"Hey, I'm not the one who got all worked up. Of course I'm sure." What a lie. "I have a business to run, and frankly, you're making that difficult."

He shoved his hand through his hair. "All right. Set it up."

"Perfect." She gave him a smile so big her cheeks ached. "Now, down to business…"

They made their arrangements, setting up days and times, and she escaped as soon as they were done. On the drive back home, she made a promise to herself. From now on, she'd seal her emotions away where they belonged. In an internal Ziploc bag-extra heavy duty.

The next afternoon, Heath followed Kevin between the tables in the hotel ballroom as the quarterback shook hands, slapped backs, and worked the crowd of businesspeople who'd gathered to eat lunch and hear his motivational speech,

"Throwing the Long Ones in Life." Heath stayed just behind him, ready to intercede if anyone tried to get too up close and personal, but Kevin made it to the front table without incident.

Heath had heard his speech a dozen times, and as Kevin took his seat, he returned to the rear of the ballroom. The introductions began, and Heath's mind wandered back to Annabelle's ambush yesterday morning. She'd burst into his house, filling up the place with her sass, and despite what he'd said, he'd been glad to see her. All the same, he hadn't lied when he'd told her he'd needed time to think things over, including how he could torpedo that infantile crush she had on Dean Robillard. If she didn't come to her senses soon, Heath was going to lose all respect for her. Why did women leave their brains behind when it came to Dean?

Heath pushed away an uncomfortable memory of a former girlfriend saying exactly the same thing about him. He intended to have a pointed conversation with Dean to make sure Golden Boy understood Annabelle wasn't another bimbo he could stick in his trophy case. Except Heath was supposed to be courting Robillard, not antagonizing him. Once again, his matchmaker had put him in an impossible situation.

Kevin made a self-deprecating joke, and the crowd laughed. He had them right where he wanted, and Heath slipped into the hallway to check his messages. When he saw Bodie's number, he returned it first. "What's up?"

"A buddy of mine just phoned from Oak Street Beach," Bodie said. "Tony Coffield, remember him? His old man owns a couple of bars in Andersonville."

"Yeah?" Tony was one of a network of guys who fed Bodie information.

"So guess who else just showed up to catch some rays? None other than our good buddy Robillard. And it seems he's not alone. Tony says he's sharing a blanket with a red-haired chick. Cute, but not his usual type."

Heath backed against the wall and clenched his teeth.

Bodie chuckled. "Your little matchmaker sure knows how to keep herself busy."

Annabelle lifted her head from the sandy blanket and gazed over at Dean. He lay on his back, muscles bronzed and oiled, blond hair gleaming, eyes shaded by space-age sunglasses with bright blue lenses. A pair of bikini-clad women made their fourth pass, and this time it looked as though they'd worked up the nerve to approach. Annabelle caught their eyes, pressed her index finger to her lips indicating that he was sleeping, and shook her head. Disappointed, the women walked on.

"Thanks," Dean said, without moving his mouth.

"Does this job pay?"

"I bought you a hot dog, didn't I?"

She propped her chin on her fists and dug her toes deeper into the sand. Dean had called her yesterday, a few hours after she'd left Heath's house. He'd asked if she could squeeze in a trip to the beach before T-camp started. She had a million things to do to get ready for the dating marathon she had planned, but she couldn't pass up the opportunity to feed the story of her infatuation in case Heath still had doubts.

"So explain it to me again," Dean said, eyes still shut. "About how you've been blatantly using me for your own nefarious purposes."

"Football players aren't supposed to know words like nefarious."

"I heard it on a beer commercial."

She smiled and adjusted her sunglasses. "All I'm saying is this. I got myself into a little jam-and, no, I'm not telling you who with. The easiest way to wiggle out was to pretend I'm smitten with you. Which, of course, I am."

"Bull. You treat me like a kid."

"Only to protect myself from your glory."

He snorted.

"Besides, being seen with you raises the profile of my business." She laid her cheek on her forearm. "It'll get people talking about Perfect for You, and free advertising is all I can afford right now. I'll pay you back. I promise." She reached over and patted one very hard, sun-warmed bicep. "Ten years from now, when we know for sure you've made it through puberty, I'm going to find you a great woman."

"Ten years?"

"You're right. We'll make it fifteen just to be safe."

