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

There were only a few questions left, and Gwen put all her energy into answering them correctly. No distractions allowed. She aced the first one. Dammit, she missed the second. Got lucky on the third. The last one, though, was a gift. She’d just read the answer in one of her dozens of baseball books. She pressed the button and sat back in her chair. No gloating yet. Not until she saw how Paul did. The final scores always took about ten minutes, so she’d just relax and wait.

Holly appeared behind her and gave her a whack on her upper arm. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“Just come with me.”

Gwen knew that tone. She excused herself to Paul and obediently trotted behind Holly to the ladies’ room.

Holly folded her arms. Not a good sign. “What are you doing?”

“What are you talking about?”

“First, you completely lied about how gorgeous Paul is.”

“Hey—”

“We can talk about that later. Now, I want to know why you’re being such a bitch.”

Gwen tried to keep her temper. “I realize it might be difficult to think of Paul as a person, but try, okay? I didn’t invite him here. I hardly know him. Why should I bend over backward?”

“Bend over? Please. You’re acting like he’s got the plague.”

“I am not.”

Holly’s eyes widened and she stepped closer to Gwen. This time, when she yelled, it was in a whisper. “I know when you’re being nice and when you’re not. You’re not. Even if you don’t like the guy, he hasn’t done anything bad. So ease up. Give him a break.”

“You’re only saying this because he’s handsome. Well, screw handsome.”

Holly sighed. “I wish. But it’s not true. I’m saying this because you’re not that kind of person. Even when you’re pissed off, you’ve got more class than anyone I know. Just, I don’t know, ease up. He’s a guest, invited or not. You don’t have to talk to him ever again if you don’t want to, but while he’s at our table…”

“Yes, Mom. Do I have to wait for you, or can I go back and see the scoreboard?”

“You may go back.”

Gwen touched her friend’s arm. “I’ll try.”

The smile she received in return let her know that all was well. At least with Holly.

Was she truly being a bitch? She’d figured she was just being honest. But maybe the guilt didn’t have to do with what she said so much as her overall attitude.

Paul stood as she came back to her funky chair at the beat-up old table. He sat only after her tush touched down. Yeah. He really fit in.

“When do we find out who won?” he asked, but his voice was tight, his expression unreadable.

“Any minute now.” She turned her chair so she faced him. “What did you think of the questions?”

He took in a deep breath, then let it go. When he answered, it was Paul again. Completely confident and more than pleasant. “Easy, medium, hard. As warned. And the hard were really hard.”

“That’s a good thing?”

“Wouldn’t be fun if it was all two plus two.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Paul’s shoulders relaxed. The smile he’d pasted on just a moment ago turned into something far more natural and pleasing. Maybe Holly had been right.

“Look, about this friendship thing…”

“Hey, I was rude—”

“No.” Paul held up a hand to stop her. “I get it. Putting aside my exceptional dancing skills, I haven’t given you much to admire. Even if I win tonight, it doesn’t say anything real about me. And I know how you feel about Autumn, so…”

“Yeah. I haven’t said many nice things about her, have I?”

“She’s not all that bad, but I get your point. You two are night and day.”

“Which has a lot to do with my, uh, curiosity about you showing up here. Did Autumn—”

“Autumn has no idea where I am. Or with whom I choose to spend my time.”

“I see.”

“I realize it was out of line for me to just show up here—”

“It wasn’t. It’s nice that you came.”

He turned more toward her. “Really?”

“Confusing, but nice.”

“Confusing, huh? Yeah, I guess I see your point. Anyway, what do you say? Will you come with me to the game? You pick the day.”

Nothing about this made any sense. She couldn’t quite get over the idea that Autumn had something to do with this, but man, she wanted to see a game from one of the suites. What was the worst that could happen? “Who else will be there?”

“No one. Unless you want to invite some of your friends.”

“You want me to go with you to the game.”

He nodded. “Does that sound so strange?”

Now it was her turn to nod.

“Do it anyway. You won’t believe the view. Not to mention the food.”

“Over first or third?”

He grinned. “First.”

“Can I still get a dog?”

“All you want.”

She sighed. “Okay. We’ll give it a try.”

He put his hand on hers and gave it a squeeze. “Excellent.”

She almost backed out right then. Not because of his reaction, but because of her own. Her throat had tightened and her belly was doing stupid things, and why? Because he’d touched her. Absurd. With a smile that was as nice as she could make it, she slipped her hand from under his.

“This Sunday?” he asked.

“Sure. Sounds great.”

“Is that the final score?” He was nodding toward the big screen behind her.

She looked at the names. Newbie was number one. She had come in second, by one point.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, with just a bit of a gloat.

The others at the table weren’t so gallant.

“Sonofabitch!” Ken actually got to his feet and held out his beer for a toast. “The queen has been knocked off her throne.”

