Ms. Match (2 page)

“I say you’re nuts.”

“That’s probably true. On the other hand, I was promised an open bar and a great buffet.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that. Honestly, there’s not enough booze in the world to make this a delightful evening.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

She looked at him, taken aback once more at how damn gorgeous he was. It was ridiculous, really. No one person should be allowed all that beauty. But then, beauty wasn’t fair at all, was it? There was no doubt in her mind that she should put a stop to this madness right now. The whole situation was ludicrous. Could she actually be considering going to the party with this Adonis?

“Good, it’s settled. Get your bag, Gwen. Let’s go have some fun.”

Even as she shook her head, she walked over to the dining-room table to pick up her purse. And when he held out his arm for her, she took it. It didn’t surprise her that he had a shiny black Mercedes. But it did surprise her that she felt a little shiver in her tummy as he helped her inside.

PAUL SETTLED THE CAR onto the freeway and stole a glance at his companion. Autumn had exaggerated her sister’s unattractiveness. She wasn’t in Autumn’s league, no, but she wasn’t hideous, not by a long shot. Gwen was what he would consider plain. Nondescript eyes, a nose that could benefit from a good cosmetic surgeon, a too-broad jaw. Her body was nice, although bigger than most of his women friends. She carried herself confidently and put herself together well. But frankly, if he’d seen her at a party he’d have walked by without a second glance. It wasn’t noble. Then again, he’d never claimed to be a paragon of virtue. He liked beautiful things. Cars, clothes, women. It wasn’t a crime.

“So how do you know her?” Gwen asked.

“I met Autumn at a party for one of my author clients.”

“Autumn knows an author? Autumn knows how to read?”

“I don’t believe she knew him,” he said, choosing to ignore the dig. “She was there as someone’s guest.”

“You can understand my confusion. She’s not exactly a charter member of the book of the month club.”

He smiled, thinking Gwen was right. “She has other charms.”

“Yes, I suppose she does.”

“You two aren’t close?”

“No. Her circles and mine seldom intersect.”

“So tell me about your circles.”

She turned a bit to look at him and he felt as if he should have brought his college diploma to show her. “I’m a headhunter for Rockland-Stewart. Mostly scientific positions.”

“Really? I’ve used a headhunter once or twice.”

“For…?”

“Public relations. Primarily in the entertainment field.”

She nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Why?”

She went back to staring at the road. “You seem the entertainment industry type.”

“Do I hear a note of disdain?”

“No, I’m sure it’s fascinating work.”

“Actually, it is.”

“Why PR?”

“Why not? I’m good at it.”

“That, I’m sure of. You were quite smooth stepping into this awkward position.”

“So you would have preferred the original arrangement? Sam is a pretty interesting guy.”

Gwen sighed. “I’m being horrible, I’m sorry. My sister believes she’s doing me a favor, setting me up like this. I’ve told her at least a dozen times, if I wanted a date, I’d bring a date.”

“You like going stag? Even to something like this?” Paul got over to the right lane, ready for the interchange. The party was at the Marriott in Burbank. It wasn’t a long trip from her place in Pasadena, not by L.A. standards.

“It depends.”

“On?”

She gave him a look that he couldn’t make out as most of her face was in shadow. “My sister and most of my family don’t have a clue about my life. Just as I don’t have much of a clue about theirs. It’s just easier to go to family gatherings alone.”

“I see.”

“There’s a chance you’ll enjoy yourself, though,” she said. “It’ll be packed. Aside from all my parents’ friends, there’s my incredibly gigantic family. You know there are eight of us kids. Five of them are married and Faith is engaged. That’s not counting their children.”

“Whoa. I had no idea.”

“All of them are more like Autumn than me. It was a joke my whole life that my mother had an affair with the postman.”

“Unique is good.”

“And there’s the PR maven at work.”

Despite the fact that Gwen was right, he wasn’t liking this. Not even a little. Come on, he was doing a favor here. A rather large one. She could at least be gracious about it.

“I’m sorry. There I go again. It’s nothing personal, I assure you,” Gwen said.

