For as long as he could remember, women had come on to him. He’d never had a woman back away. But Jane Gilliam was definitely backing away, blocking all his best moves and his efforts at breaching her walls. Why? It wasn’t ego, but curiosity and a certain fascination that spurred him on.
“Did I do something to upset you, Jane?” When she didn’t answer, he took a guess. “Was it the flowers? Was sending them here embarrassing?”
She supposed that was as good an excuse to use as any. “It did put me on the hot seat.”
Jorge laughed. Whenever he sent flowers to a woman, he always made sure there was maximum exposure involved, not because he was sending them but because he knew that women liked other women to see that they were the center of someone’s attention. Jane was definitely different. And that really piqued his interest.
“You don’t like all that attention, do you?” he guessed.
“No,” she answered truthfully. “I don’t.”
“I have to admit, you are nothing like a lot of other women I’ve known.” And right now, he thought, he had to admit that he was drawn to her because of that.
Jane had no doubt that he had known enough women to populate a small city. “I’ve always been a private person,” she told him.
“A little mystery makes things interesting.”
She hadn’t meant it like that. Femme fatales were mysterious, not her. What you saw was what you got, she thought. But before she could say anything, Jorge was leaning forward.
Invading her space.
Making her pulse jump.
“Do you mind?” he asked.
The words left her lips in slow motion. “Mind what?” she asked in a hushed voice as he took her chin in his hand.
“You’ve got a little sauce right there.” Moving his thumb slowly across the corner of her mouth, Jorge wiped the sauce away. “Got it.”
He smiled at her just before he licked the side of his thumb.
Jane couldn’t draw her eyes away. The sauce disappeared between his lips.
He’d done it again.
He’d made the air stand still in her lungs. If this kept up, her brain was going to malfunction because of a lack of oxygen.
If it hadn’t already.
Chapter Seven
It took Jane a second to pull herself together and she had a feeling that he knew it. But there was no self-satisfied smirk on his face, no hint of a superior smile on his lips. If he did know what he was doing to her, he wasn’t showing it.
She still had no idea why Jorge was here, sharing a picnic with her. Was this all part of his initial bet, or had it evolved into some elaborate plan to prove that he could get any woman he wanted with minimal effort? Was there some prize waiting for him at the goal line, depending on her reaction to him?
But even if it was that, why should she be his target? It wasn’t as if she had some sort of reputation for being a removed, yet desirable ice princess. There was no one beating a path to her door. She was just an old-fashioned girl, someone her grandmother would have called a sweet bookworm—and her mother would have ridiculed.
If she held on to that thought, on to the knowledge that at best this was just some kind of a fleeting whim on Jorge’s part—for whatever reason—then maybe she could keep a tighter rein on herself and not get carried away.
Or grow hopeful.
Just enjoy the moment, as you would if you were getting lost in a book, she ordered herself as she continued eating what, in all likelihood, was the best chicken enchilada she’d ever had. Books always ended and so would this. She had to remember that whatever was going on, however wonderful it might feel for the moment, it was all just fiction. Just like the books she loved to read.
Before she realized it, she’d finished eating. Picking up the napkin he’d put out, Jane wiped her fingers. “That was excellent,” she told him.
“I’ll pass that along to my father,” he told her. “He’ll be pleased.” Jorge reached for the covered serving dish that he’d placed back in the basket. “There’s more if you like.”
“No, one was fine,” she said quickly before he could place another enchilada on her plate. “I’ll explode if I eat another one. Besides—” she smiled, nodding at the plate of stacked chocolate chip desserts “—I need to leave room for the sweet bread.”
He liked the way her eyes seemed to light up when she smiled. “So you have a sweet tooth.”
“Guilty as charged.”
Jorge placed a sweet bread on a napkin and put it in front of her. “I’ll remember that for next time.”
“Next time?” she echoed.
Two small words, neither of which, by themselves, were unclear. But in this situation, combined and emerging from his mouth, she found herself unable to absorb them or figure out precisely what they meant—because Jorge couldn’t possibly be saying what she thought he was saying. Wasn’t this idyllic indoor picnic just a one-time thing?
“The next time we get together,” Jorge elaborated and then suddenly stopped as a thought occurred to him. She’d been alone at the party, but that didn’t necessarily mean that she was unattached. “Unless—are you seeing anyone?”
Not anymore, she thought. “No. I already told you I wasn’t.”
Her answer produced another smile on his lips. She stared at it, mesmerized. “Then it’s all right if I see you again?”
If she didn’t know better—and she did—she would have thought that Jorge was acting almost shy. But that was impossible. Jorge Mendoza had never had a shy day in his life. In a relatively small town like Red Rock, everyone knew everyone else, or at least about everyone else. And she knew about Jorge, knew that the impossibly handsome man went through women like tissues.
At thirty-eight, was it possible that Jorge had gone through every desirable woman in Red Rock and was now trolling for female companionship down at her level? Not that she thought of herself as beneath him, but the women he tended to pursue came from a more sophisticated social circle than she did. Their idea of charity meant writing a check while hers meant getting down in the trenches and becoming personally involved.
