Ms. Match

Okay. So she couldn’t be angry about his condition. She still needed to get up, grab her dress and make it to the bathroom without waking him.

Despite the darkness of the room she knew it was daylight. Parched and achy, all she wanted was to skip this part and be home. Instead, she held her breath as she carefully lifted his hand. Inch by inch she moved toward the edge of the bed, wincing in her effort not to screw up. She should never have stayed last night. What had she been thinking?

Almost…almost…

Her body was clear. She held on to his hand as she pulled her pillow down to take her place. Hardly daring to breathe she sat up, turned to look at him.

Mistake.

He was as gorgeous as a movie-star hero. She had no illusions about what she looked like when she first got up. Life just wasn’t fair, that’s all. Anyway, his breathing hadn’t changed, his eyes were closed and she’d better get her butt in gear if she intended to make a getaway.

Rising slowly, she made it to her feet. First, she grabbed the water bottle from the nightstand, then hurried to get her dress and dashed into the bathroom.

Finally, she could catch her breath. The woman in the mirror looked like hell, but at least she had a toothbrush and soap.

It didn’t take her long to get dressed. The only thing missing from the bathroom was a notepad. It seemed really impolite to leave without some kind of goodbye. On the other hand, she’d never see Paul Bennet again, so why bother?

No, even she couldn’t be that dismissive. He’d been nice. The best pity date ever. One she’d actually look back on fondly. With brush in hand, she opened the bathroom door to go hunt for paper.

Only Paul wasn’t sleeping anymore. He stood directly in front of her, not five inches away. In his boxers. In the light. Looking like a god. He seemed a bit desperate as he moved quickly into the bathroom. She shook herself out of her beauty-induced shock and scurried out.

With her heart rate up and a ferocious desire to get the hell out of there, she turned on the light by the nightstand. A convenient Marriott notepad and pen were at the ready and she dashed off a quick thanks, tore that sheet off, then wrote another, this one nicer. Her purse was in her hand and she was halfway to the door when Paul came out of the bathroom.

She shouldn’t have written that second note. It had given him time to wash his face, run a damp hand through his hair. She could also see that his poker was behaving once more. Why not? It wasn’t as if he’d been hard over her.

“You taking off?”

“I need coffee and a shower.”

“I hear that. I’m happy to call down for room service. I can be dressed in no time.”

“It’s okay. Stay.” She forced herself to look at his face and only his face. “Take your time. I’m not that far, and I’ll have no trouble getting a cab from here.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

If she wasn’t mistaken, he sounded a little pouty, which didn’t make sense at all. It was probably nothing. His head had to feel as badly as her own. She couldn’t imagine him wanting to stretch things out.

“I wrote you a note. Now that you’re here I’ll just say thank you. I really did have a fun night. You’re a hell of a dancer.”

“Yeah. I had a good time, too. Weird, huh?”

“Very.” She went to pass him, then he touched her arm.

“Autumn was right.”

“About?”

“You being interesting and fun.”

“I was drunk as a skunk, although I’m not really sure what that means.”

His smile was slow and devilish. “Yeah, I think skunks are entirely too clever to drink as much as we did.”

“Hangover?”

He nodded.

“I bet they have plenty of aspirin in the lobby. Anyway…”

“Yeah. Anyway…”

She looked down at where his hand touched her bare skin. Odd. The touch meant nothing. Completely innocent. Only it didn’t feel that way.

A second later, she realized he was leaning toward her. She looked up just as his lips met her own.

Paul kissed her.

Again she froze, lips together, not breathing, waiting for something to happen. Him to back up with a start or a laugh or to ease his grip on her arm. What happened instead was that he continued to kiss her, tilting his head a bit to the right. Parting his lips.

Her eyes closed of their own volition, even as she told herself to move away, to stop the nonsense and get home where crazy things like sleeping with strangers didn’t happen. What she did instead was part her lips, too.

Paul sighed and she inhaled his peppermint breath. Time stretched and slowed her thoughts and her reactions until she barely recognized herself.

As if poked with a stick, Paul jerked back, snatched his hand away. He looked completely startled. “Whoa. Sorry about that. I didn’t mean—”

“No problem. Mistakes all around. Anyway…”

“Yeah, yeah.” He backed up a step, then two. “Anyway…”

“I’ll just be—”

“Sure. Good.”

She flung out her hand, searching for the door. “It was fun. The dancing.”

“Fun. Yes.” He backed up until he hit the bed.

Luckily, she found the door and before she could utter another inane word, she was out in the hall. She leaned back, hitting her head pretty hard, swore soundly, then made her way to the elevator, wondering what in the hell had happened to her. It was all too strange, every bit of it, and she felt sure that if her head didn’t hurt quite so much, she’d be able to make sense of the butterflies in her tummy. Or why the memory of his lips persisted. Why she felt the need to rub her arm where he’d touched her. Instead, she decided to pretend last night and this morning had never happened.

PAUL CHECKED his watch again. Autumn was later than usual for their dinner, and he was starving. He’d gotten their table at Nobu forty minutes ago, and the waiter was getting itchy. Paul had nursed his drink down to ice. Where was she? It had been her idea to come here, a thank-you for taking Gwen to the anniversary party. It had taken two weeks for her to come up with this dinner, changing plans at the last minute so they would meet here instead of him picking her up.

He really wasn’t sure why he bothered. Autumn was hot, but forty-minutes-late hot? Two weeks of cajoling and teasing hot?

It had taken him a full twenty-four hours to recover from the evening with Gwen, and a lot longer than it should have to stop thinking about it. He could hardly believe that he’d wanted to sleep with Autumn’s sister. Not only was she not at all his type, but the idea that he’d even considered doing something so unsavory made him wary of ever drinking again.

He knew a lot of guys, some of them good friends, who wouldn’t think twice about going after a sister. He wasn’t one of them. He liked to think he had standards. Okay, not terribly high standards, but he tried to adhere to simple rules. He never lied to any of his women about dating others. He didn’t cheat when he’d made any kind of commitment. There simply wasn’t a reason to.

He’d worried, right after, that Gwen would have told Autumn that he’d been stupid. The more he thought about it, the more he concluded she never would. She and Autumn weren’t close, plus, Gwen had been appalled when he’d suggested sex.