It Happened in L.A.: Ms Match / Shockingly Sensual / Playmates. Lori WildeЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
Chapter 2
THE MOMENT the elevator door opened, Gwen heard a swing orchestra and knew her parents were in their version of heaven. They were both in their early seventies, but they still loved a great bash. That’s why, in Gwen’s solitary opinion, they’d had so many kids. They lived for an audience and a big dance floor. In their day they had been extraordinary dancers, winners of all kinds of prizes. When they got into the groove, they could outlast a lot of younger couples.
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