Page 27

An Excerpt from

RUSHING AMY

T HE WEDDING WAS over, and Amy Hamilton stood amongst the wreckage.

Every flat surface in the Woodmark Hotel’s grand ballroom was strewn with dirty plates, empty glasses, crumpled napkins, spent champagne bottles—the outward indication that a large group of people had one hell of a party. A few hours ago, Amy’s older sister, Emily, had married Brandon McKenna, the man of her dreams.

Three hundred guests toasted the bride and groom repeatedly. Happy tears flowed as freely as the champagne. The dinner was delicious, the cake, even better. The newlyweds and their guests danced to a live band till after midnight. The hotel ballroom was transformed into a candlelit fairyland for her sister’s flawless evening, but now all that was left was the mess. The perfectly arranged profusion of flowers were drooping. So was she.

Amy arranged flowers for weddings almost every weekend. Doing the flowers for Emily’s wedding, though, was an extra-special thrill. She’d seen it all over the past few years, first as an apprentice to another florist, and then opening her own shop a little over a year ago. It was long hours and hard work, but she was determined her business would succeed.

Amy took a last look at the twinkling lights of the boats crossing Lake Washington through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the west wall. She couldn’t help but notice she stood alone in a room that had been packed with people only an hour or so ago. She’d been alone for a long time now, and she didn’t like the feeling at all. She picked up the black silk chiffon wrap draped over yet another chair, and the now-wilting bridal bouquet Emily had tossed to her. Obviously, she’d stalled long enough. She wondered if the kitchen staff would mind whipping up a vat of chocolate mousse to drown her sorrows in.

H EAVY FOOTSTEPS SOUNDED behind Amy on the ballroom floor, and she turned toward them. The man she’d watched on a hundred NFL Today pregame broadcasts strolled toward her. Any woman with a pulse knew who he was, let alone any woman hopelessly addicted to Pro Sports Network.

Matt Stephens was tall. The body sculpted by years of workouts was showcased in a perfectly tailored navy suit, but that didn’t tell the story. The wavy, slightly mussed blue-black hair, the square jaw, the olive skin that seemed to glow, and the flawless, white smile were exactly what Amy saw on her television screen each week during football season. Television didn’t do him justice. After all, on her TV screen he didn’t prowl. He locked eyes with her as he crossed the ballroom.

She glanced around to note she was still alone in the ballroom, and he was making a beeline toward her. She couldn’t imagine what he wanted, but she would be finding out in a few short moments.

She knew a lot about him. Matt was a former NFL star, and a good friend of her new brother-in-law’s. When Matt got tired of playing with the Dallas Cowboys (three Super Bowl rings and six visits to the Pro Bowl later) he’d played in Seattle for the last two years of his career, afterward embarking on the wide world of game analysis and product endorsements. Guys wanted to be him, and women just plain wanted him.

Well, women who were still on the playing field wanted him. She was putting herself on injured reserve. After all, once burned, twice shy, and every other cliché she’d ever heard that reminded her of salt being poured on the open wound that was her heart.

Mostly, guys that looked like Matt weren’t looking for someone like her; she was a woman more interested in being independent than being some guy’s arm candy.

Matt stopped a few feet away from Amy. The deep dimples on either side of his lips flashed as his mouth moved into an irresistible grin.

“Hello, there.”

“You’re late.” The words flew out of her mouth before she realized she’d said it aloud.

His smile cajoled. The man was completely aware there wasn’t a woman on the planet that could hope to resist him. She could, though. She would. She wasn’t going to fall for someone like him. He slipped one hand into his pants pocket.

“Oh, I’m definitely not late,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I’m right on schedule.”

She let out a gasp of outrage.

His eyes slid over her from head to toe. Slowly. They made a few stops along the way, too. Amy dragged a shallow breath into her lungs. She resisted the impulse to smooth the wrinkles out of her dress, shove the hairpins back into what was most likely the wreck of her updo, and press her lips together in any attempt to salvage lipstick eaten off hours ago. Until she reminded herself that she was dealing with yet another male. Even worse, this one evidently believed the rules in life applied to everyone else but him.

“Were you actually invited to this event?” she asked.

He looked a bit wary. Even if Matt was the most gorgeous man she’d ever met, he was not getting away with this. She was busting his chops. After all, someone had to do it.

“Yes, I was invited.” He tried to look sheepish, but she wasn’t buying it. “McKenna’s going to kick my ass.”

“Why do I think it won’t be the first time that’s happened?”

Matt lifted one eyebrow, seemingly unused to any woman who didn’t collapse into a quivering mass of flesh whenever he chose to make any effort at all. She saw his mouth twitch into a smile.

“It seems we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Maybe we should try this again.” He took a couple of steps toward her and extended one hand. “Hi. I’m Matt Stephens.”

Amy tried to surreptitiously wipe what she was sure was a sweaty palm on her dress before her hand vanished into his much larger one.

She nodded a bit and tilted her chin up, as if she were introduced to guys who made People ’s “Sexiest Man Alive” issue every day. “Matt, huh?”

“And your name is?”

Her mouth evidently had a mind of its own. For some perverse reason, she blurted out, “I’m Fifi.”

“Fifi.” He looked a bit skeptical.

“Yes.” She squared her shoulders. “My parents were ... imaginative.”

“Is that so?” He glanced around for a brief moment, and his eyes moved back to her. “I’m a little thirsty. Are you thirsty, Fifi? Let’s have a drink.”

Amy deliberated for about half a second. Despite the fact she was fairly sure she’d just met the most arrogant man in the world, she was dying to see what he was going to do next. Broken heart or not, she was in.