He shrugged and turned his back to the dance floor, not particularly eager to watch his wife make a fool of herself over some stranger who was probably wondering why this woman wasn’t dancing with her own husband. Matthew wondered that himself, until he realized rather starkly that he didn’t especially give a damn about Lindsey’s reasons any longer. What he couldn’t remember, though, was exactly how long it had been since he had stopped caring.

He drained his whiskey in one neat swallow, and was about to order another - mindful of the fact that they were staying overnight in Napa, which meant he didn’t have to worry about driving - when a melodious, innately feminine voice sounded to his right.

“I don’t suppose you have a pot of hot water back there, do you?”

The woman’s question sounded hopeful, and Matthew glanced in her direction, curious as to who would be asking for hot water rather than alcohol at this hour. It was one of Tessa’s bridesmaids - the slightly taller one with the really remarkable head of naturally curly hair that was half a dozen different shades of blonde. He didn’t know her name, but it occurred to him all of a sudden where he’d seen her before - just a week ago at Ian and Tessa’s joint bachelor/bachelorette party. Curlylocks hadn’t been wearing an elegant, blue strapless gown like she had on this evening, though. Instead, she’d worn some sort of vividly printed cotton dress in yellows and oranges that had twirled and whirled as she and her date had treated the guests to an impromptu salsa dance. Lindsey had made some disparaging comment about the colorful dress, wondering snidely what vintage store or flea market it had been found at. But Matthew knew the real reason for his wife’s cattiness was because Curlylocks’s very attractive date hadn’t paid Lindsey the slightest bit of attention, despite her rather pathetic attempts to flirt with him.

The bartender nodded. “Sure do. Can I get you anything else to go with that, like a tea bag or something?” he offered as he lifted a glass carafe filled with water from a hot plate.

Curlylocks shook her head, causing those amazing curls to bounce riotously, and laughingly held out her palm to display a little packet. “I brought my own, thanks.”

Matthew regarded the woman curiously as she dunked the tea bag into the hot water to let it seep. It wasn’t like him to strike up a conversation with a woman he didn’t really know, but there was something about this particular female that suddenly seemed oddly fascinating.

“I’m pretty sure they have tea here,” he joked. “And given how much this shindig must be costing Ian, you didn’t need to bring your own drink.”

She glanced up at him, as though startled that someone was actually speaking to her. Matthew sucked in a breath as the full impact of her green-gold eyes hit him. Coupled with the warm olive tones of her flawless skin, and that wild mane of multi-hued curls, she reminded him of a lioness. And when her mouth quirked up in a smile, he felt something he hadn’t experienced in a very long time - desire.

“Of course they have tea here,” she replied in that calm, melodious voice. “At least a dozen different blends if I recall correctly from the breakfast we had this morning. But, you see, this is a very special blend that I’m drinking now. It’s made with turmeric, lemongrass, ginger, and licorice, and it’s very beneficial in countering the effects of alcohol. Not that I’ve had very much to drink,” she added as she removed the tea bag, “but since I typically don’t drink alcohol at all I thought it best to take preventive measures.”

Matthew stared at her. “I don’t even know what some of that stuff is you just mentioned,” he admitted.

She smiled at him serenely as she took a sip of her tea. “You should try it sometime, then. Especially if you’ve been drinking that nasty stuff all night.” She gestured toward his empty glass of whiskey.

“Hey,” he protested half-seriously. “That nasty stuff, as you just called it, costs seventy five dollars a bottle.”

Curlylocks picked up his empty glass and gave it a dainty sniff before wrinkling her small, straight nose in distaste. “At least vodka or tequila barely has an odor. What is this exactly - bourbon or scotch? Either way, it smells horrid. And I’ll spare you the lecture, but what this poison is doing to your insides - well, you don’t want to think about that right now. I won’t spoil your evening for you.”

Matthew sighed. “Too late for that, I’m afraid. By the way, we haven’t been formally introduced, but I’m Matthew Bennett - Matt, to my friends. I, uh, saw you doing that dance thing at the party last weekend.”

She laughed, a tinkling, musical laugh that reminded him of bells or wind chimes. “I’m guessing you know as little about dancing as you do about herbal tea,” she teased. “And, yes, that was me dancing. My partner and I were doing the salsa, and then later a rhumba. And I’m Sasha. Sasha Fonseca. A pleasure to meet you, Matthew.”

Sasha extended a hand towards him, and he gripped it in his automatically, pleased to discover how smooth and soft her skin was. He wondered what it was she did for a living to have hands like that. And it also pleased him that she’d addressed him by his full name. Most people, including Lindsey, called him Matt, but he really preferred Matthew. Especially the way Sasha pronounced it in that soft, almost hypnotic voice.

He released her hand after belatedly realizing he’d been gripping it for long seconds. “I didn’t see the two of you out on the dance floor tonight,” he commented. “Though I’m not sure this band would be able to play anything that, uh, festive.”

“Doubtful,” she agreed placidly. “But a fancy wedding isn’t exactly the right setting for something as earthy as salsa music. And you haven’t seen me out there dancing with my partner because Miguel isn’t here this evening. He flew back to Los Angeles a few days ago, and is probably out dancing at some club right now. With his new boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Matthew wasn’t exactly sure why Sasha had thrown that last bit in, but for some bizarre reason he was glad she had clarified that the hot Spaniard she’d danced so sultrily with last week was actually gay. Not that it was any of his business, of course. “So you’re here alone tonight?”

She nodded, taking another careful drink of her tea, as though she was savoring each sip. “I figured that any date I could round up wouldn’t know a soul here. And since I’d be occupied doing, well, bridesmaid-like things, it wouldn’t be fair to just abandon him to sit with a tableful of strangers. Plus,” she added with a twinkle in those huge, curly lashed cat eyes, “most of the guys I tend to date would stick out like a sore thumb in a place this fancy.”