One Man Rush (12 page)

All in all, this success felt great as she lounged in her sweats at a cheap bed-and-breakfast that didn’t mind pets. Tink and Belle had made the trip with her—traveling under the bus driver’s radar last night—and they’d had their own turn in the limelight during the edited video of her adventures called “Leaving Home.” She hadn’t quite figured out how she could generate an income from the endeavor, but she would. For now, she still had her regular check from the newspaper and she could walk a little taller knowing
she
was calling all the shots—from her bank account to her love life.

A shrill yap from under her chair seemed to remind her she wasn’t having much luck with the latter yet. How was it a dog could detect a mood? She picked up Belle and snuggled her close, appreciating the empathy. Isaac Reynolds had laughed at the idea of being with her. Maybe it served her right that she’d gotten a reality check from a guy she liked after how many times she’d given the slip to men who’d hit on her.

She stood up and walked away from the laptop, wondering if she’d find another man who made her feel the way Isaac had. She’d met hundreds of eligible males since she was old enough to date. Not once had she felt so at ease with a guy and attracted at the same time. Now, peering out the window down to the street level, she debated how to solve her romantic problems—

What was her Caravan doing parked in front of the hotel?

Sure, there were other silver Caravans in the world. She’d tried to bust into one just the other night. But what were the chances one would be parked right outside her bed-and-breakfast? Suspicion growing, she grabbed a navy silk bathrobe covered with hand-painted Hawaiian flowers and marched into the hallway, the dogs
click-clacking
along the hardwood floors behind her.

She just knew that had to be her van down there and that her father was responsible. He must have followed her here. Fired up and ready for a confrontation, if only to point out she was doing fine on her own, Stacy nodded to her hostess while the woman vacuumed a carpet downstairs. Breezing past the registration desk, she levered open the main door and saw a man inside the van.

A very familiar man with thick dark hair and heavy eyebrows that, now that she thought about it, really suited him. A wave of heat rolled through her at the sight of him.

“Isaac?” She stopped in her tracks, realizing too late that she’d failed to put on real shoes. Her orange terry-cloth slippers looked out of place on the pavement.

The man she’d met two nights ago peered back at her through the window, his expression inscrutable. Was he surprised to see her? Or had he known she was here?

With most men, she wouldn’t have asked. Then again, with most guys, she wouldn’t have cared. But Marissa had told her that Isaac Reynolds was an internet marketing genius and a techno-whiz who’d made millions before he turned twenty-five. A kid from a poor Detroit suburb who took apart old computers for fun. Something about his quietly sexy charm appealed to Stacy like no other guy. Certainly not Kyle Murphy, who’d only been the decoy romantic interest. She’d been glad to hear that Marissa had made a move on the hockey star, and she’d texted her last night to tell her so.

Tink jumped at the driver’s-side door of the Caravan. Stacy lifted her fist to rap on the window when Isaac opened the door, swiveling toward her to step down to the street. His arms flexed as he moved and she remembered what those lean, wiry muscles felt like around her.

“Can we talk inside?” he asked. As if they were going to chat about the weather.

As if he hadn’t laughed it up over her foolish idea to ask him out just two days ago. It would be so much easier to be mad at him if he wasn’t so hot. What was it about his quiet, thoughtful stares that made her feel like an interesting, alluring woman instead of a replaceable hot babe?

“I don’t think so.” She folded her arms, silently urging her pets to show a little teeth. Maybe give a warning growl.

Instead, they seemed intent on circling him to death, chasing each other around his heels.

“Okay,” he agreed slowly, as if the word had to be dragged out of him. “But do you want to, maybe, put clothes on first?”

For an instant, she was genuinely scared she’d walked out onto the street naked. She wouldn’t put it past her to flake out and forget to dress. But no, she wore a perfectly respectable bathrobe over semirespectable pinstripe pajamas. They probably weren’t cut out for the commercial area growing up around a few old residential buildings. But she had to think the few folks living on this street must venture out to get their newspapers in a bathrobe now and then.

“No. I’m good, thanks.” Although, as soon as she said it, she wondered if the cool spring breeze might inadvertently press the fabric close enough to reveal a little too much.

Instead of arguing with her, Isaac reached back into his van and withdrew a black wool blazer. He handed over the jacket and stood silently.

She blinked back a wave of emotion. Her dad would have launched into conversation the second he saw her and not let up until he’d cataloged all the ways she could have handled the situation differently than storming outside in her pajamas. Isaac just covered her up.

