Plain Jane and the Playboy / Valentine's Fortune: Plain Jane and the Playboy
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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.”
Too late, Jane thought. She’d already been charmed. Right down to her toes. And dazzled as well. The only thing she had going for her was that she knew that it was only going to last until the next beautiful woman caught his eye. She was just a filler, a way for him to kill time.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy herself. And she’d decided right after he’d kissed her today that she fully intended to.
Chapter Eight
In a hurry because traffic had made her late getting home, Jane had just slipped one arm into her coat sleeve when her cell phone rang. Taking a second to inhale deeply—she could swear she still detected a hint of Jorge’s cologne on the wool—Jane dug into her purse to retrieve the phone.
Slipping the other sleeve on, she answered the call, interrupting the second chorus of a popular Elvis classic that was her ringtone of choice.
“Hello?”
A deep voice chuckled. “You sound breathless. Did I interrupt something?”
Jorge.
The sound of his voice brought everything to a screeching halt—except for her stomach, which was in the middle of flipping over. It took her a couple of seconds to pull herself together. He was actually calling her. When she’d given Jorge her phone number, she’d never expected him to use it.
“No, you didn’t interrupt anything.” She didn’t sound very convincing, Jane thought, not even to her own ear.
“Good. Listen, I was just in the neighborhood and wondered if you’d mind if I dropped by.”
Her pulse scrambled, even as disappointment washed over her. She would have liked nothing more than to say yes and have him come over, but there were people—children—waiting for her. And children remembered promises that were broken.
She had.
“I would really love to see you,” she said without any attempt at guile. And then regret filled her voice as she took hold of the doorknob and turned it. “But I was just on my way—”
The last word stuck in her throat. There, leaning against her doorjamb, phone pressed to his ear and a spectacular smile gracing his sensual lips, was Jorge.
“Out,” Jane said, finally managing to get the last word out.
Closing his phone, Jorge straightened as he slipped it back into the hip pocket of his jeans. It was close to six o’clock in the evening and he’d been pretty certain he’d find her home.
Just not looking like this.
His eyes swept over her, taking in her outfit and the fact that her hair was confined in two playful pigtails. Amusement played on his lips.
“And just where is it that you’re going?” he asked. “Clog-dancing?”
Her coat was hanging open. Beneath it was a wide, colorful skirt and a black vest laced up the front worn over a gleaming white peasant blouse. She had on knee-high white socks and a pair of Mary Janes.
Was she role-playing, he wondered, his interest definitely aroused. Was there a kinky side to this otherwise shy, bookish woman that he hadn’t even suspected?
Just went to show that no one was as uncomplicated as they seemed.
“No.” She looked down at her feet. “These are shoes, not clogs.” Realizing that her answer didn’t begin to address the question in his eyes and wary of where his imagination might be taking him, she hurried to explain. “I’m reading Heidi to the kids in Red Rock Memorial Hospital.” He was still looking at the outfit she had on. The interest in his eyes intensified. “Dressing up like one of the main characters makes the story more vivid for them.”
His grin went directly under her skin, raising her body temperature. “Tell me when you get around to reading them the story of Lady Godiva.”
To his further amusement and delight, he saw a blush begin to rise up her throat, coloring her cheeks. He didn’t think women blushed anymore. Certainly not the ones he typically dated.
Jane cleared her throat, looking away. “That’s not on the list.”
“Too bad.” His eyes pinned her in place. “Maybe you could give me a private reading sometime.”
C’mon, Jane, the kids are waiting. Get a grip. You can go to fantasyland some other time.
“I don’t think you really need to be stimulated or motivated,” she told him, those being just some of the reasons she volunteered her time at the children’s ward in the hospital.
Right now, Jorge thought, he was plenty stimulated. He had no idea that “cute” could be such a turn-on. “You look very Heidi-ish,” he finally said.
She’d never thought of Heidi as being sensual before. She did now. “Thank you,” Jane murmured.
Twirling one of her pigtails around his finger, he kept his eyes on her face. “Sure I can’t get you to postpone this?”
She sincerely doubted that she’d ever been so tempted to go back on her word in her life. But she had given her word and all she had to think about were all the times that her parents broke promises they had made to her, or worse, forgot that they had made them at all, and that made up her mind for her.
It killed her to do it, but Jane flashed an apologetic smile and shook her head. “I can’t. I gave my word. They’re waiting for me.”
“This is new for me,” he had to admit, “losing out to a bunch of kids.”
“Hospitalized kids,” she emphasized.
