Page 17 of Matched with the Player

Ten hours at the office of his tech company messing with a groundbreaking idea for new 3D technology for his graphics chip, an hour at the gym, and a half an hour supporting a worthwhile cause in the form of a fat check written to the charities the Phantoms hockey team supported.

A normal day for an entrepreneur trying to get a new product to market. Or it had been normal until now, when Isaac found himself with an armful of lush female who was light-years out of his league.

There’s no way a top-tier woman like this fell into his arms. She was model gorgeous and she could have had her pick of any guy. Yet there she was, trying to open the door to his minivan on the flimsiest possible excuse.

She’d mixed up vehicles? For that matter, she drove a minivan too?

Something didn’t add up.

So his brain had run through all the possible explanations for her presence in his day. At first he’d thought she had too much to drink, but she didn’t smell like alcohol. Didn’t seem unsteady for any reason beyond the shoes she wore.

Was she vision impaired? Not that he was hideous or anything, but women tended to choose men as good-looking as they were. That’s how the world worked.

But she’d been able to see the lock on the minivan door just fine, ruling out that possibility. Which made him wonder if something more nefarious was at foot.

Like that she was an industrial spy sent by his competition. Paranoid thinking? Maybe. But it wouldn’t be the first time that his research had been targeted by companies racing to get new tech to the market. He’d heard about tactics like this—send a beautiful woman in to spy on a guy and steal his research.

It was the only possibility that made any sense. And even if it didn’t turn out to be true, he couldn’t be too careful. Now, with her literally falling into his arms, his suspicions only grew.

“Are you okay?” He tried to steady her after she’d stumbled into him, but she winced in pain.

“I hurt my ankle.” Her grip on his shoulders tightened.

A whole hell of a lot more than that tightened on his end of the equation as she hopped around on one foot, her hip grazing him in ways that even a lap dancer couldn’t have dreamed up.

Whether she was an industrial spy or not, he wasn’t immune.

“Hold still,” he barked, clamping his hands around her waist like a vise in order to save his sanity.

And while that halted the teeth-grinding tease of a dance she’d been doing, it introduced his hands to an inviting new landscape.

“I’m trying,” she protested. “These shoes have been killing and I ripped open a blister when I twisted my ankle.”

Her eyes were squeezed shut as if she was fending off pain, and her look of genuine hurt chased away his cynicism for the moment. He tried not to think about the sweet indent of her waist above the soft flare of her hips.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to find hotel security?” He could pass her off to someone else.

“I can manage. That is, if you’re still amenable to looking around the parking lot with me?”

He gritted his teeth at the thought of touching her again – a sweetly torturous thrill. But if she truly had been hired by someone to infiltrate his personal space, shouldn’t he at least find out more about her? Industrial espionage came with serious criminal charges. But only if they caught the right person.

“Sure,” he agreed finally.

“Thank you.” She blinked up at him so gratefully he knew a moment’s regret about thinking the worst of her.

But maybe she was just an excellent actress.

Locking his van for safety, he was surprised she hadn’t tried to talk her way into his vehicle. Not that he carried research development notes with him. But she didn’t know that.

“Are you okay to walk on that foot or do you want me to… carry you?”

He looked over her short, strapless dress, already regretting the offer. She possessed a sexy body and the dress showed it off to mouth-watering advantage. Her platinum blonde hair had an asymmetrical cut that made her look like she’d walked out of a futuristic video game – a zombie-killing space-ship captain, maybe. A character you could only access deep into the game, late at night. And only if you were very, very talented with your hands.

“I’ll be fine.” She – Stacy - bit her lip, appearing entirely unsure of herself as she tested her tender ankle.

Stifling an inward curse, he sent a stern message to his hands not to get used to this. But he needed to help her if she was going to find her van. Decision made, he bent forward to slip an arm around her shoulders, bolstering her so she leaned into his side. He was careful not to hold her too close since he hadn’t quite willed away his earlier reaction to her.

“Oh!” Gasping in surprise, she wrapped her arm around his waist and wriggled infernally near.

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