She applied her most professional smile. “Welcome to Maggie’s Matches, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Her heart executed a perfect somersault. Deep eyes, deeper voice.
“Didn’t mean to startle you when I came in,” he said, his husky tone wrapping around her like flannel pajamas on a rainy night.
“It’s no problem,” she managed. “I was just doing some paperwork. Getting ready for my grand opening.” Feeling at a disadvantage, Maggie walked around the desk and stood beside him. But being so close to him didn’t make her feel the least bit in control. Instead she felt rather breathless, as if she’d just sprinted up ten flights of stairs.
Lord, he was tall. The top of her head barely cleared his shoulders. He looked like a modern-day warrior in his white T-shirt and worn leather vest, his tanned arms corded with muscle and sprinkled with hair.
If her female clients reacted to him the way Maggie was, then maybe this man’s search for love wouldn’t be as difficult as she’d first thought. “We’re not opening for another four weeks yet, sir. But if you’d like to fill out a questionnaire, I’ll put you on the list. We’ll schedule a time for the video whenever it’s—”
He laughed, a rich sound that filled the room. “I’m not here to get a date.”
Her smile faded as she watched her first potential male client try to wriggle off the hook. “I understand. Coming to a matchmaker is a little weird at first, but if you’d—”
“Honestly,” he said quickly. “I’m not looking for a match or a matchmaker. I’m Nick Kaplan.”
He was looking at her as though he expected her to know that name. Know him. She took several mental steps back. Could he be a referral from a friend?
“Your grandmother sent me over,” he said.
Maggie’s brow furrowed. “My grandmother?”
A month ago Kitty Conner had packed up all her stuff and moved into a retirement village. She’d wanted to be near her friends, and even though Maggie had assured her grandmother that she didn’t feel the need for privacy, Kitty had told Maggie that she was getting it, anyway. It was no secret that Kitty wanted her granddaughter to find a man. And she’d thought that moving out was a sure-fire way to get the ball rolling. To help with living expenses, her grandma had offered to find Maggie a suitable roommate. Someone closer in age and energy level. And supposedly she had. An out-of-towner. The girl was moving in this weekend.
Perhaps Mr. Harley-Davidson here was helping with the move, Maggie thought. Heck, maybe this was the roommate’s brother. A shot of awareness erupted in her stomach. If that was the case, this hunk of man would be hanging around her house from time to time.
“No one was at your house,” he said, breaking off her horrifyingly alluring thoughts. “So she gave me your business address.”
“What can I do for you?” Good Lord. Had she drenched that query in “come-hither” cream or what?
A sparkle of amusement played in his eyes. “Well, the keys would do for a start.”
Yep. Friend or boyfriend or brother. The almost desperate desire for it to be brother surprised her. “Keys. Sure.” She reached over the desk, grabbed her purse and took out three small plastic bags with crisp labels on them. She took a set of keys from one.
“Are you taking her over to my house now?”
“Excuse me?”
“Is she in town yet, or is she still getting in this weekend?”
“She?”
Maggie glanced up at him, frustrated. “The woman who’s renting the room in my house?”
“I don’t understand. There’s no—” He stopped midsentence, his brow furrowed. Then a slow smile made its way to his lips. “Let me introduce myself again,” he said, amused. “I’m Nick Kaplan.” He stuck out his hand. “Your new roommate.”
Maggie just stood there, blank and wordless as the sounds of another Saturday at the beach floated through the open door. Her roommate? What was he talking about? He couldn’t be serious. She cocked her head, narrowed her eyes. Then again, he looked pretty darn serious.
“Mr. Kaplan,” she began slowly, her tone controlled. Very controlled. “Obviously, there’s been a mistake.”
He grabbed a bunch of papers from his back pocket. “There’s no mistake.”
“Misunderstanding, then.”
“I don’t think so.”
She stared blindly at the pages he thrust at her. “What’s that?”
He handed it to her. “A copy of the signed lease agreement.”
Grasping the paper with two shaky hands, Maggie scanned the paper. “This shows my room was rented to a quiet, responsible, nonsmoking—” She gasped, stared at the box checked “male,” then lowered her gaze to the chirpy signature at the bottom. Kitty Conner. No. She didn’t. No. She hadn’t. Maggie looked up, feeling like a balloon that had just had all the air let out of it.
“Well, I am quiet and nonsmoking.” His grin widened. “And I’m definitely male.”
She swallowed tightly. He was most certainly male, she thought a little bit hysterically. An incredible hunk, in fact. If you liked that type and—God help her—apparently, she did. This was horrible, not to mention incredibly embarrassing. How could her grandmother have rented a room to this man without even telling her?
Well, it didn’t matter how. She’d just have to undo what her grandma had done. It was one thing to have Nick visiting his sister at the house once in a while, but living, sleeping…showering…
“I’m really sorry, Mr. Kaplan, but you can’t live in my house.”
He leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest, flashing her a grin. “You got a body buried in the backyard or something?”
She inhaled sharply. “Of course not.”
He chuckled. “I was joking, Maggie.” He shook his head. “Look, I understand you think there was some kind of error here. But if that’s the case, it was you or your grandmother’s mistake, not mine.”
The scents of leather and salt air and sunshine emanated from him. Maggie had a most undignified desire to grab the lapels of his jacket and bury her face in his chest, breathe him in. But she didn’t do things like that. She didn’t even entertain thoughts like that. She thrust the papers at him. “I’m very sorry, but I can’t live with a—” she looked him over from head to toe “—a guy.”
“Why not?” His amused query was accompanied by a devastating grin.
Why not? Why not? She racked her muddled brain for the right answer. Preferably one that didn’t make her sound as if she was on medication: I don’t trust myself around a man like you; You are a direct threat to my self-imposed resolve; Hormones I didn’t even know I possess are doing jumping jacks in my blood-stream since you walked in. Oh, yeah, that explanation would go over big.
She began to pace. “I don’t even know you.” That sounded good—and it was true, very true.
“I’m thirty years old, I own a construction firm. I love motorcycles, mutts and Louis Armstrong.”
She squinted at him. “Harmless, huh?”
The devil himself couldn’t have grinned any wider. “I didn’t say that.”
She caught the gasp before it could escape her parted lips. “Look, again, I really do apologize, but I think it’s best if you find another place.”
“That’s not possible.”