Sensual Secrets

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?”