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

“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.

While she was attracted to him, she apparently viewed sex as a hedonistic pleasure until she found the real thing.

Love.

“It would be nice to have the freedom to make the choice to do things just for me.” She tipped her forehead to his chest. “I’ve had more fun with you these last few days than I’ve had in a long time.”

His arms went around her on instinct. And because he really, really wanted to hold her. He’d had a great time being with her, too. Would she feel differently about going on the road with him if they defined the relationship somehow? But this wasn’t high school and he couldn’t risk complicating things any more.