Marie Ferrarella - Plain Jane and the Playboy / Valentine's Fortune

“I’d like to kiss you at midnight. if that’s all right with you.”

He was actually asking if it was all right to kiss her on New Year’s Eve?

Someone in the crowd began the traditional countdown…

“Ten, nine, eight –”

“And you are?” Jorge asked.

“Seven, six, five – ”

“Jane Gilliam.”

“Four, three – ”

Was it his imagination, or was there a new spark in her eyes? She was definitely arousing him.

“Two – ”

He drew her into his arms.

“You’re not really going to kiss me, are you?” Dream or not, it was still hard to believe. And yet she so wanted to believe.

“One!”

His lips covered hers as cries of “Happy New Year!” echoed through the crowded room.

Jane didn’t hear a single sound other than the pounding of her heart.

“You always seem to be rescuing me.”

His arm around her seemed to tighten fractionally. “I can think of worse things.”

Her heart was climbing towards her throat. Her gloved hands slid over his, but she didn’t know if that was to push his away or to keep him from pulling away. “Darr – ”

His head lowered. His jaw grazed her temple. “Just answer a question for me.”

She turned her head, looking up at him, and felt everything inside her grind to a breathless halt. “What?”

“The night of the fire, you said there was no one for us to call for you. No husband. No boyfriend. Was that the truth?”

“Yes.” That, at least, was the bald, naked truth.

“Good,” he muttered and pressed his mouth to hers.

by

by

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Special thanks and acknowledgement are given to Allison Leigh for her contributions to the FORTUNES OF TEXAS: RETURN TO RED ROCK mini-series.

By

Marie Ferrarellahas written over one hundred and fifty novels, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www. marieferrarella.com.

To Margaret Watson, for reams of e-mail and priceless support. Thank you.

Red, the extremely popular restaurant located in Red Rock, Texas, and the realization of a dream by José and Maria Mendoza, had closed its doors to the public this holiday evening.

But it was far from empty. The premises had been rented out to Emmett Jamison who, along with his wife, Linda, both former FBI agents, oversaw the Fortune Foundation, a philanthropic organization now in its fourth year. The guests at the New Year’s Eve party included key personnel at the foundation, as well as every single member of the Fortune family who could walk or crawl within a fifty-mile radius.

Included, too, were a large number of friends, not the least of whom were more than several members of the Mendoza family. There were so many people packed inside the converted former hacienda—said to have once belonged to distant relatives of Santa Ana—that guests were spilling out onto the inner courtyard, despite the cold temperature. The press of bodies generated its own heat.

Good cheer abounded, mixing with the occasional strains of festive music, some of it coming from the old-fashioned jukebox, some of it from the five-piece band that Maria had hired at her son, Jorge’s behest. Christmas carols meshed with both Mexican and country music. It was a veritable potpourri of everything that Texas stood for.

Almost everyone seemed to be having a good time, if noise could be considered a barometer of fun. The only true difficulty was in maneuvering through the throng, and in locating people the crowd had swallowed up.

So when Jack Fortune all but walked into his brother-in-law as Jorge finished placing a fruity, mixed drink on a comely young woman’s table, he took advantage of the situation.

Hooking his arm around his brother-in-law’s neck, Jack said playfully, “Hey, there’s a vicious rumor making the rounds that Jorge Mendoza is actually here without a date.” Hearing Jack’s voice, Jorge relaxed, lowering the tray he was about to use as a weapon. “I’ve been defending your reputation,” Jack continued, releasing his hold on Jorge, “saying that it just wasn’t possible, this being New Year’s Eve and all.”

“I’m afraid that you’ve been wasting your breath, Jack,” Jorge said, turning around to face the man who made his sister Gloria’s world spin on its axis. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gloria making her way toward them. “The rumor’s true. I didn’t bring anyone to the party.”

There was a very good reason for that, but Jorge kept it to himself. The current lady in his life, Edie, was hinting broadly about their relationship. She wanted an honest-to-gosh commitment from him, even though they’d only been seeing each other for about a month. And while it had been a very enjoyable month, with several memorable moments, none of it was earthshaking enough to prompt him to make the relationship permanent.

He felt sure that neglecting to invite her to share New Year’s Eve would send her a message about his intentions. So he’d opted to go it alone tonight, thereby dodging a very real bullet with his name on it.

“Is it terminal?” Jack asked.

Confused, wondering if he’d misheard, Jorge leaned forward. “Is what terminal?”

“Your illness,” Jack answered. “You’re sick, right? That’s got to be the reason you didn’t bring anyone. I’ve never known you to be without female companionship for more than, what? Fifteen minutes at a time?” Jorge went through women the way his father, José, went through clean undershirts in a hot kitchen. “Legend has it you tried to pick up a candy striper in the nursery the day you were born.”

Jorge laughed, shaking his dark head, his deep brown eyes crinkling. “I’m not sick, Jack. I thought I’d just help Mom and Dad out tonight. You know, wait on tables, tend bar, mix drinks—”

“Flirt with every woman under the age of a hundred,” Gloria interjected, completing her older brother’s sentence as she came up to join him and her husband. She hooked her arm through Jack’s, but her attention was clearly on Jorge.

“Right.” Jorge saw no reason to deny that charge. He believed in enjoying himself whenever he could. And flirting was his inalienable right. Flashing his thousand-watt smile, he repeated, “But I’m only here to help out. Besides,” he confided, “if I brought someone with me to this little fiesta, Mom would immediately think it was serious. You know what she’s like.” In her time Maria Mendoza had been on each of his now-married sisters’ cases. “She’d be writing out wedding invitations right after the stroke of midnight.” He considered that, then amended, “Maybe even before.”