Ms. Match. Jo Leigh

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.

      When she came out, Paul was leaning against the wall, his tie off, his shirt half unbuttoned and his jacket on one of the chairs. Despite everything, he managed to look obscenely handsome. “It’s all yours.”

      He gave her a decent smile, considering, and took her place behind the closed door. If she was going to take off her dress, now would be the time to do it. First, though, she got a bottle of water from the minibar, then she kicked off her shoes. As she yanked the covers down, the reality of sleeping in her dress seemed too uncomfortable. Before she could change her mind her dress was off and she was scrambling under the covers as quickly as her poor body would move.

      The minute her head touched the pillow the seriousness of her folly hit hard. It had been years since she’d felt this horrible spinning sensation, years since she’d been fool enough to even approach being drunk.

      Why? Why had tonight been so different? It wasn’t just the pity date. She’d had plenty before and never gone overboard. It wasn’t just her family and their stupid comments. If she wasn’t used to that by now, she might as well just give up. It couldn’t have been Paul. Yes, yes, gorgeous, right. But so what? She wasn’t the one who was fixated on good looks. Or charm, for that matter.

      None of her relationships, other than familial, were based on appearances. The only things she cared about were on the inside. She’d learned early that kindness was a huge thing, even more important than intelligence and wit. She’d built her life around that very principle, and it had made her, for the most part, happy.

      Although Paul had shown kindness tonight, she wasn’t at all convinced it was genuine. He was after Autumn. That revealed a great deal.

      It didn’t matter, in the end. She’d gotten drunk. So what. Tomorrow, her real life would continue. She’d remember the dancing which had been such a fun surprise. And she’d use tonight as another reminder that too much alcohol was not her friend.

      For now, she’d be very happy if the damn room would stop whirling.

      She heard Paul leave the bathroom, but she didn’t turn to look at him. She closed her eyes, even though that made things a lot worse.

      She felt the covers move, his weight dipping the mattress. The room went dark with the click of a switch. Then she felt him slide in beside her.

      Her eyes open once again, she willed herself to pass out so she wouldn’t be so very aware of this man, this virtual stranger, stretched out beside her. He groaned, and she sympathized. A few seconds later, after he’d made some adjustments, he stilled. She relaxed.

      She could smell him.

      Nothing at all unpleasant about it. Soap, clean skin. Damp hair. Intimate.

      She became achingly aware that she was in her underwear. Her plain department store panties and bra.

      Was he in his? Boxers? Briefs? Those sexy European trunks that looked so appealing in the magazines? Surely he wasn’t naked.

      Her eyes closed again, and this time, she was the one to moan. Not just from the dizziness, either.

      “You okay?” he whispered.

      “No. I’m an idiot.”

      He sighed. “Me, too. I can’t stop spinning.”

      “I’m too old for this kind of nonsense.” She shifted a bit on the bed, then froze, not wanting to touch him by accident. “Even when I was young I was too old for this.”

      “It’s not all that dire. I, for one, will look back on this night not for being drunk off my ass, but for having a hell of a good time. I can’t remember the last time I danced like that.”

      Gwen couldn’t help her smile. “Yeah. It was pretty great.”

      She waited for him to speak again, but there was only the sound of his breathing. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep. Of course he had. It was absurdly late.

      Once more, she closed her eyes and once more she moaned. It was cut short by the touch of his hand on her arm. Under the covers.

      “I can call down for some Alka-Seltzer,” he said. “There wasn’t any in the care baskets.”

      Should she move? No. She should ignore it. Him. “No, that’s okay. The spinning will stop soon.”

      “Promise?”

      “Wish I could.”

      “You know,” he said, “it kind of helps to talk. At least for me. But that’s nuts, so never mind.”

      “No, it’s not,” she said as she prayed he’d move his hand. “It does help, I think.”

      “Crap.”

      “What’s wrong?” She almost turned. Didn’t.

      “I forgot to get water. Be back in a sec.”

      His hand lifted and she breathed again. As the bed jiggled it occurred to her that drunkenness wasn’t her worst sin of the night. Being ridiculous had that honor. She was behaving like a child. A ninny. Like one of her sisters.

      The light from the small fridge made her look. Boxers. Nice ones, though not the kind she’d been hoping for.

      “You want one?” he asked.

      “I’m good.”

      He stood there, bare but for his undies, his head back, water bottle at his lips. He drank greedily, and even in the weird light she could see his Adam’s apple bob.

      Okay, so she wasn’t being a complete moron. The guy was outside of her experience. The situation was incredibly intimate. Who wouldn’t feel intimidated?

      Paul turned to face her, backlit to perfection. “That made all the difference. Are you sure you don’t want one?”

      “I’ve got a bottle right here.” She tried to keep her gaze on his face, but her eyes refused to obey. They swept down his chest to his slim hips and below where they lingered until he closed the minifridge door.

      He got back into bed with no hesitation this time. While she was busy worrying about the slightest touch, he not only made a good deal of noise, he moved until he was right next to her. If she rolled over, she’d be half on top of him.

      “Would it be easier for you if I slept in the bathtub?” she asked.

      “What? Why?”

      She would have given him a withering glare, but it was dark and she was on her side facing away. “You seem to need a lot of room.”

      “No, actually, I don’t. I just wanted to be close.”

      “I haven’t changed my mind, Paul. Besides, you’re in no condition.”

      “You’re wrong about that, but I’m very clear that you said no. I won’t press the issue.”

      “So what’s with the close?”

      “You smell nice. And I want to talk.”

      She swallowed at the compliment, then let it go for