“I’ll just be a minute if you want to have a seat. I’ll let the nurse know she needs to sit with Mom and then we can figure out what to do about your new fans.”
With a clipped nod, he agreed, giving her time to get things settled at the main house. When she returned to the family room, Kyle was reading some of the framed articles about her mother.
“I’m ready.” She headed toward the French doors leading out to the pool. “We can talk in the guest cottage so we don’t have to worry about waking Mom. It’s not extravagant, but it’s comfortable.”
“After you.” Reaching over her head, he palmed the surface of the door, holding it for her.
She slipped past him, catching a scent of soap and aftershave, which did curious things to her insides. Being alone with him would present a challenge, but she couldn’t just leave him to the professional matchmakers to tear apart.
After all, she’d started the hunt for him thanks to Stacy Goodwell’s insistence. Maybe she felt responsible for allowing Stacy to think she could dictate whom she wanted to meet, something that had bothered her from the start, since it went against her theory of matchmaking. Either way, Marissa hadn’t meant to make Kyle a target for other matchmakers in an insane competition dreamed up by Phil Goodwell.
Besides, maybe Marissa didn’t like the idea of Kyle being forced into the dating pool. Why should he have to date Stacy just because her father was a powerful man who might sponsor Kyle’s dream of a youth hockey camp?
The idea of him dating other women inspired a possessiveness she had no business feeling.
By the time she reached the guest cottage, her hands were shaky as she slid the key into the lock. Because of her mother. Because of stress.
Even as she tried to make excuses, she knew that wasn’t why.
“Let me.” Kyle’s hand covered hers on the key since she’d apparently forgotten which way it turned.
His powerful body sheltered hers from the breeze, never touching her but making her utterly aware of his presence. She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent. Feeling his warmth. His nearness.
Too soon, he had the door open, his hand falling away from hers. By now she was jittery, the way she’d felt in the days when she drank too much caffeine and didn’t eat enough breakfast. Only this time, it was a case of too much sexual frustration and not enough Kyle Murphy.
Half stumbling inside the cottage, she stepped on the ice-blue shag carpet in a living area that was a nod to the seventies and the disco-era. Daylight filtered in the half-closed blinds, but the room was dim with no lights on. Danish modern furniture and an iconic pole lamp with brown metal shades blurred in her mind, a dreamlike backdrop for the only thing that seemed clear in her field of vision.
A strong, attractive athlete who looked at her as if she was beautiful. He followed her inside and closed the door behind him. The fact that he locked it sent a shiver through her. She swallowed hard.
“I don’t know why I thought I could be alone with you.” She had no willpower when it came to Kyle. Hadn’t she seen as much when he’d kissed her the last time? She’d been ready to climb into his lap and strip them both naked.
“Maybe you realized that last night was special.”
Or maybe she was just crazy. All she could think about was the way it had felt to have his hands on her. His lips hot on hers.
“Which, in the end, didn’t go so well.” She cleared her throat since her voice seemed to have dwindled to nothing.
“Only because you insisted on saying it was all a mistake.” He stepped closer, making his intent clear.
Her heart raced. She wanted to say something, but words seemed inadequate to express the tumult of feelings and sensations swirling inside her. He’d been so kind about her mom. So thoughtful about backing off when she’d panicked after their kiss.
“I don’t think it was a mistake,” he reiterated.
Her heart beat so loud now she could hear it in her ears.
“The only error we made was stopping too soon.” His hands slid around her waist and she was lost.
No, she’d been lost from the moment she’d brought him here—to the privacy of the guest cottage—where she could have him all to herself.
“How did you sleep last night, Marissa?” he asked, breathing the question so softly over her ear that her skin tingled all the way up her spine.
“Not so well,” she answered honestly, arching her neck in the sincere hope he would kiss her there again. “I contacted my client. Told her I’m withdrawing from the race to secure you as a date for her.”
His lips molded to the column of her throat, tasting her in slow sweeps of his tongue.
“Thank you.” He breathed the words against her neck, a warm and minty tickle of air that gave her goose bumps.
Sensation tripped down her shoulder and circled her breast, making her back arch with the need for more contact.
It might be crazy, but Kyle was the only good thing to happen to her in months. And he was better than good. He rated off-the-charts delectable. This time, there would be no stopping.
KYLE LIFTED HER OFF her feet. Crushed her to him. Kissed her until he couldn’t breathe.
He backed her out of the living area, seeking somewhere to lay her down. Moving blindly, he felt his way down the hallway, protecting her body and not caring what he ran into with his own. Her fingers combed wildly through his hair as she kissed him, her tongue stroking an erotic rhythm over his.
Her orchid scent heightened as her body heated up. She tugged on his jacket sleeve with an impatient hand and he realized she wanted him to go left.
There must be a bedroom in that direction.
Grateful, he edged inside the dim room where the curtains had been fully drawn. A dark shape tucked into a corner looked like the bed. Before he could bring her there, she shifted downward, freeing herself from his arms.
His caveman brain—calibrated solely for sex—couldn’t process what was happening. Stopping didn’t compute. But then she began unbuttoning her blouse, her pale fingers flying over the fastenings.
This, he understood. Shoving off his jacket, he yanked his T-shirt up and over his head.
“Wait,” she pleaded, a soft palm on his bare chest. “I want to see you.”
For a moment, she disappeared and he was tempted to follow despite her dictate. But she returned from somewhere—a bathroom off to one side, he thought—with a fat candle burning on a silver tray. The warm light played over her pretty features, casting her skin in a golden glow.
Leaning forward to place the candle on a nightstand, she gave him a gorgeous view of creamy breasts swelling above a pink lace bra. Her half-opened blouse framed the display, making his mouth water for a taste.
“Good idea,” he managed to say, his voice throaty and hoarse with hunger for her. But he wanted to show her he hadn’t gone totally sex-crazy. He could still appreciate the finer points of taking their time.
Even if blood flow to his erection robbed his brain of vital oxygen.
“I’m out of practice,” she whispered, hovering awkwardly over the candle with her glasses steaming up.
“I’m glad.” He hadn’t meant to say it quite so fiercely, but it was the truth.
He admired her sweetness and her honor, liked the fact that she was careful with herself. So if she needed a little extra time, by God, he was going to give it to her.