All Work And No Play...

‘Yes.’ She stood on weak legs, hearing her voice shaky and realising, somewhere in the back of her boiling brain, that she should really try to control her behaviour before she made herself look like an idiot. But this man …

‘You look different from your photographs,’ she said.

‘I really hope so,’ he said, and the warmth in his eyes and his hand made her swallow, hard.

‘Dude, you found her!’

A man in a white linen suit burst out of nowhere. He clapped the gorgeous man on the shoulder and kissed Jane on both of her cheeks. ‘Hey, Jane, great to see you, babe. I see you know Jay already.’

‘Thom,’ she said, in confusion, and then realised that she was still holding the model’s hand. ‘It’s great to meet you, Jay,’ she said, giving his hand a shake, trying to inject some professionalism into the gesture that was, for her, quite frankly sensual.

His hand enfolded hers, warm and dry, and it was as if she could feel every line of his palm, every print of his fingertips against her. It was more than a handshake. She felt as if she knew him.

She met his eyes again and he was smiling as if he shared a secret with her.

He knew. He knew he made her feel this way.

‘I’m glad to meet you too, Jane,’ he said, and his voice was knowing, too. ‘It looks as if we interrupted your emailing.’ He glanced down at her BlackBerry, where her emails had loaded.

‘Oh, not at all,’ she said, dropping his hand at last and scooping up her BlackBerry to close it down. She couldn’t help glance back up at his face, though, and when she did, he winked at her.

Winked. As if they were already friends, as if he were flirting with her. He stepped behind her and pulled out her seat for her—not that she needed it, she had just stood up—and before she could sink into it, he whispered, ‘You look even better than I thought you would.’

Oh-h-h. She got it, now. He was a charmer, someone who thought that his good looks gave him the right to flatter and flirt with every woman.

‘Thank you,’ she said, and if her attraction to him meant that she couldn’t quite inject her reply with the requisite coolness, he seemed to understand some of it, because he retreated to the other side of the table and sat down next to Thom.

Her body was disappointed. Her body, traitor that it was, wanted Jay to sit next to her and stay close to her. Her mind, however, registered that if she was sitting across from him, she’d be able to look at him for the entire meal, which was quite bad enough.

‘Jay’s very excited to be working on the Franco campaign with you,’ Thom was saying, and if it hadn’t been so weird she would have sworn that Thom dug an elbow into Jay’s side. ‘Aren’t you, Jay?’

‘Very,’ he said, and he caught Jane’s eye again. Jane couldn’t figure it out. It was as if he were trying to communicate some other message to her, something beyond the normal chit-chat of a professional meeting, something even beyond what must be, for him, routine flirting.

But what else would he be trying to say?

‘So how long have you been modelling, Jay?’ she asked brightly.

The look he gave her was wry, almost rueful, which didn’t make sense either, because if he was a charmer who relied on his looks, wouldn’t he be into his modelling career?

‘Not long,’ he answered. ‘Thom’s an old friend and he conned me into it.’

‘It’s not my fault if the camera loves you, dude,’ Thom said.

Jane dropped her gaze briefly to look at Jay’s body, what she could see of it across the table. She could see why the camera loved him. He was all lean, strong lines. His clothes were comfortably loose on his body, but she could tell from the bit of chest exposed in the V of his shirt and his dark-haired forearms that he was slim, but packed with muscle.

Some models, even the male ones, were too skinny, but Jay had a body that looked good in real life, too. They’d chosen him partly because Giovanni Franco wanted somebody masculine, who looked more like a man than some of the boyish models on the catwalks.

‘I’m not so sure I love the camera,’ Jay was saying to Thom. ‘And you only think modelling is a great profession because you haven’t been forced to look brooding under hot lights for hours on end.’

She dragged her eyes away from that V of tanned skin at the base of his neck, and sat back in her seat, trying for a semblance of ease. ‘Don’t you think that’s a fair turnaround for the years that women have been objectified by the media?’ she said.

