Sensual Secrets. Jo Leigh
didn’t answer, and finally she gave in and looked up at him. His face was a mask of concern. As if he cared. Right.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“Whoa. It must be bad.” He snagged a chair from against the wall and brought it right next to hers. “Tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
He sighed. “Okay. Have it your way.”
“I intend to.”
“But, surely you won’t mind if I talk.”
“Actually I have to—”
“I’ve just got this question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
She didn’t want to know the question. She didn’t want to feel this way just because he was near.
He leaned over and put his hand on her arm. His touch set off electrical charges that shot up and down her body. And it was only three fingers.
“I was wondering,” he said, his voice much softer, huskier, than a moment ago, “if you’ve ever been on a Harley.”
“Pardon me?”
“A Harley-Davidson. It’s a motorcycle—”
“I know what it is.” She turned on him, her confusion overriding her embarrassment. “Why would you ask me that?”
He smiled that cocky grin she loved and hated. “I want to take you for a ride.”
She opened her mouth, but, as was becoming something of a pattern, nothing came out.
“I see you on my bike. Your arms wrapped around my waist. I see you gripping the seat between your legs, feeling the vibrations. You’d like the wind, Amelia.”
He scooted his chair closer, and the hand on her arm gripped her more tightly. She was incapable of turning away. His gaze had her rooted to the spot, his intensity blocking out the rest of the world. “I dreamt it. We’re supposed to do this. We’re supposed to take that ride.”
She swallowed as she tried to calm her thundering heart. Either she was nuts, or he was. Because, oh my God, she’d dreamt the exact same thing.
4
DAMN, HE WAS GOOD. The look on her face was everything he’d hoped. Surprised…no, astonished, confused, vulnerable. Perfect. And oddly touching.
Funny how he felt as if he knew her more intimately than reading her journal should allow. Or maybe it was just the remnants of his youthful romanticism that spurred this sentimental streak. This was about sex, and he didn’t want to forget that. And it wasn’t just for his sake, either. Amelia needed help. She’d said it herself. She needed someone like him to set her free. Hell, he was doing her a favor.
“You saw me in your dream?”
He nodded, holding her gaze steady with his own. “It was the most vivid dream I’ve ever had.”
She nibbled her lower lip. He wanted to offer his services in that regard, but that wasn’t part of the plan. It would take all his determination, but he wasn’t going to deviate, not an inch. Unfortunately, the longer he studied her face, the tighter his pants got.
He leaned forward, curious to see if she’d shy away. When he was near enough to feel her warm breath on his lips, her eyes closed and her lips parted. He paused, his desire to keep going, to taste her, nearly breaking him. But at the last second, he remembered the larger goal. He jerked backward and jumped to his feet.
Of course Amelia’s eyes snapped open, and her gasp made several people turn her way.
“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a small step backward. “I had no right.”
She reached out, touched the sleeve of his jacket for an instant, then pulled back. “It’s okay. Honestly.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s not. I was out of line. You’re not the kind of woman who—” He stopped. Took another half step back.
“Not the kind of woman who’d what?” she asked, her voice sharper, deeper.
“Who’d go off with a guy like me. That would be reckless. Crazy.”
It was as if his words had pricked her ego, and she deflated before him. Her shoulders curved, her hand went to her lap, but what happened to her eyes made him wince. All the fire that had been alive in her green gaze a moment ago vanished, replaced with resignation and a sadness that was palpable.
He touched her hair. “I meant that as a compliment.”
“Of course you did.”
His fingers moved to her chin, and he lifted her face gently. “Amelia, come have lunch with me.”
“What?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“Why?”
The question caught him slightly off guard. Not because he hadn’t rehearsed an answer, but because he wasn’t quite so certain he was playing a role. “There’s something about you.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure what it is. Maybe the way you were in my dream.”
Her soft pink blush made her that much more beautiful. Untouched, sweet. God, she must taste like honey.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice so soft he barely heard her. “It’s not funny.”
He sat down again, then took both her hands in his. The feel of her skin scrambled his thoughts for a moment, but a deep breath pulled him back. “I’m not trying to be funny, Amelia.” He leaned forward a hair, and lowered his voice. “I’ll tell you a secret. I don’t like the coffee here. And I’ve got my own computer. But I come by almost every day. If you’re not here, I move on.”
She blinked, surprised, and he pictured her looking up at him as he made her come. As her mouth opened while she gasped with pleasure, her cheeks flushed, her hair a wild tangle on his pillows.
“I…”
Her little voice broke the spell, and he refocused. “What, Amelia?”
“I don’t understand.”
Something shifted in his chest. Just for a second—nothing major. He wasn’t going all soft or anything. But his resolve strengthened and he knew he wasn’t going to quit until this woman realized how beautiful she could be. “You’re a pearl, Amelia. An undiscovered pearl hiding in your shell.” He stood, held his hand out to her. “Please.”
The poor kid looked scared to death. He wished she could see he wasn’t going to hurt her. That this could be the beginning of something remarkable for both of them.
And maybe she did know that, because she stood and put her hand in his.
SHE FELT HIS STRENGTH through his fingers, his confidence when he led her to the door. He didn’t let go of her—not when she walked outside, not down the block and around the corner. She had no idea where they were going, which should have been alarming, but it wasn’t. Maybe she was in shock. Believing him had been so easy. It wasn’t the words he used—although they were perfect—but the way he looked at her.
At first, she was just captivated by the deep, milk-chocolate brown eyes, the spiky lashes so thick they would have looked false on a woman. But their beauty was overshadowed by the concern she saw there, the earnestness.
He could be a con artist. Or he could be leading her down the garden path so he could humiliate her. Or he could have dreamed her dream, and this really was fate.
He stopped, and it took her a few seconds to realize they were at the Green Lips Café. She’d never eaten here, it was out of her price range—but she’d heard wonderful things about the food.