Plain Jane and the Playboy Read online

  “I’m not a jerk,” he protested. “I’m not evil,” he insisted. “But what you said about self-centered…maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t see beyond my personal space. Or, at least, I didn’t.”

  He slipped his arms around her, drawing her in a little closer. Relieved that she didn’t pull pack. He would have deserved it if she had, but he was glad she didn’t.

  “It took you to make me realize that. To broaden my way of looking at things.” Unlike some of the lines he’d fed other women in the past, this time he meant every word he was saying.

  A smile slowly, shyly, stole over her lips. “You don’t have to say all that,” she told him. “You’ve already got me.”

  It surprised Jorge that her words actually excited him, stirred him in a way he hadn’t been stirred in a very long time.

  But before he could go forward, there were still loose ends to tie up, air to clear.

  “I’m not saying it to ‘get’ you, Jane. I’m saying it because it’s true. I honestly don’t know what it is about you, whether it’s your innate goodness or because you always seem to look for the best in people, but you make me want to be the best person I possibly can. For you.”

  He thought she’d be pleased. Instead, she shook her head. “You should be the best person you possibly can be for you.”

  Their eyes met for a long moment. “I don’t deserve the best person,” he told her, his meaning clear. That in his opinion, she was the best person. Far better than he.

  She smiled. “Yes, you do.” For possibly the first time in her life, she felt in control of a situation. Or at least an equal in it. But she didn’t want to be in control. She just wanted to share whatever was about to happen. “Now, are you going to kiss me?” she asked, thrilled at her own boldness. “Or are we going to talk all night?”

  He smiled into her eyes, liking this brand-new layer to Jane that he’d uncovered. “We could talk if you wanted to.”

  Her eyes on his, she slowly moved her head from side to side. “Uh-uh. Maybe later.”

  Actually, she was really praying for later, really hoping that once this moment blossomed and played itself out, that Jorge would still want to stay here, still want to be with her and just lay beside her. At least for a little while.

  His mouth curved invitingly, exciting her. “Whatever you want.”

  The next moment, his lips were on hers as he tugged at her pullover, loosening it and then dragging it away from her body. For a split second, his lips left hers, only to recapture them hungrily a moment later as her pullover cascaded onto the rug at her feet.

  Jane shivered against him, even though she was sure her body temperature had gone up by several degrees, erupting in flames as his hands stroked her arms, her shoulders, her bare sides.

  Hungers and sensations she was entirely unfamiliar with went racing through her.

  She was aware of everything, yet all seemed to be happening inside a blazing haze. One that would consume her at any moment.

  Strong, gentle, urgent fingers were unzipping her skirt, coaxing it down her hips. Goose bumps materialized on her arms from the intimate contact. Her breath was coming in smaller and smaller snatches as excitement all but constricted her lungs.

  Jane struggled to concentrate, to do something beyond merely being a vessel that was swiftly being filled with all these delicious feelings as Jorge freed her from her clothing one article at a time.

  She wanted to do something, to make him feel the kind of anticipation that she was experiencing. She didn’t want to disappoint him.

  Desire pulsed within her, coloring everything in hues of red.

  Only vaguely was she aware of unbuttoning Jorge’s shirt, of pushing the dark blue material off his shoulders. She was acutely aware of her skin seeking the warmth of his.

  It was almost as if she were on automatic pilot, flying blindly into territory where she had never been before, hadn’t even known of before, much less had a knowledge of its terrain.

  All she knew was that she didn’t want this to stop.

  When she felt his lips move to the hollow of her throat, she thought she would just implode right then and there.

  Instincts took over, instincts she hadn’t even suspected she had. Instincts that drove her to do things she hadn’t even thought about doing.

  Jane mimicked Jorge’s earlier movements, stripping off his clothing, letting her eager mouth roam over his throat, forging a passage along his bare, muscular chest. She felt him shiver. Empowered, her lips, teeth and tongue passed over his hard, taut skin.

  She thought she heard him catch his breath and the very sound sent ripples of wild excitement through her. It gave her the courage to continue on her journey, the courage to hang on even while a part of her just wanted to fall back and absorb all that he had to offer. All that he was doing to her.

  Jane wasn’t certain just how it happened, but somewhere along the line, they wound up near the piles of shed clothing, on the floor.

  Their mouths sealed to one another, they rolled into one another, switching positions as the momentum overtook one of them or the other, fueled by eagerness to be submerged in as many sensations, as many passions as humanly possible.

  He’d been in the presence of expert lovers before, women who knew just what to do to work a man into a frenzy, bringing him to his knees. Knew how to make him want the final act, the climax, more than life itself.

  But there was something more at work here. Something that he couldn’t begin to reconcile or work into his vast knowledge of what made people, what made women tick. When it came to Jane, along with what he could testify was an expertise, a finesse that was hard won and long in formation, he could have sworn there was an innocence at its core.

  How was that possible?

  How could she be a consummate lover and yet an eager novice at the same time?

  Who was this woman really? More important, he thought, how could he make her want to remain with him?

