Tempted In Texas

Gwen could attribute the hesitation to him being slow on the uptake, but Alec wasn’t slow. No, for just a moment there, he’d considered the possibility that they were both sexually oriented in the same direction.

Was this what she was going to have to face? If a woman didn’t want to be with a man, then…then… And just because she wasn’t Alec’s type didn’t mean she wasn’t somebody’s type.

She’d show him. She’d…she’d go put on the skirt, that’s what she’d do. Gwen jumped up. “Hey—I got a new skirt I was thinking of wearing on New Year’s. How about a man’s opinion?”

“Danger. Warning. Woman requesting clothing opinion. Alert, alert.”

“Oh, stop.” She headed for the bedroom. “I just want to know what you think.”

“What I think is that nothing I say will be right,” Alec called after her.

Gwen grabbed the skirt, hanger and all, and went back to her living room. She unsnapped the clamps, then held up the skirt. “I’ll be with Laurie, so…you know.” She hoped he’d fill in the blanks about at least holding her own beside Laurie.

And speaking of blanks—Alec stared at the skirt, then met her eyes. “It’s…it’s just a black skirt. It doesn’t look all that short or tight.”

“So you’re saying that to appeal to a man, a skirt has to be short and tight?”

“Not…yes. Yes, it does.”

She walked closer so he could see how the light made it shimmer, maybe even feel the fabric.

He was clearly unimpressed by shimmer. “Well, Gwen, it’s a nice skirt.”

Nice. Kiss of death.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

I want you to be overcome with lust, that’s what. So much for the skirt’s man-attracting potential.

“The sweatpants make it look lumpy. Why don’t you put it on?”

“All right, I will.”

Gwen returned to the bedroom, suspecting that the reason she hadn’t put the skirt on in the first place was because if Alec was overcome with lust, she’d forget that she’d given up men and men like Alec were exactly the reason why. He’d talked about Laurie being high-maintenance, but if he took off his shirt—a pleasant, but distracting prospect—he’d have “high-maintenance” tattooed across his chest.

Already, she’d offered him her car and helped him with his love life—a love life that didn’t include her. Now, she was putting on the skirt after she swore she wouldn’t just so he’d find her attractive. And she’d just cooked dinner for him. Hadn’t she?

Gwen stepped into the skirt, thinking that she probably ought to put on panty hose, and pulled it up. Pulled…now more of an easing…sucked in her stomach…more…gave up on fastening the hook until after the zipper was zipped…zipped two inches and…

And staring in horror as her white, pizza-filled belly remained exposed because her hips and thighs had taken up all the room in the skirt.

3

SAVED. SAVED FROM herself. Putting on the skirt to attract Alec—what had she been thinking? Or rather, why had she been thinking it?

Fortunately, when she returned, he was typing some manly strategy he’d thought of into her laptop, and didn’t seem to remember the skirt.

Not fitting into the skirt didn’t matter. And yet Gwen ate salad with dressing on the side and avoided ice cream until Wednesday. She wasn’t dieting—she just suddenly developed a real fondness for naked lettuce. Besides, her ice cream day was Friday. Okay, Thursday through Saturday—Wednesday, if it had been a really rough week. But never Monday or Tuesday. Never. Oh, maybe a bite or two from Friday’s pint—but that was absolutely it.

And did the skirt care about naked lettuce or avoiding ice cream? Did it cooperate by at least letting Gwen zip the zipper completely? No.

So when New Year’s Eve rolled around, Gwen had to resort to her “safe” outfit—black silky pants, elastic waist, and the cute, but scratchy, Lurex sweater with the gold and silver champagne glasses all over it. Some of the glasses had bubbles coming out of them and Gwen had to stand up straight or a couple of the bubbles would be positioned suggestively.

The sweater had a V-neck and by aggressively pulling it down and standing with her arms just so, Gwen summoned up more cleavage than she had last year.

At least not all the extra pounds had gone to her hips.

She released the hem of the sweater and the neckline sprang back into mother-approved territory.

Gwen sighed and spent more time on her makeup. Why, she didn’t know. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told Laurie that the pickings were slim among her parents’ New Year’s Eve crowd.

As the thought occurred to her, Alec knocked on her door. She knew it was Alec because he was the only one knocking on her door these days. And she suddenly knew why she was wrestling with lip liner.

Alec came from a background where the women wore lip liner. They didn’t just buy it with good intentions, then leave it in their bathroom drawers until it dried out and crumbled when they got around to using it on New Year’s Eve to impress him.

Not that she was trying to impress him. He knocked again. Gwen threw down the lip liner, slashed at her mouth with lipstick and hurried to the door, then slowed when she realized he wasn’t going anywhere—she had the car keys, after all.

Speaking of…where had she put her purse? Right, back in the bedroom so she could exchange her leather carryall for a petite evening bag that was basically useless. She was just going to her mother’s, but Alec would see her and Gwen had some pride, misplaced though it was.

He knocked again.

“All right! I heard you the first time you banged on the door!” He must be eager to see Stephanie.

Irritated, Gwen flung open the door. “You’re just going to have to wait until I get my purse and a jack—”

Hands shoved in his pockets, Alec lounged against the iron railing at the top of the stairs outside her door. He looked…he looked…well, certainly worthy of lip liner.

He’d done the slicked-back thing with his hair, only on him it looked good. And the tux was…was black and shawl-collared with a shirt so white it hurt to look at it. He wore the traditional black bow tie and his shirt studs had to be a studly onyx and not plastic.

Gwen hung on to the doorknob with a death grip and tried to remember what she’d been saying. It would help if he’d give her a clue, but Alec wasn’t even looking at her. No, judging by the direction of his gaze, he was looking at her…bubbles.

“Nice sweater.” Grinning, Alec raised his eyes to hers. “Very…effervescent.”

“Ha ha.” Gwen straightened. “You have cat hair on your tux.”

“Damn cat.” He spoke with resignation and brushed at his arms.

“Pant leg,” Gwen pointed. “Come in and I’ll get you some masking tape.”

“Why?” He followed her in and shut the door.

Gwen ignored her wobbly legs and took off for the kitchen. “For the cat hair.”

She rummaged around in her kitchen drawer and brought him the roll of tape. “Wrap it around your hand sticky side out.”

“Wouldn’t it make sense to invest in a lint brush?”

“I have a lint brush, but I don’t want cat hair in it.”