‘Ha!’ cried Thom. ‘She’s got you there, bud. You’re striking a blow for feminism by being a sex object. Think of that next time you’re posing in your underwear.’

Jay threw back his head and laughed, and she could see the texture of his skin. He was tanned and he hadn’t shaved this morning, so a slight rough stubble shadowed his well-formed jaw and around his beautiful mouth.

She wondered what it would feel like on her neck. Under her lips.

A menu appeared in front of her and she took it without looking at the waitress who offered it. Instead, she looked at Jay’s hands as they accepted the menu. They were as lean and strong as the rest of him.

He smiled at her over the menu and the pulse of desire that ripped through her was so strong that she nearly gasped.

‘Would you like something to drink, some wine?’ she heard a female voice say, and Jane tore her gaze away from Jay to look up at the waitress, ask for the wine menu, take charge of this situation instead of letting her libido do it for her.

And this time, she did gasp, as her body temperature went from overheated to zero.

‘Oh, crap,’ she said.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS Kathleen. Big-breasted, tousle-haired, full-lipped Kathleen.

‘You’re a waitress?’ Jane said.

‘Oh.’ Kathleen stood stock-still, the wine list in her hand. ‘This—is awkward.’

‘Thom,’ Jane said, her voice much calmer than she would have thought possible, ‘would you mind choosing the wine? I’ll be right back.’

‘Sure,’ she heard Thom reply, but she didn’t wait to see what he thought of her behaviour. Instead she walked straight across the restaurant and into the ladies’ room.

It was empty. Jane kicked the marble base of the sink. She didn’t know what to do, so she washed her hands. She wished she could wash out her mouth, too. Or wash the last five minutes away.

‘He left me for a waitress,’ she said to her reflection, and then turned the water back on to wash her hands again.

She heard a soft knock on the door. ‘Jane?’

She went around the sink to the door. It was open a crack, and she could see a hand and half a face. Blue-eyed, jaw rough with brown stubble. Jay.

‘Jane? Are you all right?’

She sighed and opened the door all the way. Fortunately the ladies’ room was in a corridor off the main dining room, so the entire restaurant couldn’t witness her conversation with a male model through the lavatory door.

‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I said “crap”.’

Jay shrugged. ‘I’ve said worse, and so has Thom. I can be quite an inventive swearer, actually. What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing. It’s—everything is fine.’ She smiled.

The expression on his face let her know she wasn’t being convincing. ‘Okay. Listen, Thom’s sorting out the bill and getting us a table at the restaurant next door. Do you like Italian?’

Her cheeks flushed hot. Some professional she was—she was meant to be the host. ‘That’s not necessary, I’ll be—’

‘It’s necessary,’ Jay interrupted her. ‘And don’t say the word “fine” any more. I know you’ve got a better vocabulary than that, even when you’re lying.’

His words surprised a laugh out of her. ‘Okay.’

Jay rested his shoulder against the wall beside him, the same sort of casual, comfortable stance he’d had when she’d first seen him. It brought him a little bit closer to her. She’d expect a model to wear some sort of cologne, especially as he was advertising it, but he smelled of warm cotton.

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong, Jane?’

For a split second, she was tempted.

It would be a relief to tell someone what was going on. She’d kept it in and kept it in and sometimes she felt as if she were going to explode. Jay was looking at her with concern in his blue eyes, a slight furrow between his eyebrows. And he looked so damn familiar, as if she’d known this stranger all her life.

But she didn’t know him.

‘Did you see her shoes?’ she asked instead. ‘The waitress’s?’

He nodded, seemingly not put off by the change in topic at all.

‘Were they cheap, or expensive?’ A model would know these things, she was sure.

‘Cheap,’ he said without hesitation. ‘Needed resoling. If she stands in those all day she’s headed for corns.’

Her laughter this time wasn’t quite so unexpected, and it relaxed her a little bit.

‘Jane,’ he said, leaning closer to her, his voice lower and sincere, ‘I don’t know who that waitress is, but if it helps you to know this, you are about a million times prettier than she is. And you have a better job, and I’m certain you have a better personality.’ His gaze dropped downward, taking her in. ‘And you have much better shoes.’

