“The more barriers the better.” She dug into her handbag again.
“What else do you have in there? A false nose? A burka?” How much more could she distance herself from him? Would he ever have a shot at being with her again or had he already seen as much impulsiveness as she possessed?
She withdrew a folded sheet of paper and handed it to him.
“No. Something else guaranteed to send you running.”
Frowning, he unfolded the heavy stock and saw the fine print of a detailed questionnaire about his dating preferences. It was a matchmaking form, probably standard issue for her clients.
“After what just happened, you’re giving me this?” He’d taken shots to the jaw that had had less impact. “You can’t be serious.”
All traces of the violet-eyed temptress were gone. She straightened in her seat and smoothed her skirt.
“Just in case you change your mind.”
MARISSA RETURNED HOME after midnight, her headache now outweighed by a heartache so complex she couldn’t quite put a name to it. Regret, guilt, sexual frustration … a mixed bag of negative emotions she wished she could lock down and forget about.
Quietly, she opened the back door to her mother’s house in west Philly, not all that far from where Kyle had driven her around Chestnut Hill. She had liked being with him. Even before the kissing, she’d enjoyed sitting beside him in his car. He’d taken her for a ride because he’d upset her, a small gesture she’d found endearing.
Then, the kissing had been transporting. There was no other word for the way his touches had inflamed her until she’d been ready to leap across the console and straddle him. She’d been out of her mind for him while he’d been controlled and composed, pulling away so that he wouldn’t take advantage of her mindlessness, apparently.
How mortifying. It had been all she could do to restore order to her hair, let alone resurrect any semblance of pride. Shoving that damn dating questionnaire in his face had been a last-minute attempt to resurrect some boundaries. Self-respect.
Maybe she ought to be dating, after all. Who knew she was so affection-starved that she’d wrap herself around Kyle like a boa constrictor in search of a meal? Perhaps she should try to be objective about making a match for herself. Look for a candidate on paper where all the attractive intangibles didn’t get in the way and cloud her judgment….
“Marissa?” a frail voice called from the dining room, which they’d converted into a bedroom after her mother’s accident. “What are you doing out of bed, young lady?”
Regretting whatever noise she’d made to disturb her mother, Marissa set her keys on a kitchen counter and stepped out of her shoes before pushing open the swinging door to the dining area in the turn-of-the-century mansion. She nodded to her mother’s caregiver, relieving her from duty.
Surrounded by glossy mahogany paneling that rose three-quarters of the way up the walls, a queen-size bed sat illuminated by a reading light clipped to the headboard. Marissa had lined the walls with guitars and sequined stage costumes in an effort to help her mother remember who she was on a daily basis; a décor built on remnants of a life fragmented by the traumatic brain injury resulting from the late-night car crash when Brandy’s agent had flipped her convertible. Those reminders were one reason Marissa had worked so hard to keep the house for her mother, selling off anything and everything else to maintain consistency in Brandy’s life so that nothing would upset her while she healed.
At the center of all the memorabilia sat Brandy Collins, her glossy dark hair missing patches in front from a surgery to slow down swelling in her brain. Her face remained as lovely as ever. If anything, the medications that sedated her had relaxed the animated age lines around her eyes and mouth, making her appear younger. On the wall behind her, a poster from a concert ten years ago showed her as she used to be—clad in black leather, head thrown back as she belted out a song with an angel’s voice that hadn’t been handed down in the DNA code to her daughter.
As exasperating as Brandy used to be at times, Marissa missed her passion. Her zest for life.
“I’m fine, Mom.” Marissa sidestepped a table with a jigsaw puzzle and photo albums, more tools in a recovery that had shown little progress in the past six months. “Just getting a drink of water.”
Marissa never knew if her mother would address her as an adult, a teenager, or a five-year-old. Some days she cycled through all three, as if she’d stepped into a time machine and made random stops along the journey of their lives together. But that was normal for traumatic brain injury patients, where the patient’s life was affected in myriad ways. Some people lost the capacity for speech or lost all their memories. Sometimes people lost motor coordination, or their personalities were completely altered. Doctors assured Marissa that they wouldn’t know how extensive the damage would be until the brain’s swelling had gone down completely and cerebral blood flow had returned to a regular pattern.
“You shouldn’t have eaten so much cotton candy at the VIP party,” Brandy fretted, dredging up some long-ago memory. “I knew I should have hired a sitter instead of letting you come with me.”
Settling on the bed beside her, Marissa noticed her mother held a magazine upside down, her gaze glassy and unfocused. Gently, Marissa righted the glossy periodical—an old issue of Vogue.
“But I had the best time. Thank you for letting me go to the party.” She played along whenever possible, trying not to add any details that might conflict with her mother’s memories and agitate her more. The doctors all insisted it was best to keep her peaceful while her brain struggled to heal itself.
“You’re welcome, princess.” Smiling the dazzling grin that had made her a video queen back when MTV reigned supreme, Brandy Collins patted her daughter’s head. “Off to bed now. Mommy has an early rehearsal.”
On impulse, Marissa hugged her, soaking up all the maternal affection she could on a rare night when she really, really needed it. Kyle’s suggestion that she’d sold out had bothered her, probably because it resonated with her own fears.
She didn’t want to match up people who didn’t belong together. And she sure didn’t want to set up Kyle with Stacy after a kiss that had knocked her off her moorings. But without a payday in sight, how would she help her mother? She hoped Kyle’s teammate, Leandre, would sign on as a client. He’d confided that he was tired of his ladies’ man reputation and ready for something more serious. She could really help him.
But without the bonus Phil Goodwell had offered her for matching up his daughter with Kyle … even a new client wouldn’t make up the difference she needed for her mother’s new medicine.
“Good night, Mom.”
Pressing a kiss to her cheek, Marissa left the dining room to think up a plan. Selling the house or anything else from her mom’s past was out of the question since those familiar items grounded her when she was confused. And with those assets off-limits, what choice did she have but to find another way to make her matchmaking service work? Only this time, she’d restrict herself to pairing people who both really wanted to find true love.
Which meant she needed to speak with Stacy Goodwell and tell her the news.
Pausing at the turn of the stairs to fish her cell phone from her purse, Marissa dropped into the deep cushions of the window seat tucked on the landing. She’d sleep better tonight if she sent Stacy a message and got it over with.
Tomorrow, she’d worry about finding new clients. Multiple new clients. For now, she clicked out a message.
I’m bowing out of the race to land Kyle Murphy.