Ms. Match (7 page)

“You probably have a date tonight, so I won’t keep you.” Even her breath made him hard.

“There is no one but you.”

She smiled. “You always say the sweetest things.”

“Give me five minutes to make sure Tina’s gone. I’ll lock the door.”

That wasn’t the right answer according to her tiny pout. “That sounds nice, but I was thinking…”

He doubted that, but went along with it anyway. “About?”

“There’s a big party tonight at the Chateau Marmont. I thought we could go together. Just you and me.”

“And a hundred of our closest friends?”

“It’s going to be a really good party.”

He sighed. Autumn was Autumn. Knowing her, she’d had another escort lined up, but something had happened, so she’d turned to Paul. And, knowing her, at the end of the evening, there would be a kiss or two, maybe a little more, but even though the party was at a hotel with beds and room service there would be no sex.

Gwen had told him how to woo Autumn, but he hadn’t believed it. If he was smart, he’d send her on her way. Go home. Read a book. Watch something on PBS.

Autumn leaned down just far enough to run the tip of her tongue over his bottom lip.

After the shiver that went straight to his cock died down enough for him to breathe, he said, “Do you want dinner first?”

“Come on. It’s not that bad. Some people would actually enjoy this little luxury.”

Maybe she was being too harsh. He was trying very hard to win her over, and for Paul, a limo equaled major points. “The whole day’s going to be like this, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Extravagance and pampering until you just can’t take another minute of it. I wouldn’t blame you at all if you broke down in tears while having to choose between the lobster and the filet mignon.”

“I’ll be too busy watching the game. You remember. Dodgers? Baseball?”

“Excuse me, who won the trivia contest?”

“By one point.”

“One point was all that was needed.”

She had to give it up and smile. “Conceited much?”

Paul turned more toward her. He was in his version of casual—jeans that fit him to perfection, a T-shirt that had to be a size smaller than was wise—the better to show off his shoulders and impeccable abs. He had a baseball cap on the seat across from them and she wondered if he’d risk ruining that scruffy, terribly chic do by putting it on. He was a living, breathing Abercrombie & Fitch ad.

“Somehow,” he said, “I doubt you’d have been the model of humility if you’d won.”

“I would have been so gracious you’d have choked on it.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “I rest my case.”

Gwen shook her head, thinking he was right. It wasn’t all that bad. If she let herself, she might have a very fine time today. She’d always wanted to watch the game from the suites, and here was her chance. She didn’t want to waste it worrying about Paul’s motives. If he was being a louse, she’d find out soon enough. The opposite might take longer, but eventually his true colors would be visible. For now, all she had to do was relax. Enjoy the swag. Why not?

“You gave in pretty quickly. I’m worried.”

“Don’t be. I decided you were right. I’ve never gone to a game in a limo. It smells very good.”

He laughed, and oh, shit, she’d coached herself over and over in preparation, but it was all for naught. He melted something inside her, something she wanted excised, please, as quickly as possible.

How mortifying after being her, for God’s sake, to be taken in by beauty.

Not only was it wrong, it wasn’t fair.

“For someone who’s decided to have fun, that’s quite a scowl.”

She smiled, trying to mean it. “How come you know so much about baseball?”

He seemed as surprised at the question as she was for asking it. “Loved the game since I was a kid. I played all through school. At one point, I hoped to go all the way, but wasn’t good enough.”

“I’m surprised. I figured you were fabulous at everything.”

“That’s what my parents counted on, but it’s not true. I’ve always been into sports, though. Basketball, rowing, football, for a while at least.”

“Do you still play?”

“Pickup games at the gym, golf, tennis.”

“You should have clicked more with my brothers.”

“I was preoccupied.” He reached into the conveniently placed ice bucket and pulled out a bottle of Heineken. “Beer?”

“I need to pace myself. I have to have a couple of brews watching the game or my boys don’t stand a chance.”

He nodded. “Then by all means. I have some water in here, I think.”

“That’s okay. I’m good.”

“Do you play? Sports, I mean?”

