Ms. Match Read Online Free

I don’t see the rest of her brood.”
    “I don’t think I can pick out any of the brothers.”
    She glanced through the crowd, but she couldn’t find any of the boys, either. “I’ll point them out if they pass.”
    “What was it like to grow up with so many siblings?”
    “It was great when I was very young. Not so much later on. The competition was fierce.”
    “Competition?”
    “Unlike those delightfully cheery big families on television, our gang was all about points. Major points for football glory, modeling contracts, cheerleading squads.”
    “What about academics?”
    She waved her hand, the shrimp she held bobbing. “No one actually discouraged getting good grades. But report cards weren’t important currency. What about you?”
    “There was pressure, most of it about grades. It was just me and my sister, Val. She’s three years younger, and damn smart. Scary smart. Me, I had to bust my ass.”
    “You did well?”
    “Yeah. I got into Yale, and they didn’t throw me out for a fraud. I studied prelaw, but much to the disappointment of my father, it wasn’t for me.”
    “You’re lucky. You found your calling.”
    “I am.”
    She finished up the rest of her meal, digesting the fact that leading man Bennet had graduated from Yale. She probably should feel embarrassed at her own prejudice. In her experience men who looked like Paul didn’t go Ivy League. Her brothers had done quite well in life having attended middling colleges. They’d understood early that charm and beauty opened more doors than prestigious degrees.
    “Is there something else you’d like? More shrimp? Another drink?”
    “No, I’m fine for now, thanks.”
    He stood up and she relaxed, knowing she would be free to leave soon herself. Paul held out his hand. Instead of a quick goodbye, he urged her to her feet. “Dance with me?”
    “Oh. No. I—”
    “Years of black eyes.”
    She knew that breathtaking smile wasn’t really for her. It was all part of the game. What she couldn’t understand was what he was doing with Autumn? Yes, she was stunning, a knockout. But she was also dumb as a post. Gwen laughed at herself. Didn’t beauty trump smarts every time?
    He tugged at her again, and she relented. It had to be the gin, that’s all. Surely she wasn’t fooled by his PR magnetism. As they went toward the dance floor, she looked down at her dress. She’d spent way too much on the damn thing, especially knowing she’d probably never wear it again. Still, when she’d tried it on, she’d felt so pretty.
    She’d seen the dress in the window of a small Beverly Hills boutique and tried it on for a lark. How it fit her size-ten body made her feel more like a size two. So she’d closed her eyes to the outrageous price and excused her excess as a celebration in honor of a major win by her beloved Dodgers.
    Finally, she would get to take the dress out for a spin. What did it matter if she danced with a pity date? She was allowed to have fun, dammit. Even here. Even with him.

    PAUL KEPT HOLD OF HER HAND until they were in the middle of the crowded dance floor, afraid she’d try to escape if he let go. When he spun her into his arms, he was shocked to find her smiling. Not that tight, barely tolerant smirk she’d worn earlier tonight, but a real honest-to-god grin.
    The orchestra broke into “Go Daddy-O,” and Paul got her ready. Gwen gave him a nod, and the two of them were off.
    He hadn’t danced like this in years, since that brief swing craze had made the rounds. But it all was there, right next to his fox-trots and waltzes and sambas.
    It helped that Gwen kicked ass.
    Unlike almost every woman he’d danced with since grammar school, she knew how to follow. She could actually read his hand as he guided her, his feet before they made a move. If they hadn’t been wearing evening clothes, he’d have really let loose. He knew she’d love it if he swung her into the air or into a deep slide between his legs.
    No matter,