But no matter how much she wanted him, she had to remember, he didn’t want
her.
She took a deep breath.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, the scent of his aftershave a pleasant musk in her nose.

“I followed you,” he said simply, flooring her.

“Excuse me?” She snapped her fingers ineffectually at the dogs, trying to quiet them so she could hear whatever scant words fell from Isaac’s mouth.

“I wanted to know more about you, so I looked you up online. I watched the video and respect what you’re doing.”

“You wanted to know more about me.” She didn’t ask why, although the question was burning to come out. But she wasn’t going to appear overeager with this guy and…oh, to hell with it. “Why? Why would you want to know more about someone you found lacking just two days ago?”

She snapped her fingers again at the dogs, unwilling to see them cozy up to Isaac. But they just barked at her vague commands, the tiny bells on their collars jingling with the force of their yippy protests. Traitors.

“I didn’t find you lacking. I thought you were spying on me.” He bent toward the adoring fans at his feet.

While Stacy tried to make sense of what he just said, Isaac scooped up a dog under each arm and juggled them easily until Tink and Belle settled happily against his chest. She imagined what it would feel like to trade places with the canines. To be back in the circle of his arms.

“Why would I spy on you? I didn’t even know who you were—” Although, come to think of it, she knew about him now. Some big-deal techno-gadget man. A discreetly wealthy graphics chip maker. “Did you think I was some kind of Gotham City villain out to steal the plans for your microchip? Maybe block out the sun and take over the town while I was at it?”

The sarcasm surprised her since she was usually frustratingly nice to guys even when they didn’t deserve it. Yet with Isaac—who still appealed to her more than any other—she said what came to mind. He would probably never understand why that was a good thing. But she’d lived with her nice-girl reflex long enough to appreciate the ease with which she spoke to him.

“It’s not a microchip,” he informed her. “But I’m flattered you looked me up after the awkward way we parted.”

Damn it. Had she given that away? Better not admit she’d also had a professional matchmaker check him out.

“I needed to make sure you weren’t a serial killer,” she said defensively, unwilling to reveal any more soft feelings for him after putting herself on the line with him last time. She wasn’t about to give up her newfound independence.

Some kids rolled past on skateboards, their heads swiveling to take in her outfit. She really should have dressed before storming out here. Her toes curled in her slippers as she sidled closer to Isaac.

“I looked you up, too,” he admitted, giving the kids the hairy eyeball until they rolled away. “I know you’re not a spy and I’m sorry for misreading the situation.”

For a moment, she was wooed by the sound of his voice, so warm and deep. But she couldn’t afford to get sucked in by him again. She needed to be more discerning when it came to men. Although he’d sure come a long way to apologize.

“How did you know where to find me?” She didn’t remember saying where she’d be staying in her video blog. “Did you honestly drive three hundred miles to find me?”

“Technically? I had my security team keep an eye on you after we met—”

“You followed me?”

“Not me personally—”

“No. Only your
security team.
” She grabbed the lapels of the jacket and squeezed them tighter, peering around the street for spies. “What threat could I possibly have posed to you with my hobbled ankle while I was lost in a freaking parking lot?”

She wasn’t offended, per se. Possibly, she was a little flattered to think she looked like a dangerous industrial spy. Before he could answer, she continued.

“I mean, it’s one thing to think I was up to no good back at that hotel the other night. But once you found out who I was, Stacy Goodwell the clumsy trust-fund baby—”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” His words were so sharp it took her a moment to realize he was saying something nice.

“You live in town. You must know how I’m portrayed in the social pages.” A double slap in the face since her biggest detractor was a fellow columnist at the paper. “I’m the one who’s always tripping and spilling things, talking too loud, making a spectacle of myself on the dance floor.”

“You’re effusive and passionate.” He said it with a straight face.

“Is that my problem?” she asked, scuffing her slipper along a crack in the pavement.

“It’s not a problem. It’s a beautiful personality trait. And I had you followed because you graduated summa cum laude from U Penn with a business degree. That alerted me you could indeed be working for a competitor. But after more digging, we knew that wasn’t the case. I told my team to leave you alone.”

Even the degree program had been at her father’s prompting. She’d wanted to pursue something more creative.

“I’m glad you don’t think I’m a spy anymore.” What might have happened between them the other night if he hadn’t been suspicious?

