It Happened in L.A.: Ms Match / Shockingly Sensual / Playmates. Lori Wilde

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 fromYale. 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,