Читать книгу Ms. Match - Jo Leigh - Страница 9

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 Paul two baskets, each filled with all kinds of necessities. Everything they’d need to get through the night. Including two shiny condom packets.

As if.

THE ROOM WAS SERVICEABLE, the bed a queen. Gwen thought again about calling for a cab, but the night’s excesses cesses won. She took her little basket into the bathroom and closed the door.

The contents were enough to get her by, only just. No makeup remover, no face cream. She brushed her teeth as she debated the pros and cons of keeping her dress on. It was a beautiful thing and she wasn’t sure how it would do if slept in. The alternative, however, was bra and panties. Perhaps if the lights were off. If he were asleep. If she could manage to remove her clothes without falling flat on her ass. As it was, she was barely keeping her balance with a hand on the counter.

She brushed her hair, then washed her face. It took a good deal of careful wiping to get most of her mascara off her eyes. When she was done she felt better. Slightly.

What she really needed was water. Lots of water.

When she came out, Paul was leaning against the wall, his tie off, his shirt half unbuttoned and his jacket on one of the chairs. Despite everything, he managed to look obscenely handsome. “It’s all yours.”

He gave her a decent smile, considering, and took her place behind the closed door. If she was going to take off her dress, now would be the time to do it. First, though, she got a bottle of water from the minibar, then she kicked off her shoes. As she yanked the covers down, the reality of sleeping in her dress seemed too uncomfortable. Before she could change her mind her dress was off and she was scrambling under the covers as quickly as her poor body would move.

The minute her head touched the pillow the seriousness of her folly hit hard. It had been years since she’d felt this horrible spinning sensation, years since she’d been fool enough to even approach being drunk.

Why? Why had tonight been so different? It wasn’t just the pity date. She’d had plenty before and never gone overboard. It wasn’t just her family and their stupid comments. If she wasn’t used to that by now, she might as well just give up. It couldn’t have been Paul. Yes, yes, gorgeous, right. But so what? She wasn’t the one who was fixated on good looks. Or charm, for that matter.

None of her relationships, other than familial, were based on appearances. The only things she cared about were on the inside. She’d learned early that kindness was a huge thing, even more important than intelligence and wit. She’d built her life around that very principle, and it had made her, for the most part, happy.

Although Paul had shown kindness tonight, she wasn’t at all convinced it was genuine. He was after Autumn. That revealed a great deal.

It didn’t matter, in the end. She’d gotten drunk. So what. Tomorrow, her real life would continue. She’d remember the dancing which had been such a fun surprise. And she’d use tonight as another reminder that too much alcohol was not her friend.

For now, she’d be very happy if the damn room would stop whirling.

She heard Paul leave the bathroom, but she didn’t turn to look at him. She closed her eyes, even though that made things a lot worse.

She felt the covers move, his weight dipping the mattress. The room went dark with the click of a switch. Then she felt him slide in beside her.

Her eyes open once again, she willed herself to pass out so she wouldn’t be so very aware of this man, this virtual stranger, stretched out beside her. He groaned, and she sympathized. A few seconds later, after he’d made some adjustments, he stilled. She relaxed.

She could smell him.

Nothing at all unpleasant about it. Soap, clean skin. Damp hair. Intimate.

She became achingly aware that she was in her underwear. Her plain department store panties and bra.

Was he in his? Boxers? Briefs? Those sexy European trunks that looked so appealing in the magazines? Surely he wasn’t naked.

Her eyes closed again, and this time, she was the one to moan. Not just from the dizziness, either.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“No. I’m an idiot.”

He sighed. “Me, too. I can’t stop spinning.”

“I’m too old for this kind of nonsense.” She shifted a bit on the bed, then froze, not wanting to touch him by accident. “Even when I was young I was too old for this.”

“It’s not all that dire. I, for one, will look back on this night not for being drunk off my ass, but for having a hell of a good time. I can’t remember the last time I danced like that.”

Gwen couldn’t help her smile. “Yeah. It was pretty great.”

She waited for him to speak again, but there was only the sound of his breathing. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep. Of course he had. It was absurdly late.

Once more, she closed her eyes and once more she moaned. It was cut short by the touch of his hand on her arm. Under the covers.

“I can call down for some Alka-Seltzer,” he said. “There wasn’t any in the care baskets.”

Should she move? No. She should ignore it. Him. “No, that’s okay. The spinning will stop soon.”

“Promise?”

“Wish I could.”

“You know,” he said, “it kind of helps to talk. At least for me. But that’s nuts, so never mind.”

“No, it’s not,” she said as she prayed he’d move his hand. “It does help, I think.”

“Crap.”

“What’s wrong?” She almost turned. Didn’t.

“I forgot to get water. Be back in a sec.”

His hand lifted and she breathed again. As the bed jiggled it occurred to her that drunkenness wasn’t her worst sin of the night. Being ridiculous had that honor. She was behaving like a child. A ninny. Like one of her sisters.

The light from the small fridge made her look. Boxers. Nice ones, though not the kind she’d been hoping for.

“You want one?” he asked.

“I’m good.”

He stood there, bare but for his undies, his head back, water bottle at his lips. He drank greedily, and even in the weird light she could see his Adam’s apple bob.

Okay, so she wasn’t being a complete moron. The guy was outside of her experience. The situation was incredibly intimate. Who wouldn’t feel intimidated?

Paul turned to face her, backlit to perfection. “That made all the difference. Are you sure you don’t want one?”

