Sensual Secrets. Jo Leigh
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“I want to take you home,” Jay whispered
“Oh.” Amanda shivered, though she wasn’t chilly.
“I want you in my bed.” He cupped her cheeks with his broad hands and kissed her gently on the lips. “Naked.”
“Uh-huh.” Wouldn’t it be something to have him lying next to her? Amanda thought. Kissing her all over? Stroking her thigh, her back? Fulfilling all her sexual fantasies.
“Is that a yes?”
The tip of her tongue glided across his upper lip. She moaned as she deepened the kiss, and he felt her nipples pebbling against his shirt.
“Let’s go get a cab.” Jay’s mind raced. He’d give her a long leisurely bath, soaping her from head to toe, with special attention to the important parts in between.
Amanda was so much more than he’d imagined. He should have guessed that when he read her fantasies online. He was going to make every fantasy come true. Starting now…in his bed.
Dear Reader,
Have you ever wished that some special guy would see the real you, the you inside, the you who doesn’t have bad hair days, wear old-lady underwear or spill red wine on your boss’s white carpet? And because this man sees how incredible you are, he can’t live without you?
I’ve wished for just that, many times. I’ve longed for Mr. Right to pick me out of the crowd, then sweep me off my feet. While it hasn’t happened to me…yet, I know it can happen. I’ve seen it happen.
Writing about Amelia and Jay filled me with hope and promise. They had to get through a lot before they found the brass ring (diamond ring?), but neither of them gave up. I came to care a great deal about these two, and I hope you do, too.
Here’s wishing you love and peace,
Jo Leigh
Sensual Secrets
Jo Leigh
To my friends at Army Street—
thank you for your incredible support. And of course, to Debbi. Without you, this wouldn’t be!!!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
1
SOMETHING SHIFTED IN THE AIR. It wasn’t a scent; the front door to the cyber café hadn’t been opened. In fact, no breeze stirred. But she felt it, all right. Electrical. Sharp. The moment before lightning strikes. Yes.
Amelia Edwards’s gaze moved surreptitiously to her right. David, who was in her poli-sci class at NYU, felt it, too. His shoulders, usually slumped forward in a perpetual hunch, had straightened. He ran a nervous hand through unruly dark hair.
She looked past David to a girl she’d seen several times before. Another student, if her backpack was any indication. Blond. Really pretty. Nibbling on her lower lip, thrusting out her chest, gaze darting to the door.
Everyone felt it. Not just Amelia. There was no law of physics to explain it. It was an X-file, a phenomenon, a mystery wrapped in an enigma. But she knew what it meant.
He was coming.
His name was Jay Wagner, and he owned the Harley shop next door. Slightly older than her—maybe twenty-six or-seven. Tall, with dark wavy hair that was a bit too long, and the most intense brown eyes she’d ever seen. When he walked into the room, everything else faded to shadow. Time slowed….
The wicked thoughts began.
Amelia’s hand went to her hair—the top, the sides—checking for who knows what. A quick swipe of her lips with the tip of her tongue, a tug on her skirt.
Brian, the owner of the café, started a CD. Stevie Ray Vaughn.
Her gaze flew to the door seconds before it opened.
He had on his leather jacket. Black. Black jeans, white T-shirt, black boots. Shades that hid his eyes completely. That made her think of secrets.
She guessed him to be around six-two. Lean, wiry, but strong. His hands fascinated her, with their elegant fingers and flexing tendons.
He let the door close behind him, then headed for the bar. Glasses still on, looking neither right nor left. But that was only the first part of the game. The real action would begin when he got to her table. He didn’t have to pass this way. Her workstation was in the corner, hidden from prying eyes. But he made it a point to cross the room whenever she was there.
Sure enough, when he stood about five feet away, he took off his glasses. Tucked them in his pocket. Then his head turned toward her. She tried not to look at him, but she knew it was a useless struggle. He wouldn’t leave until she met his gaze. Why? Why did he do this to her? He had to see that it embarrassed the dickens out of her. She felt herself turn three shades of scarlet. Did he enjoy the power? The way she squirmed?
And why, oh why, did she keep coming back here, day after day? And please, would someone explain why her heart sank if he didn’t show up?
Another brief stab at resistance, then she gave it up. She focused on his chest first. His jacket. Then her gaze climbed slowly to his neck, the squared jaw.
She exhaled a breath she hadn’t remembered holding. Then she stopped breathing altogether when her gaze moved those last few inches.
He locked on to her the moment she was in range. Like a heat-seeking missile, he wouldn’t let her go now until he’d had his fun. His right brow arched with wry amusement, as if she were quaint, as if she were a child. His lips curved into the tiniest of smiles. But it was the challenge in his eyes that made her insides turn to mush.
They’d never spoken. She never had the nerve. But for weeks now, he’d played this game with her. Daring her. Inviting her.
A part of her wanted to meet the challenge. To walk up to him and kiss him, right here in the middle of the café with the music blaring and the rich scent of strong coffee in the air. Boy, that would wipe that smug smile away. It would be so great.
Unfortunately, she was a chicken. A big, fat, yellow chicken. Her cheeks burned hotter, and she forced her gaze back to her monitor. He’d won. Again. She sighed when he chuckled. Just like he had yesterday, and the day before.
She focused on the screen. The words she’d written moments ago seemed unfamiliar and disconnected. A paper due in four days. She saved the file to disk, then, with shaky fingers, typed the Web address for TrueConfessions.com. The familiar page filled the monitor screen as she logged in, using her screen name. Good Girl.
She winced at her propensity to tell