“No problem.”

“It is. You’re doing a nice thing, even if your motivation is less than pure.”

“Okay, I’m not a saint, but I still think we could make the best of it. If it will make you more comfortable, I can drop you off and arrange for a car to take you home when you’re ready.”

That seemed to startle her. She looked his way, although since he was exiting the freeway, he couldn’t spare her much of a glance. It wasn’t until they were at the first stoplight that she answered.

“I’ll leave that to you. Have yourself a drink and something to eat. Leave when you feel like it. And you don’t have to worry about a car home. I can take care of that, myself.”

“Fine. Let’s see how it goes.”

Even though he couldn’t really see her, he felt her relax. His own shoulders loosened, as well. Now that he had a tidy out, he figured if he played his cards right, he might still be able to make his poker game. He smiled as he turned into the Marriott driveway.

Gwen glanced at Paul as they made their way to the grand ballroom. He wore his tuxedo the way some men wear Levi’s, as if it was the first thing he’d grab in the event of a fire.

Everything about him was the kind of slick you had to look for. So subtle that the signs of effort could easily be missed. His nails had been buffed, though not excessively so. His hair was perfectly mussed as if he’d just rolled out of a movie bed. Not a real bed, because that would be too risky, plus there was the whole eye-gunk and bad breath thing to deal with. No, Paul looked like a big-screen leading man.

Seconds before they reached the entrance, Gwen thought about stepping closer to him, making sure her family and their friends would know that he was with her. The thought brought a wry grin to her face which she hoped Paul didn’t see, or wouldn’t know how to interpret.

She kept the same distance from him as they rounded the door, then felt his open palm on the small of her back.

Startled, she looked up at him. He smiled and gave her a wink, which would have been delightful if the underlying reason for his attention hadn’t been pity. Despite those momentary urges to thumb her nose at her family, this was not the way she wanted to play. The game itself made her ashamed of her entire brood, and herself. She stepped away, dislodging his hand and any notion he might have harbored that she needed rescuing.

Paul took the rejection in stride, his seductive smile not faltering. It occurred to Gwen that the seduction was all part of his package. His personal autosetting. Seduce and conquer. Of course he was successful. He’d been born for his work.

“Gwen?”

She slowed at the sound of her sister’s voice. Faith. Six years older than Gwen, Faith was a buyer for Neiman Marcus. Her fiancé, Bret, standing at her side, was also a buyer. The two of them were a match made in heaven. Between them, they almost had a whole brain. “Yes, Faith, it’s me. Gwen.”

“And who’s this?” Faith eyed Paul as if he were a hot new designer jacket. Her whole face lit up with curiosity, which naturally made her even more beautiful. Her sisters, all five of them, had been models at some time during their lives. Despite the fact that Faith was thirty-four, she still fielded offers from photographers.

“Paul Bennet, my sister, Faith.”

Paul bowed his head which made Faith sigh before she looked back at Gwen. “You must give me the name of the escort service. Not for me, naturally, but I know a lot of women…Anyway, it’s lovely to meet you.”

Gwen’s gaze shifted to Paul, catching the tail end of his shock. He regained his aplomb quickly.

“I see the bar.” He nodded toward the side of the room and completely ignored Faith and her idiotic statement. “Shall we get a drink?”

“I’d like that.” Gwen took his arm and they headed deeper into enemy territory. She thought about apologizing for Faith, but if she started down that road, she’d be apologizing the whole night. Screw it. She’d have a drink, see Paul off, then call a cab. It would be over before she knew it, and she could forget all this nonsense.

The orchestra was fabulous. The music was all the stuff she’d grown up with. Swing, mostly, with some old standards thrown in for downtimes. She hadn’t spotted her parents yet, but there was Danny and his wife, Sandy. And her sisters, Bethany and Eve.

Paul slowed as they reached the end of the line for the bar. “What would you like?”

“Gin and tonic, please.”

“No champagne?”

“Nope. To get through this night I need major fortification. In fact, make that a double.”

“Sounds very wise,” he said. “So how many of them are out there?”

