Kitabı oku: «Plain Jane and the Playboy / Valentine's Fortune: Plain Jane and the Playboy»

PLAIN JANE AND THE PLAYBOY

“I’d like to kiss you at midnight. if that’s all right with you.”

He was actually asking if it was all right to kiss her on New Year’s Eve?

Someone in the crowd began the traditional countdown…

“Ten, nine, eight –”

“And you are?” Jorge asked.

“Seven, six, five – ”

“Jane Gilliam.”

“Four, three – ”

Was it his imagination, or was there a new spark in her eyes? She was definitely arousing him.

“Two – ”

He drew her into his arms.

“You’re not really going to kiss me, are you?” Dream or not, it was still hard to believe. And yet she so wanted to believe.

“One!”

His lips covered hers as cries of “Happy New Year!” echoed through the crowded room.

Jane didn’t hear a single sound other than the pounding of her heart.

VALENTINE’S FORTUNE

“You always seem to be rescuing me.”

His arm around her seemed to tighten fractionally. “I can think of worse things.”

Her heart was climbing towards her throat. Her gloved hands slid over his, but she didn’t know if that was to push his away or to keep him from pulling away. “Darr – ”

His head lowered. His jaw grazed her temple. “Just answer a question for me.”

She turned her head, looking up at him, and felt everything inside her grind to a breathless halt. “What?”

“The night of the fire, you said there was no one for us to call for you. No husband. No boyfriend. Was that the truth?”

“Yes.” That, at least, was the bald, naked truth.

“Good,” he muttered and pressed his mouth to hers.

Plain Jane and the Playboy

by

Marie Ferrarella
Valentine’s Fortune

by

Allison Leigh

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Acknowledgements

Special thanks and acknowledgement are given to Allison Leigh for her contributions to the FORTUNES OF TEXAS: RETURN TO RED ROCK mini-series.

Plain Jane and the Playboy

By

Marie Ferrarella

Marie Ferrarella has written over one hundred and fifty novels, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www. marieferrarella.com.

To Margaret Watson, for reams of e-mail and priceless support. Thank you.

Chapter One

Red, the extremely popular restaurant located in Red Rock, Texas, and the realization of a dream by José and Maria Mendoza, had closed its doors to the public this holiday evening.

But it was far from empty. The premises had been rented out to Emmett Jamison who, along with his wife, Linda, both former FBI agents, oversaw the Fortune Foundation, a philanthropic organization now in its fourth year. The guests at the New Year’s Eve party included key personnel at the foundation, as well as every single member of the Fortune family who could walk or crawl within a fifty-mile radius.

Included, too, were a large number of friends, not the least of whom were more than several members of the Mendoza family. There were so many people packed inside the converted former hacienda—said to have once belonged to distant relatives of Santa Ana—that guests were spilling out onto the inner courtyard, despite the cold temperature. The press of bodies generated its own heat.

Good cheer abounded, mixing with the occasional strains of festive music, some of it coming from the old-fashioned jukebox, some of it from the five-piece band that Maria had hired at her son, Jorge’s behest. Christmas carols meshed with both Mexican and country music. It was a veritable potpourri of everything that Texas stood for.

Almost everyone seemed to be having a good time, if noise could be considered a barometer of fun. The only true difficulty was in maneuvering through the throng, and in locating people the crowd had swallowed up.

So when Jack Fortune all but walked into his brother-in-law as Jorge finished placing a fruity, mixed drink on a comely young woman’s table, he took advantage of the situation.

Hooking his arm around his brother-in-law’s neck, Jack said playfully, “Hey, there’s a vicious rumor making the rounds that Jorge Mendoza is actually here without a date.” Hearing Jack’s voice, Jorge relaxed, lowering the tray he was about to use as a weapon. “I’ve been defending your reputation,” Jack continued, releasing his hold on Jorge, “saying that it just wasn’t possible, this being New Year’s Eve and all.”

“I’m afraid that you’ve been wasting your breath, Jack,” Jorge said, turning around to face the man who made his sister Gloria’s world spin on its axis. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gloria making her way toward them. “The rumor’s true. I didn’t bring anyone to the party.”

There was a very good reason for that, but Jorge kept it to himself. The current lady in his life, Edie, was hinting broadly about their relationship. She wanted an honest-to-gosh commitment from him, even though they’d only been seeing each other for about a month. And while it had been a very enjoyable month, with several memorable moments, none of it was earthshaking enough to prompt him to make the relationship permanent.

He felt sure that neglecting to invite her to share New Year’s Eve would send her a message about his intentions. So he’d opted to go it alone tonight, thereby dodging a very real bullet with his name on it.

“Is it terminal?” Jack asked.

Confused, wondering if he’d misheard, Jorge leaned forward. “Is what terminal?”

“Your illness,” Jack answered. “You’re sick, right? That’s got to be the reason you didn’t bring anyone. I’ve never known you to be without female companionship for more than, what? Fifteen minutes at a time?” Jorge went through women the way his father, José, went through clean undershirts in a hot kitchen. “Legend has it you tried to pick up a candy striper in the nursery the day you were born.”

Jorge laughed, shaking his dark head, his deep brown eyes crinkling. “I’m not sick, Jack. I thought I’d just help Mom and Dad out tonight. You know, wait on tables, tend bar, mix drinks—”

“Flirt with every woman under the age of a hundred,” Gloria interjected, completing her older brother’s sentence as she came up to join him and her husband. She hooked her arm through Jack’s, but her attention was clearly on Jorge.

