by Jo Leigh
He approached her slowly, not wishing to scare her off. She stepped back, but she didn’t bolt. An extraordinary beauty, she did her best to disguise herself. But her baggy clothes weren’t disguise enough. He knew what lay beneath—the gentle curve of her waist, the slight roundness of her belly…
Reaching up, he touched her chin with the length of his finger and raised her head. Her gaze darted away, but he wasn’t in any rush.
Finally, she looked right at him. The blush on her cheeks deepened.
“What are you afraid of?”
She didn’t answer, although her mouth opened slightly as if she wanted to tell him.
“It’s all right. You can tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“No?”
She looked away again.
He moved closer to her, close enough that the hem of her dress brushed his jeans. “Just to set your mind at ease, I do know.”
“Know what?
“Where your G-spot is. Among other mysterious female secrets.”
Her gaze snapped back. “You listened?”
“I did. And I hate to say it, but I don’t think you’re trying very hard.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re taking this seriously.”
He nodded. “Of course I am.”
“I already said it wouldn’t happen.”
“That’s it, then? You’re not even going to give it a chance? See what could happen between us?”
She moved away, grabbing the wine bottle as she crossed the kitchen. “Your water’s boiling.”
He turned to the stove, but not before his gaze was caught by a vase filled with his roses. They were on her coffee table, and they still looked as fresh as they had when he’d brought them. He smiled, then added the pasta to the water. After that, he stirred the sauce and adjusted the flame. She was at the counter struggling with the cork.
He could have taken it from her, but he didn’t. Instead, he watched her try to yank out the cork. She didn’t have the right leverage, which made the task twice as difficult as it could have been.
She was a stubborn little thing, though, and despite her stance, she succeeded, and the cork popped loudly in the small room. He brought her the glasses, and she poured his glass and her own, but hers she filled to the rim.
His guess was that she figured the liquor would calm her nerves. Doubtful. But it would loosen her up a bit, and for that he was grateful.
She was a puzzle, this one. He tried to think of a woman like her and he came up blank. She was a beauty who behaved as if she wasn’t. A sophisticate who blushed at the first hint of impropriety. There had to be a key to Jamie. A clue that would make all the pieces fit.
He couldn’t imagine a more entertaining project.
“Jamie?”
“Hmm?”
“You’ve told me a lot about your past, but not enough, not nearly enough…”
“I’ve already told you everything that’s important. I really have a boring little life.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment.” He sipped his wine, then leaned back against the counter and made himself comfortable.
“It’s true.” She picked up the big wooden spoon and stirred the pasta, then the sauce.
“No sale. Come on. I want to hear about all the men in your life.”
She picked up her wineglass, brought it to her lips and drank—didn’t sip—until half the glass was gone.
His brows lifted. He’d pitched and scored. All this mystery was about a man. Was he in her past, or in her present?
“Excuse me.” Jamie put her glass down and headed toward the hallway.
He watched her until she’d entered the bathroom and closed the door. Interesting. Of course, he’d figured it was something along those lines that made her so shy.
Now, all he had to do was find out what the man who broke her heart was like, and be the opposite. Piece of cake.
6
JAMIE PUT DOWN THE LID and sat on the toilet. “Oh God,” she whispered. It sounded good so she said it again and again until it was one long word. OhGodOhGodOhGod… What was she supposed to do now?
Maybe if she sat in here long enough, he’d go home. Even as she thought it, she knew it wasn’t going to happen. Chase wasn’t the type to tiptoe out the door. He was in her face, and he wanted answers.
She hadn’t had time to make up her past. Her ex-lover didn’t even have a name yet. Steve? Frank? Buddy? Alonzo? Her head dropped to her hands and she moaned, the small bathroom bouncing the sound right back at her. She sounded pitiful. She was pitiful.
The fact was, she had two weeks to get through, and she’d better get a grip or she was going to lose it, big time.
