One Man Rush

by Joanne Rock

  Bastard.

  “Ignore him.” Axel was in his face before Kyle could fire back something he’d regret.

  The Finn dropped a heavy arm around Kyle’s shoulders and steered him away from their teammates as they headed toward the tunnel to the locker rooms and workout facility.

  A foul mood had dogged him ever since he and Marissa had exchanged a terse good-night when he’d dropped her off at her car yesterday. He’d hoped that a good hard practice this morning would take the edge off, but if anything, he felt fiercer than ever.

  “I don’t miss that shot,” he told Ax, even though his foster brother knew it as well as he did. “Leandre isn’t taking the starting position from me because of one missed goal. I’m not worried about him. But I don’t know what the hell went wrong just now, and that…”

  Scares the crap out of me.

  He didn’t finish the sentence because he didn’t need to. Ax would understand because hockey was a language they spoke fluently. Hell, some sports writers had suggested they had a telepathic connection on the ice. Their shots to each other were as fluid as any in the game, since they had a sixth sense for where each other would be.

  “What’s wrong today?” Ax let go of him and pulled his helmet off. A dark red U-shaped scar on his cheek added to the intimidation factor of an already big guy.

  The coaches were heading in now, the ice clear of everyone but them. Outside the glass boards, Kyle could see the rink was about half full of fans who’d come to see a Phantoms’ practice. Too bad he’d put on such a crappy show.

  Ax wanted to know what was wrong?

  “Marissa Collins.” His problem had a name. “The woman from the fundraiser.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Circling Kyle on his skates, Axel gave his shoulder a light punch. “It’s you who always said women complicate the game. I didn’t buy into it until the last one cheated on me and I started to play like crap. Now?” He made a decisive sweep with his hand. “No women while we’re in the play-offs. End of sentence.”

  “Yeah. That’s the principle I’m working under, too.” Although if Marissa had shown any inclination to take things further last night, he had the feeling his resolution would burn to ash in the face of the heat they generated.

  “What do you mean?” Axel stopped, glowering. “You said she was married.”

  “She wears a wedding ring as a decoy because she’s a professional matchmaker and she doesn’t want to attract attention.”

  “Doesn’t she know some guys hit on married women just for the hell of it?”

  Unfortunately, they had a guy like that on the team.

  “I’m not sure. Either way, nothing happened between us.” Other than Marissa giving him a matchmaking questionnaire to fill out. The memory still ticked him off. “But I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  “Interesting.” Axel nodded toward the tunnel, where the fans were now clustered by the players’ exit, hoping for autographs or the chance to say hello. “You played it safe with her, yet you’re still paying the price for it today.”

  More like she’d played it safe with him. But the end result remained the same. His game sucked eggs and he needed to get on track before the next series in Pittsburgh. The Phantoms franchise hadn’t brought him here to play the way he had this morning.

  They halted their conversation as they reached the mouth of the tunnel, where fans could stand above them and reach down with programs to autograph. Mostly, on a practice day, they came to just shake hands or exchange a word. These were the hard-core fans, local die-hards or faraway supporters who’d made a trip to catch a couple of games and a practice. A few hockey groupies showed up every day, a handful of women who’d had a hard go of it in life and enjoyed the sense of family that a sports team offered.

  Ax took as much time as Kyle did, shooting the breeze with some, signing pucks and flyers for others. When they finished, they trudged over the carpet on their skates toward the locker room.

  “Maybe the rules don’t apply to this woman,” Axel observed, picking up where they’d left off their conversation.

  “Marissa?” Axel had managed to get her in his head again just when he’d avoided thinking about her for at least five minutes.

  “The matchmaker,” he clarified, his round vowels still carrying the sound of Helsinki. “We know it kills your game to be with the wrong females. But maybe there are other women—the ones you’re meant to be with—who mess with your head when you avoid the inevitable.”

