“And does he have any brothers?” Cecilia wanted to know, wistfully skimming her fingertips over one of the roses.
As she did so, the card that had been tucked in between the long-stemmed roses came loose. It fell to the table like an open invitation.
Seeing it there, Jane fairly sprinted across the room. She managed to get to the small envelope before either Sally or Cecilia had a chance to pick it up and read what was written inside.
“Yes, he does, I think,” Jane told Cecilia. “An older brother living in Denver.”
“That’s right—Roberto,” Cecilia remembered now that Jane mentioned it. “I always wondered why he flew the coop.”
Sally paused, trying to remember. “It had something to do with Francine Fortune, didn’t it?”
Jane shook her head. She was uncomfortable discussing things she felt that Jorge would rather keep private. “I have no idea. I don’t pump Jorge for information.”
Harriet walked into the lounge, carrying a new shipment of books meant for school libraries in the poorer sections of Red Rock, a wicked grin gracing her full mouth. She put the box of books down on the floor. “What do you pump Jorge for?”
Jane turned a bright shade of scarlet almost instantly. She could feel the color, rising up her throat, traveling along her cheeks.
“Nothing,” she answered tersely as she ripped the envelope open. Focused on reading the note inside, she didn’t realize that Sally was right behind her. The older woman rose up on her toes in order to be able to read over her shoulder.
These blushing pink roses reminded me of you, Jane read. Looking forward to this Friday. Love, Jorge.
She had less than a second to savor the words.
“So, what does he do to make you blush?” Sally wanted to know, a huge grin accompanying the question.
Startled, Jane swung around, pressing the note to her breast to keep anyone else from reading it.
“He probably just grins at her,” Harriet speculated. “That seems to be enough to get her going.”
Cecilia draped her arm around Jane’s shoulder and gave her a quick squeeze. “Don’t mind them, honey. Right now, you’re probably the only one in the group who’s getting any and they’re all just trying to live vicariously.”
Jane pulled away, offended at the implication and at the cavalier way the other woman regarded lovemaking. In her eyes lovemaking was supposed to be something special, not a way to just while away the time.
“I’m not ‘getting any,’” Jane insisted. “It’s not like that.”
Harriet looked at her as if she’d just announced to the world at large that she had landed on Mars. “Let me get this straight. You and Jorge aren’t sleeping together?”
Jane shook her head adamantly. “No.” The single word practically shot out of her mouth.
Harriet’s dark eyebrows drew together. “And he’s sending you flowers.”
“Obviously,” Sally answered before Jane could say anything.
Her eyebrows returned to their rightful positions as the smile on Harriet’s face widened. “And he’s ‘looking forward’ to Friday night.” She repeated the phrase as if there were a conclusion to be drawn from the simple wording.
Jane definitely didn’t care for the barely veiled implication.
“We’re going to see a play,” she told the other women defensively. “And then we’re going out to dinner.”
“Followed soon after by ‘dessert,’” Harriet interjected.
Cecilia was the oldest and, consequently, the most like a den mother. “Leave her alone,” she told the other two women. “Whatever she’s doing she’s doing it right.” She turned to Jane. “You just enjoy yourself, kid. And don’t do anything you don’t want to do,” she underscored deliberately.
Harriet looked stunned. “How could she not want to go to bed with Jorge Mendoza?” she wanted to know. “How could any woman not want to go to bed with Jorge Mendoza?”
“Your three o’clock student is here, Jane,” Sally announced suddenly, seeing the gangly, dark-haired preteen and his mother walking up to the door through the side window.
Jane offered up silent thanks as she hurried off to the classroom without another word. It was a relief to get back to what she felt she did best. Teaching children how to read.
She didn’t have to look at the calendar to know down to the second how long she and Jorge had been seeing each other. She and Jorge had been seeing one another now for almost three weeks. Three weeks of expecting the phone not to ring even as she prayed it would. Three weeks of trying to brace herself for the inevitable onslaught of loneliness while simultaneously making bargains with God for just one more date. Just one more hour with him.
So far, God was saying yes and the phone was ringing at regular intervals.
As Jorge pulled his car into the last available space in guest parking, Jane thought of the comments the women at ReadingWorks had made the other day when the roses had arrived. She knew they were a little envious of her, although she didn’t think they were actually jealous. They were too nice for that.
She also doubted that they believed her when she said she wasn’t sleeping with Jorge.
But she wasn’t.
He had been nothing but a perfect gentleman each and every time they went out. Not once had he even tried to push the issue of sex, silently or otherwise.
Maybe, she thought as they walked up to her door, he didn’t really want to. Maybe he thought of her as a respite. A rest period in between his trysts.
For all she knew, he could be seeing someone else even now. He hadn’t said anything about only seeing her and no one else. Hadn’t even asked her if she wanted to date him exclusively or be free to go out with someone else.
Right, she thought, as if there were actually any danger of that happening. She wasn’t exactly beating men away from her doorstep with a stick—or even a toothpick. She never had.
When they came to her door, Jorge leaned one hand just above her head, creating a very intimate alcove for just the two of them.