Jane’s skin heated, because, although he was discussing her shoes, he hadn’t just looked at her feet. He’d looked at her body on the way down. Just a look, but she was pretty much melting.

Wouldn’t it show Gary if I went out with a model? she thought again, and then again brushed the thought aside. She’d already mixed up her personal and her professional life, and it was a very bad idea.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I guess we’d better get back to—’

Jay touched her arm, the bare skin of her wrist, and she stopped, arrested by the feeling of his flesh on hers again.

‘You’re doing wonderfully, by the way,’ he said. ‘I appreciate it.’

That was an odd thing to say, but she supposed it was meant as some sort of encouragement. ‘Thank you. I’m usually a very professional person.’

‘I know.’

His fingers were still wrapped around her wrist. He could probably feel every beat of her heart. As if he were touching, somehow, her life force.

Everything about him felt as if she’d known him for so, so long, maybe in a neglected corner of her mind where she paid attention to dreams and desires.

‘Will you have dinner with me tonight?’ she blurted out.

She could see the mild surprise in his eyes. ‘I would love to. Do you mean just the two of us, or—?’

‘Just the two of us,’ she replied, before she could think through what it was she had just done, or the probability that he would reject her. When she’d first started out in advertising, she’d learned to let her impulses loose, even the crazy ones, even the ones that would never work in a million years. Because sometimes they did work.

But she hadn’t let her impulses loose for some time, now.

‘I mean, don’t worry if you don’t want to, I know you’re busy, and—’

‘I would love to.’

That brought her up short. ‘Oh.’ She swallowed, put some more poise into her voice, and said, ‘Well, that’s wonderful. How about eight o’clock?’

‘Fantastic.’ His smile was both genuine and perfect. He nodded back towards the restaurant. ‘Shall we go and be professional now?’

‘Definitely.’ She stepped through the ladies’ room door and joined him, walking back across the restaurant, wondering with every step what the hell she had just got herself into.

Four and a half hours later, she was still wondering. Except this time she was pacing the living room of her high-ceilinged, brick-walled loft, wringing her hands.

Half of her was remembering Jay at lunch that afternoon. How he’d smiled when he’d said yes to her date, his hand curled intimately around her wrist. And then the rest of the meal, where they’d stuck safely to talk about modelling and the campaign and more general chat, and Jane had felt more like herself.

Except for the moments when she’d watched him eat. Knife and fork, held in his long-fingered hands. It was silly to be aroused by watching somebody cut his food. But she was. His movements were economical, the tendons on the back of his hand flexing, his fingers agile.

Whenever he took a bite of his risotto, she had to consider his mouth. How his bottom lip was fuller than the top. How both lips curved upwards at the corners, in a sexy near-smile. How white and even his teeth were.

At one point he’d licked his bottom lip and she’d almost dropped her water glass because all she could think of was his mouth on her, his tongue in her mouth, how his hair would feel under her hands as she kissed him.

And then he’d looked at her and smiled, with that somehow warm and intimate look, as if he and she shared a secret from the rest of the world.

The man was the most beautiful human being she had ever seen in her entire life and she could not work out what he thought was going on between them. Unless he gave every woman this feeling, unless he had charm down to such an art that he appeared to be sincere in the most unusual way she’d ever encountered.

And what on earth was she going to do with him tonight?

Jane stopped pacing, sat down at her desk and opened her laptop, going straight to the Giovanni Franco cologne campaign files. She clicked on the notes her art director, Amy, had made for her when they were in the process of choosing Jay Richard as the model for the campaign. Maybe they would tell her something more about this man.

She skimmed the notes, picking up phrases as she went. ‘Client wants an easygoing attitude.’ ‘Warm face, which customers can relate to.’ Well, that was correct, and went some way to showing her that she hadn’t lost her mind. ‘Model not perfect, but appealing, likely to conform to image consumers would like for themselves.’ Jane snorted at that one. He looked perfect enough to her.