  “You think I should break the No Women in Play-off Season rule?” Pausing outside the locker room with a big Phantoms logo on the double doors, Kyle wasn’t entirely sure he could win over Marissa even if he caved.

  “Well,” Axel said, grinning, his new front tooth blending seamlessly with the rest after being knocked out in a game the week before. “You see how you play when you’re not with her. I would take a chance and see if being with her straightens you out. So to speak.”

  The Finn was surprisingly gifted in the double entendre for a foreign dude, but then, he’d been around a lot of smack-talking, innuendo-loving, crude conversationalists in U.S. hockey clubs.

  Then again, he probably learned everything he knew from living with five brothers in the Murphy household.

  “What if that doesn’t help? What if being with her makes it worse?”

  “I’m no expert, Murph. I’m doing my best here.” He punched open the locker room door. “But I think it’s worth a try. You don’t want to shoot like that tomorrow night.”

  No kidding. But how the hell was he supposed to call her again after the way she’d shut him down last night, saying they’d made a mistake? He couldn’t exactly fill out the damn dating survey. That would make it look like he wanted to date anyone but her. She wouldn’t even buy it.

  As they entered the locker room, all eyes turned his way. At first, he figured the guys were gauging his mood after the missed shot attempt. But then Alexandre, the backup goalie, stepped forward.

  “Murph, you know the ladies, they wait for you.” The kid’s Russian accent was thick and his syntax a little sketchy, but Kyle could usually figure out what he meant.

  Now he wasn’t so sure. Twenty teammates wouldn’t be standing around gawking over a couple of women waiting for a player.

  “What ladies?” He looked around, hoping someone else would clue him in with more details.

  Leave it to his smirky position rival, Archambault, to clarify.

  “Professional matchmakers.” Leandre was already finished with his shower and reeking of cheap cologne in his street clothes. “Apparently Marissa was just the first in a long line. I went out to the lobby a minute ago and you have your own private fan club of matchmakers waiting. One of them has a video camera. I thought she was a reporter.”

  The last freaking thing he needed before a game when his play was already off.

  “You can walk out behind me,” Axel joked, flexing enough muscle to provide a human shield for anyone on the team.

  Kyle wasn’t sure how he’d get out of the arena without speaking to them. But he was damn sure where he’d go when he left the rink. Marissa Collins had somehow gotten him into this mess. So she, in all her infinite matchmaking wisdom, would tell him how to get out of it.

  After that, he was going to kiss her until the team flight left for Pittsburgh. With any luck, a thorough taste of Marissa would take the edge off. Because this time, he wouldn’t be the one to pull away.

  * * *

  MARISSA JUMPED WHEN the doorbell rang downstairs.

  Her mother was finally sleeping peacefully after a difficult physical therapy session that morning. Brandy had been frustrated and tearful with her lack of mobility, finally demanding the physical therapist leave. The encounter had been exhausting for all of them, ending with a call from the rehab center suggesting they move Brandy from the house into full-time rehabilitative care.

  A step Marissa had been fighting tooth and nail for weeks.

 
“Please don’t ring again,” she muttered to herself, flying down the stairs to the main entrance, which no one used but strangers.

  Probably neighbors selling Girl Scout cookies or something. And how could she tell those cute faces she was flat broke?

  Wrenching open the door before she’d thought of a good excuse, she was surprised to find Kyle Murphy there, his finger hovering over the doorbell.

  “Wow. You’re a far cry from a Girl Scout, that’s for sure.” She drank in the sight of him by daylight.

  Green eyes, dark hair, sculpted cheekbones and square chin. A nose that took a wrong turn midway and somehow only made him more gorgeous, possibly because it broadcast a “don’t mess with me” vibe. Hard to believe she’d kissed a man that looked like him.

  “I take it you were expecting someone else?” He shoved his hands in the pockets of a dark blazer that he wore over a white T-shirt with jeans. “I’m afraid I’m not selling any cookies.”

