There he was. At the edge of the bar, staring right at her. The sexiest guy in the room.

He lifted a martini glass in tribute, drank a bit, then put it carefully on the bar behind him. Then he headed toward her, artfully dodging dancers, drinkers, models, reporters, waiters. The nearer he came, the faster her heart beat. Everything about him, the way he looked in his tux, the insouciant lock of hair, the very way he moved, all grace and raw sex appeal, made her feel as if this was her first date. It was crazy, really, for it to hit her so hard, so fast, but it was utterly undeniable.

He passed the last barrier to join her by the window. He lifted her hand and kissed the back. “I believe we have this dance.”

She glanced at the bandstand. “There’s no music.”

“There will be.”

She couldn’t say no, but she did hope real hard that she wouldn’t make a complete fool of herself. She had a seriously limited sense of rhythm. She could keep the tempo of anything by John Philip Sousa, but beyond that, she was rather hopeless. Dancing was mostly to be avoided. But tonight she wouldn’t dream of it.

Because the band had taken a break, they were alone on the dance floor. All around them, the room buzzed with conversation and laughter. None of it penetrated their cocoon.

He put his arms around her, drew her to him. Her cheek went to his chest as she snuggled close. They stood quite still while she counted his heartbeats, and in an act of magic, her rhythm became his rhythm, her breath, his.

To complete the moment, to honor his promise…music.

The song was that lovely Hoagy Carmichael tune “The Nearness of You,” so romantic that it carried her on wings. He led, she followed, and together they were exquisite grace.

When she lifted her chin to look at him, she realized he was singing, very softly. That he knew every word. Not just that, oh, no. She knew that every word was meant as a promise from him to her. For this dance. For this night. For…

Why Men Are Happy To Be Men

1) Phone conversations are over in thirty seconds flat.

2) A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase.

3) You can open all your own jars.

4) If you are thirty-four and single, nobody notices.

5) Same work…more pay.

Source: PLiG “Being a Bloke”

http://plig.org/things/beingabloke.html

14

TOO TIRED TO MAKE LOVE when they got back to the hotel at three, Jessica did pull him with her into the bedroom. “Is this okay?”

He nodded. “More than okay.” He kissed her, then brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Go do your stuff,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

She smiled with an effort, not because she didn’t appreciate his gentlemanly behavior, but because she was just too exhausted.

When she got back from the bathroom, Dan had stripped down to his shorts, a nice silk plaid. She thought about the last time she’d seen him in boxers. They certainly hadn’t fit him that loosely.

How was it possible to feel so aroused when she was ready to drop. Strange, strange.

By the time he got back to the bedroom, she was tucked beneath the comforter, wearing nothing at all. Normally, she slept in a nightshirt, but she wanted to feel Dan next to her.

God, how he’d made her feel tonight. Like a princess. Like the luckiest person in the world.

She’d seen how the women at the party had looked at him. Enviously. Greedily. Even the most glamorous and celebrated of the party guests had coveted her.

In one way, it made her feel smug, powerful. But the attention was also a bit intimidating. When people looked at them, she wasn’t who they were looking at.

“Hey,” he said as he crawled in beside her. “Did I mention how much fun I had with you tonight?”

She nodded. “A few times.”

“Did I forget to say that you were the most beautiful woman there?”

“Uh, nope.”

He turned on his side, putting his arm around her waist. “How about that I’ll never forget dancing with you? That you made me feel like Fred Astaire?”

“Me? You’re the one who can dance. I can’t believe I didn’t step all over your feet.”

“Nonsense. You were an angel with wings.”

“And you’re full of baloney.”

He got that shocked look on his face. “You wound me.”

“You’ll survive.”

His eyes softened as he leaned forward to kiss her chin. “You should probably know that if I had an ounce of energy left in my body, I’d be ravaging you about now.”

“And you should know if I could stay awake, I’d be letting you.”

“Okay, then.”

“Right.”

He kissed her again, but not on the chin. This one lasted a lot longer, too. But finally, he pulled back, she settled down, and they slept, their bodies nestled together like spoons.

MARLA WALKED into the hotel pressroom to find Jessica talking with the editor in chief of Glamour. Listening without looking like an eavesdropper, she couldn’t help admiring Jessica’s aplomb, her ease, her wit. Marla still wanted to grow up to be just like her. But before she got all adult and stuff, she was champing at the bit to tell her boss everything that had happened in the last few days. Not the work stuff, because Jessica knew all that, but the Shawn stuff.

In the meantime, Marla checked in with Cord Wilson, who, with his team, staffed the press booth. They were in charge of tonight’s shindig, a press party aboard a boat that would cruise along the Hudson River. Marla was going, of course, and so was Shawn.

Just thinking his name made her sigh.

“What’s wrong?”

Marla spun around to find Jessica right behind her. “Oh, I thought you were with the Glamour editor in chief.”

“We’re finished. Why did you sigh like that? Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Very, very okay.”

Jessica smiled. “I gathered that last night.”

“Really? You saw us? I mean, you saw he was, like, talking to me, and we were kinda together. Like a date?”

“Yes, I saw. Now, we must go to the bar and discuss this situation, yes?”

Marla nodded. “Oh, yes. Definitely.”

DAN FINISHED checking his phone messages, then turned on his computer to retrieve his e-mail. He’d have a ton of it, but most was probably spam.

As his computer downloaded, he got the phone and called his mother.

She answered with her typical cheer.

“Hi, Mom. How’s it going?”

“Your cat peed in my shoes.”

“Really? I’ve been training her for months. Be sure and give her an extra treat.”

“Ha, ha. Now, how are you, and how is the big experiment going?”

“Great and great.”

“No kidding? I figured she’d get tired of you and throw you out after the second night.”

“Gee, your faith in me is touching.”

“Only you would think prying into some strange girl’s private thoughts is a romp in the park. Private thoughts are private for a reason. Wasn’t it Oscar Wilde who said, ‘There is hardly anyone whose sexual life, if it were broadcast, would not fill the world at large with surprise and horror’?”

“No. It was Somerset Maugham. However, I don’t find anything Jessica does horrible. Surprising, yes, but not horrible.”

“Oh, my.”

Dan realized he couldn’t do the e-mail and talk at the same time, so he brought up his solitaire game. That he could practically do with his eyes closed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve fallen for her. Three days out of the gate, and you’re in love.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not in love.”

“You are. And she’s going to break your heart.”

“She is not.”

“Aha!”

“Don’t aha me. She’s a very bright, very insightful woman, and she’s illuminating the subject in a way I never anticipated.”

“Which means,” his mother said, her voice dropping an octave, “that you’ve stopped asking questions and are just having sex as often as humanly possible.”