was very late by the time Jason left. Alana said her good-nights to the DeWinters and headed for her bedroom, unable to get Jason out of her mind. Also unable to eradicate the terrible disappointment that he hadn’t asked to see her again. She’d given him as much encouragement as she could without being too obvious, and a bubble of excitement had sustained her throughout the evening. Now her bubble had burst, leaving her crushed.
Could she have mistaken the very male intent in his eyes? She didn’t think so. She wasn’t that naive. She’d dated steadily in high school and college, and had already gently turned down three marriage proposals, one of which had caused her a pang because she’d known the man had genuinely cared about her, unlike the other two who’d proposed only because her family’s money and prestige made her a “suitable” bride for someone in their social stratum.
But she’d never found a man whose kiss, whose touch, made her want more. Had never even come close. She’d been so concerned she’d even mentioned it to Juliana. Her cousin had reassuringly dismissed those fears, saying, “Don’t sweat it, honey. It’ll happen, I’m sure. Some women are just a one-man woman. I was. All the men I dated in Hollywood? Zip. Zilch. Zero. But with Andre...” Juliana had laughed softly, suggestively, adding, “When you meet him, you’ll know. Trust me.”
Jason hadn’t kissed her. But he’d touched her a week ago. And just like that, she’d wanted him. As if her body had recognized he was the one she’d been saving herself for...even though she hadn’t consciously been doing it for anyone.
But apparently Jason didn’t feel the same way, despite what she’d thought were their nonverbal exchanges this evening. Had it all been in her mind? Had she imagined the emotional and physical bond that had seemed to spring to life between them?
Alana brushed her teeth, donned her pj’s and slipped into bed, still wondering. Then buried her face against her pillow. “Right, Jules,” she muttered, using her pet name for her absent cousin. “When I meet him I’ll know. Terrific advice. But what if he doesn’t feel the same way? What then?”
Her smartphone chirped in the stillness.
She scrambled out of bed and rushed to answer it. “Hello?”
“Alana?” She caught her breath, because only one man said her name that way. Only one man’s voice made her go weak in the knees. She didn’t even need him to say “It’s Jason Moore” to know who was calling her.
She clutched the phone tightly against her ear. “Hi, Jason.” Then couldn’t think of another single, solitary thing to say except, “How did you get my cell phone number?”
He laughed softly, and her nipples tightened until they ached. “I’d better not tell you. I don’t want you to think I’m stalking you.”
She let her breath out in a whoosh, and only then realized she’d been holding it. Jason called you, she exulted as she padded back to her bed and slipped beneath the covers. It wasn’t your imagination after all.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No. I wasn’t asleep. I was hoping you’d call.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but true enough.
“I debated with myself for the longest time,” he admitted. “My better self said I shouldn’t. But here I am, calling you.”
“I’m glad,” she whispered. Then she focused on what he’d said. “Why would your better self say you shouldn’t? Couldn’t you tell that I...” She cleared her throat. “What I mean is, I’m a nice person. At least I think I am—most people like me.”
His voice deepened. “It’s not you, it’s me.” Then he laughed suddenly. “And isn’t that the stereotypical response when you’re trying to brush someone off? ‘It’s not you, it’s me’?” The humor fled his tone. “But in this case, it’s true. I can think of a hundred reasons why you should avoid me like the plague, and only one reason why you shouldn’t.”
“And that is...?”
He breathed deeply in her ear. “Because a connection exists between us, whether we want it to or not. Physical and emotional.”
She didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”
“You admit it.”
“Yes.”
“Then would you spend the day with me tomorrow? It’s Saturday. Are you free?”
“Yes, I am, and yes, I will. I’d love to.”
There was silence at the other end until he said, “You don’t play games, Alana.” The approving note in his voice wasn’t lost on her.
“No, I don’t play games. But I also don’t...” She couldn’t quite bring herself to finish that statement, but he finished it for her.
“You don’t sleep with a man on the first date.”
Warmth inundated her cheeks, and she couldn’t tell him that not only did she not sleep with a man on the first date, she also hadn’t slept with any man. Ever. But she hadn’t been tempted before. She hadn’t known Jason before. If she had, she wasn’t sure she’d still be a virgin at the ripe old age of twenty-six.
Once upon a time that wouldn’t have been an issue. But nowadays it made her an anachronism. And everyone assumed—men and women alike—that she had more experience than she actually did. Men in particular thought a woman who was still a virgin at this age either had to have strong religious beliefs about chastity or wasn’t into men at all. Neither of which was the case for her. She just hadn’t met a man who made her want to sleep with him. Until now.
“You don’t have to worry, Alana. Do I want to sleep with you? Absolutely. But would I pressure you when you’re not ready? Never.”
“I know you wouldn’t. It’s not you, it’s me.” As soon as the words left her mouth she laughed, embarrassment combining with dismay. “Oh, no, did I really say that? What I meant was—”
“Part of you wants to...but you’re not sure.” His deep voice curled through her. “Don’t worry. When you’re ready, and not a moment sooner. You’ll be as safe with me as you want to be.”
Which only raised the question in Alana’s mind...how safe did she want to be?
Just over two weeks later Alana and Jason stood on the sidewalk in the Ladies’ Market in the Mong Kok district, browsing the gaily colored scarves on display at a stall. “It looks like silk to me,” she said, stroking one that had swirls of amethyst fading into lavender blue, colors she loved. “But how can I really know?”
“Easy.” Jason took the scarf from Alana and rubbed it between his fingers. “Real silk will feel warm when you rub it.” He made a sound of dismissal. “This isn’t real silk.”
“It’s beautiful, though,” Alana said wistfully.
“Yes, but the price he’s asking is unreasonable. You need to bargain.” When Alana hesitated, because that wasn’t something she felt comfortable doing, Jason turned to the smiling
