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Sensual Secrets
Jo Leigh


Amelia Edwards needs to get a life–a sex life to be exact! She's living in the Big Apple where she's supposed to be meeting all kinds of single, gorgeous men. Instead she's spending too much time holed up at the cybercafé writing about her fantasies–instead of living them out! But that's about to change….Jay Wagner has been looking for a sexy woman like Amelia. And when he accidently reads her online sensual secrets, he knows she's the one for him. Through scanning her entries, he learns exactly how to touch her body and what words will make her scream in delight. It's the perfect fantasy relationship. Until reality intrudes…and Amelia discovers he's been snooping.Jay seduced her body. Can he now seduce Amelia's heart…?









“I want to take you home,” Jay whispered


“Oh.” Amanda shivered, though she wasn’t chilly.

“I want you in my bed.” He cupped her cheeks with his broad hands and kissed her gently on the lips. “Naked.”

“Uh-huh.” Wouldn’t it be something to have him lying next to her? Amanda thought. Kissing her all over? Stroking her thigh, her back? Fulfilling all her sexual fantasies.

“Is that a yes?”

The tip of her tongue glided across his upper lip. She moaned as she deepened the kiss, and he felt her nipples pebbling against his shirt.

“Let’s go get a cab.” Jay’s mind raced. He’d give her a long leisurely bath, soaping her from head to toe, with special attention to the important parts in between.

Amanda was so much more than he’d imagined. He should have guessed that when he read her fantasies online. He was going to make every fantasy come true. Starting now…in his bed.







Dear Reader,

Have you ever wished that some special guy would see the real you, the you inside, the you who doesn’t have bad hair days, wear old-lady underwear or spill red wine on your boss’s white carpet? And because this man sees how incredible you are, he can’t live without you?

I’ve wished for just that, many times. I’ve longed for Mr. Right to pick me out of the crowd, then sweep me off my feet. While it hasn’t happened to me…yet, I know it can happen. I’ve seen it happen.

Writing about Amelia and Jay filled me with hope and promise. They had to get through a lot before they found the brass ring (diamond ring?), but neither of them gave up. I came to care a great deal about these two, and I hope you do, too.

Here’s wishing you love and peace,

Jo Leigh




Sensual Secrets

Jo Leigh







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To my friends at Army Street—

thank you for your incredible support.

And of course, to Debbi. Without you, this wouldn’t be!!!




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue




1


SOMETHING SHIFTED IN THE AIR. It wasn’t a scent; the front door to the cyber café hadn’t been opened. In fact, no breeze stirred. But she felt it, all right. Electrical. Sharp. The moment before lightning strikes. Yes.

Amelia Edwards’s gaze moved surreptitiously to her right. David, who was in her poli-sci class at NYU, felt it, too. His shoulders, usually slumped forward in a perpetual hunch, had straightened. He ran a nervous hand through unruly dark hair.

She looked past David to a girl she’d seen several times before. Another student, if her backpack was any indication. Blond. Really pretty. Nibbling on her lower lip, thrusting out her chest, gaze darting to the door.

Everyone felt it. Not just Amelia. There was no law of physics to explain it. It was an X-file, a phenomenon, a mystery wrapped in an enigma. But she knew what it meant.

He was coming.

His name was Jay Wagner, and he owned the Harley shop next door. Slightly older than her—maybe twenty-six or-seven. Tall, with dark wavy hair that was a bit too long, and the most intense brown eyes she’d ever seen. When he walked into the room, everything else faded to shadow. Time slowed….

The wicked thoughts began.

Amelia’s hand went to her hair—the top, the sides—checking for who knows what. A quick swipe of her lips with the tip of her tongue, a tug on her skirt.

Brian, the owner of the café, started a CD. Stevie Ray Vaughn.

Her gaze flew to the door seconds before it opened.

He had on his leather jacket. Black. Black jeans, white T-shirt, black boots. Shades that hid his eyes completely. That made her think of secrets.

She guessed him to be around six-two. Lean, wiry, but strong. His hands fascinated her, with their elegant fingers and flexing tendons.

He let the door close behind him, then headed for the bar. Glasses still on, looking neither right nor left. But that was only the first part of the game. The real action would begin when he got to her table. He didn’t have to pass this way. Her workstation was in the corner, hidden from prying eyes. But he made it a point to cross the room whenever she was there.

Sure enough, when he stood about five feet away, he took off his glasses. Tucked them in his pocket. Then his head turned toward her. She tried not to look at him, but she knew it was a useless struggle. He wouldn’t leave until she met his gaze. Why? Why did he do this to her? He had to see that it embarrassed the dickens out of her. She felt herself turn three shades of scarlet. Did he enjoy the power? The way she squirmed?

And why, oh why, did she keep coming back here, day after day? And please, would someone explain why her heart sank if he didn’t show up?

Another brief stab at resistance, then she gave it up. She focused on his chest first. His jacket. Then her gaze climbed slowly to his neck, the squared jaw.

She exhaled a breath she hadn’t remembered holding. Then she stopped breathing altogether when her gaze moved those last few inches.

He locked on to her the moment she was in range. Like a heat-seeking missile, he wouldn’t let her go now until he’d had his fun. His right brow arched with wry amusement, as if she were quaint, as if she were a child. His lips curved into the tiniest of smiles. But it was the challenge in his eyes that made her insides turn to mush.

They’d never spoken. She never had the nerve. But for weeks now, he’d played this game with her. Daring her. Inviting her.

A part of her wanted to meet the challenge. To walk up to him and kiss him, right here in the middle of the café with the music blaring and the rich scent of strong coffee in the air. Boy, that would wipe that smug smile away. It would be so great.

Unfortunately, she was a chicken. A big, fat, yellow chicken. Her cheeks burned hotter, and she forced her gaze back to her monitor. He’d won. Again. She sighed when he chuckled. Just like he had yesterday, and the day before.

