Plain Jane and the Playboy

by Marie Ferrarella

  Broad shoulders shrugged casually beneath his royal blue shirt. His easygoing grin nonetheless created a knot in the pit of her stomach.

  “A little of this, a little of that.” He saw the curiosity in her eyes. She really wanted to know, he thought. Most women just wanted to see the size of his billfold—among other things. “I’m an entrepreneur,” he added.

  “That sounds interesting. Tell me about it.”

  She actually sounded genuinely interested, he thought. Before he knew it, he began talking about his latest venture.

  Oh man, what an operator Jorge was, Ricky Jamison thought, standing over in a corner and watching his idol’s every move. Because he was so far away and there was so much noise, Ricky couldn’t hear what was being said, but he could certainly see what was going on. Within the space of a few minutes—and, from the looks of it, one hell of a kiss—Jorge had brought the bookish woman to a melting point.

  Ricky sighed, shaking his head. His friend Josh and Josh’s girlfriend, Lindsey, had their heads together over in the corner, sharing something private. Ricky felt a pang as he wished he had that kind of ability, to make girls fall for him.

  When he was older, Ricky thought wistfully, he wanted to be exactly like Jorge Mendoza. The man was a god in his eyes.

  Patrick Fortune rang in this New Year’s the very same way he rang in all the others since he’d met his bride: by kissing Lacey.

  His arm rested comfortably around his still-beautiful wife’s shoulders as he surveyed the very crowded banquet hall. He recognized almost all the faces here, and that was his own doing—his and Maria Mendoza’s. It wasn’t every New Year’s Eve that he managed to gather together so many members of his family under one roof. Sadly, not all of his five children and their spouses could make it. But on the bright side, his brother William and William’s five children were all here, as well as Cynthia’s children.

  Bolder than sunlight, Cynthia had always marched to a different drummer and made her own rules, usually as she went along. Still, he wished she’d taken him up on the invitation and come. He wanted all his siblings here, all his nieces and nephews as well as his own children. Not because he had any special announcement to make, but just because he felt the need for their presence.

  Family was everything.

  The older he became, the more inclined Patrick felt to forget any past grievances that might have once caused him to turn his back on one member of the family or another. Life was too short—and it was getting shorter all the time. He’d thought that his cousin Ryan would live forever and Ryan had been dead now for four years. It seemed impossible, and yet it was true.

  He still missed the man a great deal.

  The swish of Lacey’s dress as she turned toward him caught his attention.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” she said, leaning in so that he could hear her. He’d looked entirely too pensive for the last few minutes and she wondered if there was anything wrong.

  Patrick laughed at the way she’d asked her question. “And that,” he declared, his mouth curving in amusement, “is how our fortune continues to remain intact. Your frugality.”

  “Very funny.” She threaded her arm through his as she looked up at him. He was still an exceptionally handsome man, she caught herself thinking. “Where are you right now?”

  Patrick patted her arm. “Right here beside you, my love.” He sighed. “Just missing Ryan, that’s all. He used to love family gatherings like this.”

  Ryan Fortune had been a good man who always saw the best in people. Lacey liked to think that Patrick was the same way. She tightened her hold on his arm. “He wouldn’t want you to be sad, Patrick.”

  Lacey was right. As always. He supposed that what had triggered his thoughts was seeing Lily tonight—Ryan’s widow. Seeing her made him expect to see Ryan somewhere in her immediate vicinity. If only.

  “No, you’re right, he wouldn’t. Just give me a minute to get my party face back in place,” he teased.

  Just then, someone bumped into him, hard. If there had been any more space between him and Lacey, he might have actually fallen into her, bringing her down with him. Patrick turned to look at the man who had stumbled into him.

  “Sorry,” the other man apologized. “I think I’ve had just a little too much to drink. I’m going to get some air,” he said by way of an excuse.