  Jorge heard her whimper in sheer ecstasy as he skimmed his lips over her abdomen. Watched in fascination as the muscles there quivered in response, even as she raised her hips to him in an open invitation.

  Slowly moving his heated body over hers, watching desire bloom like twin dark flowers in her eyes, Jorge gently kneed her legs apart.

  Beginning to enter, he stopped, startled as resistance met him. Not hers, but an actual physical barrier.

  That could only be for one reason.

  Stopping, Jorge raised himself up on his elbows, pivoting over her body as he looked at her in confusion. “Jane?”

  She made no response. He wasn’t even sure if she’d heard him. Instead, she thrust her hips up against his in a hard, swift movement that he could no more resist than he could will himself to stop breathing.

  Her mouth quickly sealed itself to his as a cry of pain was about to escape. The sound was muffled against his lips.

  Jorge was aware of rigid tension shooting through her body for an instant before it relaxed once more. The next moment, she began to move against him in a timeworn rhythm.

  Unable to resist, to tamp down his own needs and back away, Jorge got caught up in the rhythm. He took the lead, his hips sealed to hers the same way his mouth was.

  And the tempo of the dance they engaged in grew quicker and quicker until he found that they were racing toward that final moment, that final sensation that would make them both feel, just for the tiniest split second, immortal.

  He felt her tense again, but this time it was in a good way. She’d tensed and held on to him with both hands digging into his shoulders. It was as if she were desperately trying to hold on to the moment, on to the godlike sensation that was completely covered with extreme happiness.

  But even as she held on, it began to break apart, to fade away into the mists, leaving behind two spent, heated bodies in its wake.

  He felt her breathing grow steadier, felt her relaxing in almost a dreamlike state.

  Rising up on his elbows, Jorge
withdrew from her. Then, in a fluid motion, rather than just get up and walk away, he laid down next to her. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he tucked one arm around her as he held her to him.

  Confusion held his conscience prisoner.

  How did he even broach this?

  He’d never been in this position before. Virginity had only been involved once in all his liaisons, and it had been his virginity that had been lost, not that of the woman he had made love with.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he finally asked.

  Here it came, she thought. The moment she’d been dreading. It had been that obvious to him.

  “Tell you what?” she murmured.

  Her voice sounded different than usual. Was that wariness he heard? Defensiveness?

  He couldn’t tell.

  Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe she wasn’t a virgin. Maybe she was just built very, very small.

  No, he knew what he knew and this time, he had to take responsibility for what he’d done from the start rather than just hope that the subject would never come up.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you were a virgin?” Jorge wanted to know, enunciating each word slowly, carefully.

  She fought back the embarrassment, the suddenly feeling of vulnerability. “You mean you missed it on my business card? Jane Gilliam,” she recited, “BA, MA, and, oh yes, PV.”

  “PV?” What the hell was PV? He’d never come across that degree.

  “Professional Virgin,” she elaborated. “Possibly the last one over the age of twenty in this part of Texas.”

  He hadn’t meant to embarrass her. If anything, he was the one who was embarrassed. Embarrassed by his cavalier treatment of her when she should have had a better introduction to this world.

  “Jane—”

  “If I told you I was a virgin, would you have made love with me?” It was almost an accusation rather than a question.

  He had to be honest with her. “No.”

  His answer stung, shooting an arrow straight into her heart. But she hadn’t expected anything else. She’d just hoped…

  “Well, there you have it.” She stared up at the ceiling rather than look at him. She couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his eyes—or worse. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. Because I knew you didn’t want to waste your time and considerable talents making love with a woman who couldn’t return the favor.”

  Because she was staring at the ceiling, he took her chin in his hand and turned her head, forcing her to look at him.

  “I wouldn’t have made love with you—no matter how much I wanted to—because a woman’s first time is supposed to be special.”

  That temporarily stopped her in her tracks. Jane looked at him for a long moment, trying to decide if it was just an excuse he was hiding behind, or if he could actually mean what he was saying. He was Jorge Mendoza. That alone made it special.

  “What makes you think it wasn’t?” she asked incredulously. “That was why I chose you. I wanted you to be the first.”

  And the last, but I can’t tell you that. You’ll run out the door, naked, to get away from me.

  “You still should have told me,” he insisted.

  No, she shouldn’t have. “Then you wouldn’t have been the first,” she countered.

  Yes, God help him, he would have. He wouldn’t have been able to get up and walk away, not after they’d gone that far. He wasn’t made of iron, only flesh. “I would have gone slower.”

  A sad smile crept over her lips. “Any slower and I would have caught fire,” she told him. “Don’t worry. I know that this doesn’t mean anything to you. I’m not about to chain you to my bed—if we were in bed,” she amended. “I just wanted—”

  “Will you be quiet?” he told her.

  But she needed to get this out. This could be the last time she’d ever see him. “I—”

  “Obviously not,” he said more to himself than to her. “Okay, only one way I know how to handle this,” he told her.