“Hospitalized kids,” he repeated dutifully. And then he really surprised her. “Mind if I tag along?”
The air was cold and she quickly secured a button, pushing it through its hole before locking the door behind her. He was kidding, right?
“You want to come to the hospital with me?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes.”
She tried to picture him in the ward, surrounded by small children. It wasn’t easy. “Why?”
He wasn’t used to being questioned as to his motives. She was definitely keeping him on his toes. “I never read Heidi as a kid.”
Now that she believed. “I’m in the middle of the book,” she warned.
If that was meant to make him change his mind about coming along, it failed. “Don’t worry, I’ll catch up,” he assured her. “I’ve been told I’m bright for my age,” he teased.
She was out of excuses and if she was being honest with herself, she liked the idea that he wanted to come with her. It made him seem more human to her.
“All right,” she agreed, “if you’re sure you want to do this. My car’s parked over here.” She nodded in the general direction of the carport and then led the way to her space.
Jorge kept pace with her and then watched the way the wind played with the ends of her hair as she unlocked her side of the car. Opening the door, she hit the lock release. His door was opened.
“Is this part of your job, too?” he asked as he got into the small, economical foreign vehicle. “Reading to kids in hospitals?”
“No.” Leaving her purse on the floor between her and the door, she put on her seat belt. “I wanted to do something meaningful and this was the only thing I could think of—entertaining the kids at the hospital by reading to them.”
His seat belt was giving him trouble. He had to extend it twice before he could get it to fit into the slot.
“Wouldn’t it be easier just to donate a couple of video games and maybe a secondhand game console?” he suggested.
“Easier, maybe,” she agreed looking over her shoulder as she pulled out of her spot, “but not nearly as rewarding.” Books had always been her saving grace, her safe place to go when things became difficult to deal with. “Books spark the imagination.”
He thought of some of his friends’ kids. They spent hours glued to a television set, their fingers flying across a keypad. “So do video games.”
She supposed video games had their place, but she had never cared for them. “Most video games are about blowing things up. Books build minds.”
There was a note of passion in her voice, as if she were defending old friends. “Bet you read a lot as a kid,” he said.
She’d taken a lot of teasing for that, but that had helped her develop a tougher outer shell. “Anything I could get my hands on,” she confirmed. “I loved to escape into stories.” It wasn’t until the word was out that she realized her mistake.
“What were you escaping from?” Jorge asked, his curiosity aroused.
If she’d had more time, she would have come up with some vague, acceptable story. But the question was here and now. She had no choice but to fall back on the truth. “Parents who yelled at each other and ignored me.”
He hadn’t anticipated that kind of an answer. His parents had always been there for him, even when he hadn’t deserved it. Sometimes he forgot that he was one of the lucky ones and that not everyone grew up with a support system to fall back on.
Not that he ever did, he thought, but it was still nice to know it was there if he needed it.
“Must have been rough,” he sympathized.
She shrugged, glad that she had an excuse to avoid his eyes. The last thing she wanted to see there was pity.
“Other people had it worse.” She suppressed a sigh. There was no changing the past. “They were just two people who should have never gotten married. To anyone,” she added. Her father had been completely into his work and her mother had been completely into herself. They didn’t need outsiders in their lives and they certainly didn’t need to be responsible for a child. “I used to wonder why they got married in the first place.”
Jorge thought of all the times he’d seen his father sneak up behind his mother and steal a kiss or nuzzle her. He’d grown up thinking that all parents loved
each other and demonstrated their affection.
“Did you ever ask them?”
“I asked my mother once,” she recalled. “She said it seemed like a good idea at the time.” A rueful smile curved her lips. “One of the longest conversations I ever had with her.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Having someone sympathetic to turn to could help take the edge off rejection.
Jane kept her eyes on the road, even as her mind revisited the past. Even with the distance of time, it was painful to recall. She shook her head. “One mistake was enough for them.”
“Is that what they told you?” Jorge could feel his temper suddenly materializing out of nowhere, flaring and aimed at people he wouldn’t have recognized if he tripped over them on the street. How could people say something that hurtful to any kid, let alone their own?
“In a way,” she recalled. “When I was six, one of the girls at school bragged about getting a new baby sister over the summer. I came home and asked my mother if we could get one and she looked at me for a long time and then said that when people made mistakes, they were supposed to learn from them, not make another one.” She could feel his eyes on her and she flushed, glancing at him. “I didn’t understand what she meant at the time, but I figured it out later.”
