"I'm suggesting that if Tony hadn't called me to come check on Alison, this night might be ending differently."

Brandon drew back with disbelief. "Are you telling me you think I would have taken advantage of Alison when she was passed out? What kind of guy do you think I am?"

For a moment, Heather didn't give an inch. Then she looked away with a heavy sigh. "Okay," she said. "I'm sorry. Of course you wouldn't do that. It's just that there's so much about you doesn't add up." She folded her arms, looking at him warily. "What's up with you, Brandon? Really?"

"I'm just a guy trying to run a business. And take care of his clients."

"I think there's something else going on. You've set Alison up with guys who were all wrong for her. It doesn't sound to me as if you're serious about your business. It sounds to me more like you build people up, take their money, and give them nothing in return."

"Wrong. I've had good success with other clients."

"So why not Alison? Tony told me the date you set her up on tonight was horrible, and that was why she was drinking so much."

"The guy wasn't right for her. That's true. But in the end, she was fine with just moving on to the next one. She even laughed about it."

"Damn it, are you blind? She's only laughing so she doesn't cry. Every time she goes out with a guy and it's nothing but a dead end, it hurts her. More so every time. She's lost so much in her life already. I don't know how many more times she can hit the wall before she just can't take it anymore."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's not my place to tell you about her personal life," Heather said. "What you need to concentrate on is finding her the right man. I don't think you can do it, but she does. Alison has a habit of putting her faith in people whether they deserve it or not because she believes the best about everybody. Please don't make her wrong about you."

Brandon was itching to come back at Heather, but it would get him nowhere. He told himself it was just as Alison had said-Heather was the overprotective, intrusive sister she'd never had, and her heart really was in the right place. But that didn't make her accusations any easier to take. And really, in the end, he had to face facts. Heather was more right about him than wrong.

"Why don't you just go?" Heather said. "I have a key to lock her door."

With a sigh of frustration, he turned and went down the stairs, growing more irritated with every step he took. He knew he'd screwed up with the matches he'd made for her. Big-time. But he didn't like the implication that he would do something to hurt Alison. He liked her way too much for that. And she'd helped him so much with his business that he'd never be able to repay her. Because of her, he was going to have plenty of money to invest in the deal of the century and get his real life back again.

But for the first time, that didn't sound so wonderful.

No. It was wonderful. It was exactly what he wanted. Once he was back doing the thing he loved the most, all this would become a distant memory, just a small detour on the road back to the top. But as he strode along the deserted sidewalk, he wasn't thinking of ways to keep his distance from Alison.

He was thinking about that kiss.

Alison opened her eyes to late-morning sunlight stabbing its way through her living room blinds, penetrating her eyeballs to lodge directly in her skull. Groaning, she snapped her eyes shut, and several disorienting seconds passed before she dared ease them open again. She blinked against the sun, then looked around without lifting her head from the pillow. Wait a minute. She'd slept on the sofa? Why had she done that?

Then, slowly, she remembered.

Gritting her teeth against the headache of the century, she got up, stumbled to the bathroom, and looked at herself in the mirror. If she hadn't slapped both palms against her mouth, she'd have screamed so loudly her neighbors would have called the police.

The good news was that part of her hair still looked relatively smooth and untangled. The bad news was that the other side looked as if it had been hit by a tornado. And whatever mascara had once been on her lashes had congealed in dark circles beneath her eyes.

She dragged herself to the kitchen, started a pot of coffee, and by the time she got out of the shower, most of the rest of the evening was coming back to her. Zach and his lesbian dreams. Three martinis, bam, bam, bam. And then Brandon...

Brandon had walked her home?

Yes. And she'd bobbed and weaved the whole way. Once inside her apartment, she'd collapsed on the sofa. What else?

She sat down at her kitchen table and sipped her coffee, thinking about it. Now she remembered. She remembered Brandon sitting beside her, staring down at her with those beautiful dark eyes and that handsome face. He'd apologized for setting her up with another bad date. She'd told him...uh...what was it? Oh, yeah. How wonderful he was. And then...

OH MY GOD.

All at once what happened next came back to her in Technicolor splendor, practically knocking her off her chair with the sheer humiliation of it.

No. Please God. Tell me I didn't do what I think I did.

But she had done it. She'd kissed Brandon. And it hadn't been just any old kiss. It had been the kiss of a woman who gave new meaning to the words immodest, immoral, and shameful. She put her hand to her chest, feeling as if she was on the verge of hyperventilating. Why the hell had she done that?

She remembered thinking how wonderful he was, and how nice it was that he'd taken her home, and how he'd dedicated his life to finding love for other people, and then suddenly the matchmaker seemed way better than any match he could set her up with. Then she did something she'd thought about doing approximately a hundred times since she'd met him, but never, ever would have done without the benefit of three martinis.

It was a state fair moment all over again.

Up to now, that incident had singlehandedly ruled as her life's most humiliating experience. This beat that by a mile. Note to self: you have a one-drink limit, now and forever.