She called up one of his portfolio photos. He was leaning with one hand on a doorframe, wearing a slim-fitting long-sleeved T-shirt that emphasised the lean lines of his body. He was smiling just enough to dig a crease in his left cheek. He looked as if he was about to start a conversation, or reach out and touch the observer.

He looked nearly exactly as he’d looked when he’d stood outside the ladies’ room, talking with her.

Rationally, she knew it meant he’d been acting. But the familiar pose still made her warm, made her breath come faster.

‘Oh, crap,’ she moaned. ‘Why did I decide it would be a good thing to date a model?’

Her laptop made a ‘whishht’ sound and a little box popped up in the corner of the screen to tell her that Jonny Cole had logged into the chat program they sometimes used.

He’d probably emailed her earlier; he emailed her just about every day. But she’d been so busy this morning and this afternoon after lunch that she hadn’t had time to check any personal stuff, and whatever he’d sent was most likely buried in her inbox. And of course since she’d got home she’d been angsting.

But Jonny would calm her down. She opened her email application and began to scroll through messages, looking for his return address. Most of the stuff she had that wasn’t work-related was spam about stock tips and enlarging her penis. How she was supposed to find the single message that actually meant something …

Her laptop chimed. A glance told her it was Jonny hailing her. She abandoned her inbox and clicked on the chat icon.

Hello gorgeous! How are you?

She could see Jonny’s message appearing as he typed. Jane hadn’t seen Jonny in person for fifteen years, but she could remember well what he used to look like when they were kids and he would come over to her house nearly every day to play. He’d been a skinny boy with a brown bowl cut, knobbly knees, and round glasses. He was a lot more fragile than her four older, boisterous brothers; at times, his shyness had made him seem even more fragile than Jane was herself. Jane was used to being around bigger boys, but Jonny always liked hanging around with her more than with her brothers.

Whenever she pictured him now, at twenty-seven, she thought of him as a skinny man with the same bowl cut and round glasses, sort of like a grown-up Harry Potter. He was a self-described computer geek, but she bet he was cute.

It was typical of him that he called her ‘gorgeous’. Of course, he hadn’t seen her in fifteen years, either.

Before she replied, Jane glanced down at herself. She wore the skirt of her brown suit, and a shell top. Her light daily make-up had probably worn off, and her plain brown hair was pulled back into a clip, as usual.

She looked businesslike. She wasn’t gorgeous. She typed back:

Hey Jonny. I’m fine.

Liar.

The reply came back lightning-fast, so quickly it made her gasp in the empty room.

Jay had said nearly the same thing.

Suddenly Jane was blinking back tears. She’d fought and fought for the past few days to act as if everything was okay, as if she had no worries. She was sick of it. Surrounded all day, every day, by people who wanted her at peak efficiency, who didn’t want to know how she felt, and when she came home, she was all alone. She didn’t even have anywhere comfortable to sit because Gary had taken his couch.

Gary and I broke up.

She typed and sent it before she could think better of it. And then she did think better of it, and wrote the more honest truth:

Gary left me for another woman.

It was a moment before Jonny replied.

I understand. I’m sorry, Jane.

He’s a bastard.

Well, that goes without saying.

And she’s a waitress with bad shoes.

Again, a slight pause before Jonny wrote back.

Why does her job make a difference?

Because I’ve worked so hard to be a success, to be good at my job, and Gary was proud of me. He said he was proud of me. And then he leaves me for somebody who comes home every night smelling of other people’s food?

As soon as she typed it, the answer felt inadequate, but she didn’t think she was going to get much closer to the truth typing into a silly little box, so she sent it.

I was wondering about the shoes, but now I think I get it. You’re saying she doesn’t even have good taste and it feels unfair.

It’s mostly because Gary wears these Italian shoes and I had some comfortable slippers I used to wear around the house and he kept on commenting about them until I had to throw them away. I’ve never found another pair that was so comfortable. How come it’s okay for her to wear crappy shoes and I can’t even keep my slippers?