  “Good idea,” Patrick agreed, addressing the words to the back of the man’s head. He stared after him for a second. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, but most likely, it could have just been his imagination. He shrugged his shoulders and returned to the party.

  The man kept going, weaving his way in and out of the crowd, working his way to the front door. Once he was confident he was out of Patrick’s sight, his meandering gait ceased.

  One down, he thought, a self-satisfied smirk playing along his thin lips.

  Chapter Four

  Jane still couldn’t quite believe how this evening had turned out. If it wasn’t such a cliché, she would have actually pinched herself to see if she was dreaming.

  Jorge had not left her side since he came to ask her about refilling her drink and then remained to utterly rock her world.

  She finally understood what that phrase meant. This had to be what Californians experienced when a 7.5 earthquake hit. Even though it was after one o’clock and the kiss that had all but turned her brain to mush, was an hour in the past, the ground beneath her feet still felt as if it were moving. Her insides were still in a state of flux.

  But Jorge hadn’t moved on.

  After he’d kissed her, all but burning off her lips, he’d stayed with her. Talked with her.

  And made her feel beautiful.

  Even when the man behind the bar had finally managed to get his attention and signaled to him in an obvious entreaty to return to his post, rather than seizing the excuse and leaving her, Jorge had laced his fingers through hers and had taken her along with him when he went to talk to the bartender.

  “Hey, man, I need you to take over now,” Angel said to him, stripping off the black half apron he’d donned earlier.

  Jorge made no effort to take the apron from him. Instead, he said, “Ask Carlos to take over,” mentioning the name of one of the waiters working this evening. “He owes me a favor.”

  Angel sighed, stashing the apron beneath the bar for the time being. “If you say so.”

  Jane felt a little guilty, taking Jorge away from the job he was supposed to be helping out with. “I’m keeping you.”

  Jorge turned toward her and smiled into her eyes, creating yet another huge tidal wave inside her stomach. “If that’s what you want,” he murmured.

  Jane forgot to breathe again.

  When she remembered, after a beat, she tried to draw it in subtly and then release it slowly. She was sure he’d noticed.

  God, but she was acting as sophisticated as an escapee from a fifteenth-century nunnery. She really was going to have to get a grip on herself.

  But Jorge was like no other man she’d ever met.

  He was still holding her hand and that, somehow, was impeding the flow of blood to her brain. She had to concentrate in order to think.

  “No, I meant…” She searched for the right words. “That I’m taking you away from your work.”

  “Not my work,” he corrected her. “I’m just helping out, remember?”

  Right, she thought, he’d already said something about that, about being a businessman, an entrepreneur, not a bartender. Damn, her head felt like a sieve, with all the information she was receiving just leaking out of every pore. She wasn’t like this normally. Ordinarily, she absorbed details like a sponge and retained absolutely everything.

  Not this time.

  “And for the most part,” Jorge was saying, his low, sexy voice working its way under her skin, thrilling her, “the party’s beginning to wind down.”

  Even as he said it, a wave of cold air wove through the room as the front doors opene
d and several people made their way out into the night. It was mild as far as winters around here went, but there was no denying that it was still cold.

  More than anything, Jane didn’t want the evening to end. But even Cinderella had to go home at midnight, and she’d already beaten Cinderella’s record by an hour.

  Without thinking, Jane ran the tip of her tongue along her lips. She could still taste him. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the pressure of his lips against hers.

  This was definitely one New Year’s Eve she was going to remember for the rest of her life—no matter how long she lived.

  As if sensing what she was thinking, Jorge asked, “Can I take you home, Jane? Or did you drive over here by yourself?”

  Why did that sound as if she was such a loser, coming to a New Year’s Eve party by herself? Besides, she hadn’t come alone, she’d come here with Isabella.

  But it had been a long time since she’d seen her friend. Scanning the immediate area now, she couldn’t find Isabella.

  “I came with Isabella,” Jane told him, still searching through the sea of faces for a glimpse of her friend.

