Jo Leigh - Sensual Secrets

He took a step toward her, and her heart reacted by pounding in her chest. When he took another, she forgot how to breathe. Oh God. He kept on coming, his boots clicking softly on the hardwood floor.

He reached the side of the table. Everything in her told her to run, to hide, at the very least to duck. But she sat perfectly still, her head back as she looked up at the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

He smiled. Not a big grin. A slight upward curve of his lips. Then his hand lifted and she nearly died. He was going to touch her. Pet her cheek. Only, his hand stopped inches away, then withdrew. She burned with embarrassment at his retreat, sure she would burst into flames any second.

His low chuckle made things infinitely worse. Perhaps sensing that she was going to pass out, his gaze shifted to her computer screen. She took advantage of the situation and gasped in a lungful of air.

“Good Girl,” he whispered.

Her mouth opened. Nothing came out.

He chuckled again, the sound deep and sexy. Mercifully, he walked past her, heading toward his buddy Brian at the coffee bar.

She closed her eyes as she struggled to get her pulse to slow and her breath to normalize. He’d spoken to her. Directly. Oh God.

Despite the fact that he’d looked at her before, made her blush, she’d always felt invisible. She was, most of the time. In class. Around her gorgeous roommates. At the student lounge. People bumped into her all the time. They just didn’t notice her, that’s all.

But he’d spoken to her.

Her gaze darted to the girl across the way. Just as Amelia figured, the girl seemed upset. Jealous. Of her. Not that she wanted the blonde to feel bad…

Okay, so she did.

Amelia turned back to her computer. She’d paid for two hours, and she only had fifteen minutes left. Typing furiously, she tried to capture it all. The moment, the excitement, his whisper, the scent of leather. It poured out of her, and she didn’t even go back to correct the misspelled words.

But at the end, when it was all out there, her bubble burst. He might have noticed her. How could he help it? She was here all the time. And she blushed so hard she could stop traffic. He’d just been messing with her, that’s all. Teasing. Which was such a shame. Such a heartbreak. Her aunt Grace used to tell her that no one ever died from being shy, but Amelia wasn’t sure. People did die of loneliness. Of yearning.

The truth of the matter was that the Amelia she was on the inside was nothing like the person she was on the outside. She dressed more conservatively than was fashionable; her skirts were longer, her blouses looser. She wore her hair pulled back, most of the time in a bun, and her hair was her biggest vanity.

She’d grown used to being invisible. It was easier that way. No one expected anything much. Only…

She paused. Sighed. The woman I am inside isn’t shy. She’s brazen and erotic and she dresses in sexy clothes and she feels beautiful, she typed.

Amelia closed her eyes, letting her fingers work on the keyboard she knew so well.

If only someone could see how I ache for a touch. How I yearn to be set on fire by a kiss. If only he knew how I dreamed of him. How I longed for him to take me to the heights of ecstasy. Oh, who am I kidding? I want him to make love to me until we both die of starvation. I want him to do anything, everything. I want to go crazy, and stay crazy, with him.

The buzzer on her computer went off, and she didn’t have the time or cash to extend her stay. She saved her journal, then she logged off the confession Web site. Moving as quietly and efficiently as she could, she collected her belongings, stood up and hurried outside, never once looking behind her to see if Jay noticed—but blushing all the same.

JAY WAITED while Brian poured a cup of coffee for a customer—another student. The place wasn’t large or fancy, and it didn’t have the Starbucks chairs or upscale coffee paraphernalia. But it did have six workstations, all linked to the Internet by high-speed, high-bandwidth T1 connections, which meant instant and immediate access to research material. And porn.

The decor owed more to sixties rock than good taste. Posters of Hendrix, Janis Joplin, The Grateful Dead were tacked on the odd wall, and Rolling Stone magazine was always available. Brian, who must have been a hippie in his past life, played current top-twenty songs, but only because he had to. Curious, Jay thought, that Brian had opened such a high-tech business. But Jay had to give it to him. Brian had made the café a success. At thirty-two, Brian made a mean pot of coffee, and he could hack into almost any computer system around. He made sure his customers were happy. It was a lesson Jay had taken to heart when he’d opened his Harley shop next door.

Brian finished up with his customer, and Jay gave him a nod. Brian came over with a pot of coffee in hand. “You need more java?”

“What’s TrueConfessions.com?”

Brian shrugged. It was an unconscious habit, one that most people assumed meant he didn’t know whatever was being asked of him. Jay knew better. The shrug was Brian’s way of telling the world they really needed to come up with better questions.

“It’s where people go to confess their sins. Or their fantasies. Mostly teenage girls declaring their undying love for the boy toy of the moment.”

“And other people can read these confessions?”

“Yep. It’s public. But it’s also anonymous. There’s a router in there that makes it difficult to trace back user names.”

“Difficult, but not impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible until I can’t do it.”

Jay lifted his mug. “I salute your arrogance.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Jay smiled as he finished off his coffee, then handed the mug to Brian. “I’m going over to the computer for a minute. Bring me another cup.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Yes, master. Is there anything else you’d like? A foot massage, perhaps? A date with Penelope Cruz?”

“Yeah. I’d like to shut you up for once.”

“You’d shoot yourself if you didn’t have me to pick on.”

Jay headed for the table. Her table.

He liked hanging out at the café, even though he rarely used the computers. Conveniently, it was next door to his shop. And while the coffee was good, it wasn’t the main selling point. He came here primarily for the women. All those beautiful NYU coeds, just dying to fling themselves at his big bad self.

But not her.

Damn, but he liked to see her blush.

When she first started coming to the café, he didn’t even notice her. He didn’t know who dressed her but, Christ, they needed to be drawn and quartered. She looked like someone’s grandmother, with her cardigans and loafers. Except…

He couldn’t remember now what had made him look at her. A sound she made, or a cough. Most likely, her blush. He’d been shocked as hell, that much he remembered clearly. She was gorgeous. Her skin was pale and flawless, delicate, like her body. Tall—he’d guess around five-seven or so—and a little too slender, she walked like a dancer. She’d smiled only once in all the months she’d been coming here. Not at him, but he’d caught it.

She was a natural beauty. No fake boobs, no fake hair, no piercings anywhere visible. She reminded him of someone from another time. The Renaissance, perhaps. But he also felt something else hiding behind those old-fashioned clothes, behind that blush. He knew it. He felt it. And he wanted it.

He sat down, ran his fingers over the keyboard. Was it his imagination or was there a trace of talcum lingering in the air? He turned on the machine and typed in the address for TrueConfessions.com. Once there, he checked it out, saw how it worked.