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

But I’m listening.” Her tone was all business.

      “In exchange, you have to arrange a date of my choosing.”

      She waited a beat, as if looking for the catch.

      “That can easily be arranged, of course,” she agreed finally, the genial cooperative note in her voice a surefire indication that she was pleased with the deal. “Orchestrating dates is my specialty.”

      “With you.” As he let the words sink in, he caved to the impulse to touch her. Hand settling on her forearm, he made sure she understood. “My price is a date with you, Marissa.”

      Her mouth opened. Snapped shut. The surprise in her eyes morphed into worry so fast he almost missed it. But then, her spine straightened and determination lit her expression.

      “Impossible. That would be completely unethical.”

      He rolled his shoulders in a shrug—he couldn’t show his disappointment or else he’d risk giving her too much power. Like getting a good deal on a car, you had to know when to walk away. But putting off the kiss he wanted wouldn’t be easy. Especially not when they were alone out here under the stars. He stood inches from her and her chest rose and fell rapidly under the dark fabric of her dress. He’d bet anything he could take the kiss now and she wouldn’t object.

      At least not at first.

      On second thought, this was the better plan. Hold out for the date that would lead to the kind of kiss he really had in mind. One where Marissa wouldn’t come to her senses for hours. Days, maybe.

      “Okay. If you change your mind, you can always ask for me at the Phantoms’ practice rink. We’re there every morning except Sundays unless the team is on the road.”

      He watched her a second longer, trying to read her expression. Then, with more effort than it took to battle through a penalty kill at the end of a long shift on the ice, Kyle turned and walked away.

       3

      “WHERE THE HELL HAVE you been, Murph?” Finnish defenseman Akseli Rankinen slugged Kyle in the shoulder to punctuate the question. “You’ve been MIA half the night.”

      Stationed along the back wall of the atrium behind the row of autographing tables, Kyle signed a vintage Phantoms jersey as the fundraising event came to a close. Lights came up in the conference center and his teammates squeezed in a few final autographs.

      Akseli—shortened to Axel Rankin early in his career—seemed to be done with his signing obligations. He held his BlackBerry in one hand while his other massive palm boxed Kyle’s shoulders. The player had lived with Kyle’s family for his last year in high school to ease his transition into the NHL, so the friendship went deep. The Murphys had become a foster family for the Finnish transplant, giving him a home away from home after being raised in a rough neighborhood in Helsinki. Axel had been part of the trade to Philly in a package deal three weeks prior, but no matter what their future professional lives brought, they were brothers in every way that counted. Which meant Kyle wasn’t about to share details on Marissa. Axel would have a field day if he knew Kyle was a wanted commodity for a matchmaker.

      Ax might be his inspiration for the Full Strength Hockey Camp, but that didn’t mean he’d let his brother give him a hard time.

      “I had to school the bartenders on mixing drinks, remember?” He returned the jersey to a longtime fan, flattered the guy had wanted him to autograph alongside signatures he’d collected from some hockey greats over the past three decades. “I worked the bar for a while.”

      He might have gotten away with the excuse if the young backup goalie hadn’t chimed in. A recent Russian import, the kid pointed a finger in Kyle’s face.

      “He go with girl.” The goalie grinned as he threw him under the bus with a basic command of English they understood well enough.

      All the other players hooted in a collective razz as the event planners began ushering out guests. Kyle waved over a few more fans anyhow, signing their programs at the last minute to make up for the time he’d been with Marissa. He hadn’t seen her since she’d rejected his offer, though he’d kept a close eye on the crowd.

      “Come on, Murph, you can’t hide behind the fans forever,” Axel called, slapping the Russian goalie on the back. “Since when are you distracted by the ladies during a play-off run?”

      “Since never.” He wouldn’t jeopardize his focus on hockey; he’d worked too hard and his family had supported him too much to enable him to play at this level. Not many families would give their kid a season to play in a European youth league as a way to catch the eye of hockey scouts.

      “I don’t know about that,” Leandre, the French-Canadian forward who played in the second line, piped up. His knuckles were still taped from a brawl on the ice two nights ago. “I saw the female in question. Great legs and a tight skirt. She had a naughty secretary thing going on with her hair all pinned up.”

      Kyle’s grip on his pen tightened as he scrawled his signature on a souvenir-size hockey stick, two event programs and a bar napkin in quick succession. While he agreed with the other player’s assessment, he sure as hell didn’t appreciate the team’s resident Casanova noticing Marissa. Finishing up the autographs, he gestured to the team gear around the tables.

      “Are we going to yammer or load this stuff up for Coach?” He pulled out a box and started tossing in signs, flyers and magnets with the team schedule on it that they’d used for giveaways. “Last I knew, we signed up to volunteer and help out.”

      “Blonde or brunette?” Axel grabbed a box and went to work pulling down a team banner overhead, but he kept his BlackBerry in hand, obsessively checking for updates of a competitor’s game in Tampa.

      Kyle ignored him.

      “Brunette. Sort of mysterious looking,” the mouthy Canuck offered as he headed for the door, ditching on the event cleanup. “She hid behind sexy glasses.”

      “I’d hardly call it hiding,” Kyle called as he shoved a pop-up display of the team’s most famous players toward the Russian goalie to dismantle. “Besides, she wore a wedding ring. Did you notice or were you too busy checking out her glasses?”

      Let them think she was already taken. Selfishly, he figured it would shut them up. Besides, Marissa hadn’t seemed interested in dating so it wasn’t as though he was scaring off potential admirers.

      Although, maybe she simply hadn’t been interested in dating him. The notion ticked him off.

      “Dude, don’t even tell me you left with a married chick.” Axel stuffed his BlackBerry in his pocket, giving Kyle his undivided attention. Or perhaps he was just freeing up his hands in case a beat-down was in order.

      Kyle knew Ax’s code of honor wouldn’t accept infidelity any more than he did. They shared more than family—they shared values that weren’t always upheld by other pro athletes. Two players on the Phantoms were in the process of divorce this season thanks to philandering on the part of one partner or the other. So yeah, cheating was a sensitive issue. One of many reasons Kyle had no intention of getting involved with anyone right now.

      “Of course not.” Kyle realized his remaining teammates were staring at him. They’d forgotten the task of packing up. “She’s a friend. We just needed to speak privately for a minute.”

      When no one moved, all intent on sticking their collective noses in his business, Kyle shoved away the box he was packing.

      “I’m going to leave the rest to you guys since I did my share while you gossiped like a bunch of freaking teenage girls.” He had better things to do than listen to overgrown pee-wee players dish about women.

      Especially when the woman happened to be Marissa Collins.

      He