by Jo Leigh
Expecting Brian, she turned to find him standing not a foot away. Her heart slammed into her chest and she nearly pulled the mouse out of the computer.
“Did you drop this?”
She blinked.
“Miss…?”
Speak, dammit. Say something. Anything. “Edwards.”
He smiled. Oh God. He smiled in a way he’d never smiled before. Sweet. Sexy. Her fantasy come to life.
“Did you drop this?”
She forced her gaze from his face to his hand. He held a ballpoint pen out to her. It was white with a blue cap, and she’d never seen it before. “No.”
“Oh. I thought maybe you had.”
She shook her head. “I don’t have a pen like that.”
His head tipped slightly to the side. “Would you like to?”
“Like to what?”
His grin broadened. “Have this pen?”
She blinked again.
He laughed. A lovely, rich sound that stirred something deep inside. It wasn’t derisive at all. In fact, if she hadn’t known better, she’d swear it sounded as if he found her…charming.
She reached out for the pen, her hand only trembling a bit, and when she touched it, his hand moved, brushing against hers, exactly as she’d imagined it a few minutes ago. Was she psychic? She’d never had a precognitive notion before in her life, but this…this was spooky.
“I’m Jay. Jay Wagner.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
She shouldn’t have said that. Oh dear.
“And how do you know my name, Miss Edwards?”
“I’ve, uh, seen you in here. With Brian.”
“Is that all? And here I was hoping you’d done a little digging.”
“Me?”
He nodded.
“You must have noticed how I look for you every time I come in here.”
“Me?” she asked again, feeling more and more like this had to be a dream. Nothing of this magnitude could possibly happen in real life. Not her life.
“Yes, you.”
“Oh.”
His gaze moved down, and she followed the glance to the pen, to both their hands still holding it. She let it go as heat filled her cheeks. At least there’d been a few seconds before she’d humiliated herself.
“I’ve never seen anyone blush so beautifully,” he said, leaning over to put the pen on the table. And then his mouth was scant inches away, his warm breath fanning across the tender skin beneath her ear.
She froze. What was she supposed to do now? If she moved even a little, they’d touch. His lips… She couldn’t faint now. She’d die. Only, she’d forgotten how to breathe.
“Amelia,” he said, so softly she might have wished it. “I know who you are, Amelia.”
Her heart stopped. The whole world stopped.
She felt his lips touch the shell of her ear. An almost-kiss. She quivered right down to her toes.
He pulled back, stood straight, captured her gaze. He didn’t say another word. He just smiled before he walked away. To the door. Outside.
She collapsed. Not on the floor or anything. Mostly inside. Her heart resumed beating, her lungs filled with air, but she was boneless, weak as a kitten.
What in the world had just happened? Had she finally gone mad? Jay Wagner couldn’t have… He wouldn’t have…
Her gaze darted to the table. To the pen. Evidence! Then she turned quickly to the girl on the Power Mac. There. Proof. No one ever looked at her that way. She never made anyone jealous.
Okay, so it had been real. But how? Why? He’d known her name. He’d flirted with her.
It was flirting, she felt sure of that. Especially the whispering part. It was exactly the way she’d pictured it. Only a thousand times scarier. More wonderful. There had to be a fairy godmother floating around Washington Square, because this kind of thing simply didn’t happen. She was Amelia. She was invisible.
Not anymore.
JAY WALKED INTO HIS OFFICE and slammed the door. He grinned as he sat down on his battered leather chair. Sliding down, he put one ankle over the other, crossed his arms and congratulated himself.
This was excellent. She was even prettier up close. Her perfume had knocked him for a loop, which was some trick, because the scent was as subtle as a rose behind a fence. Everything about her was subtle, almost hidden. The green of her eyes. The way her lips curved. The sound of her sigh.
It was like finding buried treasure. A far cry from the women he’d been with in the past few years. They’d mostly been into bikes, into leather, into hot, sweaty sex at four in the morning. Which wasn’t a bad thing. But it sure as hell wasn’t subtle.
