her, all right. He’d take care of the education of Amelia, and he’d love every second of it. Damn, it was good to be a humanitarian.
He laughed as he rubbed his hands together, and he thanked the inventor of the computer and the wonderful folks who brought TrueConfessions.com to life.
He turned to his monitor, sitting proudly on top of two motorcycle manuals. Good Girl’s latest entry still shimmered on the screen.
What if I dropped something? And he picked it up? And our fingers touched. Sparks, electricity. Magic. Our eyes would meet and he’d smile, but not his regular smile. This one would hold surprise, would ask a question. I’d smile back in answer. Yes. My interest is real. Then he’d ask me my name. Sit at the edge of the table. See me. Not the blush, not the fear, but me. The part of me that is desire. That is passion. He’d touch my cheek and the caress would last, and it would stoke the flames inside us both. He’d lean over. Kiss me gently on the lips.
He’d been damn close. Any more on the nose, and she’d have put two and two together. Which wasn’t going to happen if he could help it. This was the best thing to come his way in months. Hell, maybe years. It was an adventure, and he felt his blood stir with the challenge. He felt alive for the first time in a long while.
The Amelia project would move to the next phase, as soon as he figured out what that was going to be. He needed her a bit off balance. So he’d wait. Even though he didn’t want to. He’d wait.
In the meantime, he had all her fantasies to memorize. One in particular had kept him awake last night. An early entry, almost a year old. Only, he didn’t believe she’d been coming to the café for a year. She must have used another computer. It didn’t matter, except that the fantasy was about a biker. A man in black leather. A Harley. Was it a coincidence? Or had he simply not seen her back then? He’d asked Brian if he remembered, and his friend swore she’d only been coming there for five months.
If the fantasy predated her going to the café, it made things a lot more interesting. He’d stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago. Although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, especially his family, he believed there was a master plan.
Assuming it was a plan, how did he fit into it? Had she conjured him up? Or did she want him because he reminded her of her fantasy?
He wasn’t going to figure it out tonight. He might never know, and that was no big deal. What did matter was that she wanted him, and he wanted her, and she’d never been on a bike in her life, and he was going to take her places she’d never dreamed about.
3
“YOU SURE you don’t want to come to the party?” Kathy couldn’t quite mask the pity in her gaze.
“No, but thanks.” Amelia smiled, pretending the look was something else. “You know I don’t mingle well.”
“But you could learn. I think if you’d just let yourself, you’d do fine. Amelia, this is supposed to be the best time of your life. And you’re spending it doing other people’s dishes.”
Stung, Amelia doggedly held on to her smile. “I’m not like you, that’s all. It doesn’t mean I’m miserable.”
“Yeah, but aren’t you lonely?”
She couldn’t keep up the pretense any longer. Her smile faded along with her self-confidence. “Yes. I am. But it’s not fatal.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
Amelia walked over to the door of the bedroom she and Kathy shared. Her side of the room was immaculate. Kathy’s was Martha Stewart’s worst nightmare. “Hurry up. You’re going to be late. And you’ve only tried on three-quarters of your wardrobe.”
Kathy’s gaze went to her own reflection in the mirror. She was gorgeous. Actually, all three of Amelia’s roommates were beautiful. Kathy had pale blue eyes that flashed with humor. Her dark hair flowed to her shoulders, and she always knew how to make it look sensational. All that combined with her size-six figure—no wonder she had more men than she could handle.
As Amelia turned toward the living room, she heard the clunk of shoes hitting the floor. Kathy putting on wardrobe-change number five hundred.
The music grew louder as she walked past Donna and Tabby’s room. Tabby, tall, stunning, with gently curved brown hair, was bent double, her hands flat on the ground, her knees locked. Not that her position was anything unusual. Tabby was the most limber creature Amelia had ever seen. They’d be chatting or watching TV, and Tabby would lift her leg straight up in the air and hold it there. It was amazing. All her men friends seemed to think so, at least.
Looking past Tabby, Amelia caught sight of Donna’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. She had the mascara wand to her lashes and was patiently painting layers of dark black goo. It took her hours to do her makeup, which confused the hell out of Amelia. Granted, she wasn’t one to wear makeup, but she knew the basic principals. There wasn’t that much to do, considering Donna didn’t have many flaws to begin with. She was the only blonde in the group. Petite with a ridiculously small waist, she was bright and funny and she had the best laugh. But on most days she was miserable, sure her world was coming to an end. Then she’d hook up with a guy, and poof—no more depression. Until the bitter end of the affair, complete with crying, moaning and vows of celibacy.
Living with the three of them made a great deal of sense financially. But Amelia would have preferred to live alone. All she saw when she looked at them was what she wasn’t. Not pretty, not funny, not charming, not brave.
Not at all the kind of woman Jay would want.
The thought made her wince. She’d been battling this for two days now, trying to convince herself that what he’d said at the café was true. Only, it wasn’t easy to believe. He was so gorgeous, so sexy. Any one of her roommates would look great on his arm. Amelia would just look odd. Everyone would wonder, What’s he doing with her?
Her gaze went to Donna’s bed, and the slinky top that lay over the pale pink comforter. Maybe if she dressed more provocatively…
Amelia picked up the shirt, then turned to the full-length mirror. It would be snug. Show off her figure, which was okay but nothing to write home about. But, who knows, maybe—
“Whoa, Amelia.” Donna’s laugh cut through the Foo Fighters, right into Amelia’s heart. “Girl, you are not ready for that top.”
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,”