“Right.” Jorge saw no reason to deny that charge. He believed in enjoying himself whenever he could. And flirting was his inalienable right. Flashing his thousand-watt smile, he repeated, “But I’m only here to help out. Besides,” he confided, “if I brought someone with me to this little fiesta, Mom would immediately think it was serious. You know what she’s like.” In her time Maria Mendoza had been on each of his now-married sisters’ cases. “She’d be writing out wedding invitations right after the stroke of midnight.” He considered that, then amended, “Maybe even before.”

“Mom just wants you to be happy, big brother,” Christina chimed in, coming in at the tail end of the conversation, her fingers firmly laced through her husband Derek’s. It took a little maneuvering to join the threesome.

Jorge gave Christina a lecherous wink. “Mom and I have a very different definition of happiness.”

“I’ll say,” Sierra agreed sarcastically, as she and her husband, Alex, came up to join the other two couples and Jorge in the impromptu family meeting. “Mom wants to see you married with a family and you just want to go from woman to woman, gathering honey like a drunken bee going from flower to flower.”

Jorge rolled his eyes. “A happy drunken bee,” he emphasized.

Gloria rolled her eyes. There was no changing a leopard’s spots and it seemed that there was no changing Jorge. He was going to be a playboy until the day he died.

“You’re hopeless,” she told him with a sigh.

Again, he saw no reason to deny the truth. He was what he was—a man who loved women. And from where he stood, there were so many women out there to love.

“Exactly,” Jorge responded, the same killer, boyish grin that had made many women weak in the knees gracing his lips. He leaned into Gloria, as if to impart something confidential. “I’d give up trying to change me if I were you. Now go dance with your husband, Glory,” he urged, then turned to his two other sisters. “You, too, Sierra, Christina. Don’t harass the help. I have drinks to make and pretty women to wait on,” Jorge told them just before he turned away and faded into the crowd as he headed back to the bar.

Gloria shook her head. A sigh escaped her lips. “There goes one unhappy man.”

Jack took Gloria by the hand, deciding that his brother-in-law had a good idea. He pressed his hand against the small of her back and slowly began to sway in time to the music. “Oh, I don’t know. He didn’t seem all that unhappy to me.”

Men could be so dense, Gloria thought, seeing only what was on the surface and nothing more. “Ever hear of the expression, laughing on the outside, crying on the inside?”

This was not an argument he was about to win, Jack thought, and he was far too shrewd a businessman to continue fighting a doomed battle. Especially not on New Year’s Eve.

“You’re absolutely right,” he told Gloria solemnly. “Jorge’s a very unhappy man.”

Gloria knew sarcasm even when it was disguised as surrender, but she didn’t want to fight. She did, however, want some kind of solution. She wanted Jorge to be as happy as she was. She’d found marriage far preferable to the single life—as long as it was to the right person.

“Can you come up with someone for him?” Gloria asked suddenly as he swung her around in the little bit of space he’d staked out for them.

“Then I’d be the unhappy man,” Jack pointed out. Gloria looked at him, puzzled. “You know Jorge doesn’t like us interfering in his life.”

None of them liked people butting into their lives, but sometimes, it was just necessary. For their own good. “I just don’t like seeing him so alone, Jack.”

Jack glanced over his shoulder. Jorge was behind the bar again, mixing drinks and talking to a well-endowed young blonde who seemed to be hanging on his every word. And having a great deal of difficulty remaining in her dress.

“Trust me, Glory. Jorge is never alone for more than four minutes at a time. Five, tops.”

Gloria looked at her brother. She had an entirely different take on the scene. The woman was a bimbo. Happily-ever-after didn’t happen with bimbos.

“Men,” Gloria huffed.

Jack smiled broadly in response. “Glad you noticed that.” His eyes gleamed as he looked at his wife. She was every bit as gorgeous, as sexy, as the day he’d fallen in love with her. “What do you say, right after midnight, we—” Jack leaned in and whispered the rest of his thought into her ear.

Gloria’s eyes widened and then her lips curved in deep appreciation. Thoughts and concerns about Jorge and his lifestyle were temporarily placed on the back burner. The far back burner.

“You’re on,” she told her husband.

Pleased by her response, Jack continued dancing with his wife.

Maria Mendoza paused and momentarily stopped worrying if there was enough food to keep this crowd well fed, and just took in the happy revelers. Moving back, she found herself, quite by accident, bumping into Patrick Fortune, the retired president of Fortune-Rockwell and father of five of the people here. More importantly, a good friend for several decades.

“Your son is making my daughter very happy,” she said to Patrick the moment he was within earshot. Patrick had been the one she’d turned to several years ago, enlisting his help to find a suitable husband for Gloria, her once very troubled daughter.

Maternal pleasure now radiated from every pore as Maria spoke to the tall, distinguished, redheaded man at her side.

Patrick silently lifted his glass of white wine in the general direction of his son and daughter-in-law. He was as pleased by the union as Maria was. It was nice to see Jack happy for a change.

“That did turn out rather well, didn’t it?” he said proudly.

“And it was all your doing,” Maria reminded him, more than willing to give credit where it was due.

Ever modest, Patrick didn’t quite see it that way. “All I did was call him home to help Gloria get her new jewelry business on its feet. Chemistry did the rest.”

“Chemistry,” Maria allowed with a slight nod of her head. “And a lot of lit candles and prayers to the Blessed Virgin,” she added with more enthusiasm. And then she sighed, thinking of her two sons. “But no amount of prayers seem to be working when it comes to Jorge—or Roberto for that matter.” Both represented two rather sore spots in her very large heart. “Roberto didn’t even think enough of the family to come home for the holidays.” He lived in Denver now, so very far away. She’d called her firstborn twice, only to get an annoying answering machine both times.

And no return call.

Patrick knew how hurtful that could be. “The boy’s busy, Maria,” he told her gently.

“Boy,” she echoed the term her friend had used. “He’s my eldest. How can Roberto be a boy when he’s forty years old?”