Amelia Edwards would need a deft touch. Before she knew what to make of him, he’d have her in his bed. God, he wanted to see her naked. She was a mystery, and that appealed to him like no one’s business. Shy as a fawn, delicate as a butterfly… And so filled with desire she didn’t know which way was up.
He’d show her, all right. He’d take care of the education of Amelia, and he’d love every second of it. Damn, it was good to be a humanitarian.
He laughed as he rubbed his hands together, and he thanked the inventor of the computer and the wonderful folks who brought TrueConfessions.com to life.
He turned to his monitor, sitting proudly on top of two motorcycle manuals. Good Girl’s latest entry still shimmered on the screen.
What if I dropped something? And he picked it up? And our fingers touched. Sparks, electricity. Magic. Our eyes would meet and he’d smile, but not his regular smile. This one would hold surprise, would ask a question. I’d smile back in answer. Yes. My interest is real. Then he’d ask me my name. Sit at the edge of the table. See me. Not the blush, not the fear, but me. The part of me that is desire. That is passion. He’d touch my cheek and the caress would last, and it would stoke the flames inside us both. He’d lean over. Kiss me gently on the lips.
He’d been damn close. Any more on the nose, and she’d have put two and two together. Which wasn’t going to happen if he could help it. This was the best thing to come his way in months. Hell, maybe years. It was an adventure, and he felt his blood stir with the challenge. He felt alive for the first time in a long while.
The Amelia project would move to the next phase, as soon as he figured out what that was going to be. He needed her a bit off balance. So he’d wait. Even though he didn’t want to. He’d wait.
In the meantime, he had all her fantasies to memorize. One in particular had kept him awake last night. An early entry, almost a year old. Only, he didn’t believe she’d been coming to the café for a year. She must have used another computer. It didn’t matter, except that the fantasy was about a biker. A man in black leather. A Harley. Was it a coincidence? Or had he simply not seen her back then? He’d asked Brian if he remembered, and his friend swore she’d only been coming there for five months.
If the fantasy predated her going to the café, it made things a lot more interesting. He’d stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago. Although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, especially his family, he believed there was a master plan.
Assuming it was a plan, how did he fit into it? Had she conjured him up? Or did she want him because he reminded her of her fantasy?
He wasn’t going to figure it out tonight. He might never know, and that was no big deal. What did matter was that she wanted him, and he wanted her, and she’d never been on a bike in her life, and he was going to take her places she’d never dreamed about.
3
“YOU SURE you don’t want to come to the party?” Kathy couldn’t quite mask the pity in her gaze.
“No, but thanks.” Amelia smiled, pretending the look was something else. “You know I don’t mingle well.”
“But you could learn. I think if you’d just let yourself, you’d do fine. Amelia, this is supposed to be the best time of your life. And you’re spending it doing other people’s dishes.”
Stung, Amelia doggedly held
on to her smile. “I’m not like you, that’s all. It doesn’t mean I’m miserable.”
“Yeah, but aren’t you lonely?”
She couldn’t keep up the pretense any longer. Her smile faded along with her self-confidence. “Yes. I am. But it’s not fatal.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
Amelia walked over to the door of the bedroom she and Kathy shared. Her side of the room was immaculate. Kathy’s was Martha Stewart’s worst nightmare. “Hurry up. You’re going to be late. And you’ve only tried on three-quarters of your wardrobe.”
Kathy’s gaze went to her own reflection in the mirror. She was gorgeous. Actually, all three of Amelia’s roommates were beautiful. Kathy had pale blue eyes that flashed with humor. Her dark hair flowed to her shoulders, and she always knew how to make it look sensational. All that combined with her size-six figure—no wonder she had more men than she could handle.
As Amelia turned toward the living room, she heard the clunk of shoes hitting the floor. Kathy putting on wardrobe-change number five hundred.
