Plain Jane and the Playboy Page 10

  “Maybe I’m just in the right place at the right time,” he suggested. “Besides, I like that you let me in like that.” And he did.

  Jorge decided not to tell Jane that most of his conversations with women revolved around vapid, empty subjects. That he hadn’t dated them for their minds or for the desire to have a stimulating, challenging exchange of ideas.

  Certainly none of those women had ever donated her time to do something meaningful. Money, yes, time, definitely not.

  He made a right turn at the end of the complex. “So, Heidi,” he teased. “What are you in the mood for tonight?”

  She knew he was asking her about food, but from out of nowhere a single word shot through her brain.

  You.

  She was only grateful that she managed to keep her mouth shut. Otherwise she would have been so mortified she doubted if she would have ever recovered.

  “I’ll leave that up to you,” she told him, having no real preference as long as she was with him. “I’m easy,” she added.

  The moment the phrase came out, she turned a bright shade of pink.

  “I mean—”

  He laughed as he eased onto the brake as the light turned red. “Don’t get so flustered, Heidi. I know what you meant.”

  But even so, the phrase she’d used couldn’t help but fuel some pretty wicked fantasies in his brain….

  Chapter Ten

  Several hours later, they were back at Jane’s door.

  Jorge waited as she looked through her purse, searching for her house key.

  It had been an interesting evening for him. He’d gotten to watch her perform for the pint-size patients at the hospital, and then he’d spent an enjoyable hour and a half at the restaurant, talking to her.

  Just talking.

  Not planning a seduction, nor being confident that this was merely the second act, to be followed by an evening of lovemaking. He was simply sharing a meal and conversation, enjoying Jane’s company more than he’d anticipated.

  It was a little, he thought, like watching a flower unfold during one of those nature programs that his mother liked to watch.

  Jane was becoming less shy and more animated. He really liked the way her eyes lit up when she talked about something that captured her passion.

  And he was surprised that her conversation touched on such a diversity of subjects. For such an initially soft-spoken person, it occurred to him that Jane had a huge frame of reference. She was able to intelligently discuss classical literature and popular music, as well as advances in medicine and technology, among other things.

  He began to think that somewhere along the line, the petite woman had somehow committed an encyclopedia to memory.

  “I just remember what I read,” she’d told him, looking pleased that he’d noticed her intelligence.

  “Everything?” he asked in amazement.

  Sure, he’d heard about people who could retain things to such a degree, but he’d never encountered anyone like that. For him, studying in school had always been a chore. But then, he had been a rebel. He had never liked being forced to stay in an enclosed area. As far as he was concerned, life was a huge schoolhouse and he learned far more by experience than he ever had by reading.

  Jane, he’d come to realize, was his exact opposite. And even though there was that old saying about opposites attracting, he’d never given it any credence until now.

  “Everything,” she’d answered. He could see that she was watching him to gauge his reaction. She’d probably been teased about how smart she was, he thought. Some men were intimidated by intelligent women. He’d never had that problem. “I just have to read it once and I remember it.”

  “Must be pretty crowded in there,” he’d speculated, lightly tapping her forehead with his finger.

  She’d smiled at him then, that blushing smile he found endearing because it was so honest, so devoid of any guile.

  He’d taken his time with dinner because he’d known instinctively that once he brought her to her door, that would be the end of the evening. He wasn’t the kind to force himself on a woman—he’d never had to, but even so, that would never have been his style. And, as he had already come to realize, Jane was in a class by herself. She wasn’t the kind who topped off a night out by a night in.

  But now that he was standing here, about to say good-night and take his leave, Jorge really didn’t want to. As much as he didn’t want to push, to have her do anything that was out of character for her, he didn’t want to just walk away.

  Jane could feel her heart doing a little dance in her chest. Feelings were madly scrambling through her, at war with her own code of ethics.

  Common sense kept telling her there was no future with this man. Today, tomorrow, next week, whenever he tired of the chase—or won the bet—Jorge would vanish, move on to the next woman who caught his fancy or became a challenge to him.

  And she would be left behind with a huge hole in her heart.

  She knew herself, knew that if she let these mounting feelings within her lead her astray, she’d only be hurt that much more when the inevitable breakup came.

  And yet…she wanted him. Wanted him to want her.

  Was she crazy?

  Or simply just that attracted to him?

  Jane opened the door and then turned around to face him. It took her a second to find her voice.

  “Thank you for a lovely surprise,” she told him. Jorge cocked his head, as if he didn’t quite follow her line of thinking. “I didn’t expect you to drop by,” she explained. “And I certainly didn’t think you’d be willing to actually come along and put up with story time at the hospital.”

  The corners of his generous mouth curved. “And miss seeing you in that outfit?” he asked. “Not a chance.”

  He ran his hands along her arms, struggling to keep himself in check. He knew damn well that all he had to do was kiss her, really kiss her and he could seduce her. It wasn’t that he thought of himself as irresistible. There was no ego or self-flattery at work here—he just knew what he was capable of.

