Unwrapping Her Perfect Match

Chapter Four

Gwen followed John through the door of his midterrace house. He lived not far from the stadium in Stratford, an area in East London that had been recently regenerated for the Olympics. When he flipped on a light, her fears of finding herself knee-deep in cockroaches in a filthy bachelor pad dissolved. Certainly there was nothing frilly about the place, but it was clean and tidy with furniture that looked like it had been chosen for comfort rather than style. Furniture chosen with tall people in mind. Tension eased from her shoulders. Whenever she was a guest in houses decorated by women, everything was too low-mirrors, artwork, sofas. She always felt like Gargamel invading a Smurf house.

Here, though, she had the strange feeling of rightness, of fitting. Even his couch seemed higher than normal, and when she peered down at the legs, she saw someone had added slightly mismatched wood to the bottoms of them.

John had insisted on getting them a cab, even though it was much more expensive than the Tube. She wouldn't have minded the longer journey. Perhaps the slap of frigid air on the walk from the station would've knocked the misgivings out of her. During the ride, he'd kept her talking about herself, easing her worries that this would be an anonymous one-night stand. It might only be one night, but his easygoing questioning had pulled enough out of her that she didn't feel anonymous.

He cleared his throat, gesturing toward the sofa. "Why don't you sit down? I've got some wine somewhere."

"Sounds lovely." She self-consciously smoothed her skirt over her thighs and settled on the edge of the cushion. Her palms curved over her knees, which were clenched tight as a virgin's. Calm down. He's scrummy as fudge, and he seems just as sweet. And Tess did say he's a gentleman. Tess had plenty of experience with arseholes, and she didn't give compliments lightly.

The pop of a cork brought her mind back to the room. A minute later, John handed her a glass of bubbly the color of spun gold. "Sparkling wine okay?"

"Perfect. Cheers." She clinked her glass against his and took a long, slow sip as he sat next to her. The weight of his gaze stayed on her for several long moments as the wine fizzled over her tongue, cooling her parched throat.

His voice soft, he asked, "Are you all right?"

"Mmm-hmm." She didn't lift her lips from the glass. Let the wine work its magic amnesic powers, scrubbing from her memory the fact that she didn't do this, didn't sleep with men she hardly knew. Men who could be hiding any kind of secret, using her as a joke for their own and other people's amusement.

When the glass was only half-full, she paused for a breath. John slid his glass, untouched, onto the coffee table before gently prying hers from her white-knuckled fingers. "Hey," he said. "We can just sit here and have a few drinks and a chat. Watch a film. Doesn't matter. I'm not interested in doing anything you have to talk yourself into."

She exhaled a shaky breath and fell back onto an old habit of apologizing for things that weren't her fault. "I'm sorry. I just-I never do this. One-night stands, I mean."

Idiot. Her eyelids clamped shut at the clumsiness of her inadvertent honesty. The gentle touch of his fingers on her cheek convinced her to peek at him through her lashes. The desire on his face had her opening them all the way.

"Gwen."

"Yes?"

One corner of his lips tugged up into a sinful smile. "Who said anything about one night?"

#

Gwen stayed silent for several long seconds, making John fear he'd plowed through some fragile boundary he'd been skirting all night. No surprise there. He was a second row, not exactly known for his finesse and nimbleness.