Plain Jane and the Playboy / Valentine's Fortune

“There were.” It had been so crowded and so noisy that she had trouble concentrating on her book when she’d taken it out.

“So how did you two meet?” Cecilia wanted to know. “Don’t skip anything,” she ordered before Jane could say answer.

“He asked me if I wanted to freshen up my drink—he was tending bar for his parents,” Jane explained.

She knew she was being disjointed, that the facts were tumbling out like grains of rice from a hole in the bottom of the box, but it was hard for her to collect her thoughts under all this scrutiny. Especially since she was still having trouble reconciling herself to the fact that the single greatest experience of her young life was tied to a bet, making her—in her mind, at least—the butt of a cruel joke.

The fact that Jorge had sent a note like that with flowers just served to confuse and complicate everything that much more.

“And then?” Sally urged when Jane didn’t elaborate. “This is like pulling teeth,” she complained. “What did you do to get him to send you flowers?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Jane protested. Except run away.

Maybe that was it, she thought. Maybe he was feeling guilty because she’d bolted and he suspected that she knew about the bet.

Joyce frowned. This obviously wasn’t making any sense to her, or the others. “So that was it? He asked you if you wanted your drink freshened and then he just disappeared?”

“Well, no.” Jane thought about the way he’d looked at her and a smile curved her mouth involuntarily. “We talked a little. And then it was midnight and—”

The mere memory made her body tingle.

Joyce’s eyes widened. “He kissed you?”

Jane nodded her head. For a split second, a wave of heat washed over her as, despite her best efforts to block it, the memory replayed itself in her head.

“Yes.”

“And? What was it like?” Sally demanded.

Jane had never mastered the art of nonchalance. Besides, there had been nothing nonchalant about the way Jorge kissed. He had literally made the earth move beneath her feet. No matter what his motives were, she had to give him his due in that department.

“Pretty terrific.”

“And you’re seeing him again,” Sally assumed eagerly, skimming her fingertip down along a plump, pink rose petal.

Despite everything, a sliver of sadness skewered through Jane as she answered. “No.”

The other women looked at each other.

“But he sent flowers,” Harriet insisted. “How can you not see someone who sent you flowers?”

Because he doesn’t want to see me. He just doesn’t want to feel bad.

Jane kept the words to herself, searching for some kind of plausible answer that would make the others back off and leave her alone. This was hard enough to deal with without pretending that she was starryeyed and walking on air.

Just then, April, the administrative assistant, came into the lounge. Excitement pulsated from every pore as she announced, “Jane, there’s someone here to see you.”

Thank God, Jane thought. She didn’t care who it was as long as it gave her an excuse to get away from this impromptu Spanish Inquisition before the thumbscrews came out.

Jane glanced at her watch, trying to remember her schedule for the day. It was a little early for her first student, Melinda Perez, to be coming in. She wasn’t due for at least another hour. But that was all right.

“Bring Mrs. Perez and her daughter to the classroom,” she told April.

April shook her head, her straight dark hair bobbing from side to side like black windshield wipers. “It’s not Mrs. Perez.”

That caught her off guard. Mothers usually brought their children, not fathers. Maybe Mrs. Perez wasn’t feeling well.

“Okay, show Mr. Perez and his daughter to the classroom. Better yet,” she decided, moving toward the doorway, “I’ll do it.”

April stayed where she was, a ninety-eight-pound roadblock. She looked unsettled, Jane thought, and rather dazed, wearing what could only be termed a silly grin on her face.

“April, is something the matter?” Jane asked.

“It’s not Mr. Perez either,” the young girl said breathlessly.

Confused, Jane walked out into the hallway and saw why April was acting so flustered.

Jorge Mendoza stood just inside the doorway, with her winter coat draped over one arm and what looked like a picnic basket suspended from the other.

The grin on his lips was guaranteed to raise body temperatures by at least five degrees as far away as the next county.

“Hi, Jane. You forgot something at the restaurant the other night,” he told her, his voice low and melodic as he held her coat slightly aloft.

By now, all of Jane’s coworkers had poured out into the hallway. She could feel them standing behind her, a hyperventilating Greek chorus.

Just what she needed, an audience.

How much worse was this going to get? And why, knowing what she did, did her kneecaps feel as if they were dissolving right out from under her?

“Thank you,” she murmured, accepting the coat he held out to her.

God, but he was even better looking in the light of day than he had been at the restaurant. But what was he doing here?

Maybe he’d made another bet, she said to herself.

Jorge drew a little closer to her, aware that they were both under intense scrutiny. “Could I see you in private?”

Her uneasiness heightened. What was he up to? “I’ve got students coming in.”

“Not for another hour,” Jorge countered. He saw the surprise in her eyes and smiled. Nodding toward April, he said, “I checked.”

“I can cover for you,” Harriet volunteered. “I don’t have anyone coming in until this afternoon.”

