by Laura Wright
Obviously, she saw him as labor, pure and simple. No shock there. From the moment she’d pinned him with that liquid-blue gaze of hers, the assumptions about who he was and what side of the tracks he’d crossed over had read crystal clear. He was used to that look—the one that declared “I bet his brains are in his biceps.”
Little did Miss Librarian know. And Maggie Conner could sure put on the librarian routine. Hell, she even dressed like one—simple, no frills—in tan pants and a blue blouse. But her bossy attitude and husky voice told an altogether different story. Not to mention her petite figure. Which was all curves.
And there was nothing Nick Kaplan liked better than riding risky curves. On his bike or off.
But this road was off-limits.
He could tell that the dark-haired beauty was one of those girls with a bookful of rules—strings, home and hearth commitments and all that. Hell, she was a professional matchmaker. He didn’t mess with people who believed in love, no matter how strong the attraction. Especially not now.
Three weeks ago he’d won the bid of a lifetime—the bid that had brought him here. The bid that would catapult him into the leagues of the big boys of the contracting world. He didn’t need distractions. He just needed a room.
“I like Mexican food, fruit smoothies and going to the beach,” one of the Baywatch twins said into the video camera.
“And what kind of man are you looking for, Heather?” Maggie asked. Maggie sat on a chair just below the camera so it would look as if Heather was speaking directly into the lens.
“I’m looking for a sweet, sensitive man,” Heather practically cooed. “A man who wants to come home to a good woman every night.”
Nick snorted. His reluctant roommate was casting her line into a pond of sitting ducks. A pond he, himself, was never going to swim in. He enjoyed his freedom way too much. When you knew firsthand how it felt to be stifled, held back and restricted, nothing and no one was incentive enough to let your wings get clipped.
“He should be very intelligent,” Heather said.
On the sidelines, the second blonde nodded her agreement. “And smart, too.”
Nick coughed to cover his laughter.
Maggie glanced over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed in warning. He winked at her and she blushed, turning right back around. But the image of her was already burned in his mind. Hair pulled off her flawless face in a bun style, full, pale-pink lips and large, bright eyes in the exact shade of a Montana sky first thing in the morning.
He remembered that sky well. A few years back, he’d been traveling to Iowa for a job and he’d stopped his motorcycle on the side of the road and stared at it for a good hour. Prettiest sight he’d ever seen.
“And of course, he’s got to know how to dress,” Heather continued.
Nick stifled a groan. This was ridiculous. This wasn’t how two people got together. Videotapes and a grocery list of attributes. Chemistry was chemistry. Man and woman. Heat and passion and sparks—there was no getting around that. And no way to tell whether you had it until you were face-to-face, not video screen to wishful thinker. But, hey, it wasn’t any of his business. He just wanted those keys and a couple of good nights’ rest.
“And I like to read,” Heather said. “So it would be great if he could read, too.”
It felt as though a week had gone by when Maggie finally thanked the Baywatch twins and walked them to the door.
But she wasted no time in rushing back into the video room and scolding him. “Well?” she demanded, looking like a grenade whose pin had been pulled.
“Well, what?” he asked as he removed the videotape from the camera and handed it to her. “What did I do?”
“You were laughing at my clients.”
“I didn’t laugh at them,” he said, curbing a chuckle. “Now, can we talk keys?”
She ignored his request completely. “Oh, please. Do you really expect me to believe that coughing spasm was some preliminary sign of bronchitis?”
“Listen, sweetheart, I thought that their requirements for the perfect guy were anything but funny.” He put the camera back in its case and zipped it up. “That woman had a list. Like she was going shopping.”
“We all have things we want in another person, Mr. Kaplan. The list may be in your head, but it’s still there.”
“I don’t have a list,” he said. “Just one simple requirement.”
She smiled smugly. “Oh, and what’s that? That she drive a motorcycle and wear combat boots?”
“That’s two things, Maggie,” he retorted with a grin.