“I think the video blog is great, by the way.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” He lowered Belle to the street now that the dog had calmed down. How did he know she was the alpha female of the pair? Once Belle was happy, Tink jumped down, too. “It’s a compelling concept for a video blog, but better yet, it’s a good way for you to show your father you’re serious about taking charge.”

“I know the break is long overdue, and I feel like a coward for leaving town when the video hit to avoid facing him—”

“That’s why you’re in Pittsburgh?”

“In theory, I’m here to root for the Phantoms.” She stood beside him as they watched the dogs investigate patches of garden around a few row houses. “But I also wanted to put some miles between me and my dad so he didn’t end up on my doorstep for hours, explaining why I’d made another misstep.”

“In theory, I’m here to watch the hockey game, too.” He withdrew two tickets from the pocket of the jacket he’d given her to wear.

The slight touch of his fingertips against her hipbone lingered. A shiver tickled up her spine, and it didn’t have anything to do with the cold.

“But you have an ulterior motive?” Her heart beat faster.

“It’s threefold.” He lowered his voice as an older couple exited the bed-and-breakfast and strolled past them hand in hand.

“That sounds…well planned.” She stayed close to him to ensure she could hear him.

Okay, also so she’d be within easy reach if he decided to touch her. Maybe she could stumble into him again.

“First, I wanted to find you.” He ticked off the item on his index finger.

“You’ve accomplished that.”

“Second, I wanted to apologize for thinking you were a spy and missing my chance to be with you.” He turned toward her and suddenly she was the center of his intense focus. They breathed the same air, wrapped in the same moment that had turned heated.

“You’re forgiven,” she blurted, mostly because it was true, but also because she wanted to speed him along toward whatever else he’d come here to say.

The suspense was killing her.

“Three, I’d like to ask you to go out with me tonight. I understand you might wish to ignore the invitation in retribution for the way I misheard yours the other night—”

Stacy didn’t let him finish. She was too busy kissing him.

11

KYLE DIDN’T WASTE ANY
time after the morning skate at the Pittsburgh facility. He was the first to shower and head back to the hotel; he’d promised Marissa he wouldn’t be gone for long when he’d left her early that morning. She’d wanted to talk since the night before, but he’d been concerned that she’d find some new reason why they shouldn’t be together, so he’d made a game of distracting her in every way imaginable at his hotel suite.

In the shower. Against the bedroom door. Then, endlessly on the king-size bed. By the time he’d decided they needed sustenance before they touched each other again, Marissa had fallen asleep.

Now, he took the back stairs to his room two at a time, not wanting to deal with any fallout from the pictures taken of him and Marissa in the nightclub. Most of the guys on the team hadn’t seen the articles yet, but the coach had gotten wind of it and cornered him about making his love life too high-profile. Nico Cesare had been none too pleased, insisting he hadn’t brought Kyle and Axel over from the Boston Bears to make social headlines. He expected good offense.

Kyle regretted that he’d disappointed Coach Cesare since it hadn’t been his intention to cause a distraction for his team. But damn it, he couldn’t afford the disruption of high-powered matchmakers dogging him for the rest of the season, either, and they’d magically evaporated today. There was no sign of them after practice. No texts on his phone from dating services asking him for meetings.

Marissa had delivered on getting them off his back. Which was perfect, because it cleared the way for him to focus on his game. And on Marissa. He shot like a pro through practice today, a surefire sign that being with her agreed with his game. If he could just get through the end of the season, they could have the summer together while he worked on his youth hockey camp.

It was the most long-term future he’d ever visualized for himself outside of his career goals. Sure, he’d always imagined a wife and kids someday, after he’d reached his potential on the ice.

But had he just really thought of “wife and kids” in the same moment as Marissa? He shook himself, not wanting to overthink something good. Marissa wasn’t looking for anything serious and neither was he. She needed to stay in Philadelphia with her mother while he would continue to travel with his team. Who even knew if he’d be with the Phantoms next year? But for now, what he had with Marissa last night had been perfect.

Kyle rapped lightly on the door in case she was still sleeping, then he used his room key when she didn’t answer.

“Marissa?” He rolled his shoulder as he set down his bag, hoping it hadn’t been a mistake to forego a session with the massage therapist after practice.

Damn it, he was already messing up his routines to be with her. Maybe when they got back to Philadelphia he’d be able to resurrect the rhythm of his training.

