was not the time nor the place to daydream, she upbraided herself. They had work to do. The first of the students would be arriving any second.
“Workstations, ladies,” Jane announced abruptly, calling a halt to any other personal questions that might be forthcoming.
She could hear cars pulling up in the parking lot. The first wave of students were being dropped off by their parents. It was time to stop obsessing about a man who was nothing more than a wonderful fantasy and turn her attention to something that actually had substance. Teaching children to read.
“Fine,” Cecilia acknowledged with no small reluctance. “But don’t even think about leaving without telling us everything that happened.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Jane. “If you know what’s good for you.”
Nodding, Jane played along. She did know what was good for her. And it had nothing to do with Jorge Mendoza. But just for now, she could pretend that it actually did.
After all, what could it hurt?
“You, it could hurt you,” Isabella insisted later that evening over the phone. It seemed that rumors were already making the rounds and, concerned, Isabella had called her friend the moment she’d heard. Jane, Isabella was convinced, was far too innocent for the likes of her cousin. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Jorge. Every woman over the age of eighteen months loves Jorge, but that doesn’t mean that he’s the kind of guy you should fall for. That would be a huge mistake, Jane,” she cautioned. “He’ll break your heart. He won’t mean it but he can’t help himself. He’s just one of those guys who can’t stay put.”
“Don’t worry,” Jane tried to sound nonchalant. “I’m aware of his reputation.”
“Good. Keep that in mind.”
Sitting down in the easy chair she’d splurged on when she’d moved into this apartment, Jane kicked off her shoes and then raised her feet. It had been a long day. “What I don’t know is why he wants to go out with me.”
There was silence on the other end of the line, as if Isabella were searching for an explanation. “Because maybe, just maybe, he’s growing up and he realizes that all the other women he’s been with are just bimbos. Trust me, none of them are good enough to walk on the same side of the street as you.”
She laughed softly. Isabella was very sweet. “I don’t think that walking is what Jorge had in mind with them.”
She heard Isabella sigh. “That’s just it. He’s a lover of women.” Because they were cousins, albeit distant, she tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I don’t want you getting charmed by him until he can prove that he’s finally matured.”
Too late, Jane thought. She’d already been charmed. Right down to her toes. And dazzled as well. The only thing she had going for her was that she knew that it was only going to last until the next beautiful woman caught his eye. She was just a filler, a way for him to kill time.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy herself. And she’d decided right after he’d kissed her today that she fully intended to.
Chapter Eight
In a hurry because traffic had made her late getting home, Jane had just slipped one arm into her coat sleeve when her cell phone rang. Taking a second to inhale deeply—she could swear she still detected a hint of Jorge’s cologne on the wool—Jane dug into her purse to retrieve the phone.
Slipping the other sleeve on, she answered the call, interrupting the second chorus of a popular Elvis classic that was her ringtone of choice.
“Hello?”
A deep voice chuckled. “You sound breathless. Did I interrupt something?”
Jorge.
The sound of his voice brought everything to a screeching halt—except for her stomach, which was in the middle of flipping over. It took her a couple of seconds to pull herself together. He was actually calling her. When she’d given Jorge her phone number, she’d never expected him to use it.
“No, you didn’t interrupt anything.” She didn’t sound very convincing, Jane thought, not even to her own ear.
“Good. Listen, I was just in the neighborhood and wondered if you’d mind if I dropped by.”
Her pulse scrambled, even as disappointment washed over her. She would have liked nothing more than to say yes and have him come over, but there were people—children—waiting for her. And children remembered promises that were broken.
She had.
“I would really love to see you,” she said without any attempt at guile. And then regret filled her voice as she took hold of the doorknob and turned it. “But I was just on my way—”
The last word stuck in her throat. There, leaning against her doorjamb, phone pressed to his ear and a spectacular smile gracing his sensual lips, was Jorge.
“Out,” Jane said, finally managing to get the last word out.
Closing his phone, Jorge straightened as he slipped it back into the hip pocket of his jeans. It was close to six o’clock in the evening and he’d been pretty certain he’d find her home.
Just not looking like this.
His eyes swept over her, taking in her outfit and the fact that her hair was confined in two playful pigtails. Amusement played on his lips.
“And just where is it that you’re going?” he asked. “Clog-dancing?”
Her coat was hanging open. Beneath it was a wide, colorful skirt and a black vest laced up the front worn over a gleaming white peasant blouse. She had on knee-high white socks and a pair of Mary Janes.
Was she role-playing, he wondered, his interest definitely aroused. Was there a kinky side to this otherwise shy, bookish woman that he hadn’t even suspected?
Just went to show that no one was as uncomplicated as they seemed.
“No.” She looked down at her feet. “These are shoes, not clogs.” Realizing that her answer didn’t begin to address the question in his eyes and wary of where his imagination might be taking him, she hurried to explain. “I’m reading Heidi to the kids in Red Rock Memorial Hospital.” He was still looking at the outfit she had on. The interest in his eyes intensified. “Dressing up like one of the main characters makes the story more vivid for them.”
His grin went directly under her skin, raising her body temperature. “Tell me when you get around to reading them the story of Lady Godiva.”
To his further amusement and delight, he saw a blush begin to rise up her throat, coloring her cheeks. He didn’t think women blushed anymore. Certainly not the ones he typically dated.
Jane cleared her throat, looking away. “That’s not on the list.”
“Too bad.” His eyes pinned her in place. “Maybe you could give me a private reading sometime.”
C’mon, Jane, the kids are waiting. Get a grip.