She focused on the screen. The words she’d written moments ago seemed unfamiliar and disconnected. A paper due in four days. She saved the file to disk, then, with shaky fingers, typed the Web address for TrueConfessions.com. The familiar page filled the monitor screen as she logged in, using her screen name. Good Girl.

She winced at her propensity to tell it like it was, even when the truth was as boring as a cable-knit sweater. She was, indeed, a good girl. At twenty-four and a graduate student at NYU, she was an anomaly. A throwback to the days when girls got pinned and went steady. Only, she had no one in her life with whom to do either of those things, not to mention anything racier.

At the thought, she raised her head, only to see Jay still standing right in front of her. Closer now. Her face heated instantly as she realized her mistake. He’d always wandered off when she’d hidden behind work. But this time he’d stayed to stare, his gaze so intense that she wriggled in her seat.

He took a step toward her, and her heart reacted by pounding in her chest. When he took another, she forgot how to breathe. Oh God. He kept on coming, his boots clicking softly on the hardwood floor.

He reached the side of the table. Everything in her told her to run, to hide, at the very least to duck. But she sat perfectly still, her head back as she looked up at the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

He smiled. Not a big grin. A slight upward curve of his lips. Then his hand lifted and she nearly died. He was going to touch her. Pet her cheek. Only, his hand stopped inches away, then withdrew. She burned with embarrassment at his retreat, sure she would burst into flames any second.

His low chuckle made things infinitely worse. Perhaps sensing that she was going to pass out, his gaze shifted to her computer screen. She took advantage of the situation and gasped in a lungful of air.

“Good Girl,” he whispered.

Her mouth opened. Nothing came out.

He chuckled again, the sound deep and sexy. Mercifully, he walked past her, heading toward his buddy Brian at the coffee bar.

She closed her eyes as she struggled to get her pulse to slow and her breath to normalize. He’d spoken to her. Directly. Oh God.

Despite the fact that he’d looked at her before, made her blush, she’d always felt invisible. She was, most of the time. In class. Around her gorgeous roommates. At the student lounge. People bumped into her all the time. They just didn’t notice her, that’s all.

But he’d spoken to her.

Her gaze darted to the girl across the way. Just as Amelia figured, the girl seemed upset. Jealous. Of her. Not that she wanted the blonde to feel bad…

Okay, so she did.

Amelia turned back to her computer. She’d paid for two hours, and she only had fifteen minutes left. Typing furiously, she tried to capture it all. The moment, the excitement, his whisper, the scent of leather. It poured out of her, and she didn’t even go back to correct the misspelled words.

But at the end, when it was all out there, her bubble burst. He might have noticed her. How could he help it? She was here all the time. And she blushed so hard she could stop traffic. He’d just been messing with her, that’s all. Teasing. Which was such a shame. Such a heartbreak. Her aunt Grace used to tell her that no one ever died from being shy, but Amelia wasn’t sure. People did die of loneliness. Of yearning.

The truth of the matter was that the Amelia she was on the inside was nothing like the person she was on the outside. She dressed more conservatively than was fashionable; her skirts were longer, her blouses looser. She wore her hair pulled back, most of the time in a bun, and her hair was her biggest vanity.

She’d grown used to being invisible. It was easier that way. No one expected anything much. Only…

She paused. Sighed. The woman I am inside isn’t shy. She’s brazen and erotic and she dresses in sexy clothes and she feels beautiful, she typed.

Amelia closed her eyes, letting her fingers work on the keyboard she knew so well.



If only someone could see how I ache for a touch. How I yearn to be set on fire by a kiss. If only he knew how I dreamed of him. How I longed for him to take me to the heights of ecstasy. Oh, who am I kidding? I want him to make love to me until we both die of starvation. I want him to do anything, everything. I want to go crazy, and stay crazy, with him.



The buzzer on her computer went off, and she didn’t have the time or cash to extend her stay. She saved her journal, then she logged off the confession Web site. Moving as quietly and efficiently as she could, she collected her belongings, stood up and hurried outside, never once looking behind her to see if Jay noticed—but blushing all the same.



JAY WAITED while Brian poured a cup of coffee for a customer—another student. The place wasn’t large or fancy, and it didn’t have the Starbucks chairs or upscale coffee paraphernalia. But it did have six workstations, all linked to the Internet by high-speed, high-bandwidth T1 connections, which meant instant and immediate access to research material. And porn.

The decor owed more to sixties rock than good taste. Posters of Hendrix, Janis Joplin, The Grateful Dead were tacked on the odd wall, and Rolling Stone magazine was always available. Brian, who must have been a hippie in his past life, played current top-twenty songs, but only because he had to. Curious, Jay thought, that Brian had opened such a high-tech business. But Jay had to give it to him. Brian had made the café a success. At thirty-two, Brian made a mean pot of coffee, and he could hack into almost any computer system around. He made sure his customers were happy. It was a lesson Jay had taken to heart when he’d opened his Harley shop next door.

Brian finished up with his customer, and Jay gave him a nod. Brian came over with a pot of coffee in hand. “You need more java?”

“What’s TrueConfessions.com?”

Brian shrugged. It was an unconscious habit, one that most people assumed meant he didn’t know whatever was being asked of him. Jay knew better. The shrug was Brian’s way of telling the world they really needed to come up with better questions.

“It’s where people go to confess their sins. Or their fantasies. Mostly teenage girls declaring their undying love for the boy toy of the moment.”

“And other people can read these confessions?”

“Yep. It’s public. But it’s also anonymous. There’s a router in there that makes it difficult to trace back user names.”

“Difficult, but not impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible until I can’t do it.”

Jay lifted his mug. “I salute your arrogance.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Jay smiled as he finished off his coffee, then handed the mug to Brian. “I’m going over to the computer for a minute. Bring me another cup.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Yes, master. Is there anything else you’d like? A foot massage, perhaps? A date with Penelope Cruz?”

