Ms. Match. Jo Leigh

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      “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 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.

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