She knew better than that, Patrick thought. “Because, to us, no matter what their age, they will always be our children. Our boys and girls.” Finished with his wine, he set the glass down on an empty table. “Which is why you worry, Maria,” Patrick pointed out. Good humor highlighted his aristocratic features. “Stop worrying,” he advised. “Things will turn out all right in the end. You did a good job raising them. They’re good people. All of them. Once in a while, it takes a little extra time for them to find their way,” he told her. “But they always do in the end.” He smiled encouragingly at her. “You just have to have faith.”

Maria sighed. He really believed that, she thought. “You truly are an amazing man.”

Taking Maria’s hand in his, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry,” he repeated. “And if it makes you feel any better,” he added, “I’ll look around and see if there’s anyone suitable to put in Jorge’s path.”

“Thank you, old friend,” Maria replied with enthusiasm.

“Maria,” a deep male voice called out just then, slicing through the noise. “Ven aca. I need you.” The blend of Spanish and English had an urgency to it. Maria turned to see her husband, José, waving to her, beckoning her toward the kitchen. “We are running out of your special tacquitos.”

“Coming, my love,” she called back. Saying “thank you” one more time to Patrick, the petite woman burrowed her way through the crowd of people to reach her husband.

Patrick Fortune remained where he was, watching the object of his old friend’s concern a moment longer.

The last thing that Jorge Mendoza resembled was a troubled, lonely young man, he thought. Even though he claimed to be working, Jorge, ensconced behind the bar now, appeared to be having the time of his life. He was moving from one young woman to another, seemingly taking orders for drinks and lingering to flirt, most likely mentally compiling yet another list of names and accompanying phone numbers. The young man was a modern-day Casanova, clearly enjoying both his freedom and the hunt.

Eventually though, Patrick was convinced that Maria Mendoza’s wayward son would realize that “freedom” and the hunt were definitely not nearly as important as the love of a good woman—the right good woman. And he was a romantic, Patrick thought. He believed that there was someone for everyone. There certainly had been for him.

“Looks like the family’s out in full force,” Jack commented, coming up beside his father, Emmett Jamison at his side. Gloria was a few feet away, talking to Emmett’s wife, Linda, about a necklace Linda wanted fashioned.

“Most of them,” Patrick corrected. Although his sister Cynthia’s children were here, Cynthia was conspicuously absent, despite the invitation to attend. It looked as if the estrangement between them was going to go on a little longer, he thought. “Look, I wanted to run something by you, Emmett.”

“Business, Dad?” Jack asked. “I thought you were the one who finally said all work and no play—”

“This is about family,” he explained to Jack, then turned back to Emmett. “Nothing worse than having your own son preach at you, especially when he’s throwing your own words back at you,” Patrick told Emmett. “I was hoping you might find positions at the Foundation for several of my brother William’s kids. It might help bring the rest of the clan closer together.”

Emmett nodded, always open to anything the older man had to say. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Patrick patted him on the shoulder. “Can’t ask for anything more than that.”

Patrick Fortune and Jorge’s sisters were not the only ones observing the playboy’s progress from woman to willing woman. Jorge was also an object of awe for Emmett’s adopted son, Ricky, who was nursing a very serious case of envy. Envy that encompassed both the charming Jorge and his best friend, Josh Fredericks. Josh was a suave seventeen and had a steady girlfriend, Lindsey, on his arm, while he, Ricky, was a very unsure-of-himself fourteen.

It seemed as if everyone here had someone but him—and that woman sitting over in the corner by herself, he noted. Jorge seemed to have not just one but a harem of women. Every single one who came up to the bar left with a smitten smile on her face.

How did he do that?

Working up his courage, Ricky finally made his way over to the bar, and Jorge. But when he reached the bar, all he could do was silently observe. Jorge was a master at work.

It took Jorge a few minutes to notice the teenager. Wiping the counter down in front of him, Jorge flashed a grin as he shook his head.

“Sorry, Ricky, afraid all I can offer you is a soda pop or a Virgin Mary.” The boy looked at him a little uncertainly. “That’s a Bloody Mary without the alcohol,” Jorge explained, lowering his voice so as not to embarrass the boy.

Ricky shook his head. “Oh, no, no, I don’t want anything to drink,” he protested, stuttering a little. Tongue-tied, he got no further.

Jorge threw the damp towel behind the bar and leaned forward, creating an aura of privacy despite the crowd. The boy looked like he wanted to talk, but didn’t know how to start. Jorge felt sorry for him. “Then what is it I can do for you?”

Ricky felt more uncertain than ever, more awkward than he had in a very long time. But it was now or never. Clearing his throat nervously, he looked around to make sure that no one in the area was listening.

“I want to know how you do it,” he finally said.

But Jorge couldn’t hear him. “What?”

Ricky repeated himself, this time a little more audibly. “I want to know how you do it.”

Obviously hearing did not bring enlightenment with it. “Do what?”

This was going to be harder than he thought. Ricky licked his lower lip, which had suddenly grown even drier than his upper one had.

“How do you get all these ladies to flirt with you?” he blurted out. “I’ve been watching you work all night and there had to have been at least twenty of them.” Old and young, they all seemed to bloom in Jorge’s presence.

“Twenty-six,” Jorge corrected with a quick conspiratorial wink, then said simply, “They’re thirsty.”

“They’re not coming over to the bar for the drinks,” Ricky protested. He might not be a smooth operator, like Jorge, but he was bright enough to see that ordering a drink was just an excuse, not a reason. “They’re coming to talk to you.” He paused to work up his flagging courage. “How do I do that?” he wanted to know. “How do I get them to come to me?” And then he added more realistically, “Or, at least, get them not to run off when I come to them.”