“Yeah. I’d like to shut you up for once.”

“You’d shoot yourself if you didn’t have me to pick on.”

Jay headed for the table. Her table.

He liked hanging out at the café, even though he rarely used the computers. Conveniently, it was next door to his shop. And while the coffee was good, it wasn’t the main selling point. He came here primarily for the women. All those beautiful NYU coeds, just dying to fling themselves at his big bad self.

But not her.

Damn, but he liked to see her blush.

When she first started coming to the café, he didn’t even notice her. He didn’t know who dressed her but, Christ, they needed to be drawn and quartered. She looked like someone’s grandmother, with her cardigans and loafers. Except…

He couldn’t remember now what had made him look at her. A sound she made, or a cough. Most likely, her blush. He’d been shocked as hell, that much he remembered clearly. She was gorgeous. Her skin was pale and flawless, delicate, like her body. Tall—he’d guess around five-seven or so—and a little too slender, she walked like a dancer. She’d smiled only once in all the months she’d been coming here. Not at him, but he’d caught it.

She was a natural beauty. No fake boobs, no fake hair, no piercings anywhere visible. She reminded him of someone from another time. The Renaissance, perhaps. But he also felt something else hiding behind those old-fashioned clothes, behind that blush. He knew it. He felt it. And he wanted it.

He sat down, ran his fingers over the keyboard. Was it his imagination or was there a trace of talcum lingering in the air? He turned on the machine and typed in the address for TrueConfessions.com. Once there, he checked it out, saw how it worked.

Good Girl.

That was the name he’d seen. If she hadn’t been so flustered, she’d probably have blocked his view or turned off the computer. But she hadn’t. And he was just the son-of-a-bitch to take advantage of the situation.

About five minutes later, just after Brian brought him another cup of coffee, he hit pay dirt—Good Girl’s journal entries. He never did drink any of the coffee.



THE MUSIC from Tabby’s bedroom reverberated through the apartment, the thundering bass making vases tremble and the crumbs on the table shift into interesting patterns. Amelia tried not to mind. At least, not too much.

Her roommates were nice girls, all three of them. A bit self-centered and obsessed with sex—but they were in their early twenties, so what did she expect?

Oh, please. While she hoped she wasn’t quite so self-centered, she would be lying if she said she wasn’t just as obsessed. Her roommates didn’t help with that, either. Every one of them brought men home on a regular basis. Tabby had Josh, and they were the only two who were in a somewhat monogamous relationship. Donna rotated three guys, and for the most part, that worked smoothly enough.

Twice, though, two of her guys had shown up on the same night. Donna’s solution? The three of them went to the bedroom. Amelia had had to use the earplugs that night. And the pillow over her head.

She’d been shocked, of course. For a while. Then, the idea of two men, two beautiful men, in bed with her, doing all manner of wicked things, made the idea almost appealing. Of course, Amelia would never have the nerve to do anything like that. She barely had the nerve to speak up in class, let alone flirt.

The thought made her blush, and her blush made her think of Jay. She closed her eyes to picture him better, and within moments she had to get a cold bottle of water from the fridge.

As she drank, she scolded herself. It was almost four-thirty, and she hadn’t gotten back to her term paper. That meant she’d be in for a long night, which meant she couldn’t go to the café in the morning. Or that she’d be so tired she’d probably fall asleep in class.

She wiped her mouth with a tea towel as her gaze moved to the dishes in the sink. She knew exactly how long they’d been piling up. Since the last time she’d washed them.

The others, especially Kathy, took advantage of her, she knew that. But she was also the only one of the four who seemed to have any time for the mundane things in life, like laundry and dishes and vacuuming. Every time she cleaned up their mess, she swore it was the last time.

If she couldn’t gather the courage to let her roommates clean up after themselves, how on earth was she going to be strong enough to talk to him?

Right. Like that was going to happen. And monkeys might fly out of my butt. She chuckled, only slightly scandalized at herself. The slightly was because she’d been practicing. She’d said all sorts of bad things in the past two months. Curses that would make a freshman jock blush, insults that cut to the quick, and jibes so clever she had to laugh out loud. Of course, she’d only said them to herself, but hey, it was a start, right? Soon, she’d be just as brazen and hip as everyone else at school. Maybe not so crude, but she’d be in the ballpark. Not such a freak. An outsider.

She sighed as she leaned against the fridge door. Jay would never want a girl like her. Not in a million years. She should give it up. Chase him out of her thoughts. Forbid him to visit her dreams.

As if.



AT FIVE-FIFTEEN, Jay couldn’t stand it another minute. He had to do something, and do it now. “Karl.”

His assistant looked up from behind a vintage Harley. “Yeah?”

“How do you feel about locking up tonight?”

Karl nodded, then pushed his Buddy Holly glasses up to the bridge of his nose. The guy was older than Jay by ten years, but his long, scraggly hair and sparse goatee made him look like one of the students who came in here to drool. “You got a date?”

“Of sorts.”

“No problem. Marie isn’t gonna be home until after eleven.”

Jay grabbed his jacket from the counter, shoved it on, then picked up his helmet from the floor. “So she’s still got that job?”

“Yeah. For some reason she likes working with numbers. Go figure.”

Jay headed toward the door of his shop, his gaze automatically checking the display models, making sure the bikes were polished to a shine. “At least she’s working.”

“The second income is pretty welcome. Of course, if you’d pay me what I’m worth—”

“You don’t want to go there, buddy.”

Karl sighed like a lovesick teen.

“Get a grip.”

His assistant laughed, but Jay had left behind the conversation as he pushed open the door. He’d hardly been able to think of anything all day…except Good Girl. At the café, he’d read a number of her early journal entries, and the more he read, the more intrigued he became. She came as a complete surprise to him—and that didn’t happen often.