“In here,” she called, her voice oddly muffled from somewhere in the bedroom.

The lights were all on in the living area, and he could smell coffee from the pot on the wet bar. On the surface, the room looked like any of hundreds of others he’d stayed in over the years. But this one was different—a whole lot more welcoming—because Marissa was sharing it with him.

“I have time for breakfast if you’d like to go out,” he started, winding around a pull-out sofa and heading toward the bedroom. “I don’t want you to think I’m a cheap date. Last night couldn’t have been much fun at the club—hot damn.”

His jaw dropped when he got an eyeful of her still wearing a white terry-cloth towel, fresh from the shower. He wanted her for so many reasons that weren’t physical, and yet the power of the chemistry between them was like a hard check to the back. It robbed him of breath and made him see stars.

“Morning.” She smiled but pulled the towel tighter.

Part of her natural modesty, or a sign she was already resurrecting barriers?

He bent to kiss her bare shoulder, inhaling the clean scent of her soap.

“I wanted you before I even walked in here,” he told her, his hands gravitating toward her waist to smooth over the smooth fabric. “I thought about you all during practice.”

He’d practically sprinted to their floor. It boggled the mind to think how much he wanted to be with her after all the ways they’d pleasured each other the night before.

“Did your game still suffer for it today?” She turned in his arms, facing him head-on, the view of the historic district and the Delaware River glittering through a window behind her.

Obviously, she remembered that he hadn’t played well the day before when they hadn’t even been together yet. He’d sucked then because he’d been frustrated. She’d intimated that was his reason for being with her.

And there was definitely some kind of distance in her voice now. A reserve. He tried to battle back his hunger for her so he could hear her out.

“No,” he answered carefully, not wanting her to misinterpret his motives. “I was unstoppable in front of the net. As I should be.”

“You certainly don’t have a confidence problem, do you?” Her tone was teasing, but she looked at him curiously.

“I’ve been training for this since I was a peewee player. If I can’t make the hard shots, I don’t deserve to be here.”

“And I thought
I
put a lot of pressure on myself to succeed.” Marissa shook her head, her damp hair clinging to one shoulder. “Guess I don’t compare.”

“It’s not pressure,” he said, waving away the idea. “Success is a powerful reward.”

He backed toward the edge of the hotel bed, taking her with him. He’d been ruthless in distracting her repeatedly last night when she’d wanted to talk, so he would try his best to keep his hands off her long enough to hear her out.

“A reward? Does it really feel like a reward for you when one day of poor shooting has you thinking you don’t deserve to be in this league?” She looked up at him as she settled on the bed beside him.

Those violet eyes of hers disarmed him, making him question himself for a moment. But he couldn’t start coasting now when he was so close to achieving his goals. Not even for her. But he wouldn’t let it come to that.

“The reward comes when I hoist a championship trophy.” He’d been visualizing the moment for more than a decade. “Until then, I’ve got to keep working.”

“That’s a fierce work ethic,” she observed lightly. “I’m glad your practice went well, but I hate to think any wrinkle between us could have repercussions for your career.”

A warning note sounded in his ears.

“Wrinkle? Why would there be any wrinkle? Don’t tell me you thought last night was another mistake.”

She’d said as much about their first real kiss and she’d been dead wrong then, too.

“No.” She twisted her fingers through a corner of the bed sheet, weaving the fabric between each digit. “I don’t think it was a mistake, but then again, I never seem to have any perspective on my relationships.”

Her creamy skin called to him. He wanted to press her to the bed and forget everything else.

“You have perfect perspective. You’re with me and that’s a great idea.” He sensed her pulling away and didn’t understand why. The last two nights they shared had been incredible. He was already thinking about how they could be together through the rest of the play-offs. How he could come home to her in his hotel room more often. “Is this about me asking you to help me with the matchmakers? Because we’re in the clear now. I didn’t see any media vultures or matchmaking types outside the hotel.”

“It’s not about that.” She let go of the sheet and the towel knotted between her breasts shifted with the movement. “I’m grateful for the chance to help you out of a mess I created, and you were more than generous to offer payment for my assistance. I wrote your check out to the drug company to start my mother’s treatments, but I plan on paying you back.”

“Don’t even think about it. The matchmaking debacle wasn’t your fault. Although by now, I’m dying to know whose fault it was so I can inform Ms. Entitled that not everything can be bought for a price.” He resented the way a high-pressure client had put Marissa in such an awkward position professionally. And it doubly pissed him off that her client had upped the ante by hiring competing matchmakers to try to land him.

