Victoria's Got a Secret (4 page)

“You really were thinking about me? That wasn’t just a line?”

“It’s true.”

“I can’t explain it.” She fumbled around with a few words before she got the sentence out. “You’ve been on my mind more and more. Then Heather mentioned seeing a friend of yours and I finally gave into the urge and called.”

“I’m happy you did.”

“You sound it.”

The comfortable banter came winging back as if they’d never lost it. “And you still have the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s just a regular voice.”

“Wrong.”

She laughed. “You sure you weren’t doing something more than thinking when I called?”

When her voice dipped low like that, the blood pounded in his groin. “You always were a smart woman.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Something rustled in the background, then her voice came through even clearer. “So, what am I wearing during all of this thinking you’re doing?”

He let his hand move closer to his zipper. “Nothing.”

“Interesting.”

This was his Jennifer. He could share the most intimate details of his body with her without embarrassment. She would know from the way he’d lose his breath what just hearing her was doing to his lower half.

“Actually, that’s not quite right,” he admitted.

“Lingerie? Panties?”

“Me.” He unbuckled his pants.

“Very nice.”

“And hearing you now—”

“Let’s see what happens if I keep talking.”

“We’ve talked on the phone every day.” Jennifer wrapped the telephone cord around her index finger as she talked. Perched on the edge of her bed in her shorts pajamas, all of her concentration centered on the call. On the subtle changes in Paul’s deep voice as he talked.

“Is that bad?”

“No, but I thought I’d mention it.” She hoped he’d get he hint, jump in his car and get to her. The four hours that separated them stretched even wider the longer they limited their contact to the phone.

“Uh-huh.”

She’d heard that noncommittal boy-talk before. Didn’t care for it all that much. “And that means?”

“I don’t claim to know much about women, but since you
mentioned
the frequency of our calls, I’m wondering if you were trying to tell me something.” Amusement filled his voice, hinting that he knew exactly what she was saying.

If he wanted her to beg, he’d have to keep on waiting. “Just throwing it out there.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is that your new favorite phrase?”

“For the record, you can pretty much say anything and I’ll be a fan of it.”

He always did know how to make her smile. “Sweet talker.”

“I’m getting a lot of practice.”

She tightened her hold on the phone as she fell back against her mattress. “Now who’s harping on the frequency of our calls?”

“Still you.”

She stretched her arm over her head and closed her eyes, letting the sound of his voice wash over her. “We could do something about it, you know?”

“What’s ‘it’?”

“I’m rolling my eyes at you.” She actually kept them closed, but he didn’t have to know that.

“That’s a very sexy look on you.”

“You can only imagine.”

He laughed. “I’m just seeing how long it takes you to crack and say what you’re trying not to say.”

Challenge accepted.
“Oh, you underestimate me. I can hold out longer than you can.”

“Apparently, because these calls are killing me.”

She considered that close enough to a win to skip ahead. “We could . . . you know.”

“Actually see each other?”

“A radical idea, I know.”

“Certainly raises some interesting possibilities.”

She imagined him wiggling his eyebrows and doing all sorts of naughty things with his hand. “We’ve been handling that over the phone.”

“Keep talking like that and we will again.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that one. “Before we get sidetracked, what about it, and if you ask me what ‘it’ is I will smack you.”

“Maybe I’ll surprise you by landing on your doorstep.” His voice dropped to a new level of husky.

“I’ll be counting the days until you do.”

Four

Surprises tend to be better for the giver than the receiver.

—Grandma Gladys, The Duchess

J
ENNIFER COULDN’T BELIEVE MORE THAN A MONTH
passed since Paul’s initial call without him showing up on her doorstep. He knew where she lived because she’d told him. They talked all the time since that out-of-nowhere call that had him panting into the phone and her needing to see him again. Wondering what the adult version of that handsome face looked like and who he turned out to be was killing her.

She’d moved into an apartment with Heather and her boyfriend, Ted. All those years of tagging along as the baby sister had become a habit. Jennifer enjoyed spending time with Heather, talking about men and life, and Ted was a good guy. Good to Heather.

But tonight Jennifer sat in the middle of the overstuffed beige sofa with a stack of fashion magazines at her side and a glass of wine in her hand, and she listened to the silence. She wore the slim jeans that showed off her butt and the loose purple tee that looked so good against her pale skin. She dressed with a purpose. For company.

Ted had hustled Heather out of the apartment with a hastily packed overnight bag and a vague promise of the perfect camping destination. Jennifer knew what that meant: Paul finally was on his way.

Ted knew Paul from Sarnia. They’d all grown up in the same area. The inevitable chain of events where Jennifer told Heather about the call, and Ted called Paul, had occurred. Jennifer knew it would, which was why she only gave Heather some of the details about the telephone conversation.

But no one bothered to fill Jennifer in on this evening’s plans. They didn’t have to. Her awareness of Paul had never wavered. In some sense she could feel him and track his movements, knowing there was more for them.

The doorbell rang right as she finished her drink. Her insides raced, begging her to run to the door and drag him inside. The only thing that stopped her was her grandmother’s voice in her head, telling her not to make it too easy.

She threw the door open anyway. Even stopped by the mirror in the entry to make sure her hair wasn’t sticking out in ten different directions first.

Paul smiled the instant he saw her. “Hey.”

He stood there, his tawny hair only a few inches off his shoulders. And what great shoulders they were, broad and falling to a trim waist. The faded blue jeans and white button-down shirt showed off the muscles he’d developed while they were apart. Whatever he had been doing for the last few years included a lot of activity because she couldn’t see an inch of fat on him.