No one would guess that inside that Minnie Mouse of a girl lived a Jessica Rabbit woman.

He slipped his helmet on, then mounted his bike, a 1965 panhead, full dresser, electric glide, in mint condition. The engine came to life with a jolt, and then he was off, heading straight home to his computer, relaxing instantly as he listened to his bike purr like a kitten.

As he maneuvered through the Manhattan traffic, he kept picturing Good Girl peeling off her clothes piece by piece. But he had to cut that stimulating scenario short when he almost crashed into a hot dog vendor.

Twenty minutes later he pulled up to his brownstone. It was an old building, right in the heart of what used to be called Hell’s Kitchen. The neighborhood wasn’t what it used to be. It had been gentrified, with trendy shops and restaurants popping up like weeds. It didn’t matter to him. They could build whatever the hell they wanted, as long as they left him alone.

He pulled the bike into a small alcove on the side of the building, and, helmet tucked beneath his arm, secured the bike with three sturdy locks. The neighborhood might be more upscale, but it was still Manhattan.

He headed for the door, pausing to nod at Jasper, the doorman. The guy was, like, a hundred-and-eight or something, and his uniform looked as if it had been made during the Crimean War. But Jasper had been the doorman for as long as anyone could remember, and that wasn’t going to change until the old guy died. Not much about this building changed, including the fact that the elevator smelled like a wet dog. Jay lived on the fifth floor. The elevator stopped on three. The door slid open to reveal a man almost as old as Jasper.

“Jay, my boy. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Jay grinned. Shawn Cody was his neighbor, and the building busybody. If he’d been on three, it meant he’d checked up on Darlene, made sure she’d taken her meds. At eighty-four, Shawn was still sharp as a tack, and he kept tabs on everyone. He claimed to be a writer, but no one had seen anything he’d written. No matter. He was a good guy.

“How you doing, Shawn?”

The man sauntered in, and the wet dog smell was complicated by camphor and Old Spice. “As my father used to say, I’m as right as could be expected for a man destined to become dust.”

“Not today, old man. Today, you’re up and about and causing trouble.”

Shawn nodded. “That’s right. I’m here to comfort the tormented and torment the comforted.”

The elevator resumed its creaky ascent, and Jay silently urged it along. If Shawn started talking, there was no escaping for a good ten minutes. But Jay liked the man, and his partner, Bill. They’d been together for almost fifty years. It hadn’t been easy, but they’d stuck it out.

“You know,” Shawn said, leaning back on his slightly humped shoulder. “I miss your granddad something fierce.”

Jay nodded. “Me, too.”

“He was a good fellow. A mighty good fellow.”

“That he was,” Jay said, the familiar sadness blossoming inside. His grandfather had passed away four months ago, and had been sick for a couple of years before that. Jay had taken care of him, and they’d grown close. So close, Jay had decided to stay on living in the apartment, even though he was the only one below retirement age in the whole damn place. It was cool. He helped out the old guys now and again. They were his grandfather’s friends. Hell, his friends. Not to mention the fact the apartment was rent controlled. For three hundred a month he had a two-bedroom place that most people he knew would kill for.

The elevator stopped on five, and Jay let the older man out first. “Take care of yourself, Shawn.”

“The same to you, young man.”

Jay headed down the dimly lit hallway. He opened his door, still expecting the scent of his grandfather’s pipe smoke to waft over him. It didn’t, of course. The pipe had been buried right alongside the man, per his request.

Jay took off his jacket and tossed it and his helmet on the couch. He grabbed a beer from the kitchen, took a swig, then went straight to the computer. A few moments later he was at TrueConfessions.com, reading the journal entries of one Good Girl, and the rest of the world faded to black.




2


The way he walks is sex itself. Not self-conscious, but sure. Arrogant. As if he knows. When he looks at me, my body aches with wanting him. But I’m not the woman he wants. I can’t even smile at him, talk to him. I burn with desire, but I burn hotter from my cowardice.



JAY TOOK A PULL from his beer, only to realize the bottle was empty. As if coming out of a trance, he focused on the room, on the shadows playing against the wall. He stretched as he stood, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders. One more beer and then he’d stop. He had things to do. Nothing that was more interesting than Good Girl’s confessions, but he still had to do them.

He opened the fridge, and the jar of Jiffy made his stomach rumble. Damn, it was after ten. How in hell had that happened? Skipping the beer, he grabbed the strawberry jam, bread and peanut butter. It wasn’t fancy but it would do. And he could eat at the computer.

He put one sandwich on a paper plate and took a bite out of the other. As he stashed the food, he snagged the milk carton, then headed back to the living room.

Through the course of the night, he’d built a picture of Good Girl. Incomplete, of course, but still, she was clear to him. Bright, articulate, passionate and crippled by shyness. She wanted to break out of her shell, but she didn’t know how. All she could do was write about her fantasies. Poor kid. She deserved more.

If only she could see how attractive she was. Stop trying to disappear into the woodwork. She even had a good sense of humor. A wry appreciation for life’s ironies.

He clicked to the next entry and read as he ate.



So sex has a name. J.W.



Jay choked on his sandwich and spent the next few minutes coughing. J.W. had to be him, right? She’d been talking about him? Holy… He was the guy in her fantasies? He walked like sex itself?

Jeez. He’d figured she was talking about Brad Pitt. She’d mentioned the actor’s name a couple of times, and it had never occurred to Jay…

This changed everything. Man. He shoved his remaining sandwich to the side of his desk and hunkered down. His gaze shot down the screen until he found her next entry.