Jorge laughed gently, taking care not to sound as if he was laughing at the boy. He’d never had that problem himself. Women had always come on to him, even before he discovered the fine art of flirtation. But he could feel sympathy for the boy who seemed so painfully shy. “They don’t run off from you, Ricky.”

Ricky knew the difference between truth and flattery. “Yes, they do. I asked a girl in my class to come with me tonight and she said she couldn’t. She said—” He paused for a second, working his way past the embarrassment. “She said her mother wouldn’t let her stay out that late.”

It was a plausible enough excuse, Jorge thought, although the girls he’d known at Ricky’s age had bent rules, ignored parental limitations and come shinning down trees growing next to their bedroom windows just to see him for a few stolen hours.

“How old are you again, Ricky?”

The boy unconsciously squared his rather thin shoulders before answering. “Fourteen.”

“Fourteen,” Jorge repeated thoughtfully. “Well, she was probably telling the truth, then.” He did his best to appear somber. “When my sisters were each fourteen, my father would have chained them in the stable to keep them from going out with a boy, much less staying out until midnight.”

That didn’t seem like a good enough excuse to assuage his ego. “But it’s New Year’s Eve. Besides, times have changed,” Ricky pointed out.

The boy had a lot to learn, Jorge thought. “Parents haven’t,” he assured the boy. “And, if you want some advice—”

Ricky’s eyes widened and all but gleamed. “Please,” he encouraged enthusiastically.

“First, you have to have confidence in yourself.” He saw the disappointed, skeptical look that entered the boy’s eyes. Expecting the secret of the ages, he was receiving an advice column platitude. “You can do it,” Jorge continued. “No girl is going to want to go out with you if you act like you don’t want to be around yourself. Understand?”

A little of Ricky’s disappointment abated. “I think so.”

Jorge nodded. Since no one was approaching the bar at the moment, he decided to be more generous with his advice. “And this next point is the most important thing you’ll ever learn about dealing with a woman.”

“What?” Ricky asked breathlessly, Ponce DeLeon about to uncover the fountain of youth.

Jorge lowered his voice. “When talking to a girl, always make her feel as if she’s the prettiest girl in the room.”

Ricky swallowed and glanced over at Lizzie Fortune, the girl who made the very air back up in his lungs. Lizzie was a distant Fortune cousin, just in town for the holidays. His heart had melted the moment he laid eyes on her this evening.

He didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with someone who looked like that. And he doubted that Jorge’s magic formula would have any effect on Lizzie.

“What if she already is the prettiest girl in the room?” he wanted to know.

“Then it’s even easier,” Jorge told him. “You can handle any girl. Just have confidence in yourself, Ricky, and the rest will be a piece of cake.”

Ricky was still more than a little uncertain. Just breathing was enough for someone who looked like Jorge. But for someone like him, it wasn’t that simple. “And this always works?”

“Always,” Jorge said confidently.

But he could see that Ricky still had his doubts. The boy definitely needed a demonstration, Jorge decided. “Tell you what,” he proposed. “You pick any girl in this room and I’ll have her eating out of my hand in no time.”

Ricky’s eyes widened far enough to fall out. “Any girl?”

“Any girl,” Jorge agreed. “Just make sure she’s not married. We don’t want to start any fights here in my parents’ restaurant.”

Ricky was perfectly amendable to that. “Okay,” he agreed, bobbing his head up and down. He was already scanning the crowded room for a candidate.

Ricky stopped looking when his line of vision returned to the woman he’d spotted earlier, sitting by herself at a table. There was a frown on her face as she regarded her half-empty glass and she was very obviously alone. It was a table for two and there was no indication that anyone had recently vacated the other chair.

There was even a book on the table in front of her. Was she reading? Whether she was or not, there seemed to be an air of melancholy about her, visible even at this distance.

“Her,” Ricky announced, pointing to the woman. “I pick her.”

Chapter Two

Rising to the challenge, Jorge attempted to focus in the general direction that Ricky indicated.

The woman was clearly the stereotypical wallflower. She was sitting at the corner table all by herself, twirling a lock of long curly brown hair around her finger, the festive lights shimmering off her shiny green dress.

“Hey, man, I don’t want to get arrested just to prove a point,” Jorge protested. When Ricky looked at him quizzically, Jorge added, “She looks like a kid.”

Ricky shook his head. “She’s not. I heard her talking to someone earlier. She works for some kids’ literacy foundation, tutoring them and sometimes holding fund-raisers to buy extra books. I think it’s called Red Rock ReadingWorks,” Ricky volunteered. He looked at Jorge expectantly. “She’s gotta be at least twenty.”

Jorge grinned at the boy’s tone. He was thirty-eight himself, but he doubted Ricky knew that. “Then she’s ancient, huh?”

“Hey, I’m fourteen. Everybody’s ancient to me.” Feeling as if he’d just put one foot in his mouth, Ricky quickly added, “Except you, of course.”

Jorge’s grin widened. “Nice save,” he commented.

Ricky glanced back toward the girl at the table before looking up at his hero again. Jorge hadn’t made a move yet.

“Backing down?” he wanted to know.

Nothing he liked better than a challenge, although, given his experience, the young woman at the table didn’t look as if she’d put up much resistance.

“Not a chance,” Jorge told him. He looked around and then saw one of the restaurant’s employees at the far end of the bar. Perfect. “Hey, Angel,” he called over the din. The man looked in his direction and raised a brow. “Mind taking over for me for a few minutes? I haven’t had a break all night.”

Jorge was the owners’ son and what he wanted, he would have gotten without question even if he wasn’t so affable. Angel nodded and came around to the other side of the bar.

“No problem.”

Untying the half black apron secured around his slim waist, Jorge surrendered it to Angel. He felt invigorated. He was back in hunting mode.