  He also knew that while the seduction would most likely be excruciatingly sweet, the guilt that would follow—and the pain he would cause—would be difficult to deal with. Nothing was worth that.

  “I’d like to see you again, Jane,” he told her and saw surprise blossom in her eyes.

  She almost asked why. Was there more to the bet than she knew about? Had it escalated? Did it come in parts? Was the end goal to take her to bed?

  No, she couldn’t make herself believe that Jorge would actually be party to something like that. Kissing her on a dare or a bet was one thing, but the other—no, not him. She didn’t care what his reputation was. If he were like that kind of man, he would have already made his move, would have attempted to get her into bed.

  But he hadn’t pushed.

  Maybe, she mused, that was his strategy. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she didn’t want to give up seeing Jorge as long as possible—on her terms. He made her feel special, even if he confused everything inside her.

  Maybe she was supposed to sound blasé, Jane thought, like the women she knew he was accustomed to. But that wouldn’t be her and ultimately, if she tried to sound like one of those women, that would be lying. Because she wasn’t feeling blasé.

  Excited was a far better word for what she was experiencing.

  “I’d like that,” she told him.

  “Me, too.”

  Framing her face in his hands, he brought his mouth down to hers and ignited a skyful of fireworks inside her head. She threaded her arms around his neck as much for support as for contact. The kiss deepened and she did her best to return it in kind. She didn’t want to just be on the receiving end of this lightning in a bottle. More than anything, she was desperately trying to give him a reason to return.

  To want to kiss her again not because it was part of a bet, but because he enjoyed it.

  She had no idea how sweet she tasted, how inflamed s
he made him, Jorge thought. Or how much he wanted to push open that door that she’d unlocked. How much he wanted to scoop her up into his arms and carry her to her bedroom to make love with her.

  And how hard it was not to.

  So instead, he savored the kiss, letting it go on as long it was safe to. Just before his control cracked, Jorge broke contact.

  There was pure mischief in his eyes as they looked into hers.

  “Sleep well, querida,” he murmured just before he turned on his heel and walked away.

  Querida.

  Beloved?

  He’d called her “beloved”? Her hammering heart went into double time as she sighed and slipped inside her apartment, locking the door and then leaning against it, her eyes fluttering shut as she relived every fiber-shaking moment of his lips on hers.

  She hugged herself. Life had never felt so wonderful and even if it was fleeting, right here, right now, this moment was hers to savor.

  Jorge’s footsteps on the asphalt seemed to echo into the silence of the night as he walked back to his sports car. A part of him couldn’t believe that he was actually walking away from Jane. She was so very ripe for the taking—and he’d wanted her.

  But he had to admit that this route—if it turned out to be a route—was far more intriguing and enticing. He’d never held out before, never not availed himself of what was right there before him.

  Never wanted the chase, the pursuit, to continue before.

  Never met a woman like Jane before, he thought, walking toward guest parking. She was a woman of substance, of integrity. She was a woman he wanted to get to know from head to toe.

  Slowly.

  Maybe he was just bored with his life, Jorge reasoned. Bored and looking for something different, some way to divert himself.

  Or maybe, he thought as he unlocked the driver’s side of his vehicle and got into it, he was in over his head. Maybe he should get out now, before something happened that he couldn’t foresee. Or even worse, not be able to control.

  The thought haunted him all the way home.

  Walking into the house, Jorge headed straight for the small bar he kept in the living room. He reached into the cabinet without looking and took out a bottle of his favorite whiskey.

  Jorge poured two fingers’ worth into the chunky glass that stood on the counter. Downing the drink quickly, he briefly entertained the idea of another shot, then decided against it.

  He didn’t need to numb himself—he needed advice. He needed to talk to someone he respected. That didn’t leave a large pool to choose from.

  Although he dearly loved each of his sisters, he knew without being told that they would all be taking Jane’s side of it. They might love him, but they were women first.

  Damn, he wasn’t sure what it was that he wanted to hear.

  For a moment he thought about calling his father, then quickly abandoned that idea. Talking to him wouldn’t help, not about something like this. It had been more than forty years since José Mendoza had been out there, making his way through the minefield of dating. For that matter, his father didn’t even have any experiences to fall back on.

  As far as Jorge knew, his mother had been his father’s first girlfriend. His only girlfriend. And José Mendoza had found that the best way to get along with his wife was to always back her up and agree with her.

  What he needed, Jorge thought, was to talk to someone who had walked in his shoes. Was still walking in his shoes.

  There was only one person he knew like that.

  Taking a breath, Jorge glanced at his watch. Roberto lived in Denver these days. He tried to remember if there was a time difference between Red Rock and Denver and couldn’t. But at most, it was only an hour, he reasoned. That still didn’t make it too late to call his older brother.

  Roberto, as he recalled, never went to bed before midnight. At least, he hadn’t when he lived in Red Rock. Pausing to remember all the numbers in their proper order, Jorge pressed the keypad accordingly.

  The phone rang several times and then the answering machine picked up.

  Jorge swore under his breath.

  Tempted to hang up, he decided to wait out the machine on the off chance that Roberto was either screening his calls or unable to get to the phone before it launched the answering machine.

