Seducing The Matchmaker: One Man Rush / Taking Him Down / The Personal Touch

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.