Jane Gilliam had really hoped that coming to the party tonight would help her shake off the dark mood that had all but enshrouded her these last few days. Three days to be exact.

Three days since Eddie Gibbs had unceremoniously, and without prior warning, dumped her.

She probably wouldn’t have even known she was being dumped, at least not for a few more days, if it wasn’t for New Year’s Eve. She’d impulsively asked the man she’d been seeing for the last six months to this New Year’s Eve extravaganza that her close friend, Isabella Mendoza, had invited her to.

Eddie had listened to her impatiently and then he’d turned her down. She hadn’t been prepared for that and when she’d asked him why, Eddie had bluntly told her that he would be spending New Year’s Eve with someone else.

With his new girlfriend.

Jane could feel the sting of tears starting again and she passed her hand over her eyes, wiping them away. Up until that point, she’d thought that she was Eddie’s girlfriend. But somewhere along the line in the last month, a month in which Eddie had been making himself increasingly scarce, he had decided that he “could do better”—his very words, each tipped in heart-piercing titanium—and found himself someone else.

The only trouble with that was that he’d forgotten to tell her.

Jane let out a long, shaky breath. She supposed she should have seen it coming. After all, it wasn’t as if she was a knockout. And cute guys like Eddie Gibbs didn’t stay with mousy girls like her, at least not for long.

Women, Jane silently corrected herself. Women. She was twenty-five years old. At twenty-five, you weren’t a girl anymore; you were a woman.

A very lonely woman, Jane thought glumly, looking into the bottom of her glass. The drink had long since become watered down, the ice cubes melting into what had once been a fruity piña colada. It had turned the liquid into an exceedingly pale shade of yellow.

She needed to get out of here, she told herself. At this point, she didn’t know what she could have been thinking, agreeing to come here with Isabella. Seeing all these couples, whispering into each other’s ear, clearly enjoying themselves, was just making her feel more hopeless.

More alone.

Besides, it was getting pretty close to midnight, when the New Year was ushered in with heartfelt, soulful, passionate kisses. Seeing all these couples wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing in the New Year was much more than she was going to be able to stand.

Up until three days ago, she thought she’d be kissing Eddie at the stroke of midnight. Now, she thought dejectedly, she’d probably be the only one here who had no one to turn to as the glittering silver ball on the wide-screen, flat-panel television reached the bottom of the pole and sent off an array of wild, blinding sparklers to greet the incoming year.

She didn’t need to see that.

Didn’t need to feel like a loser.

Again.

Jane glanced at her watch. Less than ten minutes left before midnight. That didn’t give her much time to make her escape.

As if anyone would notice her leaving, she thought mockingly. She’d come here with Isabella, but there had to be a taxicab out there somewhere, didn’t there? This was a big night for inebriated people. Cab drivers made their money on nights like New Year’s Eve.

“Freshen that up for you?” asked a deep, melodic voice directly above her.

Jane realized that the voice—and the question—belonged to one of the waiters. He was obviously asking about the drink she’d been pretending to nurse for the last two hours. She’d already set the glass aside. The colorful little umbrella was drooping badly, mirroring the way she felt inside.

“No,” she replied politely, “I was just…”

The rest of her thought vanished, as did, just for a moment, her entire thinking process. All because she’d made the mistake of looking up at the owner of the low, rumbling, sexy voice.

The man who had asked the question was, in a word, beautiful. Not just handsome—although he was quite possibly the handsomest man, up close or on the movie screen, that she had ever seen in her life—but actually teeth-jarringly heart-stoppingly beautiful.

He had soulful brown eyes that she could have gotten lost in for at least the next ten years, and straight black hair that was just a little on the long side. Tall, lean, muscular, with jeans that emphasized his slender hips—and every move he made—whoever this man was, he made her think of a young lion.

On the other hand, his smile made her think of nothing at all, because just seeing it effectively turned her very intelligent and active brain to the consistency of last week’s mush.

Struggling to collect herself and retrieve whatever might still be left of her composure, Jane did her best not to sound as if she was currently understudying the part of the head idiot of a very large village.

“Excuse me?”

“Your drink,” Jorge prodded, nodding at the glass next to her elbow on the table. “May I freshen it up for you?” Lifting it to his nose, he took a sniff. “Piña colada, right?” he guessed. And then, when she said nothing at all, he smiled again, completing the transformation of the organ that was in her chest from a functioning heart to a puddle of red liquid. “My parents have me tending the bar,” he explained, “and making sure that lovely ladies like you don’t have to wait too long to have their requests granted.”

Lovely ladies. How could someone so beautiful be so blind? she wondered. She wasn’t lovely, she was plain and she knew it.

The ball on the TV panel on the back wall looked as if it was going to begin its descent at any moment.

Get out of here, her survival streak ordered urgently.

Coming to, Jane shook her head. “No, that’s all right,” she told him as he reached for her glass. “I was just about to leave anyway.”

He looked at her in surprise. “Leave? Before midnight?” He made it sound as if she were doing something revolutionary.

Jane lifted her shoulders in a vague shrug. The left strap of her dress slipped off, sliding down her upper arm.

Jorge, his eyes on hers, reached out and very slowly slid the strap back into place.

Jane felt as if her skin had just caught on fire. She was rather surprised that she didn’t actually spontaneously combust. The puddle in the middle of her chest became a heart again and instantly went into triple time, hammering so hard she was having trouble just catching her breath.

“Doesn’t seem to be much point in staying,” she heard herself saying, although she wasn’t conscious of forming the words.

“And why is that?” he asked gently.

Just the sound of his voice made her feel warm all over. It took her a moment to realize that he’d asked her a question and another moment to focus on the words, making sense out of them.