The sadness in her voice was hard to miss. But there was no condemnation.
“And you’re not bitter?” he asked in amazement. A background like that was perfect for producing loners and serial killers, yet here she was, sweet and generous to a fault, working at a job that he knew for a fact paid very little, just because she wanted to help children.
“Wouldn’t change anything if I was,” she theorized. “Besides, they did the best they could.”
Jane’s reasoning eluded him. “How do you figure that?”
“I never went hungry.” At least, not for food, she thought. “I had shelter, clothes and a library card.” Mentioning the last item made her smile fondly. It was one of her best childhood memories. “My father took me to get it when I was seven. The only outing I remember with him, actually,” she confessed.
There were no picnics, no trips to amusement parks, no family vacations in her past. She grew up in a house with two self-involved adults, very much alone.
Maybe the man was a workaholic, Jorge thought. “What did your father do for a living?”
“He was an engineer. Aerospace,” she added. A sigh accompanied her next statement. “He was away a lot. NASA had him on speed dial,” she said with a small laugh. “I think he just used work to get away from my mother.” And inadvertently, her, she added silently.
“And your mother?”
Her mother.
There were no fond memories when she thought of the woman, no nostalgia, no sense of any connection at all. Her mother was just a beautiful woman who happened to have the same address as she did.
“My mother peaked at nineteen. She was Miss Texas in the Miss USA Pageant that year. She came in third and said that she was cheated.” Jane shrugged, as if she wasn’t sure whether or not to give that claim any credence. She did know that, as far as looks went, she had always been a huge disappointment to her mother. “After that, she became a professional shopper.”
“She shopped for other people?” He’d heard of those, but thought they were generally employed by celebrities who had trouble going out in public. There was no one like that around here.
“Not other people. She shopped strictly for herself.” She remembered feeling hopeful the first few times she recalled her mother coming home with shopping bags full of things. But there was never anything in them for her. And after a while, she stopped hoping. “She was only happy when she was buying things. That was why my parents argued rather than talked to each other,” she explained. “My father claimed that she spent money faster than he earned it.”
“And did she?”
The short laugh had a sad sound to it. “Absolutely.”
Making a left turn, Jane pulled onto the hospital compound. She hadn’t realized that she’d talked all the way here. It certainly hadn’t been her intention to go on and on like that.
“Well, there you have it.” She tried to make a joke of the fact that she’d revealed so much, “My whole life story. Not exactly a page-turner, was it?” There was a parking structure straight ahead. She drove into it and parked her vehicle in the first space she could find. Turning off the engine, she turned to look at him. She was surprised that Jorge hadn’t tried to jump out of the car. “I didn’t mean to bore you.”
“I wasn’t bored,” he protested. If anything, he’d gained new respect for her.
“Now you’re just being polite.” She released her seat belt. “Shoelaces have more exciting backstories than I do.”
Jorge grinned. The novelty of a modest woman hadn’t grown old yet. “I don’t usually talk to shoelaces,” he told her.
She laughed shortly. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do,” he acknowledged, “and you’re wrong.” He saw her raise her eyebrows in a silent question. “I don’t find you dull or boring.”
This bet that Jorge had going—the one that involved her—it had to be for quite a lot of money, she thought. She couldn’t conceive of any other reason for him to be so accommodating, so nice to her.
Picking up her purse, she then leaned over the seat, reaching into the back for a large book whose edges were gilded in gold. On the front cover was a young woman who, at first glance, Jorge thought, bore a remarkable resemblance to Jane. A second look made him realize that it was the hairstyle and the clothes that were responsible for the likeness.
However they both had a fresh-faced appeal, he noted, although Jane was obviously older. But definitely not by much. She could have easily passed for a schoolgirl.
Jane got out of the car. Waiting until he followed suit, she hit the security lock. They walked toward the hospital’s main entrance.
She tried to give him one last out. “You know, the hospital has a really good cafeteria. The food’s not as good as what your father prepares, but the coffee’s decent. You could wait there if you wanted to.”
Reaching the entrance, he waited for her to go through the electronic doors first. “Why would I want to do that? I came along to see you in action, not to drink watered-down cafeteria coffee.”
“It’s not watered down,” she assured him. “As a matter of fact, it’s pretty strong. Designed to keep sleepy interns on their feet.”
In action.
He said he wanted to see her in action. Somehow, she’d never thought of those words being associated with her. Action referred to the dynamic people in the world. She wasn’t dynamic, she was just a person who did whatever needed doing.
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