I’m walking under the Washington Square arch. It’s late. I should have been home hours ago. I hear footsteps behind me, and my stomach tightens, but come on, it’s New York. When wouldn’t I hear footsteps? I keep walking, not looking left or right. Suddenly, I’m slammed from the back and I cry out as I fall to my knees. A hand grabs my purse, and before I can see who he is, or even what he’s wearing, he’s off like a shot. But then, there’s someone else, a man, chasing him. I watch, stunned, as the second man tackles the thief from behind. They’re on the ground now, fighting, and I struggle to my feet. Before I take a step, it’s all over, and the thief is running away, limping. The man who tackled him gets up, brushes off his trouser legs then looks at me.

He walks toward me, my purse in his hand.

It’s him.

He holds out my bag. “I didn’t know if you were hurt, or I would have gone after him.”

“It’s all right. In fact, it’s extraordinary. You could have been killed, and you don’t even know me.”

He grins at me. “Oh, but I do know you, Amelia.”

My heart pounds. Is this some trick? Some con?

“I’ve seen you in the café. And I know what you do on that computer.”

“You do?”

He nods as he takes a step toward me. “I know all about you. What you like, what you want. What you need.”

I can barely breathe. How is it possible? “What I write is private. Anonymous.”

“I don’t need to read anything,” he says, as he reaches his hand to cup my cheek. “I read you, Amelia. I see past all your defenses. I know how remarkable you are. I know how hard you’ve worked for your education. How much you care about your aunt. I know everything, Amelia. But mostly I know that you’re the most incredibly sensual woman I’ve ever met. Every other man on earth is a fool, because they don’t see it. They don’t see you like I do.”

I can’t speak. How can he talk to me like this? We don’t know each other at all…or do we?

He touches my cheek. Holds me captive with his gaze. Then his lips touch mine, and the rest of the world disappears. I’m drowning in his kiss as he folds me into the safety of his arms. His hands run down my back. He touches my waist. Then below my waist. He cups my behind and pulls me tight against his body. I feel his erection. It’s huge!



Jay coughed, nearly choking on his beer. She thought he was huge? He looked down at his jean-covered half-hard cock. He’d never been ashamed to walk around in the locker room, but huge? Damn.

He went back to the story.



His kiss deepens, and then he pulls back. “Come with me,” he whispers.

“Where?”

“To my bed.”

“But—”

He puts his hand gently over my lips. “Don’t be afraid. You know you want this. Almost as much as I do.”

I nod slowly, knowing it’s foolish to fight the truth. He—



It ended. Boom. Just like that. Jay scanned the next several pages, but the rest of the fantasy wasn’t written down. What the hell? Why’d she stop just when she was going to come to his apartment? When she knew it was foolish to fight the truth—

He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head at his own stupidity. It was a fantasy. Not a promise.

Yet.



AMELIA PUNCHED the time clock on her way out of the library. Almost four, and she was done for the day. She worked in the stacks, shelving and dusting. It was a quiet world, perfect for her, even though the pay was dreadful. She should go work on her term paper, but all that was left to do there was a proofread, and it might be wiser to wait for a day before she did that.

Or was that just an excuse? Either way, she wasn’t going home. Not yet. She headed down Bleeker Street, toward Washington Square and the café. Would he be there? Her heart raced at the thought. Just like it always did.

Her crush on him was ridiculous, she knew that. But it was also the only thing in her life she was truly passionate about. Except for her studies, of course, but that was a totally different kind of passion. Jay made her skin tingle, her stomach clench. She’d read a word somewhere, limerance. It meant that state of deep, addictive infatuation that happens when someone falls in love. She was absolutely there. Unequivocally. Shamefully.

Unfortunately, the man she was in limerance with didn’t know her name. Thought she was a joke. And yet, as she neared the café, her pace quickened along with her pulse. She said her “Jay mantra.” Please, oh, please.

Once she was at the door, she hesitated. Pushed her hair back, moistened her lips. Then she remembered how he’d almost touched her. Perhaps if he’d had a reason? She loosened a strand of hair by her cheek.

She walked in, instantly certain he wasn’t there. The air was just air. Brian was at the bar, joystick in hand, making shooting noises as he destroyed enemy ships or some such. What an odd fellow he was. One would never guess his true age. He spoke like a teenager and played teenage games. On the other hand, he owned the café—and from what she could tell, it was a very successful venture. Two people were at computer terminals—the girl she’d seen before and a new guy. Young. A freshman, probably. They didn’t look at her.

She walked over to her favorite workstation, but before she booted up, she took a couple of deep, calming breaths. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t here. Why should it? Even if he were, so what? He was out of her league, and she was out of her mind.

Her aunt Grace had told her many times that her imagination was going to be the death of her. She shouldn’t waste her time on daydreams. On wanting what she couldn’t have. Aunt Grace might be a little extreme in her attitudes, but she had a point about the woes of an active imagination.

All of Amelia’s problems were a direct result of wanting more than she could have. On the other hand, her aunt had been certain Amelia would never get accepted into the graduate program, or get financial aid. It had shocked them both when she’d won the fellowship. Full tuition, including books. It had been a miracle.

So who was to say there couldn’t be a miracle here? Right?

She turned on the computer and logged in. She typed in the URL for TrueConfessions.com, and went directly to her journal entries.



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.



The front door opened, and her heart leapt. Only, it was the other guy from the motorcycle shop. The one with the glasses.

She sighed, already feeling the foolishness of her fantasy. The loneliness.



Maybe I could say hello. That’s all. Just hello. Would that be so earth shattering? Would the heavens fall and the oceans rise if I just said a simple hello?



Amelia stopped her fingers, stopped her thoughts, too. She didn’t want to wallow in self-pity. Nothing bothered her more, and yet she found herself going there with alarming frequency. Again, it was clear that her problems were about expectations. Dreams that were too big for her little life. Quiet desperation.

No. That wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted serenity. Satisfaction. Passion. Romance. Sex. Lots of sex. Mind-blowing sex.

She focused on the computer monitor once more.



I can’t stop thinking about it. About making love. It’s as if I have a compulsion, an illness, and the only medicine is two rounds with J. and plenty of water.