“People always kiss someone at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve…”

Not sure how to end this sentence without sounding like a loser, Jane just let her voice trail off, hoping he’d silently fill in the rest of it himself. And have the decency to leave.

“And you have no one to kiss?” Jorge asked incredulously. His eyes swept over her. She could almost feel them. “A pretty lady like you?”

Jane could feel heat traveling up her cheeks and down her throat until all of her felt as if it were glowing pink.

“I just broke up with someone,” she finally told him.

Breaking up sounded a great deal better than saying she’d just been dumped, Jane thought. But even so, the lie weighed heavily on her tongue. She didn’t like lies, no matter what the reason, and here she was, hiding behind one so that she didn’t come across like the ultimate loser to a man she didn’t even know.

“His loss.”

The man said it with such sincerity she found herself believing him, even though there was no way he could have meant that. After all, they were strangers to one another. For all he knew, she was a shrew.

Jane picked up her purse, holding it to her chest. “Well, I doubt if he thinks so. He’s already found someone else.”

What made her say that? a little voice in her head demanded. Why was she always so hell-bent on the truth, on making herself seem like she wasn’t worthy of a committed relationship? The kids she worked with at the foundation loved her. Their parents were all grateful to her, praising her for making such a difference in the children’s lives. And she got along rather well with the people she worked with at ReadingWorks, as long as the parameters remained in place—she was a colleague. A professional. Her personal life—such as it was—stayed private.

“Then he’s a fool,” Jorge told her quietly. “And you’re better off without him.”

As he spoke, Jorge studied the woman before him. It was one of his favorite pastimes. Every woman, he’d come to discover at a very early age, had something that was attractive about her. Something special, no matter how small.

This one, he thought, was actually pretty, in a plain sort of way. And by that, he meant that she was pretty without having to resort to artfully applied makeup, like so many of the other women who were here tonight. She was slender, petite—he doubted if she could have been more than about five two—and she had beautiful hair held in place with two ornamental hairclips. They allowed her golden brown curls to cascade down her back like a waterfall.

But what really captivated him was her innocence. There was a certain sweetness to her, a vulnerability that he now detected in her eyes. He sincerely doubted that she was aware of it.

But he was.

Jane stood up. It was almost midnight and she really didn’t want to feel like the odd woman out, not tonight. It would hurt too much.

But as she rose to her feet, the tall, beautiful young man with the sexy, velvet voice didn’t retreat, didn’t even take a step back. He remained exactly where he was, leaving less than a ribbon’s worth of space between them.

So little space that she could actually feel the heat of his body radiating out to hers. Or was that just her body getting ready to burst into flame?

She swallowed. Why was he standing in her way? Was he laughing at her?

But he didn’t seem as if he was laughing. His smile was too gentle, too kind.

Jane took a breath. “I really need to leave,” she told him.

He slowly ran the back of his hand along her bare arm. “Would you stay if there was someone to kiss at the stroke of midnight?”

Goose bumps were forming on her arm at a fantastic rate. Her throat felt suddenly very, very dry.

Idiot, he’s not saying what you think he’s saying. He’s just asking a question. Don’t set yourself up to be a pathetic loser. Again.

But despite her stern, silent warning, Jane heard herself answering, “Yes.” And then, to save face, she tried to make light of the situation. “Are you planning on dragging someone over here to kiss me?”

Eyes the color of warm chocolate on a cold winter morning held hers prisoner.

“No,” he told her quietly.

Okay, now she really did feel like an idiot. Served her right for trying to flirt, or whatever she’d just done that might have passed for flirting. She wasn’t any good at that—never had been.

Doing her best to salvage what was left of her badly damaged ego, Jane forced a smile to her lips. But all she could manage was barely half of one.

“Well, then,” she murmured, attempting to get past him. “I’d better get going.”

“No,” Jorge repeated. “I’m not going to drag anyone over here—I’d like to be the one to kiss you at midnight.” And then he looked at her with just the right touch of shyness. “If that’s all right with you.”

He was actually asking if it was all right to kiss her on New Year’s Eve?

Was this some kind of a joke? Men like—what was his name, anyway? Men like him didn’t ask permission to kiss a woman, they spent half their time fighting off women who were trying to kiss them.

Jane took another deep breath and held it for a moment, wondering whether she was dreaming. What other explanation could there be? How in heaven’s name didn’t he already have a girlfriend in tow on this occasion? She would have been willing to bet, until this man with the magnetic smile had approached her, that she was quite probably the only unattached adult here.

“What’s your name?” Jane finally asked him.

“Jorge,” he replied. “Jorge Mendoza.”

Mendoza.

It was certainly a common enough name. Even so, Jane couldn’t help wondering if Jorge was somehow related to Isabella and if her friend had sent him here on an errand of mercy.

A mercy kissing.

Out of the corner of her eye, she took note of the TV screen. The glittering Times Square ball was definitely beginning to move downward now. Someone in the crowd raised his voice and began the traditional countdown, ticking off the seconds that were still left in this year.

“Ten, nine, eight—”

When the woman made no effort to identify herself, Jorge coaxed her a little. “And you are?”

Several voices joined in, more swelling their numbers with each passing second. “Seven, six, five—”

She wasn’t a bold person by nature, but if this was a dream, then there was no reason to worry about consequences. Nothing to be embarrassed about in the future.

“Jane. Jane Gilliam,” she told him. “Are you related to Isabella?”

“Four, three—”

“Cousin,” he told her. Was it his imagination, or was there a new spark in her eyes? He found his interest being piqued and discovered that she was definitely arousing him. “Distant,” he added for good measure.

“Two—”

Without any further discussion, his eyes on hers, Jorge drew Jane into his arms. He could feel her breathing become audible and found something very sweet about the almost hesitant anticipation he saw in her eyes.

