A cell rang. Not the same cell Heath had been talking on a few minutes earlier. This one came from the pocket of his sports coat. Apparently, he was ambi-phonorous.

“Champion.”

Annabelle took advantage of the distraction to reclaim her Frappuccino. As she closed her lips around the straw, she had the depressing thought that this would probably be as close as she’d get to swapping spit with a multimillionaire hunk.

“The restaurant business is littered with the dead bodies of great athletes, Rafe. It’s your money, so I can only advise you, but…”

The downside of being a matchmaker meant that she might never have another date. When she met attractive single men, she had to turn them into clients, and she couldn’t let her personal life complicate that. Not a problem in this particular case…She gazed at Heath. Just being near so much unbridled macho made her want to break out in hives. He even smelled sexy, like expensive sheets, good soap, and musky pheromones. The Frappuccino sliding down her throat didn’t do much to cool her hot thoughts, and she faced the sad truth that she was sex starved. Two miserable years since she’d broken her engagement to Rob …Way too long to sleep alone.

The opening bars of the William Tell Overture intruded. Heath had the gall to frown as she retrieved her phone. “Hello.”

“Annabelle, it’s your mother.”

She sank back into the seat, cursing herself for not remembering to turn the thing off.

Heath took advantage of her distraction to reclaim the Frappuccino while he continued his own conversation. “…it’s all a matter of setting financial priorities. Once your family’s secure, you can afford to take a flyer on a restaurant.”

“I tracked the application through FedEx,” Kate said, “so I know you got it. Have you filled it out yet?”

“Interesting question,” Annabelle chirped. “Let me call you back later so we can discuss it.”

“Let’s discuss it now.”

“You’re a prince, Raoul. And thanks for last night. You were the best.” She disconnected, then turned off her phone. There’d be hell to pay, but she’d worry about that later.

Heath ended his own call and regarded her through those money green, country boy’s eyes. “If you’re going to program your cell to play music, at least make it original.”

“Thanks for the advice.” She gestured toward the Frappuccino. “Luckily for you, there’s only a slight chance I have diphtheria. Let me tell you, those skin lesions are a bitch.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Put the drink on my bill.”

“You don’t have a bill.” She thought of the parking garage where she’d once again been forced to leave Sherman since she hadn’t known how long they’d be gone. “Although I’m starting one today.” She retrieved the questionnaire from her tropical print Target tote.

He eyed the papers with distaste. “I told you what I’m looking for.”

“I know. Soldier Field, fart jokes, yada yada. But I need a little more than that. For example, what age group are you thinking of? And please don’t say nineteen, blond, and busty.”