She smiled at that. Two rounds with Jay. When she couldn’t even write out his name. What’s wrong with this picture?



Maybe I’d be better off cutting my association with this place. If I never saw him, I’d forget about him. Maybe even become interested in someone else.

I could go out with the girls. They always invite me to their sorority parties, and I never say yes. That’s it, of course. I’m going to go. I’m going to take a risk and see what happens. Who knows? It might turn out to be fun.



The line about the monkeys and her posterior came up again, only, this time it wasn’t quite so amusing.



Why can’t I get over this crippling shyness? What lesson am I supposed to learn, huh? To be brave? How can I be brave when I feel like I’m going to pass out? I hate this. I want to be someone else, anyone else. Donna or Kathy or Tabby. They all lead such exciting, wonderful lives. No wonder they leave the dishes for me. What else have I got to do?



She frowned. Not exactly her best attempt at cheering herself up. Before she could make things worse, she saved her work and logged off from the Web site. With forty minutes still to go on her time, she debated working on her paper, but decided instead to do something more uplifting. She typed in the address for her favorite online bookstore, and lost herself in page after page of book descriptions, knowing she could only buy one. She’d narrowed her selection down to three, when a shadow darkened her monitor.

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.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to. I belong to him now. I’ve abandoned my free will. His hand leaves my cheek and I wince at the loss. He smiles, understanding.

He leads me out of the room, to his car, a black Mercedes. I sit next to him quietly. We take off into the night, and I don’t ask him where we’re going. I don’t ask him anything. Not his name or his intentions.

He touches my knee and I gasp, electrified. His fingers inch up my thigh. He rubs one finger over my panties, then stops. I spread my legs farther. He nods. Then he rubs me again. I can hardly breathe as his finger traces my cleft. He kills me with his measured pace, his even pressure. I try to buck forward, but he stops instantly. I understand. Through force of will, I remain still. Except for my heart, my pulse, my gasping breaths.

He pulls into a driveway, into a garage. Leads me inside, to a large living room with a crackling fire. His lips brush mine, teasing, and then he sits on the couch, waiting.

I know I must undress, and I do, slowly, my gaze on his. I don’t stop until I’m naked, the firelight dancing on my skin.

He smiles, and I feel a rush of triumph. I’m not embarrassed, not burning with a blush. He likes what he sees. He stands, approaches me slowly, then touches my lip with his fingertip. I open my mouth, suck the finger in, swirl my tongue. He withdraws and touches my nipple. The wet from my mouth makes the nipple hard, hypersensitive. He runs a damp trail to the other nipple. So soft, so gentle, and yet I cannot move. He has me in his thrall, mesmerized. Aching. He will put out this fire inside me, but I must be patient. It’s on his time, not mine.



A door slamming in the hall jerked Jay back to the real world. Damn. Two minutes of thinking about her and he was well on his way to another hard-on. He headed for the shower. Might as well get ready for work while he took care of business.



AMELIA STOOD OUTSIDE the café, her hand on the door. She shouldn’t be here. She was just asking for trouble. It was very clear to her now that Jay hadn’t meant anything he’d said. She was a joke to him. Of course. She’d been a fool to think otherwise.

Jay was gorgeous. Confident. Sexy. He could have any woman he wanted. Why would he waste his time on her? Not that she wasn’t worth a man’s attention, but the man for her would have to dig a little. See past her defenses. Past the walls she’d built around herself. Jay didn’t need the bother.

She pushed open the door, resigning herself to whatever humiliation lay ahead. So he’d make fun of her. So what? She’d live. And dammit, she wasn’t willing to give up her journal. Not for him. Not for anything. It was the one part of her life that was totally hers. Totally private. Of course, she could write in a bound journal, but she’d tried that before and it hadn’t worked—she wasn’t sure why. Maybe because she typed so fast. Almost as fast as her thoughts. She lost herself at the computer keyboard in a way she’d never experienced before.

If she’d had the money to buy even a used computer, she would have. But every penny was tight, especially since Aunt Grace wasn’t doing all that well. If anything happened to her, Amelia would have to get back to Pennsylvania fast. Aunt Grace, like herself, had no one else.

Brian was behind the counter, and he smiled at her. Was he in on it, too? Probably. The place was busy, almost as bad as the day before midterms. None of the workstations were open, and if she had a smart bone in her body, she’d take that as an omen and get the heck out of here. Instead, she headed for the counter and a cup of coffee.

“The regular?” Brian asked. His gaze seemed suspiciously mischievous. As if he knew a secret. And she knew just what that secret was.

She nodded, trying to hide her blush by looking at the other side of the room.

“I can’t tempt you to try something else today? No cappuccino? Latte? Hazelnut?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“One plain coffee, coming up.”

She didn’t turn back until she knew he was busy with her order. They’d talked before. Plenty of times. But in the past he’d never given her a second thought. Like most men, he’d looked through her instead of at her. His change in attitude was all the proof she needed that Jay’s attention was a joke. A cruel hoax. Oh God. She’d been so gullible.

“Here you go.” Brian put her cup down. “Cream, sugar?”

She shook her head, then turned away from him, wondering if she should just leave the coffee and go. She’d find another Internet café. This was impossible.

“You know much about Jay?”

She turned so quickly on the stool that she nearly fell off. “Pardon me?”

“Jay. You know, the dude who owns the Harley shop next door.”

“I know who he is. Why do you ask?”

“I was just curious. No reason. I’ve just known him for a long time is all.”

“And?”

He shrugged and swiped at his unruly hair. “He’s pretty cool. Smart as hell, too. Jay says he’ll be somewhere, he’ll be there.”

“Thank you. I’ll remember that.”