She knew without asking exactly what he was talking about. “All six. Plus six mates.”

“Where do you fit in?”

She almost said she didn’t. “It’s Jess and Autumn after me. Everyone else is older, if not wiser. As I said, feel free to leave. I’m used to them.”

“I don’t know. That buffet looks great.”

“I’m sure it is. My folks know how to throw a party.”

He looked across the huge ballroom toward the orchestra. “I can see that. Do you dance?”

“We all learned. My parents were semipro when they were younger. We listened to swing bands instead of lullabies.”

“I had to go to a dance academy. What a nightmare. I got beaten up regularly, and no, learning to fox-trot didn’t help me become so light on my feet I came away unscathed. I had a permanent black eye until I was fifteen.”

“But are you happy now?”

“Well sure. I haven’t had a black eye in years.”

She grinned. “I mean about the dancing.”

“Ah. I suppose it’s good to know how, although there are remarkably few opportunities to use the skills these days.”

“That’s true. And sad.”

“There are some swing clubs in the Valley.”

The woman standing in front of Paul turned to stare at him. Paul coughed. “Swing dance clubs,” he said. “Although I’m pretty certain there are the other kind, too.”

The woman who’d looked at him was one of her parents’ golfing friends. They belonged to a club that cost a fortune and spent their days playing cards, tennis, even some lawn bowling. She was glad for them, that they had the money to live a leisurely retirement.

“Gwen, it’s so nice to see you. It’s been ages.”

What the hell was her name? It was Bitsy or Kiki or some other silly thing, but Gwen couldn’t recall. It didn’t matter, though, as what’s-her-name couldn’t take her eyes off Paul. “Nice to see you, too. This is Paul Bennet, a friend of Autumn’s.”

The woman nodded as if it all suddenly made sense. “Where is that sister of yours?”

“Rome.”

“Lucky duck. Rome is beautiful this time of year, don’t you think?”

Paul slid a glance at Gwen. “I’m sure Autumn would prefer to be here.”

“Oh, of course she would.”

Paul stepped closer, very close, although he didn’t touch Gwen. “My thoughts exactly.”

With a final somewhat bewildered smile, the woman turned away, leaving Gwen yearning for her drink and her escape.

“Is it all parties you dislike so much, or just family parties?” Though his voice was low, considering the noise in the room, she heard him. Felt his warm breath on the side of her neck.

“I prefer small gatherings. With lots of conversation and laughter. Ah, finally.”

They had gotten to the bartender at last. Paul ordered their drinks, and once they had them, she sipped as she led him toward the buffet. It was a huge spread, complete with an ice sculpture swan. Oysters on the half shell, colossal shrimp, crab legs, caviar. Everything was perfectly presented, the waitstaff attentive and polite. If only she could relax and enjoy herself. She juggled her glass and her plate until she had enough food to help ward off real drunkenness, then headed toward the far end of the ballroom where there were a few places to sit.

Paul found them two seats, and they joined a group of strangers. Gwen recognized some of them, but she had no names to go with the faces. It was nice, though, because the food and drink made chitchat difficult. She wondered if she should tell him again that he was free to leave, or if that would sound as if she was throwing him out.

“That’s got to be one of the sisters,” Paul said.

She followed his gaze to the outskirts of the dance floor. Bethany, the only sister Gwen was remotely close to, stood with her husband, Harry. They both looked gorgeous. Beth wore a long, shimmering silver dress that hugged her perfect figure. “That’s Bethany. Husband Harry. They have a girl, Nickie, who’s almost a year old.”

“Another one?” He nodded toward the front entrance.

“Yep. That’s Eve. Although I don’t see the rest of her brood.”

“I don’t think I can pick out any of the brothers.”

She glanced through the crowd, but she couldn’t find any of the boys, either. “I’ll point them out if they pass.”

“What was it like to grow up with so many siblings?”

“It was great when I was very young. Not so much later on. The competition was fierce.”

“Competition?”

“Unlike those delightfully cheery big families on television, our gang was all about points. Major points for football glory, modeling contracts, cheerleading squads.”

