One Man Rush

by Joanne Rock

  “I’m perfectly serious. There are a lot of unscrupulous matchmakers out there and a cash reward is going to attract the worse sorts of practitioners.”

  “So be my media handler. And my matchmaker handler. Come with me on the road and help me figure out how to steer clear of the distractions.” The plan took shape immediately, an ideal solution for them both. “You’re good at that kind of thing after managing Brandy’s career for so long. You’ll have your supplemental income and I’ll have my life back to normal.”

  “I can’t sleep with someone I’m working for,” she chided him as if it was the most elementary of facts. “Besides, you don’t need a handler for the matchmakers. You just need to show the world you’re…”

  She hesitated.

  “In a relationship?” he supplied.

  “That would help,” she acknowledged quietly, her forehead wrinkled in thought. “But I couldn’t possibly go on the road with you now. Maybe you should find someone else.”

  She couldn’t be serious. Not after what had happened between them today. He clamped his hands on her hips and squeezed her closer.

  “You owe me a favor for bringing this down on my head, right?” That wasn’t totally true because it wasn’t her fault her client had requested him in the first place. “And I want you to pay me back by helping me get rid of the matchmakers. I’d like to hire you as a professional consultant.”

  “I can’t take money for spending time with you.” she asserted, wriggling away from him. “That’s an insane suggestion.”

  “I’m a celebrity athlete. It comes with the territory.”

  “Kyle, don’t put me in this position.” Her practical, I-know-best voice almost shamed him into forgetting about the whole thing.

  Until he remembered that one false move during play-off season could cost his team a spot in the championships. With serious injuries a perennial threat, who knew how much of a career he had left to hold the Stanley Cup over his head? Even if he remained healthy, he might not ever play with a team that was a lock for clinching their division—a surefire entry into the play-offs.

  “I didn’t put us in this position. Your client did. Now, I need your help and it’s worth a whole hell of a lot to me.” He couldn’t let her say no. “Consider your mother’s experimental drug already purchased. Just, please, don’t throw me to the professional matchmaking wolves when I’m this close to achieving the pinnacle of my sport.”

  For a long moment, she said nothing. And she looked as if she might toss him out on his ear at any moment.

  “Besides—” he pressed his case “—I’m trying to develop a youth hockey camp for underprivileged kids. I don’t want that announcement to be tainted with interest in my bachelor eligibility and stupid questions about my dating preferences. I want to nip this thing in the bud and make it go away.”

  Finally, Marissa released a pent-up breath. “The camp is a great idea. Maybe we can be seen together in a public venue and send the matchmakers home before this thing goes any further.”

  “Thank you.” He pulled her to his chest to squeeze her.

  The relief that coursed through him was about more than preempting the inevitable media attention with a public date. He realized he was also just glad as hell to know they’d be together again. When had a woman ever affected him like that?

  “But I don’t think it’s fair to accept money for my mother’s treatment from you when you’re only asking me to state the truth about…being with you.”

  He noticed the careful way she didn’t acknowledge that they were a couple.

  “You’re doing more than stating it. You’re giving up valuable time with your mom to be with me in high visibility places.”

  “Still—”

  “Think of it as a gift if you want.” The need to help her went deeper than any attraction. “With the kind of money pro athletes make, we practically have a social obligation to do some good with it. Let me help your mom.”

  “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.”

  9

  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?

  She was getting the job done in short order and impressing him even more. No wonder she’d been her mother’s manager. She was efficient and charming, but utterly professional. He only had to nod at the appropriate moments while Marissa spoon-fed her contacts some stock quotes about Kyle’s goals for the hockey season as an aside to their new romance.

  “Anything else?” she asked him suddenly, making him remember he wasn’t just here to watch her work. Or to count down the minutes until they’d be alone together.

  He straightened, already thinking about kissing her senseless in the limo he had waiting outside.

  “Not that I can think of. I still owe you a date tonight.” He figured it was okay to flirt with her since they were trying to sell the relationship that he’d always told himself he’d never have during the play-offs.

  While the women oohed and aahed about how romantic he was, Marissa turned to him and lowered her voice.

  “Did you want to talk about your youth hockey camp with her?” she prompted, like a born promoter. “You might generate some more sponsorships if it’s mentioned in the paper.”

  “I’ve already got some interest.” Kyle had spoken to the owner of the Phantoms’ hockey arena about using the space already. “Phil Goodwell is donating the ice time and some funding.”

  Marissa frowned.

  “But if that falls through, don’t you think it would be wise to make sure you have some backups?”

  Before he’d made up his mind, Marissa was already relating his plan to Shawna, who took notes on a cocktail napkin now that her PDA battery had died.

  Kyle didn’t interrupt, letting her call the shots with the media since she seemed comfortable with the role. Still, he was surprised about her strong support of the hockey camp. He’d only mentioned it briefly to her.

  “Thank you.” He spoke into her ear as they rose to leave the meeting.

  “No problem.” She peered back over her shoulder, having no idea how much she’d helped him.

  “I mean it.” He tugged gently on her arm, wanting to be sure she knew how damn grateful he was. “You were amazing back there.”

  “I got good at keeping my mom’s interviews on schedule. Otherwise, she’d chat everyone’s ear off.”

  Not until that moment did he realize how much she deflected attention from herself. He’d seen it in the way she dressed before, but now he understood it went deeper than that. She didn’t even take credit for work that she was very, very good at.

  “It was more than that.” His chest warmed at how easily she’d solved a whole world of problems for him. “I never would have thought of mentioning the hockey camp. I really want to make that happen this year.”

  He couldn’t read the expression that crossed her face, but it va
nished a moment later.

  “I hope that it helps.” She edged closer, her skirt teasing along his leg again in a silken swish. “But right now, Kyle, you owe me a date and I intend to collect.”

  * * *

  “I CAN’T FOLLOW THIS woman anymore.”

  Isaac Reynolds frowned at the frustrated voice coming through his phone in his home office. He’d called his head of security for an update on Stacy Goodwell, not a resignation.

  “Can’t or won’t?” Isaac switched open the Skype window on his computer so he could see the guy he’d tasked to keep tabs on Stacy for the next forty-eight hours.

  Although preliminary checks into her background suggested she was a privileged local girl who wrote a column for a Philly paper, Isaac wasn’t taking chances. His high-tech business full of corporate espionage taught him to trust no one.

  “Can’t,” the head of his security team answered flatly, turning his phone’s camera so Isaac could see his face. Bob Wyatt had twenty years of experience and normally appeared well-groomed and competent. Right now, he looked sweaty, disheveled and pissed off. “Take a look at where we are.”

  He swung the camera for a jerky view of his whereabouts. Passengers stared straight ahead, packed in tight while the steady hum of a motor made white noise in the background.

  “On a bus? To where?” Isaac clicked the window to enlarge the picture. “And where the hell is she?”

  He hadn’t seen her in the pan of the swaying motor coach.

  “We’re headed to Pittsburgh and she’s in the back,” he hissed into the phone, drawing attention from the guy next to him, who made a face in the frame beside him. “I can’t very well videotape her for you since she’s taping the whole damn ride herself.”

  “That makes no sense.” Isaac didn’t want to be intrigued. At least not until he was one hundred percent sure she wasn’t out to sell his secrets. “Why would she film a bus trip?”

  Let alone take a bus to Pittsburgh in the first place. It would be one thing if she was making contact with a buyer interested in having her spy on him. In that case, maybe a bus would have been discreet. But anyone who traded in expensive secrets did so anonymously, not on film.