  When the “beep” finally went off, Jorge began to talk.

  “Roberto, are you there? It’s me, Jorge, and I’d really like to talk to you.” He paused for a second, waiting, but nothing happened. No one picked up. Tamping down his irritation, he said, “Okay, well, when you get this, you know where to reach me. I—”

  There was a noise on the other end and, for a moment, Jorge thought that the machine was cutting him off. But then he heard his brother’s deep voice come on the line. “Jorge? What’s wrong? Did something happen to Mom? To Pop?”

  “Nothing happened to anyone,” Jorge was quick to assure him.

  He heard his brother mutter something unintelligible under his breath. Clearing his throat, Roberto asked, “Then why the hell are you calling so late? Date go sour on you?”

  Jorge heard a small, amused sound follow the question. At least Roberto hadn’t lost his sense of humor, he thought.

  “No, it didn’t turn ‘sour’ on me. But that is why I’m calling.”

  There was a prolonged pause on the other end of the line. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Jorge. Maybe that’s why I’m not following this. What the hell are you talking about?”

  Jorge sighed. “Okay, let me start over again.”

  “Go for it,” his brother encouraged magnanimously.

  Jorge took a breath before beginning. “There’s this woman—”

  He heard Roberto chuckle to himself. “There’s always a woman.”

  Irritation got the better of Jorge. “You want to hear this or not?”

  “Sure, I’m not going anywhere—except maybe back to bed,” he said the last word pointedly. “Go ahead.”

  His brother was going to bed early these days? Jorge refrained from asking. Instead, he leaped to the center of his problem.

  “She’s different.”

  The word covered a broad spectrum of things and Jorge wasn’t being very specific or informative. “Different how?” Roberto wanted to know.

  “I don’t know.” That was part of the problem. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly made Jane stand out for him, but he gave it a shot. “For one thing, she’s not a knockout. But she is pretty,” Jorge added quickly.

  “Okay.” Roberto had never known his brother to go out with a woman who wasn’t. “I take it that you’ve slept with her.”

  Now that he thought about it, Jorge realized that any woman he’d taken an interest in, he’d slept with. Until Jane.

  “No.”

  “No,” Roberto repeated incredulously, certain he hadn’t heard right.

  “No,” Jorge echoed, a touch of annoyance entering his voice.

  There was another long pause on the other end of the line before Roberto finally said, “I see.”

  “See what?” Jorge demanded. Since when did Roberto talk in code? “Because I don’t.”

  Rather than answer, Roberto had his younger brother backtrack in his narrative. “Why haven’t you slept with her?”

  “Because she’s not the type for a one-night stand,” Jorge told him. He didn’t know if that irritated him or made him proud—and the ambivalence was driving him crazy. “She teaches kids how to read, Roberto. She dresses up like one of the characters in the books she reads and goes to the hospital to entertain sick kids.”

  “Uh-huh.” He made it sound like a doctor analyzing symptoms.

  Jorge caught himself bristling at the sound. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Rather than explain any further, or even deal with his brother’s newfound dilemma, Roberto sighed. There was almost a hopelessness about the sound.

  “Look, Jorge, I’d like to help you out here, I really would.
I’d like to be able to say something insightful to you to make everything fall into place, but the truth of it is, I’m probably the last person you should come to asking for any kind of romantic advice.”

  He hadn’t expected to hear anything like that from Roberto. As far back as he could remember, his brother, who’d once worked in construction and was now heavily into real estate, still managing to maintain a fantastic physique, had always charmed the ladies. There’d never been a problem when it came to Roberto’s love life, unless, maybe, that it had involved too many ladies at the same time.

  “Since when?” Jorge wanted to know.

  “Since I had a reality check.”

  It was obvious to Jorge that whatever the problem had been—or was—Roberto was not about to disclose it. Jorge switched subjects for a moment. “Why don’t you move back home, Roberto? Mom and Pop miss you. So do the rest of us.”

  “Yeah, well maybe someday,” Roberto said evasively, giving him no more of an answer than he had the last time he’d asked his brother to move back to Red Rock. “Look, I really have to go, Jorge. Good luck with this woman—” he paused for a second “what did you say her name was?”

  “I didn’t. It’s Jane,” Jorge told him. “Jane Gilliam.”

  “Well, good luck with this Jane.” Roberto sounded as if he was about to hang up, then apparently had a change of heart because he stopped to add, “And welcome to the club.”

  There was a “click” on the other end of the line. Roberto had hung up before he could ask him exactly what he’d meant by that.

  Chapter Eleven

  “More flowers?”

  It was half a question, half an announcement as Sally walked into the lounge several afternoons later. Her hands were wrapped around an ice-blue vase that was stuffed to overflowing with a dozen and a half plump pink roses that had just been delivered to ReadingWorks’ door.

  Setting down the vase on the table, she gave Jane a long, envious look.

  “Just what is it that’s going on between the two of you?” she asked. The slight smirk on her lips testified that she thought she already knew the answer to that question.