So Irresistible by Lisa Plumley Page A

in a way that made him woozy. “I have to say, that’s a new one. What do you like about my inner being?”
    “So far? Your smart mouth is at the top of the list.”
    She laughed. “Wait till you get a load of my punctuality.”
    “No way.” Shane pantomimed clutching his heart. He smiled at her. “I’m a sucker for promptness. We’re a perfect match.”
    For an instant, that preposterous statement lingered in the air, buffeted by the raucous sounds of the brewpub. Then . . .
    “Well. We can’t know that yet, can we?” she asked.
    But something in her eyes suggested they could. Something in her unaffected, wholly genuine, in-your-face, interested expression suggested they were a perfect match. Shane wasn’t the only one who’d sensed it. He felt unreasonably buoyed by that.
    Maybe getting crazy for tonight was the right thing to do.
    “We won’t know until we try.” He offered her his non-porter-holding hand and his most sincere hopes. “I’m Shane Maresca.”
    A moment passed while she examined him, her posture as elegant as a brewpub-going ballerina’s. Ludicrously, Shane had the impression she might be able to see through his for-one-night casual jeans-and-T-shirt look to the real man beneath.
    To the real man, who was alone and discontent and—since glimpsing her across the brewpub—nonsensically hopeful, too.
    “I’m Gabby—” She broke off, shifted her gaze sideways, then went on. “Vivaldi. You must be new in town, or you’d recognize me, just like the rest of these—” Another break. “People.”
    At that, all Shane’s years of “fixing” pinged him like crazy. Gabby “Vivaldi” was lying. Not just about her last name—which had obviously been a fake—but also about what she’d been about to call the other brewpub patrons. Peering more closely at her, Shane wondered exactly what she’d been about to say.
    Just like the rest of these . . . what ? Or who ?
    He’d chosen this place because it was unruly enough to get lost in and crowded enough to be anonymous while he was there.
    Maybe Gabby “Vivaldi” had done the same thing. But Shane couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to this story. Why, precisely, would she be recognizable to the whole crowd?
    He never had a chance to decide. Because next Gabby clasped his hand in hers, accepting his handshake, and his brainpower cratered to an all-time low. At the feel of her warm hand in his, all Shane wanted was to touch her some more. All over.
    He wanted to touch her and feel her tremble in his arms. He wanted to slip off that dress of hers, inhale the vaguely spicy tomato-and-basil scent of her hair, and press himself against her until all that remained between them was heat and intensity.
    At their touch, something electric passed between them—something unstoppable. He felt it. So did she, because her eyes widened. She stared at their linked hands. That’s when, Shane figured, any reasonable woman would have backed down.
    He didn’t intend to give her a chance to do so. After all, he liked her. And he was here to be completely spontaneous.
    “There’s a quiet corner over there.” He aimed his porter bottle toward a cushy, out-of-the-way booth. “Let’s start now.”
    “Start what?”
    “Getting to know if we’re a perfect match.”
    “I was only joking!” Her hand still remained in his, but she resisted his tug toward the booth. Her gaze swept up to his face. “There’s no such thing as a perfect match.”
    “Not until now, there hasn’t been,” Shane agreed.
    Her mouth opened. Delectably. “You don’t believe that.”
    Hmm. She’d spied his inherent cynicism and called him on it. Damn. He was impressed. Gabby “Vivaldi” just might be his dream girl. “Tonight? I do believe in perfect matches tonight.”
    That was the name of the game, wasn’t it? To cut loose for one night? To feel . . . everything ? Encouragingly, he nodded.
    But she shook her head. “That corner booth is only available with a