  The answer coaxed out another smile. “Isabella won’t mind if I bring you home,” he assured her.

  Jane stopped searching and looked at him. “But how will she know? Isabella might get worried if she can’t find me.”

  Now that was downright refreshing, Jorge thought, impressed. He’d hooked up with any number of women at parties who’d left girlfriends—and boyfriends—wandering around looking for them without so much as a second thought. Their focus was exclusively on their own pleasure.

  Jane Gilliam was certainly different from the type of woman he was accustomed to. Maybe she deserved closer scrutiny, he mused. Her kiss had been a definite surprise. Maybe there were other surprises to be uncovered as well.

  “Don’t worry,” he told her, “I’ll leave word at the hostess desk for her. She’s bound to ask there if she can’t find you.”

  Jane hesitated—but not too much. She really wanted to be with Jorge for as long as possible.

  “Well, if you think it’s all right.”

  She couldn’t keep from smiling. Everything inside her was cheering. The evening wasn’t ending yet. She’d gotten a reprieve. Who knew, once they got to her apartment, maybe he’d stay a while for coffee and conversation. She loved listening to the sound of his voice.

  Amused by her shy eagerness, Jorge ran the back of his knuckles along her cheek, then watched, fascinated, as a small nerve along her cheekbone winked in and out as if it was flirting with him.

  “I think it’s all right,” he assured her.

  From across the room, Maria Mendoza was in the middle of instructing several of the busboys to subtly begin gathering up dishes that had clearly been abandoned when she suddenly noticed her son talking to a young woman. Not just talking to her, but leaning in the way he did when he’d singled someone out.

  Squinting, Maria looked closer. For once, the woman who had caught her son’s attention didn’t look as if she was modeling all the makeup offered at a department display counter. In fact, she looked almost sweet. There was nothing brash or flashy about her. And the dress she was wearing wasn’t cut down to her navel.

  She was the kind of young woman, Maria thought as she abruptly stopped addressing the busboys, that she would have personally hand-selected for Jorge.

  She knew her, she realized. Jane…something. Jane Gilliam, that was it. She’d met her once through Patrick Fortune. He spoke very highly of the young woman’s selflessness and her dedication to the children she worked with, as well as her passionate pledge to help every child to learn how to read.

  Several times during the evening, she’d noted that the poor girl was sitting off by herself. At one point, Jane had even taken out a book from her purse and had begun to read. While everyone else had been enjoying themselves, the shy young woman clearly felt cut off by loneliness.

  Well, she obviously wasn’t lonely anymore, Maria thought, pleased. Not with Jorge talking to her. Jane seemed to be hanging on his every word.

  Maria’s mother’s heart swelled with hope and joy. Could Jorge finally, finally be growing up? Could he finally be abandoning that wanton side that had him going from one shallow beauty to another? Had he left that life behind him to turn his attention to a woman of substance?

  She fervently hoped so. Maybe all those prayers to St. Jude, patron saint of hopeless causes, were finally paying off.

  “Señora Mendoza?” Luis, one of the busboys hesitantly tried to get her attention. “You did not finish telling us what you wanted us to do.”

  She needed to get over there, Maria thought, to find out if what she was seeing was real. “Do what you are paid to do, Luis,” Maria told the young man. He needed to show a little initiative if he ever hoped to be anything more than just a busboy. “Must I do all the thinking for you?”

  Luis looked a little chagrinned as he bowed his head. “No, Señora.”

  Maria patted his arm. “Good, then get to it, please.”

  Even as she spoke, she quickly began making her way through the revelers who were still left. But her eyes never left her target: Jorge and the young woman. Though no longer in her thirties, Maria prided herself on still being very quick on her feet when she wanted to be.

  She made it to her son’s side before he had a chance to get away.

  Placing a hand on his shoulder, she could see that she’d caught him by surprise. Good. “Are you leaving, Jorge?” she asked innocently.

