Cupid's Mistake (3 page)

"Damn it, Jeff," she said, whispering for the sake
of her splitting headache and jabbing her elbow backward into his rock-hard
belly. His
woof
of air bathed the side
of her face in minty-fresh breath. "Don't sneak up on me."

Rubbing his abused abdomen, Jeff gifted her with a jaundiced
glare. "I do not sneak. If your head wasn't pounding loudly enough to hear
down the hall, you would have heard me. Never could hold your liquor."

"Stop shouting," Allison moaned, rubbing her
fingers at her temple and trying to ignore her queasy stomach.

Smirking, Jeff shook his head. "Pathetic."

Allison sniffed at his mouth. "Did you use my
toothbrush again?"

"No idea," he said with a shrug of his broad
shoulders. "I can never remember whose is whose."

"It's got your name on it!"

Jeff canted his head. "Really? I never noticed."

"And it's your favorite color," she muttered into
her steaming cup.

She'd started keeping mini overnight kits for Mia, Derrick,
and Jeff when they were fresh out of college, as they often crashed at one
another's homes after late nights hanging out together, and had continued the
tradition ever since. She'd added one for Greg the previous year, as well.

"Then, yes," Jeff said. "I definitely used
the sparkly red one."

Allison stared at him. "Your favorite color is
green."

"Ah, well. Today it's red."

"Jeff," she said, her tone reproachful.

He merely winked at her. Allison rolled her eyes.

Comfortably at home in her kitchen, he reached past her head
to lift two mugs from the shelf and filled them to the brim with rich, black coffee.

"Hog," she complained, staring dolefully at the
half-empty pot.

"I'll make more later," he said with a soft laugh
and a quick rub for her tense shoulders.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but a peevish
voice calling, "Why is my toothbrush all wet?" down the hallway cut
him off.

Grimacing, Jeff took a mug in each hand and saluted her with
the one in his right. "I need to get this to His Highness before there's
an international incident."

That made her smile. The last she'd seen of Greg, he'd been
in the backyard, naked to the waist with his head thrown back, arms flung wide,
howling at the sliver of moon.

"How is he this morning?" she asked.

"Better than you, my love. Better than you."

Hmph.

Jeff dropped a kiss on her frowning forehead and headed
toward the hall, sidestepping her former Adonis with a mumbled, "Morning,
Tom," as the blond man made his way into the kitchen.

"It's Paul," the Adonis said, with a confused look
after Jeff's retreating back.

"Whatever," Jeff sang over his shoulder, not
breaking stride.

Paul!
Right. Crap.
Had everyone spent the night?

Turning to her with a frown, Paul said, "Ah."

Ah, indeed.

Waving a hand to sweep it all away, she said, "Don't
worry about it. Coffee?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After that, guests trickled into the kitchen in twos and
threes, all in various stages of confetti-covered undress and assorted levels
of hangover-induced crankiness. Kris, she noted, appeared less pleased with her
Greek god encounter than she had the night before, but Allison kept her opinions
on the matter to herself. Jon—no, Paul!—hadn't particularly
impressed her, either, but at least he was pretty to look at. Not like that
mop-covered mound from the garage last night. Still, it seemed neither Kris's
nor her own New Year's Eve plans had quite gone off as desired.

Oh, well. If nothing else, it was a great party.

Someone turned the TV on to watch the Rose Parade, prompting
a lively—if quietly voiced—hour of debate over favorite marching
bands, floats, best uses of color and natural items other than flowers, as well
as overall execution of themes.

When Greg, whose disposition normally matched his
blond-haired, blue-eyed, sweetly angelic appearance, got testy with Jeff over
the merits of a particular float, Allison and Jeff shared a pained grimace.
Greg didn't drink often, and rarely to excess, but when he went over his
personal limits, the next day always dragged by on the ugly side.

Without a word, Allison fixed him another cup of coffee and
placed two aspirin next to the mug. He accepted her offerings with a grimace of
his own and a muttered apology for being such a bitch.

Ultimately, UCLA's marching band won their highest approval
rating, along with a float featuring a fanciful faerie village.

If Allison caught herself, appalled, searching through the
float's thick foliage for an equally fanciful, furry male mountain, well, no
one else knew or cared.

