Ms. Match. Jo Leigh
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partner. The real surprise came about an hour later, after another round of drinks, when the orchestra decided to give the crowd a breather and some songs that weren’t meant to show off anything but how close two people could get and still keep it legal.
Paul didn’t think twice about pulling Gwen into his arms. He liked the feel of her there, the way she anticipated his moves. As he got a whiff of her perfume, sweet and smoky despite the workout she’d had, he wondered if she’d be just as responsive in bed.
“What’s the matter?”
He looked down at her. “What?”
“You stopped. Is something wrong?”
Shit. He started moving again, smile pasted on as he swayed to the music. After a few minutes he didn’t have to worry about the smile, or his thoughts. Of course he’d thought about her in bed. He was a man. She was a woman. Dancing was intimate work. It was all in the same genre, so to speak. It wasn’t a big thing. In fact, it wasn’t a thing at all.
It still wasn’t a thing later when he noticed the ballroom was half-empty. That the buffet was serving coffee and pastries. The night had gone by in a whirl of drinking and dancing. At some point, he’d met Gwen’s parents, and a few other brothers and sisters, all of whom made some kind of crack about him being her date, but mostly, they’d danced until they had to sit.
Each break, they sat farther away from the music and the crowds. She’d find the table, he’d bring the drinks and once he discovered she was also a rabid Dodger fan, the evening transformed yet again.
He’d have never guessed it could be so easy to talk to a woman when flirting wasn’t on the table. He’d met a lot of women who didn’t interest him that way, but he rarely spent a lot of time with anyone where there wasn’t an agenda. Tonight, he was off the hook. He was earning his points with Autumn, sure, but there really was no pressure. His world was never like this. It was always about either sex or money, somehow. Even his beloved poker games had an undercurrent of competition, and not just about the cards.
It seemed the most natural thing in the world to laugh too loud, to dance with abandon, to drink way more than was wise. One thing was for damn sure, he was in no condition to drive home.
“You okay?”
Gwen looked nice with her dark blond hair all loose around her shoulders. Or maybe it was the sheen. She looked sparkly, like her dress. “I need to find out if I can still get a room.”
She seemed startled until she checked the slim silver watch on her wrist. “Wow. It’s late. I mean early.”
“Yeah.”
“I hope they have two.”
He nodded as exhaustion slammed him in the back of the head. “If not, we’ll just get a taxi.”
“Where do you live?”
“Los Feliz.”
“That’s pretty far.”
“I know.
She looked up at him again. “I’m pretty drunk.”
“I know that, too.” Holding her hand, he led her out of the ballroom, all the way to the front desk. There were a few partygoers ahead of them, but that’s not what made his step slow.
He looked at Gwen, at her pretty dress, at her pretty glow. The feel of her was still in his hands, in the rest of him. “Hey.” He pulled her to a stop, then swung her around to face him. “How’s about we only ask for one room.”
“Why?”
He laughed. “You really have had a lot to drink if you have to ask.”
She stared up at him as if he was out of his mind. And who knows. Maybe he was.
Chapter 3
GWEN HADN’T BEEN THIS DRUNK since she’d stolen a bottle of blackberry schnapps from her parents’ liquor cabinet in junior high. She felt as if she were still dancing, twirling into oblivion even as she stared up into dazzling dark brown eyes.
She knew she hadn’t misheard or misread what he’d said. He wanted to finish the night off with a quickie. After a deep breath she got as steady as possible. “Are you insane? There’s no way in hell I’m going to sleep with you.”
His smile fell and he looked comically, drunkenly, disappointed. “Why not?”
Gwen pursed her lips, wishing both she and the room would stop spinning. “I’m drunk. Not stupid.”
“Hey. I never said—”
“Come on.” She tugged him closer to the front desk person. There were three people ahead of them. “Let’s get our rooms, then sleep it off. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
“I don’t see why you won’t at least consider it.”
The funny thing was, he didn’t sound particularly smashed, but she knew how much he’d put away. Of course, the proof was in his offer. No way he would have wanted her if he was in his right mind. And frankly, although he was a fabulous dancer, he was involved with Autumn. That alone disqualified him. The thought made her shiver.
“Hey,” he said again, only this time the single word was filled with a world of hurt.
“What?”
“I saw that cough-syrup look. I didn’t think I was that bad.”
Damn. She smiled as brightly as she could while trying to keep her balance. Oh, man, did her feet hurt. “That wasn’t about you.”
“Then what?”
“Autumn.” She winced as soon as the word came out. She hadn’t meant to say that.
“My Autumn?”
“Look. We’re next.”
He turned, overbalanced, but caught himself at the last minute. “I guess I drank a lot more than I thought. When we were dancing I didn’t feel nearly this shaky.”
She nodded, but stopped immediately as the motion made her stomach chime into a chorus of unsteadiness. The whole situation was ridiculous. She didn’t want to stay at the hotel. She had nothing with her, no change of clothes, not even a toothbrush. But she also didn’t want to take a taxi home, because just thinking of the ride made her queasy. Queasier.
At the front desk, it took Paul a few minutes to get out his wallet, then he slapped down a credit card. “Two rooms, please.”
“I’m sorry, sir. All we have available is a single room.”
“Two single rooms, then.”
“Actually, there’s only the one.”
Paul looked at her. Then back at the reservation clerk. “We’ll take it.”
“Wait a minute.” She drew Paul back a bit from the desk.
“Don’t worry,” he said, before she had a chance to protest. “You can have the room. I’ll get a car.”
“No. I’ll get a car.”
He shook his head. “Absolutely not. You need to go to bed.”
“So do you.”
He stared at her until he started swaying. “Fine. We’ll share.”
“Uh…”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be a perfect…uh…”
“Gentleman?”
He pointed at her. “Yes.”
“Okay, then,” she said.
Gwen wasn’t worried—not about Paul, at least. She was concerned about not being ill. And the lack of a toothbrush. Along with the key, the nice reservation man handed