The music grew louder as she walked past Donna and Tabby’s room. Tabby, tall, stunning, with gently curved brown hair, was bent double, her hands flat on the ground, her knees locked. Not that her position was anything unusual. Tabby was the most limber creature Amelia had ever seen. They’d be chatting or watching TV, and Tabby would lift her leg straight up in the air and hold it there. It was amazing. All her men friends seemed to think so, at least.
Looking past Tabby, Amelia caught sight of Donna’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. She had the mascara wand to her lashes and was patiently painting layers of dark black goo. It took her hours to do her makeup, which confused the hell out of Amelia. Granted, she wasn’t one to wear makeup, but she knew the basic principals. There wasn’t that much to do, considering Donna didn’t have many flaws to begin with. She was the only blonde in the group. Petite with a ridiculously small waist, she was bright and funny and she had the best laugh. But on most days she was miserable, sure her world was coming to an end. Then she’d hook up with a guy, and poof—no more depression. Until the bitter end of the affair, complete with crying, moaning and vows of celibacy.
Living with the three of them made a great deal of sense financially. But Amelia would have preferred to live alone. All she saw when she looked at them was what she wasn’t. Not pretty, not funny, not charming, not brave.
Not at all the kind of woman Jay would want.
The thought made her wince. She’d been battling this for two days now, trying to convince herself that what he’d said at the café was true. Only, it wasn’t easy to believe. He was so gorgeous, so sexy. Any one of her roommates would look great on his arm. Amelia would just look odd. Everyone would wonder, What’s he doing with her?
Her gaze went to Donna’s bed, and the slinky top that lay over the pale pink comforter. Maybe if she dressed more provocatively…
Amelia picked up the shirt, then turned to the full-length mirror. It would be snug. Show off her figure, which was okay but nothing to write home about. But, who knows, maybe—
“Whoa, Amelia.” Donna’s laugh cut through the Foo Fighters, right into Amelia’s heart. “Girl, you are not ready for that top.”
Dropping the shirt as if it burned with the same fire flooding her cheeks, Amelia made a break for the door. Tabby stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“What top are you talking about?”
Donna went to the bed and held up the garment.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. Except, don’t you think it’s a little advanced?” Donna studied Amelia like something in a petri dish. “No offense, but don’t you think you should try on some clothes that fit you, first? I mean, that are really your size?”
“You’re right,” Amelia said, forcing her voice to sound light, carefree, as if this wasn’t the very reason why she didn’t want roommates, why she didn’t want anyone to get too close. “I was just kidding around.”
“Hey,” Tabby said. “Wait a minute. Donna’s full of it. She’s just selfish and didn’t want you to borrow her top.”
“That’s not what—”
“It’s okay,” Amelia said, trying to cut the conversation off at the knees and make her escape. “You guys have a good time tonight. And don’t get too drunk.”
Tabby shook her head. “Amelia, you’re so pretty. I wish you could see it. You’ve got the most gorgeous skin, and your body is to die for. You don’t need to hide.”
Not trusting her voice, she nodded, gave Tabby’s hand a quick pat, then broke away. She went straight to the kitchen and turned on the water. Dirty dishes filled the sink and half of the countertop, and washing them seemed the safest thing to do. At least they wouldn’t be able to see her cry.
Why did she have to be so sensitive? She wasn’t a troll, she knew that. She had her pluses and minuses, like most women. But she’d been so painfully shy all her life that Aunt Grace’s strict dress code had been a comfort, not a burden.
Donna didn’t mean to be cruel. None of them did.
She thought of Jay. But not the way she’d been thinking since… No, this scenario had a new twist. What if Jay had been teasing her? Making fun of her?
She tried to dismiss the idea, but it sharpened as the moments ticked by. There was no reason on earth someone as gorgeous as Jay Wagner should be interested in her. She didn’t know how to dress or wear her hair or do her makeup. He knew about her propensity to blush. He’d enjoyed embarrassing her before, hadn’t he? This was probably a big fat joke to him. Watch the weird girl die of shame.