“She doesn’t feel entitled,” Marissa confided. Tucking some of her fallen hair behind her ear, she seemed tense. Nervous? “Hiring competing matchmakers was her wealthy father’s idea. I think it was a turning point in an uneasy relationship for her because she’s ventured out on her own since then.”

“Meaning she’s not taking daddy’s money to buy her dates anymore?” He found it difficult to be sympathetic when the woman’s manhunt had caused both him and Marissa a lot of grief.

“Meaning she moved out of a house her family owned, only taking her clothes and her dogs. I think she really wants to…find herself.”

Kyle frowned, trying to interpret her tone of voice.

“You admire her.”

She shrugged, the movement shifting the towel and reminding him how much he’d rather be touching her right now. But this was important.
She
was important. And something told him he needed to pay attention to whatever they were circling around. He studied her more intently.

“I’m proud of her. I’ve known her for a long time and I’ve known a lot of people
like her
for a long time. Sons and daughters of wealthy, entitled parents. It can be tough to forge your own identity in the shadow of so much success.”

“For you, too?” He remembered how professional she’d been at the Phantoms’ fundraiser, refusing to flirt with him no matter how hard he’d tried to corner her for a kiss.

She’d been cool, controlled. And, he’d guessed, very sure of herself. Had he read her all wrong?

“Maybe. I took the job as my mother’s manager because, quite honestly, she couldn’t do it alone. She’s a handful for any manager, but she always listened to me. Matchmaking was always the job I loved best, at least until I needed the income and it became more stressful.” She toyed with the hem of the towel, her fingers traveling everywhere but on him. “But sometimes I wonder what path I might have chosen if I hadn’t fallen into being her manager. In a lot of ways, I was the caretaker even before her accident.”

“So you’d like to start over, professionally.” He wanted to cover her hand where she played with the hem of the towel, cup her knee and smooth his way up her thigh. But he knew she needed to talk about this. That he needed to listen.

“Someday. When she’s better. I’ve managed someone else’s career for too long. It’s time to start figuring out my own.”

“You should come on the road with me for a while,” he offered. “You’ve been working so hard—”

“And I need to keep working hard if I want to be there for my mother. She has a long road to recovery.” Her expression warned him this was a tread-lightly zone.

But damn it, he wasn’t just suggesting it for selfish reasons.

“Have you considered other options for her? Getting some more help taking care of your mother?”

She straightened.

“I will not move her into assisted living. She’s going to recover. She’s so young—”

“I’m not suggesting assisted living. I wouldn’t presume to know the right time for a move like that.” Although he certainly understood the desire to keep loved ones close. He shared a tight bond with his whole family. “But sometimes we’re so close to the people we love it’s hard to see—”

“I know.” She nodded, her shoulders sagging. “But how can I make changes now when her doctors say that maintaining routine might be helpful for her recovery? This isn’t an exact science, and I get a lot of conflicting advice about how to handle her therapy, but I’ve seen firsthand that she’s more relaxed at home than when I have to take her in for appointments. How can I ignore what’s best for her to indulge a personal whim?”

“I wouldn’t call the decision to go on the road with me a
whim.
I just told the press we were together, so that’s got to count for something.” Now he was the one with his back up. “Come to Tampa Bay for the next game. See how it feels.”

“Just because we tell the press we’re a couple doesn’t make it so. We both said we didn’t want a relationship, right?” She kept her voice gentle. “So if what we have together now
isn’t
a relationship, then I think it’s just…self-indulgent.”

Sex was self-indulgent?

Not until that moment did he fully appreciate that she had very traditional values. Yet the signs had been there from the start. The skirt to the knee and the vintage sixties clothes that had been sexy in a buttoned-up way. Moving into her mother’s guest house to care for her when so many people would have let professionals handle her care. Wearing a wedding ring to ensure single men didn’t hit on her during her work. Hell, even her job screamed conservative, family-oriented ideals. She worked to bring people together into meaningful relationships.

Happily-freaking-after.

The light bulb that flicked on in his brain over all that was so bright he blinked stupidly, trying to reassess what this meant for them.

“Self-indulgent,” he finally repeated. No doubt she’d only made this trip to soothe her guilt over her role in making him a target for matchmakers.