What if she’d called herself for advice? What would she say?
First, she’d ask herself if she was out of her mind for getting into such a ridiculous situation. But then, she’d probably ask what she wanted the outcome to be. Did she, in fact, want to win this bet or did some part of her want to be seduced by Chase?
Okay. Point one—she wanted to win, and not just because she didn’t want her secret blown. She wanted to get closer to her listeners. She wanted them to trust her and feel comfortable asking her the most intimate questions. She wanted to help women see their part in the seduction scenario.
Then she’d ask herself if she was doing everything she could to win the bet. That would be a big no. In fact, she hadn’t taken the initiative once. She’d let herself be buffeted about like a leaf in a gale. Every time he touched her, her resolve weakened a notch. He’d kept her off guard, which was how things got out of hand.
Point two—it was time to go on the offensive.
So then she’d ask about the, uh, situation. The one where she’d lose everything she cared about if the truth were to get out that she was indeed the phoniest of the phonies. That she knew about sex like fish knew about bicycles. However, she’d remind herself, the whole point of the game was to avoid being compromised, so what the heck was the problem?
Could she keep saying no to him? Yes. Of course. How ludicrous. No way she was going to succumb. Even though, oh God, she kinda sorta wanted to.
The confession made her moan. How was this possible? The bet, although embarrassing, should have been a no-brainer. She didn’t believe in seduction, and therefore it wasn’t going to happen.
But when he kissed her… She moaned again as her traitorous body reacted to the thought. “Reacted” was putting it mildly. Just thinking about his mouth on hers put every nerve ending in every erogenous zone on full alert.
Tough. It wasn’t going to happen, couldn’t happen, so she’d better get used to it. According to everything she knew about sexual intimacy, kissing didn’t happen right away. Lots of things happened before getting that close. Eye contact. Light touches. Mirroring behavior. Asking the right questions. And sex? Please. That was the last step. She knew the road, which meant she didn’t have to walk down it, right? She counseled a lot of women to watch for the signs, to keep one step ahead. She’d simply take her own advice.
Point three—no woman can be seduced. Period. No ifs, ands or buts. If she didn’t make eye contact, or touch him, or mirror his behavior or ask intimate questions, she’d be fine. Because no amount of sexual chemistry was equal to the power of self-determination. She was stronger than her hormones. She was stronger than Chase. He didn’t stand a chance. So what was she worried about?
A soft rap on the door made her jump.
“Jamie? You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, trying to sound normal as her heart pounded in her chest.
“Okay. Just thought I’d tell you dinner is ready.”
“Great. That’s…that’s great. I’ll be right there.”
Silence as the seconds ticked by. “All right,” he said finally.
She rolled her eyes. Way to take charge, Jamie. Next time, she must remember to call Dr. Ruth.
MARCY FOUND AN EMPTY BOOTH at the back of the diner. It w
asn’t the most elegant of restaurants, but it served good food at decent prices, and they were open until two in the morning. She’d been coming here for several years, and not just because of the food or the fact that it was across the street from the station. She never felt awkward here eating alone. No one bothered her. She could read as she ate, sometimes the paper, sometimes a novel. It was nice, quiet and safe.
She grabbed a menu, but before she could open it she heard Jamie’s voice. Surprised, she looked up, then realized she was listening to the radio behind the counter. Fred was running lots of clips through all the programs. A “Best of…” series.
“What are you so afraid of?” Jamie asked.
“I don’t know,” came a soft response.
“What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
“He’ll laugh at me.”
“And?”
“I’ll be humiliated.”
“Have you ever been humiliated before?”
A sigh. “Yes.”
“Did you survive?” “Yeah.”
“So, in other words, if you ask him to sit with you at lunch, he can say yes, he can say no, or he can laugh at you. Now, the odds are that third thing won’t happen. But let’s say he says no. What would that mean?”
“That he doesn’t like me?”
“Maybe. Or maybe it means he has other plans for lunch.”