She had to apologize to Brandon and hope he didn't hate her forever. And she had to do it now.

She got dressed, put on enough makeup that she didn't look like a cadaver, and, when half a bottle of Visine didn't help her bloodshot eyes, slipped on a pair of sunglasses. She still looked like hell, but she didn't intend to hang around long. Just long enough to apologize, squirm with embarrassment, and leave.

Ten minutes later, she pulled up in front of his house. The Matchmaking by Rochelle sign was still in his front yard, and that bugged her. Yeah, he needed something to direct prospective clients around to the back of the house, but it was definitely going to cause some confusion for people who knew his business by its new name. He needed a new sign, and she made a mental note to bribe Lois to design one on Monday morning.

But first things first.

She climbed the porch steps, cringing as she knocked on the door. It took a long time, but he finally opened it, and she was treated to the Saturday morning version of Brandon. It nearly stopped her heart.

He had on a pair of jeans. Nothing else. Bare feet, bare chest-a big, broad expanse of bare chest that seemed to go on forever. His hair was sleepmussed in a way that should have looked scruffy and unkempt but looked outrageously sexy instead. He rubbed his left eye with the heel of his hand and blew out a breath.

"Hey, Alison," he said. "Long time, no see."

"Can I come in? Just for a minute?"

"Why not? I'm up." He paused. "Now."

He stepped aside, and she walked into the house. He closed the door behind her.

"First of all," she said, "I want you to know that I hardly ever drink like I did last night. Like, almost never. So when I said on your questionnaire that I'm a light drinker, I didn't lie. It really is true."

"I know. If it wasn't, three martinis wouldn't have put you under the table."

"Secondly, I want to thank you for walking me home."

"You're welcome."

"And thirdly, I want to apologize for something."

She thought she saw a tiny smile of amusement curl the corner of his mouth, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"Tony was right. I can't hold my alcohol. When I've had too much to drink, I do stupid things."

"Like what you did at the state fair?"

"You will never hear that story."

"I don't know. If I get Tony alone sometime, he might-"

"If he does, he's a dead man."

"Okay. Go on."

She exhaled. "I don't know why I did what I did. But I did, and I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"You know what."

"No, I'm afraid I don't."

"Will you stop playing dumb? I got drunk and kissed you, Brandon. You were kind enough to walk me home, and I practically attacked you. I've never done anything like that in my life!"

"Well, there was the state fair incident."

"Will you stop?" She sighed miserably. "I just came here to say I was out of line, and I'm so sorry. And I know it wouldn't be right for me to say, 'Hey, I was drunk. It wasn't my fault.' Because it was my fault for getting drunk. So everything I did after that was my fault, too."

"Is there anything else you'd like to accept blame for? The state of the economy? The wars in the Middle East?"

"Can I trade this for one of those?"

"Will you stop worrying? I once got drunk and woke up on a commuter train in Atlanta."

"You lived in Atlanta?"

"Nope."

Alison blinked. "Oh, my."

"Feel better now?"

"I don't know. When you were on that commuter train, did you come on to a woman in a highly inappropriate manner?"

"Not that I know of."

"I didn't mean anything by it, Brandon. It wasn't personal."

"So I was just a placeholder guy? If any other guy had taken you home, he'd have gotten a kiss, too?"

"No! I mean, yes." She closed her eyes. "Oh, hell. I don't know what I mean."

And he was still smiling.

"That's the last thing I remember." She winced a little, hating to ask. "What happened after that?"

"You fell asleep."

"Nothing else?"

"That's about it." He paused. "Well, I guess Heather showed up."

"Oh, no. Heather was there? Did she see me kiss you?"

"Nope. She just gave me the evil eye and sent me on my way, then locked up your condo."

"Thank God." She rubbed her temples.

"Headache?"

"Nah. There's just this little man with a jackhammer inside my head."

"You're indoors. Any reason you're still wearing sunglasses?"

"My eyes. I look like an alcoholic bloodhound."

"Let me see," he said.

"No way."

"Come on," he said with a smile. "Take off the sunglasses."

With a sigh of resignation, she slowly slid them off her face, then turned to look at him.

"Wow. Alcoholic bloodhound? Not a bad analogy."

"You're teasing me," she said, shoving them back on her face. "I am not in the mood."

Brandon laughed. "Come on, Alison. You're making too much of this."

"No. It was awful. It was like I violated you, or something."

"Violated?" He barked out a laugh of disbelief. "Are you kidding me? Not one man in ten thousand would look it like that."

"Hey! People practically go to jail these days for just looking at somebody funny, much less invading their personal space. You wouldn't believe the sexual harassment training we have to go through where I work." She rolled her eyes. "See? I know better, so it makes it even worse!"

"I'm not your employee."

"But we do have a professional relationship, so for me to jeopardize that-"

"You didn't jeopardize anything."

"Yes, I did."

"It can't be sexual harassment unless the harassee sees it that way. I didn't see it that way."