Annabelle had a crappy night's sleep. She dreaded the start of Heath's dating marathon, but it was time to bite the bullet and hit him with everything she had. She arrived at Sienna's first. When he walked in, her heart gave a dopey little kick before it plunged to her toes. He'd been her lover, and now she had to introduce him to another woman.

He looked as grouchy as she felt. "I heard you played hooky yesterday," he said as he sat down.

She had hoped word of her outing with Dean would make its way back to him, and her spirits lifted. "Nope. I'm not saying a word." She made a zipping motion across her lips, turned the lock, and threw away the key.

His irritation deepened. "Do you know how juvenile that is?"

"You're the one who asked."

"All I said was that I heard you'd taken the day off. I was making conversation."

"I'm allowed to take a day off now and then. And Wind Lake doesn't count because I had to entertain a client. Specifically, you."

He got that sexy half-lidded look, the one that signaled he was about to say something raunchy. But then he seemed to think better of it. "So how is the course of true love progressing?"

"I think he's attracted to me. Maybe it's because I'm not clingy. I could be clingy, but I'm forcing myself to give him plenty of room. Don't you agree that's the smart thing to do?"

"You are not sucking me into this discussion."

"I know he has gorgeous football groupies hanging all over him, but I think he might be growing out of that stage of his life. I get the sense that he's maturing."

"Don't hold your breath."

"You think I'm being stupid, don't you?"

"Tinker Bell, you've redefined stupid. For a woman who's supposed to have a head on her shoulders-"

"Shhh… Here comes Celeste."

Heath and Celeste had a boring discussion about the economy, a topic that always disheartened Annabelle. If the economy was good, she felt as though she wasn't taking proper advantage of it, and when the economy was bad, she couldn't see how she'd ever get ahead. She let the discussion drag on for the full twenty minutes before she put an end to it.

After Celeste left, Heath said, "I wouldn't mind hiring her, but I don't want to marry her."

Annabelle didn't think Celeste had liked Heath all that much either, and her mood brightened. Unfortunately, only temporarily, because her next candidate, a public relations executive, showed up right on schedule.

Heath was his normal charming self-respectful, interested in everything she had to say, but unwilling to take it any further. "Great taste in clothes, but I make her nervous."

For the rest of the week, Annabelle pulled out the stops, introducing him to a filmmaker, a floral shop owner, an insurance executive, and Janine's editor. He liked all of them but wasn't interested in dating any of them.

Portia got wind of the dating blitz and sent two more socialites. One drooled all over him, which he hated but Annabelle got a kick out of. The other disliked his lack of pedigree, which infuriated Annabelle. Next Portia insisted on setting up an introduction at the Drake for morning coffee. Heath finally agreed, so

Annabelle took advantage of the time slot to schedule a former classmate who taught adult night school.

Annabelle's candidate was a dud. Portia's wasn't. Portia had insisted on the morning meeting, Annabelle discovered, because she'd lined up WGN-TV's newest evening anchorwoman, Keri Winters. Keri was gorgeous, accomplished, and polished-too polished. She was Heath's female counterpart, and together they were slick enough to float an oil tanker.

Annabelle tried to put an end to the agony after twenty minutes, but Heath shot her the evil eye, and Keri didn't leave for another half hour. When the coast was finally clear, Annabelle rolled her eyes. "That was a waste of time."

"What do you mean? She's exactly what I'm looking for, and I'm asking her out."

"She's as plastic as you are. I'm telling you, it's a bad idea. If you ever have kids, they'll come out of the birth canal with Fisher-Price stamped on their butts."

He refused to listen, and the next day, he called Ms. News at Nine to set up a dinner date.

Chapter Eighteen

Two weeks passed. Between getting ready for her wine and cheese party and brooding about Heath and Keri Winters, Annabelle lost enough weight to zip up the periwinkle blue mini she hadn't been able to wear all summer. "Go put some clothes on," Mr. Bronicki growled the night of the party when she came downstairs wearing the mini, along with a slinky ivory top.

"You're the hired help," she retorted. "You're not allowed to criticize."

"Showin' yourself off like a hussy… Irene, come out here and look at this."

Mrs. Valerio poked her head in from the kitchen. "You look very nice, Annabelle. Howard, come help me open this olive jar." After she'd started seeing Mr. Bronicki, Mrs. Valerio had dyed her hair Woody Woodpecker red, which matched the crimson sneakers she wore tonight with her Sunday best black dress.