“You look pretty tonight,” he told her. The smile on his lips was golden. It worked its way straight to her insides, turning everything upside down. As usual. “I don’t think I told you that earlier.”
Every word he’d said to her was forever pressed between the pages of her mind. “No,” she whispered. “You didn’t.”
“Well, you do,” he affirmed.
Crooking his finger, Jorge placed it beneath her chin, raising it up just a fraction. His lips touched hers almost in slow motion, as if he were a high school freshman seeking his first kiss instead of the experienced lover everyone knew he was.
Jane instantly felt herself melting, her heart hammering so hard, she was certain he had to feel it pounding against his chest. No doubt about it, whether he kissed her quickly or slowly, deeply or lightly, the man’s lips evoked the same kind of reaction from her. Within moments of contact, Jane could feel her inner core heating up, could feel desire and passion galloping through her.
The kiss deepened, taking her to places she’d longed to explore—with Jorge. Each time, he took her a little further. This time was no exception.
And then, just as abruptly, just when she thought that this time, Jorge was going to go further than he had before, perhaps sweep her into his arms, carry her into her apartment and finally make love with her, it all stopped.
Drawing his head back, Jorge fought to regain his grasp on control.
It wasn’t easy.
This time, despite all his silent promises to himself, despite his pride in always being able to pull away whenever he decided to, he’d almost gone over the edge. And he knew it.
And it scared the hell out of him.
Scared him because she’d tempted him more than any other woman he’d ever been with. Made him want her with a fierceness that he was completely unaccustomed to. A fierceness that almost wrenched control out of his hands. He didn’t like that. A man who lost control could do things he
wasn’t proud of.
“I’d better go,” he told her in a whisper, his breath feathered along her face.
Disappointment sprang up instantly, riding roughshod over her. The words came out before she could stop them. “Why don’t you want me?”
He stared at her, not sure he’d heard correctly. “What?”
“Why don’t you want me?” she repeated. “The women I work with, your cousin, Isabella, everyone,” she emphasized, “says that you’re a fiery Latin lover.” She didn’t know where she was getting the courage to continue, but she pushed on. “That no woman is safe with you—that no woman wants to be safe with you…”
And then, for a second, her courage flagged along with her self-esteem and her voice trailed off. It took her more than a moment to grab on to a second surge of courage. “But you don’t want me.”
He laughed softly to himself, shaking his head. Oh God, was she ever wrong.
Ever so tenderly, he lightly skimmed his fingertips through her hair, pushing back the curls that had fallen into her face. He looked into it for a long moment.
“Is that what you think?”
Fidgeting inside, Jane wanted to look away. She forced herself to maintain eye contact. She was tired of being so mousy, so low-key.
“It’s hard not to,” she told him. “I mean, you kiss me and make my knees weak and just when I think that you’re going to press your advantage, you don’t. You back off instead.”
“Advantage,” he repeated the word she’d used. She’d made his point for him—even though it was hard to stand by it when she looked so damn wide-eyed and tempting. “That’s the key word. I don’t want to take advantage of you, Jane.”
Jane heard only what she thought she heard. Proof. “Then I was right.” It was hard to keep the hurt tears back, but she managed. “You don’t want to make love with me.”
She couldn’t believe she was actually saying that to him, but just this once, she had to make her feelings known. He’d worked her up to the point that she thought she was going to explode—and then he’d just backed away, leaving her to deal with this bubbling cauldron of frustration and desire.
“No, I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he repeated. “There’s a difference.”
Unspoken words weighed heavily on his conscience. Each time he saw her, they grew a little heavier. He’d never intended to tell her this, had never wanted her to find out. Especially once he’d gotten to know her. He was ashamed to admit that he’d been a party to something so juvenile. But Jane deserved the truth, he thought, even if it was going to make her hate him.
Heaven knew he couldn’t blame her if she did, but he fervently hoped that somehow, she could find it in her heart to forgive him.
She deserved the truth, he thought again, but she didn’t deserve to be hurt.
It was a hell of a dilemma he found himself in. Damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. And what was worse, he would be hurting someone sweet and innocent who shouldn’t be made to feel as if she were nothing more than a pawn.
God, he wished he’d never started this. But then, if he hadn’t, he might never have even noticed her. And that would have been a terrible shame.
He paused for a moment, then decided that this confession was best made in private, away from any passing strangers.
“Can we go inside?” he asked.
“All right.” Turned away from him, she took out her house keys. Jane tried not to notice that her hand was shaking as she unlocked the front door.
She turned on the light switch by the door. For some reason, the light seemed to accent the darkness. Nerves tap-danced through her.
She shouldn’t have pressed the issue, she upbraided herself.
Jorge slowly closed the door behind them. The sound of the lock slipping into its groove seemed louder than it usually did as it ricocheted around the quiet apartment.
Damn, this was hard, he thought. But it had to be done, had to be said. Had to be gotten out into the open and out of the way.
He took a breath, then said, “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
Here it came. “You’re seeing someone else,” she guessed.
Unexpected, the question took him aback. “No.”
Was he lying? Was that why he’d hesitated? No, he wasn’t like that. She couldn’t make herself believe that he could look her in the eyes and lie.