“What about academics?”

She waved her hand, the shrimp she held bobbing. “No one actually discouraged getting good grades. But report cards weren’t important currency. What about you?”

“There was pressure, most of it about grades. It was just me and my sister, Val. She’s three years younger, and damn smart. Scary smart. Me, I had to bust my ass.”

“You did well?”

“Yeah. I got into Yale, and they didn’t throw me out for a fraud. I studied prelaw, but much to the disappointment of my father, it wasn’t for me.”

“You’re lucky. You found your calling.”

“I am.”

She finished up the rest of her meal, digesting the fact that leading man Bennet had graduated from Yale. She probably should feel embarrassed at her own prejudice. In her experience men who looked like Paul didn’t go Ivy League. Her brothers had done quite well in life having attended middling colleges. They’d understood early that charm and beauty opened more doors than prestigious degrees.

“Is there something else you’d like? More shrimp? Another drink?”

“No, I’m fine for now, thanks.”

He stood up and she relaxed, knowing she would be free to leave soon herself. Paul held out his hand. Instead of a quick goodbye, he urged her to her feet. “Dance with me?”

“Oh. No. I—”

“Years of black eyes.”

She knew that breathtaking smile wasn’t really for her. It was all part of the game. What she couldn’t understand was what he was doing with Autumn? Yes, she was stunning, a knockout. But she was also dumb as a post. Gwen laughed at herself. Didn’t beauty trump smarts every time?

He tugged at her again, and she relented. It had to be the gin, that’s all. Surely she wasn’t fooled by his PR magnetism. As they went toward the dance floor, she looked down at her dress. She’d spent way too much on the damn thing, especially knowing she’d probably never wear it again. Still, when she’d tried it on, she’d felt so pretty.

She’d seen the dress in the window of a small Beverly Hills boutique and tried it on for a lark. How it fit her size-ten body made her feel more like a size two. So she’d closed her eyes to the outrageous price and excused her excess as a celebration in honor of a major win by her beloved Dodgers.

Finally, she would get to take the dress out for a spin. What did it matter if she danced with a pity date? She was allowed to have fun, dammit. Even here. Even with him.

PAUL KEPT HOLD OF HER HAND until they were in the middle of the crowded dance floor, afraid she’d try to escape if he let go. When he spun her into his arms, he was shocked to find her smiling. Not that tight, barely tolerant smirk she’d worn earlier tonight, but a real honest-to-god grin.

The orchestra broke into “Go Daddy-O,” and Paul got her ready. Gwen gave him a nod, and the two of them were off.

He hadn’t danced like this in years, since that brief swing craze had made the rounds. But it all was there, right next to his fox-trots and waltzes and sambas.

It helped that Gwen kicked ass.

Unlike almost every woman he’d danced with since grammar school, she knew how to follow. She could actually read his hand as he guided her, his feet before they made a move. If they hadn’t been wearing evening clothes, he’d have really let loose. He knew she’d love it if he swung her into the air or into a deep slide between his legs.

No matter, this was still exhilarating. Not as good as bed-busting sex, but it would do.

As he pulled her into a twirl, her head went back and she laughed out loud, a sound that made him laugh himself, just for the hell of it.

The whole thing was crazy. Dancing like a madman, dancing with Gwen. Enjoying himself so much he just might not leave after this song. One more wouldn’t hurt. The poker game would still be going if he stayed for a couple more numbers.

By the time this song ended he was sweating a bit, not completely winded thanks to his workout routine, yet he needed a minute. From the look of things, Gwen did, too. He could tell from her dancing that she was in good shape. It was odd. He’d never gone out with athletic women. Most of his dates were thin. Well, skinny. He liked the models, liked how they looked on his arm. They had never really wanted to do much. Of course, they never ate, at least not in front of him.

“That was wonderful.” Gwen fluttered her long dress, trying to cool down. “You’re really good.”

“It was worth the beatings, then?”

“I’d say so.”

“Drink first? Or wait to hear what they play next?”