  “Yes, in a few minutes, Mama.” And then, for form’s sake—and because he loved her—he added, “If you don’t mind.”

  “Of course I don’t mind,” Maria assured him magnanimously even as her eyes covertly darted toward Jane and then back again. “You’ve been a great help tonight. Your father is very grateful. There were more people here than were expected.”

  Maria paused, waiting. But Jorge was not taking the hint. He wasn’t making any introductions. Maria was not shy about taking matters into her own hands. It was how she’d gotten to where she was now.

  She turned toward Jane, a bright smile on her face. “Hello, you might not remember me, but we met—”

  It was only around good-looking men that Jane found herself almost hopelessly tongue-tied, feeling about as sharp as a button. When dealing with the rest of the world, she became friendly and cheery, which was more her natural state.

  She smiled warmly now at the older woman. “Of course I remember you, Señora Mendoza. Mr. Fortune introduced us last year. He speaks very highly of you every time your name comes up.”

  She was gracious as well as sweet, Maria thought. “As he does you,” Maria responded.

  For a moment, Jorge almost felt as if he were on the outside looking in. It wasn’t a situation he was accustomed to. Moreover, his mother’s behavior was a bit of a surprise. She wasn’t usually this friendly with any of the women he charmed.

  Bemused, Jorge looked from Jane to his mother. He could read his mother’s mind as clearly as if the words had been written on a huge billboard and hung around her neck.

  Sorry, Ma, not going to happen, he thought.

  Granted, Jane was special in her own unique way and he had to admit that he was attracted and somewhat captivated by her, but neither condition meant that he was about to suddenly abandon his bachelor life for this woman with the huge, soulful brown eyes. At most, he’d get further acquainted with her, spend a little time pleasuring them both, and then move on. It was his way.

  “I was just about to take Jane home,” he told his mother. “She came with Isabella, so if you see her, just let her know that I’ve taken care of Jane’s transportation for the evening.”

  “Of course.” Maria’s smile was just a tad strained as she offered it to Jane. Turning, Maria began to leave but at the last moment, she buttonholed her son and whispered a warning into his ear. “Don’t you hurt this one.” Releasing him, she smiled broadly. This tim
e, there was nothing forced about it. Before leaving for good, she looked over her shoulder at Jane and said, “I hope I will see you again very soon.”

  Me, too, Señora. Me, too, Jane couldn’t help thinking, even though she knew the chances of that happening were very, very slim.

  Jorge waited until his mother disappeared into the crowd. The woman really did have eyes in the back of her head, he thought. Turning to Jane, he inclined his head and asked, “Ready?”

  He wouldn’t believe just how ready she was, Jane thought. “I just have to get my coat,” she told him. She pointed vaguely in the general direction of the coatroom.

  There was a crowd around the desk, Jorge noted. No sense in their both standing around, waiting their turn. He’d have better luck getting to the front of the line if he went alone.

  “Why don’t you give me the claim number?” Jorge suggested. “I’ll go get it for you.”

  She wasn’t accustomed to such attentive gallantry. Usually, she was the one running the errands. Flipping open the clip on her clutch purse, she began searching through it.

  “It’s here someplace,” Jane murmured. She was forced to go through the purse twice before she finally located the small, square card with the red claim number on it. “Here it is,” she announced triumphantly.

  Jorge took the claim number from her, his fingers lightly, deliberately brushing against hers. He could see by the look in her eyes that he’d succeeded in sending yet another shock wave dancing through her body. Her reaction amused him and yet, there was something almost touchingly sweet about it.

  It was enough to make him feel guilty—if he wasn’t enjoying himself so much.

  “I’ll be right back,” he promised. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  There wasn’t a chance of that, she thought. Not even if they used dynamite. “I won’t,” she promised.

  Jane watched as he walked away, utterly mesmerized by the rhythmic movement of his hips. Utterly mesmerized by everything about him.