her best to ignore them—and the heat traveling up her body where Jorge was holding her—Jane led the way to the room where she did her tutoring. Jorge dropped his hand, allowing her to cross the threshold first.
Shutting the door behind her, Jane turned to look at him.
Charade over, she thought. Time to dig up that backbone of yours, Janie.
“Why did you come here?” she asked him.
He nodded toward the coat she was still holding. “I thought you might need your coat.” He also wanted to know what had caused her to run off the other night, but for the moment, that could wait.
Jane had to admit that she was grateful to be reunited with her coat, but that still didn’t explain the other thing he’d brought with him. “And you decided to pack it in a picnic basket?”
He set the basket down on the desk. “No, I packed some of my father’s famous enchiladas and nachos in the basket, along with—” He rattled off several Mexican delicacies that he’d brought, ending with chocolate chip sweet bread.
The latter had always been her weakness and guilty pleasure. Had he known that?
No, of course not. How could he? Not even the people she worked with knew that about her. For the most part, she was a very private person. It had been a lucky guess on his part, nothing more.
“Why would you do that?” she wanted to know. She wasn’t ordinarily suspicious, but after the other night, she’d decided that being cautious was a much wiser path for her to take.
Jorge opened the basket and took out a checkered tablecloth, which he proceeded to spread on the floor right behind her desk and chair. She watched him in surprised silence. Was he actually planning on pretending they were having a picnic?
“Because it might help make you forgive me,” Jorge told her and then added an extremely soulful, “I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry.
Her heart twisted in her chest. What was it about those words that could always make her forgive a myriad of transgressions and make her want everything to be right again? Was she just terminally kind-hearted—or a pushover?
Jane was tempted to say something about overhearing the two teens talking about the bet he’d made, but she hesitated too long and Jorge was talking again. Talking and burrowing his way into a heart that should have, by all rights, been hardened against him.
But wasn’t.
“I don’t know what would have made you run off like that, especially without your coat, but if it had to do with me,” Jorge continued as he placed two plates and two sets of cutlery down on the tablecloth, “I really am sorry.”
His wording made her realize that he had no idea that she’d overheard the two teens talking. And he probably had no remorse for making that kind of bet. This was a matter of ego. He was voicing a blanket apology because he just didn’t like having a woman walk out on him.
She had to keep reminding herself of that, but being so close to him was having a definite effect on her thought process. As well as on her whole body.
What was the point of telling him that she’d overheard? That she knew she was nothing more than a bet to him? Saying it wouldn’t change anything. So she looked away and said, “I had an emergency.”
Two glasses joined the plates, cutlery and napkins. “What kind of an emergency?” he asked mildly.
She hadn’t expected him to probe. Resorting to fabrications wasn’t something that came easily to her, not even to save face. “The kind that made me hurry away,” Jane responded vaguely.
Jorge looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay, you don’t want to talk about it. I can respect that.”
Too bad you can’t respect me, Jane thought. But out loud, she said, “So, you see, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble—”
“Well, since I did ‘go to all this trouble,’” he said, echoing her words with a smile, “we might as well sit down and eat.” Taking off his jacket, he folded it up into a square and then placed it on the floor in front of the place setting. He gestured for her to sit down on it. “Might be more comfortable that way,” he explained.
She looked down at the food Jorge had placed on the tablecloth. It did look awfully good, she thought, especially since all she’d had today was half a Pop-Tart and yesterday, her appetite had deserted her completely and she’d hardly eaten at all.
“Okay,” she agreed, sitting down on the jacket. She felt the material give beneath her. “I guess it wouldn’t do any harm to eat.”
“Nope, no harm at all.” He got down on the floor, crossing his legs lotus-fashion. “You know, I like to think that I’m pretty good at reading people—”
About to start eating, she raised her eyes to his face. “Then maybe you’re in the wrong place. We just read books here.”
For as long as he could remember, women had come on to him. He’d never had a woman back away. But Jane Gilliam was definitely backing away, blocking all his best moves and his efforts at breaching her walls. Why? It wasn’t ego, but curiosity and a certain fascination that spurred him on.
“Did I do something to upset you, Jane?” When she didn’t answer, he took a guess. “Was it the flowers? Was sending them here embarrassing?”
She supposed that was as good an excuse to use as any. “It did put me on the hot seat.”
Jorge laughed. Whenever he sent flowers to a woman, he always made sure there was maximum exposure involved, not because he was sending them but because he knew that women liked other women to see that they were the center of someone’s attention. Jane was definitely different. And that really piqued his interest.
“You don’t like all that attention, do you?” he guessed.
“No,” she answered truthfully. “I don’t.”
“I have to admit, you are nothing like a lot of other women I’ve known.” And right now, he thought, he had to admit that he was drawn to her because of that.
Jane had no doubt that he had known enough women to populate a small city. “I’ve always been a private person,” she told him.
“A little mystery makes things interesting.”
She hadn’t meant it like that. Femme fatales were mysterious, not her. What you saw was what you got, she thought. But before she could say anything, Jorge was leaning forward.
Invading her space.
Making her pulse jump.
“Do you mind?” he asked.
The words left her lips in slow motion. “Mind what?” she asked in a hushed voice as he took her chin in his hand.
“You’ve got a little sauce right there.” Moving his thumb slowly across the corner of her mouth, Jorge wiped the sauce away. “Got it.”
He