She sighed, wishing she could turn back the clock. She’d been so happy this morning when the possibilities seemed limitless. When she’d dared to dream her dreams.
She was a fool. A hopeless romantic. A dope.
What’s worse, a broke dope. If only she could afford her own computer.
It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t go back to the café. Not ever. She couldn’t bear the inevitable conclusion to this little farce.
JAY TURNED THE PAGE, scanning the New York Times as he drank his first cup of coffee. Nothing so far had piqued his interest except a piece about gas prices, but he continued. He wasn’t much for routine, but this morning ritual was inviolate. As he skimmed the columns, he paused at a picture. Shit. It was his father and his brother, Peter, taken at a dinner honoring his father’s illustrious career. Jay wasn’t surprised he hadn’t been invited.
His father, Lucas, was a big fish in a very small academic pond. A one-time poet laureate, he held the comparative literature chair at Cornell, and his books were always reviewed in the Times, although Jay knew precious few people who actually read them. Like his father, the books were pretentious as hell, with about as much warmth as a twenty-dollar hooker.
He read the full article and saw that his other brother, Ben, had also been in attendance. A fine time had evidently been had by all.
He folded the paper and finished his coffee, then went to get another cup. He studied his distorted reflection on his silver toaster, wondering if he should grow a beard. That would piss off the old man. But then, everything he did had that effect.
Jay took his cup into the living room, and, after he put the cup on the coffee table, sank down on the couch. It was stupid, this game he played with his father. Lucas wanted him to follow in his footsteps. Jay hated academia. A lose-lose situation.
Now Peter and Ben, they’d turned out as planned. Peter was an attorney with the most boring firm in New York, and Ben was an accountant. It had always been assumed that Jay would go to Cornell, like the rest of them. That he’d major in literature, and become a professor and writer. His grandfather had even set up a trust fund so that Jay wouldn’t have to work during his graduate studies. Instead, Jay had bought the shop.
He looked at the bookcases that covered the wall to his right. Damn, he had a lot of books. Everything from Chaucer to Tom Clancy. And one very slim volume by a man named Jay
Wagner.
Published when he was seventeen, the book, a coming-of-age story, naturally, had been reviewed by all the biggies. Not because he was a literary genius, but because of his father. Kirkus Reviews called Jay “The voice of his generation.” Publishers’ Weekly had hailed the book a stunning debut. Everyone wanted to know when the next book would arrive in stores.
Yeah, everyone including him.
He’d tried. He’d written pages and pages, enough for several novels—all of it crap. Whatever he’d had once, it was gone now. No amount of wishing or hoping would bring it back. In the almost ten years since Damage had come out, Jay had lost not only his talent, but his desire. He wasn’t going to be a famous novelist. Or a famous anything. Which was a good thing. He loved his bikes, his friends, his women.
Amelia immediately came to mind, and he leaned back farther on the couch. She hadn’t been to the café since he’d introduced himself. Brian and his part-time helper, Drew, had explicit instructions to call when she showed up. Jay had used his time wisely, going over screen after screen of her journal entries. Talk about writing talent. He wasn’t all that keen on erotica, but this situation was another thing completely.
Picturing that prim, shy beauty as she’d written the most incredible fantasies had gotten him so hot he was surprised he hadn’t burst into flames. Hell, picturing her living them out with him was more than any mortal could stand. He’d gotten so many erections in the past two days he’d had a tough time walking.
He’d given a great deal of thought to his next move. She’d provided him with a road map, and he intended to take every side trip necessary to get her in his bed.
He remembered one particularly vivid fantasy.
I see him across the room, standing by the exit, dark and dangerous in his tuxedo. He looks bored, as if nothing and no one has sparked his interest. His eyes meet mine, and his boredom disappears. He stares, unblinking, and I’m compelled to go to him. There is no choice, no decision. I barely see the room or the people around me. I stop an arm’s-length away, and still that doesn’t satisfy him. I move closer, and he cups my cheek, only it’s not a tender move. He holds my head steady, staring through me, reading me.