“Oh.”
“Or maybe it means he’s seeing someone else, and because he finds you attractive it wouldn’t be a good idea to sit with you at lunch. Or maybe it means he’s gay. Or he’s got crabs. Or a hundred other things, none of which have anything to do with you.”
“Okay. I get it.”
“Do you?” Jamie asked. “Do you see that fear is stopping it all? Stopping your life? That you’ll survive even if it is awful, and, more than that, you’ll have pride in yourself for taking a chance, for risking your heart. So, you go for it, girl. You ask him to eat lunch with you. He might just say yes.”
“That was Dr. Jamie, and she talks about sex week-nights…”
Marcy tuned out Barry Leland’s voice. He was on the air now and probably irritated as hell that he had to promote Jamie’s show.
She looked at the familiar menu and decided to stick with her usual Santa Fe chicken salad. She really should try something new, but not tonight. Not with the blue funk that had her wrapped in its fuzzy arms.
It wasn’t that anything was wrong so much as that not much was right. Dee, who worked here six nights a week and almost always waited on Marcy, came over and smiled as she got out her order pad. “Santa Fe salad, right?”
Marcy nodded. God, she was so predictable.
“Iced tea?”
“No. I’d like a beer. Whatever you have on tap.”
“You got it.” Dee finished writing, then stuck the pencil behind her ear. Her hair was so short, it was almost a buzz cut, but on her, it worked. “That’s something about Dr. Jamie, huh?”
“Yes. It is…something.”
“I’ve seen that guy. He’s a tall drink of water. I sure as hell wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers, if you know what I mean.”
Marcy grinned. “I do indeed.”
“Not that he’d want an old broad like me.”
“You’re not so old.”
Dee shrugged. “Going on fifty. But it beats the hell out of the alternative, eh?”
“You bet.”
The waitress headed toward the kitchen, and Marcy’s gaze went to the door as a man walked in—only it wasn’t just any man, it was Ted. Her pulse kicked up and her cheeks heated. She’d invite him to sit with her. He was a coworker, right? People ate with coworkers.
She smiled as he looked her way. He smiled back, but then he turned to a woman behind him. A beautiful blonde with arched eyebrows and pale pink lips. Ted touched her upper arm, leading her to a table. A table far too close to Marcy’s. What was he doing here so late?
Something broke inside her. A last hope, perhaps? She had no idea who the blonde was. But by the way Ted touched her, Marcy guessed she wasn’t his kid sister.
There was no reason for her chest to hurt. For her appetite to disappear. For a wave of sadness to make her want to cry. Ted wasn’t her boyfriend. He didn’t even know she was interested in him. Why? Because she was a big, fat chicken.
What was it Jamie had said? Fear can stop it all. Is that what her life was about? Hiding from fear?
Her answer came a few minutes later when Dee brought her salad. A lifetime of Santa Fe salad when there was a banquet being served? Is that all she was worth?
She looked over at Ted’s table. He glanced her way and smiled. Only she didn’t do the usual blush-and-turn. This time, she held his gaze. Just held it with her own.
He didn’t turn away. On the contrary, his right brow lifted a hair, and his smile changed from an impersonal greeting to a question.
Marcy’s heart beat so fast that she hardly remembered how to breathe. Finally, after what seemed like forever, she lowered her lashes and broke the connection.
She managed to shove a few bites of food into her mouth while she tried to get a grip. Eye contact. She’d heard Jamie talk about it again and again, but she never dreamed it could work.
One more bite, then she dared another look. Ted’s gaze met her own, and there it was again. A connection. A silent Q & A session. A moment.
He was the one to turn away this time. But he didn’t want to. She could tell. He didn’t want to. This was major. This was unbelievable.
“Thanks, Jamie,” she whispered. “I owe you.”