“If that’s what you want,” she heard herself answer. She watched his expression intently, waiting for him to shout, “April Fool’s” even though they were four months shy of the date.
“Yes,” Jorge told her, “that’s what I want.”
Even as he said the words, it intrigued him that he really, really meant them. Sure, he had always liked women—loved them—but he had to admit, even though it unnerved him a little, that he had never quite felt this way before.
In general, he was captivated by vivacious women who liked life in the fast lane. Women who knew that having any long-term designs on him would only be futile.
Until New Year’s Eve.
This one was different, he thought, not for the first time. This one was not the kind of woman you enjoyed for an unspecified amount of time and then moved on from. Jane Gilliam was the kind of woman his mother would have called the marrying kind.
Jorge knew himself, knew that he had no desire to get married, to be tied down to one woman. But be that as it may, he couldn’t seem to get himself to just walk away.
The coat he’d been left holding in his parents’ restaurant could have easily been delivered to Jane in a number of ways, none of which involved his putting in an appearance. But he hadn’t wanted to just ship the coat off to her. He’d wanted to bring it to her in person. And find out why she’d left the restaurant so abruptly.
More than that, he realized, he’d wanted to see her again.
He told himself that it was to prove that there’d just been something about that particular night that had attracted him to her—and now it was gone.
But seeing her, seeing that strange combination of vulnerability mixed with an endearing innocence and sense of wonder, was stirring something in him. Something that he couldn’t quite identify.
Something, he thought, that made him a little uneasy. Maybe he
should leave well enough alone and leave it nameless. Because, at bottom, it was something that had the potential to scare the hell out of him because he couldn’t seem to exercise control over it. And he didn’t like not being in control.
“Why?” Jane heard herself finally asking.
She was being stupid, she silently upbraided herself. Any other woman would have just eagerly absorbed the attention, however fleeting, of easily the best-looking man in Red Rock. By questioning she was almost guaranteed to chase him away.
And yet, she had to know his motives.
She liked things to make sense and this just didn’t.
She was familiar with some of the women Jorge had been seen with and there was just no way she fit into that category. She was neither drop-dead gorgeous, nor the owner of a body whose curves could make a grown man weep.
She did have, Jane knew, a good heart, but that wasn’t something that was visible to the naked eye and she was fairly certain that Jorge wasn’t out to add a girl scout to his extensive collection of conquests.
“Why?” he repeated her question incredulously, not sure what she was asking.
“Yes.” Summoning her courage, she decided to be direct. “Why do you want to see me again?”
No one had ever asked him that before. Every woman had just jumped at the chance. Jane was a challenge all right. “Because I’m attracted to you, Jane,” he told her. “Isn’t that why most men and women date one another?”
Date? He was asking to date her? As in seeing her more than once?
For one wild, wonderful moment, Jane felt as if she’d suddenly slipped into the Twilight Zone. Lost for words, she bit into the sweet cake she’d been holding in her hand. Her mouth full, she stalled for time, desperately trying to understand what was going on here.
She couldn’t make herself believe that she’d hit the jackpot.
Maybe it was karma, something Isabella had mentioned to her on several occasions. The young woman felt that life was a series of checks and balances. Isabella had told her more than once that someone as good as she was was definitely on track to be on the receiving end of something wonderful.
She figured that the New Year’s Eve kiss had wiped that slate clean—until she’d overheard those two boys talking.
Jorge glanced at his watch. He was due at a meeting with a client soon. Besides, the receptionist had told him that Jane had someone to tutor in less than an hour. Even so, he felt a reluctance to get up and leave.
Standing up, Jorge extended his hand to her. She accepted it almost hesitantly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it struck him that the feel of her hand in his seemed very right somehow. He tamped down the thought.
Still holding her hand, he pulled Jane up to her feet and wound up pulling her closely against him.
Sparks began to go off up and down her body, sending out alarms, quickening her pulse. He made no effort to put space between them. Instead, he just stood there, holding her. Making her warm.
And then her heart all but stopped as she watched him lower his head. Their lips met.
And Jane felt herself slipping into a dark, velvet-lined abyss.
Hardly aware of what she was doing, Jane laced her arms around Jorge’s neck. Her body leaning into his, she kissed him back as if her very life depended on it.
And maybe it did.
Because if she hadn’t kissed him back with such verve, she would have surely gone under for a third time and drowned in ecstasy.
All in all, she thought in her heart of hearts, that wouldn’t be such a bad a way to go, dying with a smile on her lips.
“I guess I’d better be going,” Jorge murmured, drawing back his head.
But even as he said it, he continued holding her, his hands resting on the swell of her hips. He could feel desire coursing through his body. She was arousing a hunger in him that couldn’t be addressed at the moment.
But soon, he promised himself. And as soon as that happened, he knew that this attraction would fade.
It always did.
“You said you had students to tutor soon and I don’t want you getting in trouble on my account.”
Too late, she thought.