  His voice did pleasant things to her insides, the sound humming over her skin and tickling up the back of her neck. What was it about him that appealed to her at a gut level? Because she’d seen plenty of good-looking guys in the years she’d toured with her mom—pop stars, actors, Hollywood royalty—and none of them had ever turned her insides out the way Kyle did.

  “No one usually comes to the front door except for people trying to sell me something.” She wondered if she really needed to invite him in. A sixth sense told her if he crossed the threshold, he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

  Her heart rate had revved into high gear the moment she’d spotted him at the door. Now it sent the blood inside her body into a dizzying high-speed cycle. Apparently, she’d forced herself to be objective about men and dating for too long. Some wild and decadent impulse inside her was rebelling now…practically pounding to get out and have its way with the man standing in front of her.

  “You should empathize. You’re a fairly hard-core salesperson yourself.” He drew out the matchmaking questionnaire she’d given him the night before. She recognized the creamy color of the stationery.

  But she wasn’t sure she recognized the tone behind his words. Was he upset with her because of last night? Because she’d told him it was a mistake for them to be together?

  “I won’t be pitching my services to you anymore.” The finality of the statement unsettled her. She couldn’t imagine not seeing him again. “I shouldn’t have come on so strong.”

  Hearing how that sounded, she rushed to clarify.

  “I mean, I shouldn’t have pitched my services so forcefully.” She didn’t want it to sound as if she’d thrown herself at him in a personal way. Although, there was no denying she’d all but melted in his arms.

  “I agree. But lucky for you, I’ve thought of a way you can make it up to me.” He leaned forward to peer inside the house. “Can I come in or am I going to have to proposition you in front of the whole neighborhood?”

  “Proposition?” Foreboding mingled with anticipation as she debated the wisdom of having him in her mom’s house. Marissa had moved into a converted guest cottage after the accident so she could be close to her mother all the time. Technically they lived in separate buildings, but they were within shouting distance if any of the caregivers had problems. No doubt that was how Kyle had found her, since her business card contained the address for the smaller building in back. “I don’t know. I’m not alone.”

  She sneaked a peek toward the dining room but didn’t hear anything from her mother.

  “We don’t need to be alone for this.” His smile was pure bad boy. “Although I’m glad to know you’re thinking along those lines.”

  His words smoked over her with phantom heat.

  Her mouth dried up and she couldn’t think of a comeback. She couldn’t have denied it if she tried.

  “I’m here because I need your help,” he said finally. “I just want you to tell me how to get a rabid pack of professional matchmakers off my case.”

  And didn’t that deflate her ego? She should have known he wouldn’t be chasing after her in the cold light of day for romantic reasons. Speaking of cold, the chill of a northern spring reminded her she’d let far too much cool air in the house. But then, Kyle had a knack for sapping away all her normal good sense.

  “All right.” Stepping back, she gestured him inside. “Just give me a minute to settle my mother with her afternoon nurse and we can go talk in the guest house.”

  Why worry about being alone with him when he was only here to elude the rest of the matchmaking world? Obviously, she’d succeeded in pushing him away the night before. So how come she didn’t feel relieved?

  “Seriously?” He stepped into the foyer and she shoved the door closed behind him. “I didn’t think it would be that easy convincing you to help.”

  “Maybe I feel bad about the hard sell last night.” She waved him deeper into the house, away from the dining room and toward the addition in the back where an airy family room looked out over the pool. “Come with me.”

  “This is an impressive house.” Kyle peered around the family room, where overstuffed chairs mingled with antique Mexican furnishings. Amps and sound equipment collected dust on one end of the space where framed album covers and news clippings covered one wall. “You didn’t mention your mother is Brandy Collins.”

  She tensed, never prepared to talk about her mom’s accident. Months later, it was still too painful, mostly because she didn’t know what the future held for recovery.

  “I moved out of an apartment downtown last fall after her accident.” Everyone knew about the car crash, which had occurred after the kick-off concert of Brandy’s first tour in two years. The story had made national headlines, and was still a feature in the entertainment news long after the regular media had finished talking about the accident. “It’s easier for me to be here since she has a lot of appointments and needs extra help. I live in the guest cottage out back.”