“Paul.”

“You weren’t expecting someone else?”

“Just you.”

“How are you?” She wanted to say so much, but only a lame bit of nonsense came out.

“At the moment?” His gaze did a quick tour of her face. “Pretty damn good.”

Her hand tightened on the side of the door where she leaned against it. “I was hoping you’d finally come here.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She knew without looking she was blushing, and not from embarrassment. No, it came from the excitement ramping up inside of her. From the realization that all those years later, Paul still had the power to make her stomach flip flop and her knees turn to mush.

“Jennifer?”

“Yeah.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Any chance I can come inside?”

She waved her hand in front of her face. “Of course.”

For her, the question had really always been whether she’d ever be able to let him leave if she needed room. Seeing him now brought back a rush of desire and longing. The want mixed with the deep sense of coming home.

She pushed it all out of her mind and tried to concentrate on the now. “It just so happens I’m alone this weekend.”

He shot her one of those sexy you’re-all-mine grins she remembered so well. “Now, isn’t that convenient?”

“I’m sure you didn’t have anything to do with Ted and Heather disappearing for a few days.”

“I’d love to talk about that . . .” Paul leaned in, throwing a quick glance at her death grip on the door. “If you’ll let me come inside.”

What was wrong with her?
She shook her head and stepped back. “Sorry.”

“You’re not alone. I feel it, too.”

“What?”

He slid inside and closed the door behind him. “It’s like I’m ten seconds away from breaking into a million pieces.”

He understood.
“But yet I’m not afraid,” she said.

“Didn’t think you were.”

“I’m not sure what’s happening or why I’m acting like I’ve lost my mind.” She wasn’t sure she liked the vulnerable feeling either, but she didn’t fight it for now.

He crowded in, bringing his head close enough for their noses to touch. “If I don’t kiss you soon, my head will explode.”

Like that, she stopped shifting her weight from foot to foot and the awkwardness fled. “Well, we can’t have that.”

“Thank God.” He closed the few inches separating them.

She threw her arms around his shoulders and plunged her fingers through his hair. The utter rightness of holding him flooded through her. He smelled like the woods after a rain.

The years passed into nothing and all that mattered was the feel of his strong hands on her back and his chest pressing against her breasts. When his mouth covered hers, all resistance melted. Lips slanted and taunted. His tongue dipped inside, and the kiss pulled even deeper.

After a few minutes of hot mouths and wandering hands, he raised his head. “That’s quite a greeting.”

“The Duchess trained me to be a good host.”

“Always liked your grandmother.”

“She told me you were dashing.”

His smile grew impossibly wide. “I get that all the time. All the grandmothers think I’m hot.”

“I’m not responding to that.”

“Good call.”

Jennifer’s fingertips traced the outline of his mouth as he joked. “It took you long enough to get here.”

“I had to finalize some things.”

“You hang up a phone, you grab a toothbrush and get in your car. How hard is that?” She tried to keep her tone light even though it ticked her off that he could stay away after all those calls. She hadn’t shared the same sense of restraint.

“There was a bit more to my plans than that.”

“Why?”

“Not to be rude, but do you really want to talk right now?”

She could feel him press against her stomach. At five-nine, she was only a few inches shorter and they fit together so well. “You poor thing.”

“I’ve waited a long time to get you alone, in a bed . . .” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “Do you need me to be more specific about where my mind is going?”

“I thought we’d sit down, have some coffee and talk.”

His face turned an odd shade of green. “I . . . uh . . .”

She could actually see his eyes widen. He clearly was too far gone to pick up the sarcasm. “Paul, I’m kidding.”

“Well, I mean, I can tolerate some talking if you want.”

“About what?”

“I have no idea.”

“The talking has been going well for you for the last month.”

The sickly green around his mouth faded a bit. “Have I thanked you for that?”

“Yes.”

He blew out a long breath and wiped a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want to talk—”

“It’s okay. You can stop fumbling around now. I don’t want mindless chit-chat either.”

He threw his head back. “Thank you!”

“Though it was pretty cute to watch you panic.”

“I was trying not to sound like a jerk on a booty call.”

“You’re coming across more like a guy who is inches away from getting something he wants.”

He glanced down. “Inches. Yeah, that’s one way to look at it.”

She toyed with the idea of torturing him a bit longer, but since she wanted him as much as he wanted her, she abandoned the thought. This wasn’t a test. If it were, he’d already passed long ago.

She slipped her hand in his and stepped back until there was enough room for air to move between them again. “I think we should start with a tour of the house.”

His shoulders fell. “Jennifer . . .”

“Yeah?”

“You’re killing me here.”

“We’ll start with my bedroom.”

The bleak tension left his face. “That sounds perfect.”

Paul tried to take in the details of her bedroom. He dreamed about what her most private sanctuary would look like, what she would keep and throw away. But it was all a blur. She could have had the walls painted black with hockey masks hanging from the ceiling and he never would have known. His eyes were for her only.

The press of her palm against his brought back memories of walking down the hallway at school. Seeing her butt swish from side to side made him remember how she used to love skirts and how much he enjoyed getting his hands underneath them.

Not that he didn’t appreciate the jeans. She filled them out just fine. They hugged every curve and highlighted her long legs. But he longed to get her out of them. He was desperate for her. Like, put-your-life-on-hold-crazy-to-be-with-her desperate.