Two additional pots of coffee later, most of the hangers-on
had gone on their way, with many thanks and wishes for a happy new year. It was
with some relief that Allison waved Jeff and a still-crabby Greg goodbye and
reentered the empty sanctuary of her home. Mia and Derrick had not been amongst
the overnight partiers, but she'd only seen them share a single glass of
champagne the entire evening. They were too drunk on each other to need
alcohol, she supposed.

Lucky ducks.

Not that she wanted a serious relationship right now. Not at
all. She was far too busy, and having far too much fun, for something like
that. But the
idea
of it was wonderful.
For someday.

Flopping onto her purple couch, she closed her eyes and
breathed deep for several long minutes, releasing the last of her tension.
Thank God for coffee and aspirin. DeeDee would be over any minute to help with
clean up and to discuss new ways to build each other's businesses in the coming
year. She needed to focus.

The sound of the garage door opening rumbled in her ears.
Frowning, Allison sat up, staring at the door leading into the garage. Who. .
.?

Grabbing the baseball bat she kept in an umbrella stand by
her front door, she opened the door into the garage. Blinking in the sunlight
flooding the space where her car usually sat, which was still covered in party
mess, she squinted at the black shape of a huge man leaning over a lumpy form on
the loveseat along the far wall.

"Who—" she began, out loud this time, but
the man cut her off.

"Sorry," he said in a voice that sounded low and
rough, as though he didn't use it very often. "Didn't mean to disturb you.
We fell asleep." To the lump on the sofa, he said, "Come on,
Sally."

Hoisting Sally over his shoulder in a slump, he strode past
Allison with a brief nod in her direction on his way out through the roll-up
door. It was the human mountain from last night, his beard and hair swinging as
he walked. Exactly the way it had in her dreams.

The sense of déjà vu—of familiarity where none
belonged—prickled down her spine. Freaky.

The man moved easily, as though the hefty Sally weighed
nothing at all, drawing Allison's reluctant admiration, and he was even taller
than she'd thought when he'd been sprawled out on her couch. He had to be at
least six-seven. Even at a size two, Allison wasn't used to feeling small and
vulnerable in a man's presence, since she was as tall or taller than many. This
man, with his grizzled guerilla looks and hulking body, made her feel tiny.
Delicate.

Breakable.

Still, there was something. . . Mentally smacking herself,
she stepped back. She was
not
attracted
to homeless giants. Even if he did have a really nice ass. Shivering, Allison
hit the button for the automatic door as soon as he'd cleared it, shutting him
from view.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Benjamin Turner toed the front door of his cousin Sally's
house open and shifted his grip on her limp form, ducking beneath the
doorframe. The woman was out cold. She must have had more than her customary
glass or two of champagne last night. He hadn't had any at all, but he'd
crashed just as hard almost the moment they'd sat down, thanks to too many
sleepless hours of hard traveling over the past few days. Or years.

He hadn't wanted to go to the blasted party four houses down
from Sally's in the first place, but she'd insisted. Never mind that he had
barely had time to shower, let alone shave or get his hair cut. And he hadn't
known a soul there, as he'd reminded Sally would be the case. He hadn't seen
her
in years, and had been looking forward to a quick
familial catch-up before falling into his bed for seven or eight days of
straight sleep.

But she'd had her heart set on going, long-lost relations
turning up on her doorstep notwithstanding. Alone now that her kids had chosen
to live with their father—an arrangement she'd reluctantly agreed to so
her girls would have a role in their new half-brother's life—she'd been
desperate to get out of the house. Ben had taken one look at Sally's face and
hadn't had the heart to refuse.

It looked like they'd both paid the price. He had a crick in
his neck from sleeping crunched onto that toy-sized couch, and Sally was bound
to be hung over when she came around. He probably shouldn't complain too
loudly, though. Even a toy-sized couch was an improvement over the many nights
he'd spent sleeping flat on the ground over the past six years.

"Come on, Sal," he said to her unconscious form,
"let's get you settled."

With a final heave, Ben dropped Sally on top of her fussily
frilled bedspread and tossed a blanket over her still-snoring form. He
straightened, twisting right and left to stretch the tight muscles in his back.