He grinned again, and she noticed he had those clear braces on his teeth. Hmm. He was well into his thirties, and she didn’t see many men his age with braces. Why was he telling her this stuff about Jay? Did he want her to feel even worse when she found out the truth? That didn’t make sense. Brian might not see her as a desirable woman, but he appreciated her money. After all, she was a regular customer. So if it wasn’t that, what was it?

She sipped her coffee, hardly tasting it as she juggled theories, none of them pleasing her at all.

“Uh, Amelia?”

Her train of thought derailed. He’d never called her Amelia. Or anything else for that matter. “Yes?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, okay?”

She cringed, wishing she had the nerve to throw her coffee in his face and run away.

“I’ve got this sister, see. And she went and got herself knocked up. Man, she’s as big as a house. Anyway, she has these clothes she’s giving away, and you look like you’d be about her size. I mean, the size she was.”

Amelia blinked. Charity? He wanted to give her clothes? Did she look like a street person or something? Her clothes were a little big, but that wasn’t a crime. Oh. Wait. Maybe he thought she wore clothes that were too big because she couldn’t afford things that fit her.

Her cheeks heated in that cursed way, and she forced herself not to overreact. “That’s nice of you,” she said, her voice remarkably calm. “But I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Sure. Yeah. Cool.”

Mercifully, he walked to the other side of the counter to wait on someone else. Seconds later, the man at her favorite workstation got up, and she darted for his seat. With Brian’s help, she’d made up her mind. She’d download all her work onto a floppy disk, and then she’d leave, never to return. What she couldn’t decide was if it was enough to simply leave the café, or if she’d have to leave New York. Even living in the same state as Jay might be too horribly painful.

She logged on with shaking fingers and went to her journal site. She’d have to buy a floppy disk, which meant she’d have to talk to Brian again. Not yet. Not until she pulled herself together.

The front door opened, and all hope of composure fled. Jay walked inside. Her heart fluttered, her stomach clenched, her cheeks reheated, and if she could have crawled into the disk drive of her computer, she would have. What had she been thinking? And why did she want him so badly? She closed her eyes, praying for Jay to ignore her.

“Amelia.”

So much for prayers. She opened her eyes but she didn’t look at him. “What—” She cleared her throat. “What can I do for you?”

He didn’t answer, and finally she gave in and looked up at him. His face was a mask of concern. As if he cared. Right.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“Whoa. It must be bad.” He snagged a chair from against the wall and brought it right next to hers. “Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

He sighed. “Okay. Have it your way.”

“I intend to.”

“But, surely you won’t mind if I talk.”

“Actually I have to—”

“I’ve just got this question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

She didn’t want to know the question. She didn’t want to feel this way just because he was near.

He leaned over and put his hand on her arm. His touch set off electrical charges that shot up and down her body. And it was only three fingers.

“I was wondering,” he said, his voice much softer, huskier, than a moment ago, “if you’ve ever been on a Harley.”

“Pardon me?”

“A Harley-Davidson. It’s a motorcycle—”

“I know what it is.” She turned on him, her confusion overriding her embarrassment. “Why would you ask me that?”

He smiled that cocky grin she loved and hated. “I want to take you for a ride.”

She opened her mouth, but, as was becoming something of a pattern, nothing came out.

“I see you on my bike. Your arms wrapped around my waist. I see you gripping the seat between your legs, feeling the vibrations. You’d like the wind, Amelia.”

He scooted his chair closer, and the hand on her arm gripped her more tightly. She was incapable of turning away. His gaze had her rooted to the spot, his intensity blocking out the rest of the world. “I dreamt it. We’re supposed to do this. We’re supposed to take that ride.”

She swallowed as she tried to calm her thundering heart. Either she was nuts, or he was. Because, oh my God, she’d dreamt the exact same thing.




4


DAMN, HE WAS GOOD. The look on her face was everything he’d hoped. Surprised…no, astonished, confused, vulnerable. Perfect. And oddly touching.

Funny how he felt as if he knew her more intimately than reading her journal should allow. Or maybe it was just the remnants of his youthful romanticism that spurred this sentimental streak. This was about sex, and he didn’t want to forget that. And it wasn’t just for his sake, either. Amelia needed help. She’d said it herself. She needed someone like him to set her free. Hell, he was doing her a favor.

“You saw me in your dream?”

He nodded, holding her gaze steady with his own. “It was the most vivid dream I’ve ever had.”

She nibbled her lower lip. He wanted to offer his services in that regard, but that wasn’t part of the plan. It would take all his determination, but he wasn’t going to deviate, not an inch. Unfortunately, the longer he studied her face, the tighter his pants got.

He leaned forward, curious to see if she’d shy away. When he was near enough to feel her warm breath on his lips, her eyes closed and her lips parted. He paused, his desire to keep going, to taste her, nearly breaking him. But at the last second, he remembered the larger goal. He jerked backward and jumped to his feet.

Of course Amelia’s eyes snapped open, and her gasp made several people turn her way.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a small step backward. “I had no right.”

She reached out, touched the sleeve of his jacket for an instant, then pulled back. “It’s okay. Honestly.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not. I was out of line. You’re not the kind of woman who—” He stopped. Took another half step back.

“Not the kind of woman who’d what?” she asked, her voice sharper, deeper.

“Who’d go off with a guy like me. That would be reckless. Crazy.”

It was as if his words had pricked her ego, and she deflated before him. Her shoulders curved, her hand went to her lap, but what happened to her eyes made him wince. All the fire that had been alive in her green gaze a moment ago vanished, replaced with resignation and a sadness that was palpable.

He touched her hair. “I meant that as a compliment.”

“Of course you did.”

His fingers moved to her chin, and he lifted her face gently. “Amelia, come have lunch with me.”

“What?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“Why?”

The question caught him slightly off guard. Not because he hadn’t rehearsed an answer, but because he wasn’t quite so certain he was playing a role. “There’s something about you.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure what it is. Maybe the way you were in my dream.”

