Isaac guided her down the row of cars to the van with fat rhinestones around the license plate. Yeah, no way she would mistake that girly grill for his.
“I can give you a hand getting in.” He steadied her while she searched for her keys, feeling strangely guilty for her retreat into quietness.
He should be grateful that he was sending her on her way, damn it. Releasing her, he saw a glint of tears on one cheek. Did her foot hurt that much? She clutched the cell phone to her chest as she came up with the keys.
Maybe she’d realized how badly she’d bobbled the task of spying on him. Steeling himself for whatever sob story excuse she might concoct to go home with him, he simply pointed toward her keys and ignored the tears.
“Would you like me to open your van and start it up for you?” Now who was the chatty one?
“That’s okay.” Hobbling forward, she jingled a noisy assortment of keys and plastic cartoon characters, most of which were painted pink and covered in glitter. Then, unlocking her vehicle, he noticed a fairy air freshener swinging from the radio knob. And someone had modified the glove compartment so that every inch was covered in rhinestones. She’d taken a lot of time with the details in creating a cover as an ultra-feminine bombshell.
But even now that the door was open, she didn’t move.
“You’re all set.” He prodded, memorizing her license plate so he could have his security team investigate her tomorrow.
“My matchmaker just quit,” she blurted, swiping away the tears on her cheeks. “My father is going to use his own and try to buy a man for me.”
Whatever ploy Isaac had been prepping for, it hadn’t been that. A matchmaker?
Standing on one foot, she took off her shoe and planted her injured heel on the ground.
“Be careful,” he warned. “There could be glass—”
“I don’t need help.” Stacy turned on him fiercely, pausing in her hobbled progress into her vehicle. “Doesn’t he get that? I need to figure out who to trust on my own and if I make a mistake along the way, that’s how I’ll learn. Can I help it if I figure things out the hard way?”
She started hopping again, her breasts threatening to break free of the neckline a little more each time. But given how upset she seemed, he didn’t take the same pleasure in the show.
“Can I—” He reached to help her again.
“No.” Collapsing into the driver’s seat, she tucked the skirt around her thighs. “I put myself on the line for the first time ever to ask a guy out tonight, and you thought it was so ludicrous an idea you didn’t even take me seriously. Another hint that I suck at dating, I guess. But I’m not giving up.”
Huh?
She started the van and hauled her door shut, leaving him to scratch his head. Whatever had just happened here, Stacy Goodwell didn’t behave like any corporate spy he’d ever met.
Rolling down her window, she seemed to be gearing up to rant at him more but he beat her to the punch.
“You asked me out?” Funny, because he’d been specifically listening for a pitch like that, figuring it would confirm that she was after the plans for his new 3-D graphics chip.
But apparently, he’d missed it.
“I said we’d make the perfect couple,” she retorted. “Remember? You don’t listen enough and I talk too much. I thought it sounded perfect. As an added bonus, you don’t stare down my dress and you haven’t paid me a bunch of ridiculous compliments meant to get me into bed. And for some reason—maybe because you don’t seem like you’re trying to impress me—I don’t feel intimidated to say what I think with you.”
She tried to turn the car over, but since the engine was already running, it made a scraping, squealing sound.
“Stacy.” He had zero experience with hysterical females since he’d never incited this much emotion from a woman outside of bed. He wasn’t quite sure what to do next.
Could he have read the situation wrong? What if she wasn’t a spy and she was just a very unusual beauty with an overprotective father and a matchmaker trying to call the shots?
“Sorry again about trying to break into your van.” Putting the transmission into drive, she kept her foot on the brake and met his gaze under the buzzing fluorescent glow of a street lamp. Her eye makeup had smudged under one eye. “Goodbye, Isaac Reynolds.”
Tearing out of the lot, she left him shaking his head and wondering what had just happened. As spy missions went, she’d obviously failed. But on the off chance that she hadn’t been sent to learn his company’s secrets, it was he who’d messed up royally. No man with red blood in his veins and a few functional brain cells would let a woman like that get away.
A woman who might have been attracted to him.
The possibility blew his mind.
The only thing left to do was run a check on her and see what he found. Because if she wasn’t working for the competition, Isaac had a new goal in life, the first that didn’t have anything to do with his business model. He’d chase his sexy, futuristic spaceship captain all the way back to her home planet if he had to. He’d do whatever it took to get her back.
BLADES FLYING OVER THE ICE, Kyle Murphy deked two defensemen, protecting the puck as if it was his firstborn. Beating the competition, he came face-to-face with the goalie, a rare one-on-one shot opportunity. An opportunity he excelled at creating. Lifting his stick, he faked a drive to the body, refired and … missed the goal all together.
For a moment, his teammates seemed too surprised to react. That shot was his bread and butter. The money shot.
Didn’t matter that this was a practice. He practiced like he played, and he always made that frigging shot.
Curses streamed from his mouth, rare for him even though the practice arena was frequently filled with creative and functional swearing alike.
Behind him, the coach’s whistle blew to end practice. Leandre Archambault had the audacity to clap him on the back.
“Tough shot, Murphy.” He almost kept a straight face when he said it.
Bastard.
“Ignore him.” Axel was in his face before Kyle could fire back something he’d regret.
The Finn dropped a heavy arm around Kyle’s shoulders and steered him away from their teammates as they headed toward the tunnel to the locker rooms and workout facility.
A foul mood had dogged him ever since he and Marissa had exchanged a terse good-night when he’d dropped her off at her car yesterday. He’d hoped that a good hard practice this morning would take the edge off, but if anything, he felt fiercer than ever.
“I don’t miss that shot,” he told Ax, even though his foster brother knew it as well as he did. “Leandre isn’t taking the starting position from me because of one missed goal. I’m not worried about him. But I don’t know what the hell went wrong just now, and that …”
Scares the crap out of me.
He didn’t finish the sentence because he didn’t need to. Ax would understand because hockey was a language they spoke fluently. Hell, some sports writers had suggested they had a telepathic connection on the ice. Their shots to each other were as fluid as any in the game, since they