She took another guess. “You’re seeing me because you’re resting up in between women. Taking a break from being a lover.”
It was hard for him not to laugh out loud at that one. The corners of his mouth curved, though, betraying his amusement. “No.”
Then she had no clue where he was going with this. “Okay, I’m out of guesses.”
That was because her mind didn’t stoop to this level, he thought. She didn’t think in terms this low.
Damn, he wished he’d never talked to Ricky Jamison that night. This had all started out innocently enough, as an object lesson. All he’d initially wanted to do was give the boy some confidence. It had never been his intention to hurt anyone.
Nor had it ever been his intention to fall for the woman Ricky had selected.
He needed to couch this in the best possible terms he knew how. “I want you to know that I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”
Jane felt herself bracing for a blow. She didn’t like the way that sounded, but she was the one who had asked, who had pressed him to tell her why he didn’t want to make love with her. Whatever came now was on her head, not his. “But?”
The word shimmered between them, a gunshot waiting to go off.
He ordinarily didn’t have any trouble framing his thoughts. But right now, it felt as if his mouth were filled with shards of glass. “Do you remember New Year’s Eve?”
That was an odd question, she thought. “I’m twenty-five years old,” she reminded him. “Senility isn’t supposed to set in for at least another forty, fifty years or so.” It was her turn to smile, amused. “Yes, I remember New Year’s Eve.”
“There were a lot of people at the party that night—” He was stalling and he knew it. Jorge forced himself to get to the point. “Including Ricky Jamison. Emmett’s adopted son,” he added in case the name was unfamiliar to her.
She didn’t know the son, but she knew the father. And his wife. “Emmett Jamison,” she repeated. “The man who threw the party, right.”
Each word felt like a heavy marble in his mouth. “Anyway, Ricky was feeling pretty down on himself that night and he asked me what he could do to get a girl to pay attention to him. He said he’d been watching me and I made it seem easy,” Jorge added with a careless shrug, wanting to make sure she understood that he didn’t regard that as a compliment. “Ricky said he had no idea how to even talk to a girl.” Jorge paused, taking a breath. “I told him that it was simple.” Did that sound as pompous as he thought it did? “All he had to do was just pay attention to whoever he was talking to.” He stopped. That wasn’t what he’d said—he’d whitewashed it. If he was going to tell her the truth, it had to be the entire truth. “Actually, what I said to him was to make the girl feel like she was the prettiest girl in the room. Ricky wanted to know if that always worked and I said yes.
“He still looked pretty uncertain so I volunteered to prove it to him. I told him to pick someone out and I would show him how it was done.” He felt like a total heel, slimier by the moment. Well, he’d come this far, he might as well finish. She could probably guess the rest, but he would confirm it. He took a deep breath. “That someone was you.”
Jane said nothing. Instead, she looked at Jorge for a long moment, surprised that he would admit this.
Was it guilt that had him confessing?
Or could it be that Jorge actually had feelings for her?
More than likely, he was probably just telling her that the game was over and that he didn’t want to continue with it anymore.
The silence felt as if it were dragging on and on. Each secon
d killing him.
“Say something,” he implored. Jorge knew he deserved a tongue-lashing. Why wasn’t she yelling at him? Calling him a lowlife? Why was she just looking at him like that? “Say anything.”
And then Jane said the one thing he never expected.
“I know.”
Chapter Twelve
“You know?”
Jorge stared at Jane, certain he had misunderstood.
“Yes,” she told him quietly, her subdued tone not giving him any kind of a clue as to her emotions. “You had a bet.”
Jorge continued studying her face, looking for some kind of sign he could recognize, some feeling that he could identify.
“When?” he wanted to know. “When did you find out?” And then the answer suddenly came to him. Things began to fall into place. “When I went to get your coat,” Jorge realized. “That was why you disappeared, wasn’t it?”
She would have thought a man as smart as Jorge would have figured that out a long time ago. But then, he’d never been on her side of the fence, never dealt with humiliation.
“Yes, that was why. I didn’t want to be the butt of a joke. Even yours.”
Dear God, she made it sound almost like an apology when he should be the one apologizing. The one trying to make things up to her. Regret and shame drenched him.
He tried to make sense of the pieces before him. “Then why did you go out with me?” he asked. Heaven knew he wouldn’t have if the tables had been turned—unless he was out for revenge. But that wasn’t Jane. Jane Gilliam didn’t have a vengeful bone in her body—he was willing to bet his soul on that. “When I showed up at ReadingWorks with your coat and the picnic basket, why didn’t you just tell me where to go?”
Her next words confirmed what he’d been thinking. She shook her head.
“That’s not me,” Jane told him. “I don’t like causing scenes. Besides, everyone there thought that I had hit some kind of romantic lottery.” She slipped off her coat and draped it on the back of the recliner near her.
“And,” she went on, “if you must know, I was just kind of curious how far you’d take this bet. Besides, I have to admit that you’re so very good looking, so very charming, it’s hard to think of you as an evil, self-centered jerk I should have just sent on his way.”
Plain Jane and the Playboy Page 11