Match Me If You Can

wife by the hips, gazed into her eyes, and Charmaine no longer looked prim at all.

Sparks shot into the sky. Outkast launched into 'Hey Yah!' Annabelle's breasts brushed Heath's chest. She gazed up into a pair of half-lidded deep green eyes and thought about how being drunk could give a woman the perfect excuse to do something she normally wouldn't. The next morning, she could always say, 'God, I was so hammered. Remind me never to drink again.'

It would be like having a free pass.

Somewhere between Marc Anthony and James Brown, Heath started forgetting that Annabelle was his matchmaker. As they headed back to the cottage, he blamed the night, the music, too many beers, and that wild auburn rumpus dancing around her head. He blamed the impish amber sparks in her eyes as she'd dared him to keep up with her. He blamed the feisty curve of her mouth as her small bare feet kicked up the sand. But most of all, he blamed his training regimen for marital fidelity, which he now realized had been way too strict or he'd be able to remember this was Annabelle, his matchmaker, his- sort of-buddy.

She fell silent as they approached the darkened cottage. Granted, tonight wasn't the first time his thoughts toward her had turned in a sexual direction, but that had been a normal male reaction to an intriguing female. Annabelle as a potential bed partner had no place in his life, and he needed to get a grip.

He held the cottage door open for her. All evening, her laughter had chimed like bells in his head, and, as she brushed his shoulder, an unwelcome surge of blood shot straight to his loins. He smelled wood smoke, along with a light, floral shampoo, and fought the urge to bury his face in her hair. His cell sat on the end table, where he'd left it before the cookout so he wouldn't be tempted to use it. Normally, he'd have checked for messages first thing, but he didn't feel like it tonight. Annabelle, however, was busy as a bee. She slipped past him to turn on a lamp, knocking the shade askew in the process. She opened a window, fanned herself, picked up the purse she'd left on the couch, set it back down. When she finally gazed at him, he saw the damp spot on her top where she'd spilled her third glass of wine. Bastard that he was, he'd refilled it right away.

'I'd better get to bed.' She nibbled on her bottom lip.

He couldn't look away from those small, straight teeth sinking into that rosy flesh. 'Not yet,' he heard himself say. 'I'm too wired. I want somebody to talk to.' Somebody to touch.

Being Annabelle, she read his mind, and she confronted the situation head-on. 'How sober are you?'

'Almost.'

'Good. Because I'm not.'

His eyes settled on that moist blossom of a mouth. Her lips parted like flower petals. He tried to come up with a smarmy comment that was sure to offend her, which would snap them both out of this, but he couldn't think of a thing. 'And if I weren't almost sober?' he said.

'You are. Almost.' Those melted caramel eyes didn't leave his face. 'You're a very self-disciplined person. I respect that about you.'

'Because one of us needs to be self-disciplined, right?'

Her hands twisted at her waist. She looked adorable- rumpled clothes, sandy ankles, that hullabaloo of shiny hair. 'Exactly.'

'Or maybe not.' To hell with it. They were both adults. They knew what they were doing, and he took a step toward her.

She threw up her hands. 'I'm drunk. Really, really drunk.'

'Got it.' He moved closer.

'I'm totally wasted.' She took a quick, awkward step backward. 'Hammered out of my mind.'

'Okay.' He stopped where he was and waited.

The toe of her sandal eased forward. 'I am not responsible!'

'I'm readin' you loud and clear.'

'Any man would look good to me right now.' Another step toward him. 'If Dan walked in, Darnell, Ron- any man!-I'd think about jumping him.' The bridge of her nose crinkled with indignation. 'Even Kevin! My best friend's husband, can you imagine? That's exactly how drunk I am. I mean…'A gulp of air. 'You! Can you believe it? I'm so wasted, I couldn't tell one man from another.'

'You'll take whatever you can get, right?' Oh, this was too easy. He closed the remaining distance between them.

The muscles in her throat worked as she swallowed. 'I have to be honest.'

'You'd even take me.'

Her narrow shoulders rose, then fell. 'Unfortunately, you're the only man in the room. If somebody else was here, I'd-'

'I know. Jump him.' He ran the tip of his finger over the curve of her cheek. She leaned into his hand. He rubbed his thumb over her chin. 'Could you be quiet now so I can kiss you?'

She blinked, thick lashes sweeping her pixie's eyes. 'Really?'

'Oh, yes.'

'Because, if you do, I'll kiss you back, so you need to remember that I'm-'

'Drunk. I'll remember.' He slipped his hands into the hair he'd been aching to touch for weeks. 'You're not responsible for your actions.'

She gazed up at him. 'Just so you understand.'

'I understand,' he said softly. And then he kissed her.

She arched against him, her body pliant, her lips hot and Annabelle-spicy. Her hair curled around his fingers, ribbons of silk. He freed one hand and found her breast. Through her clothes, the nipple pebbled under his palm. She wound her arms around his neck, pressed her hips to his. Their tongues played an erotic game. He was hard, mindless. He needed more, and he reached under her top to feel her skin.

A muffled little whimper penetrated his fog. She shuddered, and the heels of her hands pressed against his chest.

He drew back. 'Annabelle?'

She gazed up at him through watery eyes and sniffed, the corners of her soft, rosy mouth drooping. 'If only I were drunk,' she whispered.

Chapter Thirteen

Annabelle heard Heath's sigh. That kiss… She'd known he'd be a wonderful kisser: domineering in the best possible way, master and commander, lord of the realm, leader of the pack. No need to worry about this one slipping into high heels when she wasn't paying attention. But none of that justified her foolishness. 'I-I guess I have more self-discipline than I thought,' she said, her voice unsteady.

'So gosh darned thrilled you figured that out now.'

'I can't throw everything away for a couple of minutes of heavy breathing.'

'A couple of minutes?' he exclaimed indignantly. 'If you think I'm not good for longer than-'

'Don't.' Pain shot through her. All she wanted to do now was climb into bed and pull the covers over her head. She hadn't cared about her business, her life, her self-respect. All she'd cared about was giving in to the moment.

'Let's go, Tinker Bell.' He snagged her arm and steered her toward the kitchen. 'We're taking a walk to cool down.'

'I don't want to walk,' she cried.

'Fine. Let's go back to what we were doing.'

Even as she pulled away, she knew he was right. If she intended to get her footing back, this couldn't wait till morning. She had to do it now. 'All right.'

He grabbed the flashlight hanging by the refrigerator, and she followed him outside. They set off down a path soft with pine needles. Neither of them said a word, not even when the path opened into a small, moonlit cove where limestone boulders edged the water. Heath turned off the flashlight and set it on the lone picnic table. He stuffed his hands in the rear pockets of his shorts and walked toward the water. 'I know you want to make a big