“You’re not really going to kiss me, are you?” Dream or not, it was still hard for her to believe. And yet, she so wanted to believe.

“One!”

His lips covered hers as cries of “Happy New Year!” echoed throughout the crowded room, shouted from the announcer on the TV program as well as by the various people scattered about whose lips were not otherwise occupied.

But Jane didn’t hear a single sound, other than the pounding of her heart.

Chapter Three

She’d died.

There was no other explanation for the way she felt, Jane thought. She must have died and zoomed straight up to heaven. And not even the regular heaven, but some higher plane reserved for the incredibly saintly, incredibly fortunate. Because there was nothing remotely earthly about the feelings she was experiencing right at this moment.

To the casual observer, Jane was certain that it looked as if like nothing more than a traditional New Year’s Eve kiss was being shared by two people at the stroke of midnight.

A lot the casual observer knew.

There were fireworks exploding in her veins, not to mention that her head was spinning wildly, threatening to throw her completely off balance and utterly out of control. Granted, her experience when it came to men and kissing was rather sadly limited, but even she knew that this was something unusual, something really and deliciously different. She’d never been on the verge of a complete meltdown before.

Jorge tasted incredibly sweet and he smelled even better. Everything about him aroused her.

Bold was a word that had nothing to do with her personality, outside of those times when she attempted to secure more funding for her nonprofit organization. But she felt bold now. Bold enough to press her enflamed body against Jorge’s in an attempt to absorb every nuance, every fragment of this incredible experience that had taken her completely by surprise and swept her not just off her feet but off to another dimension.

Another universe.

Like a woman trapped in a mind-boggling, sensuous trance, Jane wove her arms around Jorge’s neck, praying the dream she was having would never end. Praying that the moment she was in would stretch out until eternity. She’d never felt so alive, so wonderful before. And probably never would again.

He was rattled.

Few things ever rattled Jorge Mendoza. He was thirty-eight and eons away from being a boy, even though he still possessed not only a boyish grin, but boyish charm. Even in his teens, he’d been more man than boy, with a man’s take on things. And heaven knew he’d kissed and been with more than twice his share of women.

Life had been good to him that way, he’d often thought, blessing him not just with exceptional looks but, more importantly, with a magnetic charm. Charm that now aided him in his professional endeavors—currently he was gathering financial backing for a trainer who raised the finest quarter horses in Texas—as well as in the seduction of willing women.

But none of that was on his mind right now. Instead, he felt complete and total, unabashed surprise. He hadn’t thought that he could ever feel like this. Like there were rockets going off in his veins.

That kind of feeling hadn’t happened to him since the first time he’d slept with a woman.

But this pretty, intelligent but obviously inexperienced young woman had just managed to do what no other woman had in the last twenty-four years. She’d jarred him down to his very foundations and made him feel like a boy on the brink of manhood again.

It was with incredible effort that Jorge managed to finally, albeit reluctantly, draw his lips away from Jane’s.

Taking in a deep, steadying breath, he looked down at the young woman the way one might look at a soul-shaking revelation, attempting to analyze it. Very slowly, surprise gave way to abject pleasure.

“Happy New Year,” he whispered softly against her hair.

“Right.” She was rather stunned that she could actually talk rather than simply gasp. “Happy New Year,” she repeated, each syllable accompanied by the mad beating of her heart. Hands down, this certainly was the best New Year’s Eve moment she’d ever experienced.

His dark eyes danced, smiling directly into her soul. “So,” he asked her, “what are you doing for the rest of the year?”

“Recovering.”

The honest admission had just slipped out before Jane could think to stop it. But being coy was not something she had any practice at, or, truthfully, any desire to become proficient in. There’d always been something off-putting to her about women who felt the need to play games with the men in their lives.

By the same token, though, she’d discovered that since she didn’t play games, it wasn’t very long before she had no one to even contemplate playing games with. The few men who had passed through her life would come on strong and when they didn’t get what they were after, they would just phase her out.

She refused to believe that all men were only after one thing—but so far, she had very little proof to the contrary. None, actually.

Jorge laughed at her response, amused that she was so honest. He was used to women who liked to be mysterious, to exercise their feminine wiles on him. In reality, a great many of them were about as shallow as saucers—not that he required much depth in his partner of the moment. It made things far less complicated that way.

But this one was different.

This one didn’t seem at all versed in the flirtatious give-and-take that went on between the male and female of the species. Rather than being as devious as a cat, she came across more like Bambi, with all of the famous fawn’s innocence.

A trace of guilt began to nibble away at him. Jorge was beginning to regret his bet with Ricky. He hadn’t counted on the fact that there might very well be feelings involved. And there were. He could see it in Jane’s luminous eyes.

He also hadn’t counted on the fact that he would be attracted to his target. Not just physically, but in a way that he couldn’t even quite put into words.

Jorge certainly couldn’t pin this feeling on alcohol consumption because he hadn’t really consumed any. Just one quick toast of white wine with his parents, sisters and their spouses before the Fortune Foundation party had officially gotten under way. But since then, he hadn’t had anything stronger to drink than a ginger ale.

No, Jorge couldn’t blame his reaction to Jane on anything other than the petite woman herself.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, so, for the time being, he decided not to think about it.

“You’re laughing at me,” Jane protested self-consciously, the aura of her out-of-body experience beginning to fade just a little.

The faint pink color he witnessed creeping up her rather seductive high cheekbones was oddly arousing, Jorge mused. With the rest of the evening stretching out before him, he decided he definitely wanted to get to know this woman better and discover what made her so different from the legions of other women he’d known—other than her obvious lack of sophistication and her innocent manner.

“I’m not laughing at you,” Jorge told her gently. “I’m laughing with you.”