“We have a company softball league. We also play touch football, and we bowl, depending on the season.”

“Sounds as if you do a lot with your coworkers. Anything outside the fold?”

“Not much. The job takes up so much time. It’s a very competitive field.”

He popped the top on his beer and settled back, one leg crooked and on the seat. “Is it all science geeks or do you headhunt for other talent?”

“We have different divisions. We’re one of the top firms in the world, actually. Offices all over the place. Mostly finance, the sciences and high tech.”

“How did you end up there?”

“I majored in chemistry and business. I’m not terribly thrilled with research, so this seemed right.”

“Chemistry, huh?”

She nodded. “I like knowing how to blow things up.”

Paul laughed. “And how often do you put that knowledge into practice?”

“Not as often as I’d like. It’s comforting, however, to know I could if I wanted to.”

He held up his beer. “Hear, hear. I can think of several things I’d like to blow to smithereens.”

She relaxed a bit more, sinking into the soft leather and the smooth ride. If she could just stop thinking about how damn pretty he was, she felt sure she could have herself a banner day.

PAUL OFFERED Gwen the best seat of the bunch. Not that they weren’t all great, but this one, it was primo. He never gave that seat to the women who came with him, knowing they wouldn’t appreciate it, but Gwen? Oh, yeah. She got it.

If only he could stop wishing she was as pretty as her sister.

It shouldn’t matter. Not for a friend. Hell, he shouldn’t be thinking about it at all. He liked her. He did. Still, the wish kept popping up.

And that damn wish kept reminding him about Friday night with Autumn. They’d gone to the party, and she’d been right. It had been a hell of a gathering, as A-list as they come. She’d been flirtatious all night. Unfortunately, she’d shared the wealth with all the men in the room. Normally, that didn’t bother him. Most of his dates understood their power and used it indiscriminately, especially around celebrities. He usually felt an odd pride about that.

Not this time.

He’d been irritated at her blatant sexuality, at her obviousness. When she’d been ready for the final tease with him, he’d been so tired and put off he’d barely tried to get her into bed.

“This is the most amazing place I’ve ever been,” Gwen said, staring down at first base. “And I’ve been to the Parthenon.”

Yep. She totally got it. “You’re right. Wait till the game starts. You’ll never want it to end.”

She tore her gaze from the field to look around. Even though it was one of the smaller suites it could still hold up to twenty guests. Occasionally, he brought that many. Clients and contacts, sometimes his poker buddies. Only once had it been him and a woman, but that had been too distracting. When he came here, he wanted baseball. Pure, simple, as it was meant to be played.

He watched her face as she noticed the screens, with a view from every angle. There was the wet bar and fridge, the hot food station, the round tables behind the front row, each with bowls of peanuts and popcorn and even M&M’s. She ran her hands over the arms of the Aeron chair, and he watched her test the lumbar feature, knowing there wasn’t a more comfortable seat in the whole damn place.

What he also knew was that the thrills were only beginning. The waiters would come in with all manner of delicious food. Dodger Dogs, naturally, but so much more. The beer was ice-cold on tap, the sound from the announcers piped directly in, the action on the field second only to being on the bench.

When she finally looked at him, her smile changed her face. He’d never seen her look like that before, even when they’d danced.

“Thank you. It’s heaven.”

“I knew you’d like it.”

“I do. I just can’t believe all this is just for us.”

He shrugged. “I have to do business here on a regular basis during the season. For once, I didn’t want to think about anything but the game.”

“I don’t think I could do business. It would be like working in church.”

“Exactly. You ready for your beer, or you want to wait for the first pitch?”

She bit her lower lip and for a moment he saw a family resemblance. Not that he could have said exactly what, but it was there. “I’ll wait,” she said.

“Whatever you want.” He sat back and looked past the park to Elysian Field. Even with the smog, it was a great sight. Man, he loved this place.

Gwen got up, and as she passed him, she put her hand on his shoulder. He looked at her, at her happiness, and he felt as if he’d passed a test. It wasn’t the whole match, but it was a start.

Now if he could just figure out why he wanted to win at all.

