Page 6 of Matched with the Player

An unused terrace ringed with a low stucco wall held outdoor couches and chairs. A few cast iron sconces on the walls illuminated the space, but they seemed to flicker at half-power.

“Here.” He gestured toward a wicker loveseat with taupe-colored cushions. “Will you be warm enough?”

He pulled his arm away now that they’d ditched the crowds. She felt a pang of loss at the disappearance of his touch.

She couldn’t remember ever feeling an attraction this tangible, let alone this ill-advised. Dropping into a cushioned chair, she planned to make sure they didn’t touch again. She’d learned the hard way that a lack of objectivity with men could have devastating consequences. If her mom’s relationships hadn’t proven it – Marissa had never even met her birth father, a European tenor who’d fled the scene after a torrid affair with her mom- then her own experience should have sealed the deal. The one time she’d fallen head over heels, she’d been taken for a ride by a guy who’d only wanted to cash in on her mother’s music industry connections.

That’s why she preferred matchmaking to romance for herself. All the fun of playing Cupid. None of the heartache. Besides, this way, she helped other people avoid the mistakes she’d made. Her service ensured prospective daters looked beyond the physical.

“This is fine.” The nip in the air would help keep her thoughts from overheating. She finally had Kyle Murphy all to herself. It was go-time to pitch her business. “I won’t keep you for long--”

He waved away the concern as he took a seat on the cast iron coffee table across from her. Removing his baseball cap, he tossed it on the couch nearby.

“I’ll stick around the fundraiser late and meet with fans. It’s not a problem. But I’ll admit you’ve got me curious since you don’t seem like the kind of person to- you know- mess around behind someone’s back.”

It bothered her that he would think for a moment she was. He studied her expression, as if he could gauge whether she lied to him.

“I’m not.” Before she could launch into her explanation, however, he continued.

“I guess that’s a superficial judgment though. Just because you dress like a sixties librarian doesn’t mean you’re necessarily the conservative type.”

“Excuse me?” She straightened, her fingers clutching her shawl tighter to her shoulders.

“It’s the clothes, I guess. Or maybe the glasses.” He tipped his head sideways as if to get a better view. “You give off a buttoned-up vibe--”

“Like a sixties librarian?” She tried not to be offended. She dressed modestly for a good reason. And she’d dressed sort of quirky her whole life since she wasn’t a beautiful woman like her mom. Fitting into the superficial world of pop music hadn’t really been an option for Marissa so she’d deliberately chosen to be “interesting” instead of glamorous.

Her mom dressed for attention. Marissa dressed for deflection. Sometimes it was easier to be in costume than to show the world your true colors.

“I call ‘em like I see ‘em, but I’ll admit I’m no fashion expert. So I’m going to shut up now and you can tell me what you wanted.” He crossed his arms. Waiting.

For a moment, she wondered if he’d get along with Stacy pretty well after all. The arena heiress had a habit of speaking her mind, too. Maybe the pair would have something in common. And, of course, Stacy was stunning. Who wouldn’t want a vivacious beauty?

“I’m a matchmaker,” she blurted with renewed vigor for her mission. “That’s why I wear the wedding band. It’s helpful when I meet single men to take myself out of the equation since I look at them professionally and not personally. Although, maybe I don’t need to bother with a ring if I come across as a buttoned-up librarian.”

She hadn’t meant to say that last bit out loud, but maybe his observation had stung a smidge even if it was probably accurate. Her one chance to convince Kyle to meet Stacy seemed to be going up in flames.

“You’re really not married?” He seemed to key in on that fact, missing completely the rest of what she’d said.

“Never. But my point is that I wanted to speak to you from a professional perspective--”

“That’s really good news.” His gaze held hers for a long moment. The sparks between them reigniting.

Her throat dried up at that long look. So much so, that when he reached to touch her cheek with warm fingertips, she didn’t move away. She was too caught up in the moment. Too mesmerized by whatever it was that seemed to be happening between them.

His fingers smoothed along her skin in a slow sweep until he lifted her chin to meet his gaze in the electric glow of faux candle sconces.

“No it isn’t good news at all,” she protested, scrambling to her feet. Away from the touch that distracted her completely. “I’m not here to talk about me. I--”

He rose, his big, athletic body straightening. His white shirt bright next to his tanned skin. Damn it, she couldn’t think when he came closer. She found herself staring at the column of his throat above his collar. His broad chest that loomed close enough to touch.

“It’s okay. I believe you.” He reached for her and she thought all was lost.

Heaven help her, she’d never pull herself together if he kissed her.

Thankfully, he did nothing of the sort. Instead, he took her left hand in his and drew the gold band off her finger. His touch was gentle. Slow. Deliberate.

When the ring was off, he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, never releasing her. She peered up at him, to find him grinning, his teeth a flash of white in the moonlight.

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