The evening hadn't been a total loss. Ben made his way to
his own room and stripped, a vision in snug, bright yellow and corkscrewy
copper curls dancing in his mind. Sally's neighbor sure was a looker. High
maintenance—one glance was enough to tell him that. She was a Princess
with a capital 'P' and a serious partier to boot—but a looker, with her
high cheekbones, creamy real-redhead's skin and puffy lips. She was tall for a
woman, even without her red ankle-breakers on. Slender as the swizzle sticks
she'd set out for mixing drinks.

And a bit of a snob.

He'd caught the assessing gaze she'd raked him with out of
her brilliantly-hued baby blues. She hadn't found him up to scratch.

Ah, well.

Dropping into bed naked, Ben pulled the blankets almost to
his ears and burrowed in, pulling his knees up to keep his feet from hanging
off the edge. The soft mattress gave like a cloud beneath his sore, tired body.

The Princess wasn't his type, anyway, but his reaction to
her had reassured him on one point. After six years of running from the pain in
his past, maybe he really was ready to move forward. To give life another
chance. If a swizzle stick princess could flip his switch, anything was
possible.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Allison's first two weeks of the year flew by, filled with
meetings with her stable of vendors and several with DeeDee on how best to
cross-promote their individual businesses. Successful, interesting meetings,
with successful, interesting people. Yet every minute seemed overshadowed by a
vague sense of unease. To compensate, she spent extra time ticking items off
her to-do lists.

Preparations for upcoming events were on schedule. She'd
closed out her books for the previous year, paid her quarterly taxes early, and
spent hours on plans for her friends' weddings. Jeff and Greg's was complicated
by moving the venue out of state, but since California had overturned the gay
marriage bill, and they didn't want to wait for the powers-that-be to duke it
out in the Supreme Court, they'd opted to move forward in a friendlier
location—currently an island in Puget Sound in Washington state.

A chilly, likely wet, option, but she wasn't worried yet.
Jeff was apt to change his mind several times before the event was finalized.
If he changed it often enough, the court case might be decided in time, and
they could just do it in California.

It'd make her life easier, she thought, blowing out a
breath. She loved the man, and she loved Greg, but the two of them combined
were worse than fifty bridezillas when it came to planning their perfect
wedding.

At least she'd made significant progress on Mia and
Derrick's, set to take place later that summer on a cliff overlooking the sea.
The gorgeous landscaping of the Ritz-Carlton in Laguna Niguel would provide an
ideal backdrop for their romantic wedding and reception. Another couple's
heartache had been their lucky break, since the popular venue was often booked
years in advance. The couple had split, the next-in-lines on the waiting list
had already booked elsewhere, and Allison had been able to snag the time-slot.

But still, that unsettled feeling followed her around, an
unwelcome companion. Her home, her sanctuary, had lost its peaceful sense of
security since New Year's. Now it just felt empty. No one sat at her kitchen
table to share a cup of coffee while watching a stupid TV show she didn't have
time for. No one slept in her bed, waiting for her to return for a little a.m.
nookie. As busy as she was, loneliness seemed to wrap around her like a
cloying, wet blanket.

Well, all she needed was a girl's night out with Mia or a date
with one of her boy toys to shake her out of her funk. Since the disaster of
her New Year's Eve, she'd been too busy to hunt up any male companionship. But
two days ago DeeDee had sent her the newest membership profile—for one
Benjamin Turner—with a note attached saying she thought Allison might
find the guy interesting.

DeeDee was right.

Sipping her fourth cup of coffee for the morning, Allison
drew her right knee up to rest against her desk while she continued updating
her spreadsheets. She shot off several emails to clients and made at least a
dozen phone calls—she was going to have to find a new bakery to work with
if the witch at the current one didn't get off her broom and back to work. She
had several good bakeries in her lineup, but hated to lose this one. The
woman's wedding cakes were incredible. But emotion-fueled delays and public
scenes between the bitchy baker and her poor ex-husband made working with the
woman too much of a nightmare. What the ex, who was a total sweetheart, saw in
his former spouse, Allison couldn't begin to guess. Maybe he just missed her
pastries.