Her fingers were flying over the keyboard and Jane didn’t feel like crying any more. Instead, she felt lighter. It was a huge relief to say what she was thinking to somebody who wouldn’t judge her and who tried to understand, even if it was via a computer and a network, even if it was to someone whom she never saw in person. She hit ‘send’ and started typing again immediately, without even taking a breath.

So now I’ve got this date tonight with this gorgeous model person and I don’t know what to do.

It’s a date?

Jonny’s reply came back fast as thought.

Yes. And I don’t know what to do.

Excuse me for a moment, while I run around the room whooping in joy.

Jane laughed out loud. She loved Jonny’s sense of humour, and it was typical of him that he was so happy for her that she had a date.

Okay, I’m back. I think I scared the neighbours. So what do you mean, you don’t know what to do?

Jane sighed.

I haven’t dated for ages. I’m not sure how you behave. Even with Gary, we didn’t really date … we were working together and we just sort of got together. I’m not sure I know what to do with a man.

I’m sure you know perfectly well.

She glanced down at herself again. Plain Jane, career woman with no social life. She couldn’t even keep a man faithful to her when she was engaged to him.

She understood men, she thought. She’d grown up with four brothers, after all. Most of her colleagues at work were male. She’d always thought that men were refreshing, because they usually said what they meant, and the motivations for their actions were usually pretty clear.

But when it came to relationships, she obviously didn’t have a clue. Because she’d thought that everything with Gary was fine, right up until the minute he’d introduced her to his new girlfriend. She wrote:

I don’t know what men like in a woman. I’m not sure what they think is sexy, or what they’d like a woman to do on a date.

She pressed ‘send’, and then, in one of her impulses, her second today, she typed:

Tell me what to do, Jonny. Tell me what you would like.

Jonny stared at the screen and swallowed.

Had he stepped into some strange virtual world, or was this one of his fantasies coming true?

Jane Miller was wonderful, beautiful, intriguing. It had been fifteen years and she was all grown up, and he’d recognised her the minute he’d walked into the restaurant. Even though her hair was pulled back neatly into a clip, the strands that escaped were still as thick and soft and wavy as he remembered. Her eyes were big and grey, her lips were a perfect bow, and her skin was as delicate as the petal of an orchid.

He hadn’t just recognised her with his eyes and his mind; he’d recognised her with his heart, as the girl he’d followed around and adored for years when he was a kid. She’d been a crush, yeah, the untouchable girl he’d dreamed unformed pre-adolescent dreams about, but she’d also been his friend. She was still his friend.

And he’d recognised her with his body, too. Because Jane had grown from a tomboy into a very attractive woman.

He’d barely been able to keep his hands off her. His first instinct when he’d seen her had been to sweep her into his arms and plant an enormous kiss on those doll-like lips. It was attraction, it was affection, and it was also a primitive urge to grab this woman and mark her as his, because he’d always wanted her to be.

But there had been her fiancé to consider, and Thom, and the charade he’d asked her to play.

And now …

This was a real date. Just the two of them. Two grownups, both of them single.

And she was asking him what he would like to happen. He replied carefully.

What do you mean?

I mean everything. What should I wear, for example?

Jonny closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

She’d been wearing a suit at lunch this afternoon, and it had been pretty modest, nondescript in colour, conservative in cut. It was probably designed to minimise her femininity, but Jonny wasn’t fooled by it. He’d looked closely enough to see the slender curve of her waist under her jacket, the wave of her hips under her skirt, the slight bounce of her breasts under her silky top.

And the graceful line of her neck, and the delicacy of her wrists, slim and throbbing with warmth under his palm when he’d touched her.

And her shoes. Her suit had been nondescript, but her shoes had been fine leather, high-heeled, and had made her legs go on for ever. He typed:

You have good shoes. You should wear heels. They’re very sexy.

I should definitely wear good shoes. What else?

A dress. Something that doesn’t hide your body.

High heels and a clingy dress. Got it. Should I wear fancy underwear? Forget it, don’t answer that, of course I should.

Jonny nearly fell off his chair.