LITMIR.BIZ

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about your other quarter?” He nodded at the meter as he stood. “One won’t take you through the witching hour.”

      “I guess I’ll just have to take my chances.”

      “Feeling lucky, huh?” He grinned, and she felt something in her stomach flip. Lethal smile, absolutely lethal. And without warning she found herself staring at his upper lip and wondering just what it would be like to kiss him.

      Lucky? “I guess I am,” she said. It was the champagne, she told herself. Starting up her own personal perestroika campaign was one thing, picking up men on the street was another.

      But he was already rummaging in his pocket to pull out a handful of coins.

      “You can’t pay my meter,” she objected.

      “Sure I can,” he said as he picked through the change for a quarter and put it in. “It’s good karma. After a day like I’ve had, I could use it.”

      “Uh-oh,” she said. “That doesn’t sound good.”

      “Uh-oh, is right. If you see a lynch mob coming out of the Odeon, they’ll be looking for me.”

      “Is that where you’re going?” she asked, falling in step beside him as they walked the dozen yards to where the light from the theater’s marquee spilled over the sidewalk.

      “Yep. How about you?”

      She nodded.

      “I’d offer to buy you a drink but I’m here for a party. Actually, I’m late for a party,” he corrected. “Really late.”

      “That’s okay, I’m here with—” She broke off and gave him a suspicious stare. “What kind of a party?”

      “Me?” He held the door for her. “A rehearsal dinner, for a wedding. Why?”

      She walked through, the little buzz of excitement fading. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Gil, would it?”

      “Guilty as charged. And you are?”

      “Jillian Logan, the bridesmaid you left at the altar. Nice of you to finally join us.”

      Gil’s lips twitched as he followed her into the lobby. “Left you at the altar, huh? Did I have a brain fade? Were we getting married?”

      “I’m not likely to marry the kind of guy who’d show up—” she checked her watch “—over an hour late to his best friend’s wedding rehearsal.”

      “I guess it’s a good thing I never proposed, then. It was touch-and-go out there.”

      She gave him a look from under her brows. “You know, you had the bride wearing a groove in the carpet pacing over you? Lisa’s got enough going on right now without one more thing to stress about.”

      His amusement dipped a bit. “I know, trust me.”

      She folded her arms, a bit like a teacher scolding a wayward student. “Not to mention the fact that we were all standing around waiting.”

      “Not to mention,” he agreed. And she was ticked. Protective of Lisa and just a little ticked about waiting around. Or maybe the altar thing. He wasn’t sure just why he found that appealing. Maybe it was because he found her appealing. Her mouth for a start, full and tempting, the lower lip just a bit sulky now. It had been the first thing he’d noticed when he first saw her. When she’d smiled at him by the meter, he’d felt the hit down deep.

      And those eyes of hers, the color of good whiskey. They looked enormous and he didn’t think it was just tricky makeup. They were turbulent now with challenge, enough to promise she’d give him a run for his money. And she had that thick, dark hair with the red undertones of good mahogany. The kind of hair a man could bury his hands in.

      Her chin came up a bit as she noticed him staring. He didn’t bother to fight the smile. She was tall for a woman, slender enough that at a glance a person would judge her fragile. It was an impression he was betting drove her nuts. She didn’t look like the type who wanted to be taken care of. She looked like the type who liked being in control.

      Funny, so was he.

      “I guess I started off on the wrong foot with you here. Except for the quarter at the meter,” he added. “I should get some points for that.”

      “It’s going to take more than a quarter to make up for missing the wedding rehearsal,” she told him.

      “And leaving you at the altar. I could escort you up the stairs,” he offered as they skirted the velvet rope that blocked off the balcony. “That’s a start.”

      She glanced at his arm. “I can make it up the stairs on my own.”

      “I bet you can,” he said, resisting the urge to linger a bit behind her and admire the view. “It would be more fun with me, though.”

      She rolled her eyes. “Are you always like this?”

      “You’re going to break down and laugh sooner or later. You may as well give in to the inevitable.”

      She turned to him at the top of the stairs. “And that is?”

      He gazed down into those whiskey-gold eyes. “I’ll let you know.”

      And suddenly, as she stared back at him, the joking slipped away and something else flashed in its place, a hard, deep pulse of wanting that momentarily banished everything else. Something hummed between them, like a subsonic vibration that he could neither hear nor see, but only feel.

      And the flicker in her eyes told him she felt it, too.

      “About time you showed,” a voice drawled from behind him and Alan walked up.

      Gil blinked and the moment was gone. He turned to the tall Texan. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said as they shook.

      “And here I thought you were a pretty sorry specimen already,” Alan said. “Glad to see you finally found the place.”

      “You made it,” Lisa said, stepping up alongside Alan.

      “I did,” Gil said. Instead of shaking her hand, he bowed down to kiss it. “I really apologize for missing the rehearsal. Major screwup. You’ve got a lot to worry about right now and the last thing you need is more grief from me.”

      “Hey, no putting the moves on my fiancée,” Alan protested.

      “Especially,” Gil went on, ignoring Alan, “since you’re going to have plenty of grief, already, with marrying this guy off.”

      Lisa laughed delightedly and pressed a kiss to Gil’s cheek. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Alan can tell you where you’re supposed to stand tomorrow and I’m sure you can figure out the rest. Why don’t you come meet everybody and have some champagne? Dinner’s just starting.”

      Out of the corner of his eye, Gil noticed Jillian drift off to her seat.

      Probably just as well, he thought. As an editor at the Gazette, the last thing he needed was to get anything going with Jillian Logan. He’d already been warned.

      So he met the rest of the party, laughing, joking, shaking hands. And did his best to forget that strange snap of connection at the top of the stairs.

      “This is Ariel, Lisa’s good friend,” Alan said, bringing him to the last table.

      “And best chick,” Ariel added.

      “Maid of honor,” Alan translated. “And you already know Jillian, here.”

      “Informally,” Gil said. He extended his hand. “Gil Reynolds, meter caddy.”

      “Jillian Logan, usher wrangler.” She reached out.

      Her hand was soft and cool in his. It felt fragile but he’d been right about the strength that underlaid it. He’d expected that.

      He hadn’t expected

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