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

Maybe all of it—the way she’d danced like a fool, agreeing to spend the night, this —had a simple explanation. Touch.

She hadn’t been touched in a long, long time. Maybe a handshake or two, but his palm on her tummy, her body pressed to his, that hadn’t happened for what, six months? Longer?

No wonder she’d had difficulty saying no. People were wired to need contact. The more, the better. A huge part of pair bonding had to do with the chemicals humans released when they were skin to skin.

Not that she wanted to pair bond with Paul. Not only was his taste in women completely suspect, but he was just too good-looking.

No, except for his love of baseball…and poker, and dancing. And okay, he had a pretty good sense of humor and he liked horror flicks, still, there was nothing about Paul that appealed to her.

It was the touch thing. He hadn’t been in Autumn’s pants yet, so he’d been without for a while. One would assume. And Gwen hadn’t been close to anyone since Alex. So she should just go to sleep now. Take comfort where it was offered and let the rest fade away.

She found his hand, the one draping her waist, and she put her own hand over his. She moved her leg and her back until she was perfectly comfy with maximum touching. She matched her breathing to his slow, even rhythm. Yet sleep didn’t come.

Her weary, stupefied mind kept dancing. Not just to the swing band from earlier, but to the look of indignation on his face when Faith and Eve had said their horrible things. To the way his eyes had lit up when she’d confessed her Dodger addiction. To the way he moaned, just then, as he dreamed. As he held her.

As far as pity dates went, this one had been the best yet. A grand slam.

She yawned once, squeezed his hand, and that was it.

SHE WOKE TO THE NUDGE of a penis on her ass. Instantly alert, Gwen froze as panic swelled in her chest and made her Kong-sized headache pound. He had to be asleep. If he wasn’t, then she was going to make damn sure he wouldn’t be able to poke anyone again for a long, long time.

His hand was still around her waist, loosely, and his knees were neatly tucked behind hers. Warm breath hit the back of her neck and as she planned her escape, she relaxed a bit. He had to be sleeping.

Okay. So she couldn’t be angry about his condition. She still needed to get up, grab her dress and make it to the bathroom without waking him.

Despite the darkness of the room she knew it was daylight. Parched and achy, all she wanted was to skip this part and be home. Instead, she held her breath as she carefully lifted his hand. Inch by inch she moved toward the edge of the bed, wincing in her effort not to screw up. She should never have stayed last night. What had she been thinking?

Almost…almost…

Her body was clear. She held on to his hand as she pulled her pillow down to take her place. Hardly daring to breathe she sat up, turned to look at him.

Mistake.

He was as gorgeous as a movie-star hero. She had no illusions about what she looked like when she first got up. Life just wasn’t fair, that’s all. Anyway, his breathing hadn’t changed, his eyes were closed and she’d better get her butt in gear if she intended to make a getaway.

Rising slowly, she made it to her feet. First, she grabbed the water bottle from the nightstand, then hurried to get her dress and dashed into the bathroom.

Finally, she could catch her breath. The woman in the mirror looked like hell, but at least she had a toothbrush and soap.

It didn’t take her long to get dressed. The only thing missing from the bathroom was a notepad. It seemed really impolite to leave without some kind of goodbye. On the other hand, she’d never see Paul Bennet again, so why bother?

No, even she couldn’t be that dismissive. He’d been nice. The best pity date ever. One she’d actually look back on fondly. With brush in hand, she opened the bathroom door to go hunt for paper.

Only Paul wasn’t sleeping anymore. He stood directly in front of her, not five inches away. In his boxers. In the light. Looking like a god. He seemed a bit desperate as he moved quickly into the bathroom. She shook herself out of her beauty-induced shock and scurried out.

With her heart rate up and a ferocious desire to get the hell out of there, she turned on the light by the nightstand. A convenient Marriott notepad and pen were at the ready and she dashed off a quick thanks, tore that sheet off, then wrote another, this one nicer. Her purse was in her hand and she was halfway to the door when Paul came out of the bathroom.

She shouldn’t have written that second note. It had given him time to wash his face, run a damp hand through his hair. She could also see that his poker was behaving once more. Why not? It wasn’t as if he’d been hard over her.

“You taking off?”

“I need coffee and a shower.”

“I hear that. I’m happy to call down for room service. I can be dressed in no time.”

“It’s okay. Stay.” She forced herself to look at his face and only his face. “Take your time. I’m not that far, and I’ll have no trouble getting a cab from here.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

If she wasn’t mistaken, he sounded a little pouty, which didn’t make sense at all. It was probably nothing. His head had to feel as badly as her own. She couldn’t imagine him wanting to stretch things out.

“I wrote you a note. Now that you’re here I’ll just say thank you. I really did have a fun night. You’re a hell of a dancer.”

“Yeah. I had a good time, too. Weird, huh?”

“Very.” She went to pass him, then he touched her arm.

“Autumn was right.”

“About?”

“You being interesting and fun.”

“I was drunk as a skunk, although I’m not really sure what that means.”

His smile was slow and devilish. “Yeah, I think skunks are entirely too clever to drink as much as we did.”

“Hangover?”

He nodded.

“I bet they have plenty of aspirin in the lobby. Anyway…”

“Yeah. Anyway…”

She looked down at where his hand touched her bare skin. Odd. The touch meant nothing. Completely innocent. Only it didn’t feel that way.

A second later, she realized he was leaning toward her. She looked up just as his lips met her own.

Paul kissed her.

Again she froze, lips together, not breathing, waiting for something to happen. Him to back up with a start or a laugh or to ease his grip on her arm. What happened instead was that he continued to kiss her, tilting his head a bit to the right. Parting his lips.

Her eyes closed of their own volition, even as she told herself to move away, to stop the nonsense and get home where crazy things like sleeping with strangers didn’t happen. What she did instead was part her lips, too.

Paul sighed and she inhaled his peppermint breath. Time stretched and slowed her thoughts and her reactions until she barely recognized herself.

As if poked with a stick, Paul jerked back, snatched his hand away. He looked completely startled. “Whoa. Sorry about that. I didn’t mean—”

“No problem. Mistakes all around. Anyway…”

“Yeah, yeah.” He backed up a step, then two. “Anyway…”

“I’ll just be—”

“Sure. Good.”

She flung out her hand, searching for the door. “It was fun. The dancing.”

“Fun. Yes.” He backed up until he hit the bed.

Luckily, she found the door and before she could utter another inane word, she was out in the hall. She leaned back, hitting her head pretty hard, swore soundly, then made her way to the elevator, wondering what in the hell had happened to her. It was all too strange, every bit of it, and she felt sure that if her head didn’t hurt quite so much, she’d be able to make sense of the butterflies in her tummy. Or why the memory of his lips persisted. Why she felt the need to rub her arm where he’d touched her. Instead, she decided to pretend last night and this morning had never happened.