“No wonder you didn’t want him here,” Ellen said as she tapped her glass against Ken’s.

“I knew we should have had side bets.” Steph nodded toward Paul. “I could have made a fortune.”

“Thanks, but it was only one point.”

Ken made a rude sound. “Close only counts in horseshoes, buddy. You kicked her ass. Not that we don’t take a great deal of pride in our Gwen.”

Holly slugged Ken in the arm. “You’re only saying that because she’s your boss.”

“True.”

Gwen had to smile. She knew they all meant well. She wasn’t thrilled that she’d lost, but she did have to admit Paul hadn’t lied about his knowledge of baseball. Maybe the day at the park would be fun. And maybe he was telling the truth about the rest.

Maybe.

PAUL FINISHED HIS PHONE CALL with Maggie Crawford at Imagine Films, then leaned back in his chair to stare out his window. It had been a brutal week. Lots of people not being where they were supposed to be. People not signing contracts. Lawyers and agents and all the other crap that were part and parcel of the business but the stuff he hated.

At least it was over, and Sunday the Dodgers were playing the Braves. Plus one.

He’d almost canceled about five times since Monday night. He had no business asking Gwen to come with him, and yet he’d never managed to make the call that would put an end to it.

No wonder Gwen had looked at him as if he were nuts. He was. He had friends. Plenty of them. All of them were guys, but so what? He’d never thought much about having a woman friend, and he wasn’t convinced he could or should have one now.

Then what was this about? He didn’t want to sleep with her. He had nothing to gain by her acquaintance. They both loved baseball, but again, so what?

He tried to come up with good reasons for not canceling. All he could manage was that it wouldn’t be so bad.

As he relaxed, as his defenses went down, he remembered for the hundredth time the real reason for wanting to back out of this “date.”

When she’d implied he wasn’t someone worth knowing, it had hit him so hard he’d lost his bearings. Not for long, he was too good at his job for that, but shit, it had been rocky for a few seconds there. It had felt like a slap in the face. Like a gut punch. What had sent him reeling wasn’t that he’d been insulted. It was because he’d had no comeback. Nothing. Zilch. Why would she want to know him?

He was flash. The sizzle, not the steak. He got away with most everything, always had. It was so easy with women he hardly had to try. In his business his face was his most important asset and he knew it. No sweat there.

He’d come up with a lot of reasons he should be worth knowing. He’d graduated from Yale. He knew all the celebrities that mattered. He had money. He could get into the best restaurants all over the world. He was Paul Bennet, and that had always mattered.

Only not with Gwen. Not one of the things on his list would impress her. Except for Yale, though somehow he knew she understood he hadn’t gotten by on brains.

With Gwen, it was all about substance, and the truth was, he didn’t have much. His charity work and donations were less about giving than getting. He made sure every donation was well publicized. He didn’t have a belief system so much as a code that put him first, everyone else second. When had he last read a book that wasn’t about sports or money? When had he had a conversation about anything that mattered?

And why the hell did he want to?

It was crazy. He was crazy. Had to be. There was nothing about his life that everyone he knew didn’t envy. That was as it should be. He’d been born in the right place at the right time. Why shouldn’t he enjoy it?

All his life he’d, well, underestimated people like Gwen. Those who didn’t meet his standards. People who didn’t matter to the tabloids had rarely mattered to him. It had been easier that way. It kept his world view controllable. Why mess that up now?

“Paul?”

He clicked on his intercom. “Yeah?”

“Someone’s here to see you. She doesn’t wish me to give her name. She wants it to be a surprise.”

“Send her in.”

He straightened up, ran a hand through his hair, wondering if it could be Gwen. He felt a little surge of anticipation as he stood.

The door opened and in walked Autumn. The small stab of disappointment knocked him back to his senses. Autumn was all soft hair, big eyes and long legs. They hadn’t spoken since that night at Nobu, and for the life of him he couldn’t recall why he’d thought that was a good idea.

“I owe you an apology,” she said, moving toward him with a sway that would tempt a monk.

“For what?”

“For leaving you the other night. I was so naughty. And after all you did for me.”

She’d reached his desk, and then she moved around it so she was just in front of his chair. She put her hands on the armrests and leaned over close enough for him to catch a whiff of the essence of sin.

He tore his gaze away from her face just so he could appreciate the view of her breasts. They were perfect. Her low-cut dress combined with the modern wonders of the push-up bra and he stopped castigating himself about past mistakes to concentrate on mistakes he could make right now.

“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?”

Chapter 7

THERE WAS SOMETHING sinful about riding in a stretch limo wearing faded jeans and an old Dodgers T-shirt. Gwen should have met Paul at the stadium, but he’d insisted on picking her up. If she’d known it was going to be in this gas guzzler, she’d have flat out refused.

“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?”