GWEN LOOKED AT HERSELF in the private bathroom mirror and she had to wonder whose life she was living. It wasn’t hers, that’s for sure.

The game had ended not ten minutes ago—a four-two victory for her boys. She’d eaten unbelievably fine food, shouted until she’d worried about losing her voice, had laughed far more than seemed plausible. In short, she’d had a great time.

With Paul Bennet.

There were still so many questions that she should be asking, but the truth was, she didn’t want to. It was one day. One game. She’d had a blast, and not just because of the game.

She’d underestimated Paul in the brains department. Yes, he still had the whole shallow thing going on, and please, she had to deal with enough of that with her family, but he’d said things this afternoon that made her believe there might be some thinking going on underneath that pretty-suit.

Not that she expected him to win the Nobel or anything, but it was heartening. Mostly because she didn’t have to feel quite so guilty about getting all twittery when he looked at her for longer than two seconds.

Her chin dropped to her chest. It was no good. He could have said the most brilliant thing she’d ever heard, and she’d still feel creepy. She was the most hypocritical person on earth, and she didn’t deserve to have had this day.

The lyrics from West Side Story started spinning in her head. Stick to her own kind was exactly what she needed to do. Which should be easy because this was it. She’d made up for being a bitch at Bats and Balls. He’d done his anthropology assignment, or whatever the hell he was trying to accomplish. Done. The end.

She put on some lip gloss, fluffed her hair to no avail, and returned to the suite.

He stood next to the wet bar, leaning against the fridge, his grin showing off the dimples that were simply overkill of cuteness. “I have one more surprise.”

“No. No way. I don’t think my heart can take it.”

“If you want, we can go down and meet a few of the guys.”

She knew exactly what “guys” he was talking about. She’d met two in her life. Derek Lowe and Jeff Kent. She’d stuttered like a fool both times. And neither player had paid so much as a second of attention to her.

But they would pay attention to Paul because he was the kind of man people noticed. The kind of man other men wanted to impress.

The question then became, did she want to subject herself to being the question no one asked, but everyone thought? Did her desire to meet ballplayers outweigh her ability to withstand total disinterest and not a small dose of humiliation?

Screw it. She’d been humiliated before. There were very few opportunities to meet her Dodgers. “Let’s go.”

He pushed off the fridge and gave her a wink. “This is gonna be great.”

Yes, it was. She wasn’t going to let any of the small stuff get to her. This was her idea of nirvana, something she’d remember forever.

She followed him down the concourse until they got to a smallish elevator. They rode down alone, stopping only when they reached the clubhouse level. That’s when a whole new set of jitters hit her.

“Tell me the truth.” She hurried to keep in step with Paul so she could whisper. “Will I look like a total dork if I ask them to sign my program?”

“Hell, no. They live for that stuff. They’d be crushed if you didn’t.”

“Wow, you are so good at your job.”

He laughed as he slowed down a bit. They were reaching the gateway to the clubhouse. Two very large men stood guard.

Paul stopped in front of large man number one. “Paul Bennet.”

The guard spoke quietly into his Bluetooth. Then he nodded at Paul as he stepped slightly to the right.

With her heart hammering, Gwen took her first step inside the hallowed space. How many times had she longed to get inside? To hear the pros do their own post-game analysis? She admired so many of them, making sure to focus her insatiable thirst for knowledge on their athleticism, not their personal lives. She might be a groupie at heart, but it was for baseball, not ballplayers.

“Watch your step,” Paul said. “There are lots of cables all over the floor. And if you see someone talking near a camera, lie low. No one wants to ruin a take.”

She nodded even though she knew pretty much all of what he’d said. She was a native Californian, after all. She’d grown up watching movies and TV shows being filmed. Often on her own street.

They got to the press area and the first person she saw was Takashi Saito, the relief pitcher. Then Nomar Garciaparra, and there was the catcher and her favorite first baseman, and holy crap, this was truly the mother lode. She got her program from her purse along with a pen, pissed she hadn’t thought of bringing a black marker.