“You’ll change your mind someday. Chance meetings are more difficult in today’s world.” She shrugged. “No one wants to be single forever.”
“As far as I’m concerned, forever doesn’t sound long enough.”
Maggie felt weary, as if she was about to hike a hill she’d been up a thousand times. Bachelors, playboys and bad-ass bikers. They all wanted freedom. They had no idea that being loved by the right woman beat that idea all to hell. But how in the world was she going to convince a townful of guys that true love awaited them if she couldn’t even convince one?
“I have a great idea,” he said. “Let’s discuss it at home tonight.”
“Mine or yours?”
“Ours.”
She sighed. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”
“When I want something, Maggie, I’ll go to great lengths to get it.” He stood before her, all six feet three inches of him, the scents of leather and virility oozing from him. “But when I need something, I’ll do just about anything.”
She shivered at his tone, and her pulse danced a samba at the way his gaze moved over her face.
Go after what you want. It was certainly something they had in common. She wanted people to find love and would go to extraordinary lengths to help them. But Maggie needed her business to be a success and would almost sell her soul to achieve it.
As she tossed the videotape from one hand to the other, an idea began to take form in her mind. Her first two campaigns to attract men to Maggie’s Matches hadn’t yielded one eligible guy. So she knew free sign-ups and comped first-date expenses weren’t going to have them lining up out the door. What she needed was a success story.
It was crazy, she knew. But she really did need the rent money—her store’s light bill alone was Pike’s-Peak steep—and it would be an unbeatable way to advertise to the male public while converting a nonbeliever. It would also give that nonbeliever what he needed most.
Excitement bubbled like soda fizz in Maggie’s stomach as she imagined the slogan:
Even A Skeptic Can See The Light. Let Maggie’s Matches Guide You On Your Way To Love.
She turned to Nick, a new confidence building inside her. “What if my matchmaking skills worked for you, Nick?”
His eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“What if I found you the love of your life?”
He snorted. “Impossible.”
Oh, she loved that word. “You’re really not all that confident, are you?”
“Maggie, save it for all those lonely schmucks who want your help.”
She grabbed his arm. “No one can resist the power of love, Nick.”
He looked down at her hand on his arm, then at her, his eyes dark and mysterious as a forest at twilight. “I can resist anything.”
Pure muscle, pure strength. And heat. She felt it beneath her touch. It was too much.
Maggie lifted her hand from his arm. “Are you willing to give your heart a little test in exchange for a six-month stay at Casa Conner?”
His brows drew together in a frown. “You lost me.”
“Give me four weeks to find you the love of your life,” she said as she pulled a set of keys from her pocket, “and I’ll give you these.”
Two
Nick felt suspended, as if he’d just taken his Harley over one of the roller-coaster hills in Colorado and was hovering a few inches off the blacktop, his g
ut tight as he waited to hit the ground. He stared at Maggie. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s simple. I’ll rent you the room at my house—” she looked up at him, hopeful “—and in exchange you’re going to let me find you a woman.”
He leaned in closer, breathing in her soft, floral scent. “I have no trouble getting women, I promise you.”
“Let me rephrase. I’m going to find you the perfect woman. The love of your life.”
“Lady, I just want the room. No love, no perfect woman.”
“I’m sorry.” Maggie held up the keys, they swayed like a pendulum between them. “But you can’t have one without the other.”
“I already gave your grandmother a hefty deposit.”
“No problem. I can get it back to you by the end of the day if you decide not to take me up on my offer.”
For one long moment Nick could only stare. Then he ground out, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “And when I find you Miss Right, you’ll become my walking advertisement. You’ll tell everyone, especially the men in this town, that coming to Maggie’s Matches was the best thing you ever did.”
“This is blackmail.”