Her soft pink blush made her that much more beautiful. Untouched, sweet. God, she must taste like honey.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice so soft he barely heard her. “It’s not funny.”

He sat down again, then took both her hands in his. The feel of her skin scrambled his thoughts for a moment, but a deep breath pulled him back. “I’m not trying to be funny, Amelia.” He leaned forward a hair, and lowered his voice. “I’ll tell you a secret. I don’t like the coffee here. And I’ve got my own computer. But I come by almost every day. If you’re not here, I move on.”

She blinked, surprised, and he pictured her looking up at him as he made her come. As her mouth opened while she gasped with pleasure, her cheeks flushed, her hair a wild tangle on his pillows.

“I…”

Her little voice broke the spell, and he refocused. “What, Amelia?”

“I don’t understand.”

Something shifted in his chest. Just for a second—nothing major. He wasn’t going all soft or anything. But his resolve strengthened and he knew he wasn’t going to quit until this woman realized how beautiful she could be. “You’re a pearl, Amelia. An undiscovered pearl hiding in your shell.” He stood, held his hand out to her. “Please.”

The poor kid looked scared to death. He wished she could see he wasn’t going to hurt her. That this could be the beginning of something remarkable for both of them.

And maybe she did know that, because she stood and put her hand in his.



SHE FELT HIS STRENGTH through his fingers, his confidence when he led her to the door. He didn’t let go of her—not when she walked outside, not down the block and around the corner. She had no idea where they were going, which should have been alarming, but it wasn’t. Maybe she was in shock. Believing him had been so easy. It wasn’t the words he used—although they were perfect—but the way he looked at her.

At first, she was just captivated by the deep, milk-chocolate brown eyes, the spiky lashes so thick they would have looked false on a woman. But their beauty was overshadowed by the concern she saw there, the earnestness.

He could be a con artist. Or he could be leading her down the garden path so he could humiliate her. Or he could have dreamed her dream, and this really was fate.

He stopped, and it took her a few seconds to realize they were at the Green Lips Café. She’d never eaten here, it was out of her price range—but she’d heard wonderful things about the food.

“After you,” he said, holding the door open for her.

Her hesitation lasted only a moment. She’d eat macaroni and cheese all week if she had to. She wasn’t going to back out now.

The decor inside was funky eclectic, with original oil paintings on the wall, all of them bright, odd, great. The waiters were young, and moving fast.

“Jay, good to see you.”

A tall, elegant woman with short black hair kissed him on his cheeks European style. Jay smiled. “We’d like a table for two, Elaine. As private as you can make it.”

Elaine shifted her gaze to Amelia, giving her a quick once-over, and Amelia wished she’d worn her coat. Her shapeless dress hung on her like a potato sack, and she felt ashamed. She shouldn’t have come. She was out of her league in a world she usually tried to avoid.

But then he took her hand, and they followed Elaine through the restaurant. The woman was taller than Amelia, almost as tall as Jay. Her cropped pants hugged her slim hips, and her knit top showed off her figure. Kathy would have worn that outfit. Donna, too.

“Here you are,” Elaine said, putting the large menus on a table close to the window. “Enjoy.”

Jay pulled out a chair for her, and she sat, wishing she’d thought this through. She didn’t belong here. But her self-castigation stopped abruptly when Jay took off his leather jacket. He wore a knit shirt, something old, like from the fifties. Short sleeves left his lower arms bare, and for that she was very grateful. He was so beautiful, so strong. His muscles flexed when he moved, and when he ran a hand through his unruly hair, she nearly whimpered. His chest. Oh my.

He sat across from her. She wished he was closer.

“The mussels are the specialty of the house,” he said.

She bit her lip to stop from laughing. She could never have explained.

“But the ahi is always fresh and great,” he went on. “If you’re not into fish, they make a mean pasta primavera.”

She ducked behind her menu. Everything was very expensive. The whole city was wildly overpriced, but she’d learned how to live on a strict budget. One meal here was worth a whole week of dinners. If she ordered an appetizer and a soda, she wouldn’t completely break the bank.

Having made her decision, she put the menu aside, to find Jay staring at her. She abandoned herself to her blush. There was no use fighting it. She was just pleased her nervous reaction wasn’t hiccups or flatulence.

“Would you like a drink? A cosmopolitan? Or a martini?”

“No, thank you,” she said. “I’m not much of a drinker. I’d prefer a soda.”

“Done.” He signaled the waiter, and they ordered two sodas, and two appetizers—her pot stickers and his steamed mussels. Then, it was just the three of them—herself, Jay and the uncomfortable silence.

He didn’t seem troubled. In fact, he looked satisfied, almost cocky. But then, when had she ever seen him when he hadn’t looked that way? What gave him the confidence? It shocked her to realize she had a crush on a man she didn’t know at all. It was only one step away from idolizing a rock star, which had always seemed foolish and a little pathetic. Was this any better? Taking a deep breath full of courage, she leaned forward and said, “Tell me.”

“What?”

“Your life.”

He laughed. “From conception or birth?”

“Birth is fine.

He laughed again, his rich baritone making her shiver inside. “I don’t think we’ll have time for my whole life.”

“Okay, then. Tell me the important things. The things that shaped you.”

His smile slackened as his gaze intensified. “You surprise me.”

“I do?”

“Don’t worry. That’s a plus.”

She didn’t want to talk about herself. There wasn’t much to say, after all. At least, nothing he would find interesting. But if she could get him talking, she could forget about herself. She might not be able to put two words together without blushing, but she wasn’t afraid to ask questions. “Please?”

He leaned back in the wooden chair, clearly debating whether he would oblige. If he didn’t, well, then, she’d deal with it, but she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Most people loved to talk about themselves. She’d used the deflection technique for years, and it never failed her. Once her companions started talking, she could relax. Not only did she feel more comfortable, but she learned a lot, too. It amazed her how people would go on if they weren’t interrupted.




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