  And the next minute, moved in a way he’d never been before, wanting Jane all over again when by all rights, he should have been spent and all but asleep, he gathered her to him again and brought his mouth down on hers.

  Startled, the moment their lips parted, she asked breathlessly, “What are you doing?”

  She watched as an amused smile danced on his very tempting lips.

  “If you have to ask, then I guess I didn’t do it right the first time,” he said against her lips.

  And then there was no space for any further conversation. He was too busy showing her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  What the hell had he been thinking?

  The question throbbed over and over in Jorge’s head like a relentless tattoo five seconds after he had woken up the next morning.

  He was lying beside Jane, who mercifully, appeared to be still asleep.

  Their night of lovemaking, which had moved, in a flurry of clothing and passions, from the living room through the tiny hall until it had finally ended up here in her bedroom—in her bed, vividly came back to him. In living color.

  Guilt attacked at the same time, coming at him from all sides, aided and abetted by fear. Fear of consequences, fear of what this all ultimately meant.

  Jane wasn’t the type of woman a man had a one-night stand with or even a brief affair. She might have protested last night that she didn’t expect what was happening between them to mean anything to him, but he knew that in her heart, she was hoping that it did.

  And it did, which was what scared him.

  He wasn’t husband material. He wasn’t even boyfriend material, Jorge thought. No matter how good his intentions might be, he knew himself. Knew that before long, another woman would attract his attention, catch his fancy and he’d be off, leaving Jane behind and breaking her heart.

  Or, worse, he’d remain with her and grow to resent the shackles that bound him.

  Why the hell had he slept with her? He couldn’t even blame this on anything he had to drink because he hadn’t had anything to drink. If he’d been intoxicated last night at all, it was with the moment—and her.

  She was still sleeping. He needed to go. Now, before there was a need for dialogue.

  Very slowly, moving a fraction of an inch at a time, Jorge drew away from Jane until he was finally out of the bed.

  His clothes, Jorge recalled, were still in the living room. That left him to make his way to the living room stark naked. He couldn’t take the sheet off the bed. Half of it was on her side. He didn’t want to risk waking her up for the sake of modesty.

  When the hell had he started to care about that? he wondered suddenly. It felt like everything about him, about the way he conducted his life, was going through some kind of upheaval. He couldn’t deal with this.

  With stealth movements, Jorge began to slowly tiptoe toward the door. He’d only made it halfway when he heard rustling behind him.

  Jane.

  Was she just turning in her sleep, or was she awake? Summoning courage, he forced himself to turn around to look at her.

  Their eyes met.

  And the look in hers told him that he didn’t have to bother coming up with excuses. She knew what he was doing. Fleeing without saying goodbye.

  But he had to say something, didn’t he? Besides, the excuse was actually true, it just wasn’t the main reason he was going.

  “I have a meeting,” he told her.

  God, did that sound as lame to her as it did to him? He tried to remember the last time he’d actually felt this awkward and couldn’t. What had this woman with the deep, soulful eyes done to him?

  “Okay.” Her response sounded almost cheerful.

  Sitting up, she wrapped the sheet around herself like a toga before she swung her legs off the bed and onto the floor.

  This was just what he hadn’t wanted. A prolonged goodbye. “You really don’t have to get up,” Jorge told her.

  “I was going to make you coffee,” she informed him with a
smile. Then, as if reading what he was thinking, she emphasized, “Not breakfast, just coffee.” As if accepting anything to eat would somehow bind him to her, but coffee was universally acceptable. “Besides,” she went on, “I’d like some coffee, too.”

  “Oh, all right.” The words came out incredibly stilted.

  Jorge sounded almost nervous, she thought. Did he expect her to jump him because he possessed the most perfect male body ever created? She did her best to concentrate on his face, but just being in the presence of his nakedness was enough to raise her body temperature by several degrees. She did what she could to seem unaffected.

  “Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll work on the coffee,” she suggested nonchalantly. Oscars, she thought, were given for lesser performances.

  As she walked passed him, her eyes deliberately focused on the doorway, she heard him call out her name. “Jane—”

  Jane glanced over her shoulder, careful to make only eye contact. “No food,” she assured him with a smile, “Just coffee to wake you up for the meeting.”

  “Right.”

  She walked to the kitchen as he quickly went to the living room.

  You would have thought she was the experienced one and he was the newly deflowered virgin, Jorge thought, disgusted with his reaction, with his sudden inability to sound aloof, as he hurried into his clothes. She was handling this with a lot more grace than he was.

  Dressed, he walked into the kitchen, brought there more by a sense of contrition than by the deep, enticing smell of brewing coffee. Jane was still wearing the sheet, artfully tucked around her to allow for movement.

  He had to admit, as eager as he was to be on his way and put what he viewed as a big mistake behind him, the thought of reaching out and unraveling the sheet did captivate him for a second.

  No. He wasn’t going to get entrenched any further. He shouldn’t have slept with her—he wasn’t going to compound it by doing it again. He had to leave, quickly, while leaving was still an option.