huge amount of journalistic integrity to be wooed by a night out and expensive bubbly, but who was he to complain?