Now even she knew that was a line. Or was he just poking fun at her? “You might not have noticed,” she pointed out quietly, “but I’m not laughing.”

Jorge didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slipped his hand behind her head, cupping it.

For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her again and she could have sworn that the wattage at Red went down several notches as the very room grew dark. She struggled to hang on to her consciousness.

“Sure you are,” Jorge told her. “I can see it in your eyes.”

The very remark coaxed a smile to her lips, whether out of nervousness or just because being so near to this dynamic, gorgeous man made her want to smile all over, she really didn’t know. For the moment, she didn’t care, either. What mattered was the proximity. She wanted to remain this close to Jorge for as long as humanly possible without having to resort to handcuffs.

God, she was babbling and her lips weren’t even moving.

Things like this didn’t happen to people like her, she thought again. And while it was happening, she was just going to go with it and enjoy it.

Because she knew it was never, ever going to happen again.

“If you say so,” Jane answered, her voice deliberately low to keep it from cracking.

Did she have any idea how sexy she sounded, Jorge wondered.

He had a feeling that she didn’t, that Jane Gilliam had probably gone through her whole life seriously underestimating herself. It didn’t take a student of women to pick up on that. He could tell by her body language and by the very way she wore her clothes. She dressed nicely, but there was no sign that there had been any extra fussing, any extra care taken. The same applied to her makeup.

He caught himself wondering about her. Really wondering about her as a person, not a conquest.

Leaning his head against Jane’s, he looked into her eyes, then he shifted so that his lips were near her ear. “Who are you, Jane Gilliam?” he asked her quietly.

His breath sent warm shivers up and down her spine, and she was afraid he’d see how very inexperienced she was—he’d probably already guessed that anyway.

Why had he kissed her, she wondered again. A man like this wouldn’t have been alone any night of the year, especially not one that was considered to be the most important. She curbed the urge to ask, sensing that the answer might send her plummeting to the ground.

Jane felt as if she were trapped inside some kind of bubble—and bubbles always burst. There was no getting away from that. But not just yet.

Not just now.

Jane ran the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip. What was he asking her?

“Do you mean what do I do for a living?”

“That’s as good a start as any,” he acknowledged, aware that any one of a number of women he knew would have taken the question and given him some sort of existential, philosophical answer. Jane, apparently, was grounded.

His mother, he realized, would love her.

Jorge quickly glanced around, hoping that Maria Mendoza wasn’t standing somewhere close by, taking all this in. She’d misunderstand immediately, especially since Jane was not like any of the other women he kept company with.

“I work for Red Rock ReadingWorks,” Jane told him, tripping over the alliteration for the first time since she’d joined the organization. If she wasn’t careful, any second she was going to start sounding like a chatty fool. “That’s a nonprofit organization that—”

Jorge held up his hand to stop her before she launched into a lengthy description of Reading-Works and all the services that it offered.

“I’m familiar with ReadingWorks,” he told her.

She clamped her jaw shut to keep it from dropping in surprise. “You are?” The next moment, Jane realized her oversight. “Of course you are. You said that Isabella was your cousin.” And the pretty thirty-year-old dropped by the storefront building where ReadingWorks was housed often enough. Isabella probably had mentioned the place to him once or twice.

Jane felt self-conscious. She always did when attention was focused on her. She made an attempt to deflect it back to him. Besides, she really did want to find out a few things about this man who had set her on fire.

“What do you do?”

He glanced at the glass on the table, the one he’d initially offered to fill. “Well, tonight, I’m a bartender.”

She sincerely doubted that bartending was Jorge’s sole occupation. He looked far too vital, far too intelligent to be satisfied with mixing drinks and wiping down a counter.

“And other nights?” she prompted. “And days?” Jane added quickly when she realized what her initially innocent question had to sound like to him.

Broad shoulders shrugged casually beneath his royal blue shirt. His easygoing grin nonetheless created a knot in the pit of her stomach.

“A little of this, a little of that.” He saw the curiosity in her eyes. She really wanted to know, he thought. Most women just wanted to see the size of his billfold—among other things. “I’m an entrepreneur,” he added.

“That sounds interesting. Tell me about it.”

She actually sounded genuinely interested, he thought. Before he knew it, he began talking about his latest venture.

Oh man, what an operator Jorge was, Ricky Jamison thought, standing over in a corner and watching his idol’s every move. Because he was so far away and there was so much noise, Ricky couldn’t hear what was being said, but he could certainly see what was going on. Within the space of a few minutes—and, from the looks of it, one hell of a kiss—Jorge had brought the bookish woman to a melting point.

Ricky sighed, shaking his head. His friend Josh and Josh’s girlfriend, Lindsey, had their heads together over in the corner, sharing something private. Ricky felt a pang as he wished he had that kind of ability, to make girls fall for him.

When he was older, Ricky thought wistfully, he wanted to be exactly like Jorge Mendoza. The man was a god in his eyes.

Patrick Fortune rang in this New Year’s the very same way he rang in all the others since he’d met his bride: by kissing Lacey.

His arm rested comfortably around his still-beautiful wife’s shoulders as he surveyed the very crowded banquet hall. He recognized almost all the faces here, and that was his own doing—his and Maria Mendoza’s. It wasn’t every New Year’s Eve that he managed to gather together so many members of his family under one roof. Sadly, not all of his five children and their spouses could make it. But on the bright side, his brother William and William’s five children were all here, as well as Cynthia’s children.

Bolder than sunlight, Cynthia had always marched to a different drummer and made her own rules, usually as she went along. Still, he wished she’d taken him up on the invitation and come. He wanted all his siblings here, all his nieces and nephews as well as his own children. Not because he had any special announcement to make, but just because he felt the need for their presence.