“Yes, I guess it is. But my business needs a leg up—of the male variety. And though I hate to do it, desperate times…”
Forget about the teeth-rattling slam of Harley hitting asphalt, Nick thought. This conversation was like walking across a field of land mines. He had no clue when the next bomb was about to go off. He didn’t like being blackmailed or coerced. No one pushed him into something he didn’t want to do anymore.
He’d had enough of that growing up with a workaholic father who’d planned his future from the age of five. Nick hadn’t stuck around to follow that empty course, and there was no way he was going to follow Maggie’s.
“Just to sweeten the deal,” she began encouragingly. “I’ll even throw in board to go along with that room.”
He rubbed his jaw, his gaze traveling her face. She was brimming with anticipation, like a little girl on Christmas morning. Adorable as hell and just as hard to resist. But, shoot, he wasn’t a damn puppy in a box for her to open and show off. He wasn’t looking for the love of his life. He wasn’t looking to settle down and get caged.
“Listen, Maggie, I’d like to help you out, here, but I’m really not interested in getting involved.”
“I understand,” she said slowly.
“Good.” He nodded, relief casually passing through him. “So, can we get back to talking about—” He stopped short, studying her expression. She had a look in her eyes. Pity or…or what? Oh, hell. She was obviously abandoning blackmail for a new tactic. “What is it exactly that you understand?”
“That you must be a pretty scared and lonely man.”
She turned and walked out of the room, leaving him standing there, his jaw growing tighter by the second. Females. They provoked you, and you knew exactly what they were up to, yet you couldn’t stop yourself from following them into the other room and trying to convince them how wrong they were.
“I’m not scared of a damn thing!” There it was. What a sucker.
“Then what’s the problem, Nick?” She stood by the front door, her back to him, her trim silhouette outlined in the sun. “I mean, it’s a perfect solution. You get the room, and I get some free advertising.” She glanced over her shoulder, a brow raised in challenge. “That is, unless your bad attitude scares the ladies away.”
If he clenched his teeth any tighter they were going to crack. “I’m not looking for Miss Right. I don’t want—”
“To go out with a bunch of beautiful women?”
“I can do that on my own.” And he did. Nick loved women. The way they looked, acted, smelled. He even liked the strange little coy fronts they put up to catch a man’s interest. Above all, he respected them and made certain they enjoyed themselves when they were with him. He was always honest about what he could and couldn’t offer. Freedom. No complications.
The two things that Maggie Conner sought to destroy.
But, man, he mused, his gaze moving up the length of her as she turned to face him. She sure was equipped to change a man’s mind on the subject of commitment.
Exhaling heavily, he racked his brain for a solution. Maybe he could find some other place to stay. A shack on the beach. Or he could rent a trailer and pretend he was seventy-five and retired. No, that was no good. Too small, too cramped. There was always the unpalatable option of showing up on his father’s Italian marble doorstep, listening to the sonorous tones of an overpriced door chime. Anthony Kaplan was practically itching to get ahold of Nick so he could attempt to convince him he’d changed—that the older man’s accident a few years ago had caused him to realize that he suddenly wanted to be a father.
Nick narrowed his gaze at Little Miss Matchmaker. Not one of those options sounded remotely reasonable. He released a weighty breath. So, he had to go out on some dates…he wasn’t about to fall in love with any of them.
“How long?” he asked.
Maggie’s smile was as bright as a twelve-year-old college grad. “Four weeks. Just in time to put your glowing quote in the full-page newspaper ad announcing my grand opening.”
The salty air whipped around them. Four weeks of discomfort for six months of meals and a place to drop at the end of the day. He didn’t usually make quick decisions. A good, long ride on his bike was what he needed.
Nick glanced over at Maggie. She didn’t look like a woman willing to give him time to mull things over. Nope. She was ready to send him out among the wolves right now.
Her eyes sparkled, and she bit her lower lip loosely, seductively and—surely—unconsciously. His body tightened in response. He was damn sure that he wasn’t going to fall in love with any of Maggie’s blind dates, but in that moment he knew that he’d just fallen in lust with his new roommate.