“I can cover for you, too,” Sally chimed in eagerly, her eyes never leaving Jorge.

His smile widening, Jorge gave a slight bow of his head. “Thank you, ladies. I promise I won’t keep her too long.”

Jane wanted to say something about the bet. Right here, right now, she wanted to give this too-handsome-for-his-own-good-or-anyone-else’s a dressing down. Wanted to tell him that if he’d discovered a conscience and was here to make amends, she didn’t want any part of that. She just wanted to be left alone.

She wanted to say all that. But the desire to get all of that off her chest was outweighed by the fact that she’d always hated making a scene. Jane absolutely despised displays of temper, maybe because she’d been the target of her mother’s so often when she was growing up.

Whatever the reason, she swallowed her retort and kept it to herself, refusing to vent in front of her coworkers.

“All right, we can go to my classroom,” she told him, resigned.

He laughed softly under his breath as he threaded his arm through hers. “First time I’ve ever looked forward to going to a classroom.”

Several members of her Greek chorus giggled. Doing her best to ignore them—and the heat traveling up her body where Jorge was holding her—Jane led the way to the room where she did her tutoring. Jorge dropped his hand, allowing her to cross the threshold first.

Shutting the door behind her, Jane turned to look at him.

Charade over, she thought. Time to dig up that backbone of yours, Janie.

“Why did you come here?” she asked him.

He nodded toward the coat she was still holding. “I thought you might need your coat.” He also wanted to know what had caused her to run off the other night, but for the moment, that could wait.

Jane had to admit that she was grateful to be reunited with her coat, but that still didn’t explain the other thing he’d brought with him. “And you decided to pack it in a picnic basket?”

He set the basket down on the desk. “No, I packed some of my father’s famous enchiladas and nachos in the basket, along with—” He rattled off several Mexican delicacies that he’d brought, ending with chocolate chip sweet bread.

The latter had always been her weakness and guilty pleasure. Had he known that?

No, of course not. How could he? Not even the people she worked with knew that about her. For the most part, she was a very private person. It had been a lucky guess on his part, nothing more.

“Why would you do that?” she wanted to know. She wasn’t ordinarily suspicious, but after the other night, she’d decided that being cautious was a much wiser path for her to take.

Jorge opened the basket and took out a checkered tablecloth, which he proceeded to spread on the floor right behind her desk and chair. She watched him in surprised silence. Was he actually planning on pretending they were having a picnic?

“Because it might help make you forgive me,” Jorge told her and then added an extremely soulful, “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry.

Her heart twisted in her chest. What was it about those words that could always make her forgive a myriad of transgressions and make her want everything to be right again? Was she just terminally kind-hearted—or a pushover?

Jane was tempted to say something about overhearing the two teens talking about the bet he’d made, but she hesitated too long and Jorge was talking again. Talking and burrowing his way into a heart that should have, by all rights, been hardened against him.

But wasn’t.

“I don’t know what would have made you run off like that, especially without your coat, but if it had to do with me,” Jorge continued as he placed two plates and two sets of cutlery down on the tablecloth, “I really am sorry.”

His wording made her realize that he had no idea that she’d overheard the two teens talking. And he probably had no remorse for making that kind of bet. This was a matter of ego. He was voicing a blanket apology because he just didn’t like having a woman walk out on him.

She had to keep reminding herself of that, but being so close to him was having a definite effect on her thought process. As well as on her whole body.

What was the point of telling him that she’d overheard? That she knew she was nothing more than a bet to him? Saying it wouldn’t change anything. So she looked away and said, “I had an emergency.”

Two glasses joined the plates, cutlery and napkins. “What kind of an emergency?” he asked mildly.

She hadn’t expected him to probe. Resorting to fabrications wasn’t something that came easily to her, not even to save face. “The kind that made me hurry away,” Jane responded vaguely.

Jorge looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay, you don’t want to talk about it. I can respect that.”

Too bad you can’t respect me, Jane thought. But out loud, she said, “So, you see, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble—”

“Well, since I did ‘go to all this trouble,’” he said, echoing her words with a smile, “we might as well sit down and eat.” Taking off his jacket, he folded it up into a square and then placed it on the floor in front of the place setting. He gestured for her to sit down on it. “Might be more comfortable that way,” he explained.

She looked down at the food Jorge had placed on the tablecloth. It did look awfully good, she thought, especially since all she’d had today was half a Pop-Tart and yesterday, her appetite had deserted her completely and she’d hardly eaten at all.

“Okay,” she agreed, sitting down on the jacket. She felt the material give beneath her. “I guess it wouldn’t do any harm to eat.”

“Nope, no harm at all.” He got down on the floor, crossing his legs lotus-fashion. “You know, I like to think that I’m pretty good at reading people—”

About to start eating, she raised her eyes to his face. “Then maybe you’re in the wrong place. We just read books here.”

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, velvetlined 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.