  “That’s really good of you.” Taking her hand, he folded it in his. “It must be hard for you to take on so much.”

  Most people asked a lot of questions about her mother. Expressed their love of her music and their prayers for her recovery. All of which Marissa was always grateful for. But just now, having Kyle take a moment to acknowledge her sacrifice and her role in the ordeal warmed her heart.

  More than that, it made her realize one of the reasons she was so attracted to him. He might be wealthy and famous, a superstar in his own right. Yet he was incredibly real. A genuinely down-to-earth, relatable guy. And having known plenty of famous people, Marissa realized how rare it was to maintain that kind of grounded attitude in the world he moved in. Hadn’t Stacy mentioned that Kyle wanted to start a youth hockey camp? Obviously, he was about more than just winning.

  “She’s my mom,” she said simply. “I’m glad that my being here helps her be able to stay at home. She gets confused easily, and I think the familiar surroundings are comforting.”

  He squeezed her hand hard before letting her go.

  “Not every daughter would be so dedicated.”

  Her eyes burned at his unexpected kindness. She’d been so emotional around him last night and today. It had to be a reaction to all the stress trying to pay the bills.

  “Thank you.” Backing up a step, she figured the sooner she helped him plot a way to elude the east coast’s top matchmakers, the sooner she’d return to her own work. The sooner she’d quit thinking about how much she wanted another kiss. “I’ll just be a minute if you want to have a seat. I’ll let the nurse know she needs to sit with Mom and then we can figure out what to do about your new fans.”

  With a clipped nod, he agreed, giving her time to get things settled at the main house. When she returned to the family room, Kyle was reading some of the framed articles about her mother.

  “I’m ready.” She headed toward the French doors leading out to the pool. “We can talk in the guest cottage so we don’t have to worry about waking Mom. It’s n
ot extravagant, but it’s comfortable.”

  “After you.” Reaching over her head, he palmed the surface of the door, holding it for her.

  She slipped past him, catching a scent of soap and aftershave, which did curious things to her insides. Being alone with him would present a challenge, but she couldn’t just leave him to the professional matchmakers to tear apart.

  After all, she’d started the hunt for him thanks to Stacy Goodwell’s insistence. Maybe she felt responsible for allowing Stacy to think she could dictate whom she wanted to meet, something that had bothered her from the start, since it went against her theory of matchmaking. Either way, Marissa hadn’t meant to make Kyle a target for other matchmakers in an insane competition dreamed up by Phil Goodwell.

  Besides, maybe Marissa didn’t like the idea of Kyle being forced into the dating pool. Why should he have to date Stacy just because her father was a powerful man who might sponsor Kyle’s dream of a youth hockey camp?

  The idea of him dating other women inspired a possessiveness she had no business feeling.

  By the time she reached the guest cottage, her hands were shaky as she slid the key into the lock. Because of her mother. Because of stress.

  Even as she tried to make excuses, she knew that wasn’t why.

  “Let me.” Kyle’s hand covered hers on the key since she’d apparently forgotten which way it turned.

  His powerful body sheltered hers from the breeze, never touching her but making her utterly aware of his presence. She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent. Feeling his warmth. His nearness.

  Too soon, he had the door open, his hand falling away from hers. By now she was jittery, the way she’d felt in the days when she drank too much caffeine and didn’t eat enough breakfast. Only this time, it was a case of too much sexual frustration and not enough Kyle Murphy.

  Half stumbling inside the cottage, she stepped on the ice-blue shag carpet in a living area that was a nod to the seventies and the disco-era. Daylight filtered in the half-closed blinds, but the room was dim with no lights on. Danish modern furniture and an iconic pole lamp with brown metal shades blurred in her mind, a dreamlike backdrop for the only thing that seemed clear in her field of vision.