Seducing The Matchmaker: One Man Rush / Taking Him Down / The Personal Touch. Meg Maguire

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.” СКАЧАТЬ