“I’ve got a bottle right here.” She tried to keep her gaze on his face, but her eyes refused to obey. They swept down his chest to his slim hips and below where they lingered until he closed the minifridge door.

He got back into bed with no hesitation this time. While she was busy worrying about the slightest touch, he not only made a good deal of noise, he moved until he was right next to her. If she rolled over, she’d be half on top of him.

“Would it be easier for you if I slept in the bathtub?” she asked.

“What? Why?”

She would have given him a withering glare, but it was dark and she was on her side facing away. “You seem to need a lot of room.”

“No, actually, I don’t. I just wanted to be close.”

“I haven’t changed my mind, Paul. Besides, you’re in no condition.”

“You’re wrong about that, but I’m very clear that you said no. I won’t press the issue.”

“So what’s with the close?”

“You smell nice. And I want to talk.”

She swallowed at the compliment, then let it go for what it was. “Talk about what?”

“We can start with your famous bar buddies.”

Gwen sighed. “Well then, move over.”

He did, then she sat up, holding the covers over her chest as she put her pillow behind her back.

Paul evidently thought that was a good move, and he followed suit. “Bar buddies?”

“It’s nothing. I go to a sports bar on Monday nights. They play sports trivia.”

“Are you good?” he asked.

“I’m great.”

Paul grunted.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She looked at him, more awake than she’d been a minute ago. “I won last year’s overall championship.”

“All sports?”

“All the major sports. It’s not just a local contest, either. It’s all over America and Canada. I happen to play at Bats and Balls, but there are hundreds of bars that participate.”

“Whoa. Okay, sorry I questioned your expertise, but it still doesn’t answer my question.”

“Which was…?”

“Bar buddies.”

“Men play there, too. Eve finds it suspicious that I hang out with men and we’re all just friends.”

He turned his head, although she couldn’t make out his expression. “Eve’s an idiot.”

“Yes. She is,” she said, quite definitely. Then she smiled, just because.

PAUL STRETCHED HIS NECK as he hunkered down in the bed. The dizziness, thank God, had eased and sleep was creeping up the blankets. Still, he didn’t want Gwen to stop talking. He wanted to fade out on her soft voice. He wished that was all he wanted.

They’d talked baseball, moved on to football then somehow got onto favorite pizza joints, but he wasn’t sure where she was now. He’d tuned out the words a while ago, concentrating on the sound. His thoughts had drifted as he’d been lulled by her low seductive tone. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay awake for more than a few minutes and dammit, he wanted to touch her. Just touch her.

She stopped talking and the quiet wasn’t half as nice, but then she shifted until they were lying side by side with a more than decent space between them.

Paul turned to face her. When she didn’t object, he inched a little closer. With the room so dark, he had no signals to tell him if she was cringing or amenable. The last thing he wanted was to freak her out. “You awake?” he whispered.

“Barely.”

“Would you hate it if I got closer?”

She was silent for several seconds, which gave him all the answer he needed.

“Never mind. Sweet dreams.” He closed his eyes, letting it go. It had been a foolish thought. He wasn’t a cuddler, never had been. He was pretty damn sure this weird feeling had more to do with alcohol than desire.

That feeling came over him—a twilight kind of buzz that precedes slumber. He welcomed the sensation.

When she shifted again he didn’t think anything of it. Not until her backside brushed his hip.

The buzz now in his body was of an entirely different nature. Oddly, he didn’t go into sex mode. It wasn’t about that. When he put his arm around her tummy, the softness of her skin felt perfect. When he spooned her so that he felt her body against his chest, his thighs, he smiled with contentment.

This was exactly what he’d wanted. And from her sigh, he knew she wasn’t unhappy about it, either.

He closed his eyes and drifted off.

GWEN WASN’T SURE how long she’d been in his arms. All she knew was that Paul had fallen asleep, his body cupping hers in an embrace that should have had her running for a cab. Only she didn’t want to run.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so good. Even the headache that was just starting to bloom in her temples didn’t bother her.

Maybe all of it—the way she’d danced like a fool, agreeing to spend the night, this—had a simple explanation. Touch.

She hadn’t been touched in a long, long time. Maybe a handshake or two, but his palm on her tummy, her body pressed to his, that hadn’t happened for what, six months? Longer?

No wonder she’d had difficulty saying no. People were wired to need contact. The more, the better. A huge part of pair bonding had to do with the chemicals humans released when they were skin to skin.

Not that she wanted to pair bond with Paul. Not only was his taste in women completely suspect, but he was just too good-looking.

No, except for his love of baseball…and poker, and dancing. And okay, he had a pretty good sense of humor and he liked horror flicks, still, there was nothing about Paul that appealed to her.

It was the touch thing. He hadn’t been in Autumn’s pants yet, so he’d been without for a while. One would assume. And Gwen hadn’t been close to anyone since Alex. So she should just go to sleep now. Take comfort where it was offered and let the rest fade away.

She found his hand, the one draping her waist, and she put her own hand over his. She moved her leg and her back until she was perfectly comfy with maximum touching. She matched her breathing to his slow, even rhythm. Yet sleep didn’t come.

Her weary, stupefied mind kept dancing. Not just to the swing band from earlier, but to the look of indignation on his face when Faith and Eve had said their horrible things. To the way his eyes had lit up when she’d confessed her Dodger addiction. To the way he moaned, just then, as he dreamed. As he held her.

As far as pity dates went, this one had been the best yet. A grand slam.

She yawned once, squeezed his hand, and that was it.