HE’D FOUND HER CANDLES. She kept a basket by the bookshelf in the living room where she stashed an eclectic collection of candles, from beeswax to scented votives. Most had been given to her as gifts, a few she’d bought herself, but she’d never placed them all over the dining room, and she’d never turned off the lights and lit them all at once.
It didn’t feel like her apartment. It didn’t smell like her apartment, either. The scent of Italian spices made her tummy growl. The scent of the candles made her giddy. The scent of Chase Newman did several other things, none of which she cared to focus on.
Chase stood between the kitchen and the dining room. He’d also found her place mats and silver, and the table looked sinfully elegant. Candles, of course, were the centerpiece. “Welcome back.”
“You did all this.”
He nodded. “I had some time on my hands.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” He headed toward her, lit by soft, flickering lights. “Are you?”
“Am I?”
“All right?”
“I don’t know,” she said, which wasn’t smart. But she couldn’t help it. Her pep talk in the bathroom was fading like a bad dream.
“My linguini will fix everything,” he said, his voice low and intimate as he held out her wineglass. “But first, you need to relax.”
“I’m fine,” she said, lying through her clenched teeth. She took the wine, thinking it might be a good idea to drink as much as she could as fast as she could.
He had other plans. Starting with a walk around her, a steadying hand keeping her from moving. Once he was behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders. She nearly dropped her glass.
His hands covered most of her shoulders, they were so large. The first wave of sensation was all about her own size, her fragility. How it would feel to have those hands caress her body. A shiver raced through her, and then he started massaging her, kneading her neck muscles.
He was surprisingly gentle. His thumbs found her pressure points, and she could feel herself melting. As if his magic fingers weren’t enough, his warm breath whispered against her neck—her name, so soft it was hardly there. Then his lips were behind her ear, nuzzling as he continued working the tension from her body.
This was all new to her. No one had ever touched her exactly like this, or whispered her name in such a way. His shivery kisses made her want to weep fo
r all she’d missed out on.
She’d thought it would be wonderful. Honestly, she’d fantasized about a man like Chase, a moment like this. But her fantasies had been woefully inadequate. No imagining could equal the feel of his hands running down her arms, the erotic web he wove with his breath, his lips, his hips rubbing against her bottom.
He slipped her wineglass from her hand and put it somewhere. She’d forgotten all about it. Her intoxication didn’t need liquor, it seemed. Just Chase nibbling on her earlobe.
It wasn’t fair. All these new sensations, and she couldn’t let herself enjoy them. Well, not as much as if she were really going to make love with him. This was all about a bet, a wager, a game. He wasn’t touching her this way because he wanted her. If it hadn’t been for Darlene Whittaker, Chase wouldn’t have asked her out in the first place. She must remember that…
His hands moved down her arms again, and then they were on her stomach, and she gasped when he didn’t stop there. He moved his hands up just under her breasts, and then his thumbs, those wicked thumbs, rubbed her just below her nipples.
A hiss of breath hit her neck, and she had to squeeze her legs together tightly. She put her hands on his hands, meaning to pull them away, but then she seemed to lose her strength, to say nothing of her determination.
He teased her, but only until she whimpered. Then his thumbs touched the rigid nubs. Rubbed small circles, not too hard, just right. Behind her, he moved his hips, letting her feel his hard length straining against his jeans. That was new, too. She knew so much about men in general, and so little about a man.
He cupped her breasts, so small in his big hands. But his moan let her know he liked what he felt, that she was right for him.
“Jamie,” he whispered. Then he turned her around and his lips came down on hers.
The kiss was different, hungrier. His tongue thrust between her teeth, taking all he wanted, his hands on her back and then lower until he cupped her buttocks and pulled her tight against his heat.
She wasn’t equipped to fight a man like Chase. He was too sophisticated, too devilishly handsome. His hands…they could make her do anything. The fact that he didn’t really want her so much as he wanted to win the bet couldn’t compete with the way his taste, his lips, his hands squeezing her flesh made her woozy with desire.