Jane searched her empty brain cavity for something to say. She’d never been a brilliant conversationalist, but until now, she’d been able to hold her own. That wasn’t the case anymore.
“They should be here soon,” she finally managed to get out.
Finally letting her go, Jorge bent down and quickly scooped up the plates and utensils, wrapping them inside the checkered tablecloth. Securing it, he dumped the whole thing into the picnic basket.
Jane heard the dishes clink against each other. Thinking that he might wind up breaking them, she cautioned, “Be careful.”
He looked into her eyes, soft brown eyes that he’d discovered he could easily get lost in.
“I’m trying to be,” Jorge told her honestly. But he wasn’t all that sure how that was working out for him. Because if he were really being careful, he wouldn’t have allowed his curiosity to bring him here. “Why don’t you give me your home number and I’ll give you a call?” he suggested.
Even she had heard that line before, Jane thought. She’d give him her number, but she wasn’t going to hold her breath, waiting. He’d forget about calling her the minute he got into his car. Sooner, maybe.
But that was all right. This had been very, very nice while it had lasted.
Tearing a piece of paper from the spiral notebook on her desk, Jane wrote down her name and number, then added in parenthesis: the girl you kissed at midnight on New Year’s Eve. Finished, she folded the sheet and handed it to him.
Taking the paper, Jorge unfolded it and read what she’d written. The smile that played on his lips was ever so slightly lopsided. He refolded the paper and slipped it into his pocket.
“You didn’t have to write that down. I know who you are, Jane.”
She lifted her shoulders in a quick shrug. “Just in case you come across that note sometime later and can’t place the name,” she explained casually.
He found her lack of ego refreshing and appealing. Some of the women he’d been with couldn’t walk by a mirror without glancing at their reflection, checking to see that every hair was in place, that their makeup was picture-perfect, and that they were still as alluring as they had been an hour ago. In comparison, Jane seemed far more genuine.
“Even then I’ll be able to place the name,” he assured her.
She sincerely doubted it. She wasn’t the kind of woman who left a lasting impression and she’d made her peace with that. “Thank you for the early lunch,” she said.
Jorge gave her a slightly courtly bow and said, “My pleasure,” just before he kissed her hand.
And then, as her heart launched into double time, he was gone.
But she had no time to savor the last hour or to even review a single sweet moment because suddenly the door opened again and the room was filled with every woman who worked at or volunteered at ReadingWorks. And every one of them was eager for information.
Harriet moved close to Jane, a wide grin on her face. “I guess you must have had a really nice lunch.”
“Yes,” Jane admitted, “I did.” Her thoughts lingered on the feel of his lips moving over hers, stirring things inside her that had never even been touched before. No wonder he had such a following. The man was a fantastic kisser. “It was very nice.”
Jane discovered that it was impossible to keep the smile both out of her voice and from her lips.
She still didn’t have a clue what was going on but one kiss from Jorge and nothing else seemed to matter. At least, not for now.
This was not the time nor the place to daydream, she upbraided herself. They had work to do. The first of the students would be arriving any second.
“Workstations, ladies,” Jane announced abruptly, calling a halt to any other personal questions that might be forthcoming.
She could hear cars pulling up in the
parking lot. The first wave of students were being dropped off by their parents. It was time to stop obsessing about a man who was nothing more than a wonderful fantasy and turn her attention to something that actually had substance. Teaching children to read.
“Fine,” Cecilia acknowledged with no small reluctance. “But don’t even think about leaving without telling us everything that happened.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Jane. “If you know what’s good for you.”
Nodding, Jane played along. She did know what was good for her. And it had nothing to do with Jorge Mendoza. But just for now, she could pretend that it actually did.
After all, what could it hurt?
“You, it could hurt you,” Isabella insisted later that evening over the phone. It seemed that rumors were already making the rounds and, concerned, Isabella had called her friend the moment she’d heard. Jane, Isabella was convinced, was far too innocent for the likes of her cousin. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Jorge. Every woman over the age of eighteen months loves Jorge, but that doesn’t mean that he’s the kind of guy you should fall for. That would be a huge mistake, Jane,” she cautioned. “He’ll break your heart. He won’t mean it but he can’t help himself. He’s just one of those guys who can’t stay put.”
“Don’t worry,” Jane tried to sound nonchalant. “I’m aware of his reputation.”
“Good. Keep that in mind.”
Sitting down in the easy chair she’d splurged on when she’d moved into this apartment, Jane kicked off her shoes and then raised her feet. It had been a long day. “What I don’t know is why he wants to go out with me.”
There was silence on the other end of the line, as if Isabella were searching for an explanation. “Because maybe, just maybe, he’s growing up and he realizes that all the other women he’s been with are just bimbos. Trust me, none of them are good enough to walk on the same side of the street as you.”
She laughed softly. Isabella was very sweet. “I don’t think that walking is what Jorge had in mind with them.”
She heard Isabella sigh. “That’s just it. He’s a lover of women.” Because they were cousins, albeit distant, she tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I don’t want you getting charmed by him until he can prove that he’s finally matured.”
Plain Jane and the Playboy Page 7