“All right, Maggie.” He exhaled sharply and stuck out his hand. “You got a deal. Let’s prove each other wrong.”
Later that day Maggie sat at the edge of the swimming pool at the Santa Flora Retirement Village. With her feet dangling in the cool water, she watched as her grandma’s ivory swim cap surfaced and sank with the steady rhythm of the breaststroke. Maggie shook her head and smiled. At seventy-two the woman had more energy than she knew what to do with—not to mention more pluck.
The older woman’s red cardigan lay in Maggie’s lap, and instinctively Maggie lifted it to her nose and inhaled deeply. Lilacs. It was her grandma’s favorite scent. Even the slightest trace of that fragrance took her back to her childhood. Maggie, her mother and her grandma all living together in the same house that she lived in now. Sitting side by side on the backyard’s cool cement steps, laughing at the mountain of a watermelon that clung tenaciously on the vine in the garden they’d planted together. Two contented widows and one thoughtful child. They’d been the Three Musketeers. Then, when Maggie was nine years old, her mother had died. And then there had been just two.
“It goes over your shoulders, dear. Not up your nose,” her grandma chided as she swam toward her.
Kitty Conner could always be counted on to make Maggie laugh. But today Maggie didn’t feel much like laughing. She had a bone to pick with her grandma. Her new roommate was on his way over to her house, moving his things into his room, likely to drop off his toiletries and manly scented soap in the bathroom that they would share.
Maggie’s cheeks warmed.
She closed her eyes and took a slow breath. What was wrong with her? Her cheeks hadn’t burned this way since the day before high school started when she’d slathered herself in baby oil and accidentally fallen asleep on the beach.
And it wasn’t just the heat in her cheeks that had betrayed her when she’d been with Nick Kaplan. He’d grinned at her, eyes dark and intense, and every part of her had gone warm and tight. No man had ever caused such fireworks inside her. Around him, she felt on the verge of something…somethi
ng unknown—something that stirred her blood.
But those first-day-of-spring flutterings didn’t matter. Her goal was to find him the perfect woman. Not an imperfect, cursed, inexperienced virgin.
Resting her arms on the side of the pool, her grandma let out a contented sigh. “So, are you going to lay into me or what?”
Maggie tried to look perplexed. “Now, why would I do that?”
“Maybe because I gave you a gorgeous hunk of man for a roommate and you’re afraid you won’t be able to control yourself around him.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Maggie scoffed, but inside her heart something fluttered. “Maybe it’s that you lied to me and told me that that hunk of man was really a shy, sweet girl.”
“You know, there actually was a girl, but when the boy came along…”
“You couldn’t help yourself.” Maggie sighed. “You’re not even going to apologize for tricking me, are you?”
“For being a matchmaker, you mean? No, I don’t think so. I will always be on the lookout for you.” Kitty grinned at Maggie’s frown. “Look, sweetheart, Nick really needed the room. And he was willing to pay a little bit extra. And with you getting your business up and running I knew you could use it.” The cunning in her eyes warmed to grandmotherly affection. “Oh, my, I can’t wait to see Maggie’s Matches. I’m so proud of you. When can I come by?”
Temporarily forgetting her irritation, Maggie allowed her grandma’s interest to veer the conversation off course. “The weekdays get pretty hectic with all the last-minute fix-ups—electrician, plumber, that sort of thing. How about next Saturday?”
“Next weekend’s no good, honey.” Kitty winked at her. “A group of us are going to Vegas.”
Vegas! Her grandma didn’t gamble, or at least Maggie wasn’t aware that she did. Kitty had always said that gambling was for people who had the social skills of a hermit and who kept the hours of a vampire.
But before Maggie could inquire further about the impromptu trip, something caught her grandma’s eye and she turned. Curious, Maggie followed her line of vision and saw a tall, tanned and very good-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair waving at them from the other side of the pool. Well, not at them, she realized quickly. The man was waving at her grandma.