Sensual Secrets

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.

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