What A Girl Wants

“Plus lots of people with too much money live here.”

“Exactly.”

“Is your dad still in Texas, too?”

He nodded. “And my mom’s still in Miami, remarried and living in one of those retirement communities.”

The waitress brought their drinks, a glass of red wine for Luke and a Coke for Jane.

“I never would have labeled you a wine drinker,” Jane said after the waitress left.

“And I never would have labeled you a Coke drinker.”

“I’m a bit of a caffeine addict. Coffee, Coca-Cola, chocolate—all my favorites.” She’d always found that aspect of her personality frustrating. Try as she might, she couldn’t help but find comfort in a strong dose of caffeine—or a well-timed Hostess snack cake, if she was feeling particularly stressed out.

“Let me guess. Caffeine helps you write?”

Jane nodded, suppressing a smile. “I’ve been wondering,” she said, eager to divert attention away from herself again. “Is Michael a catch for my sister?”

“Michael’s all right—he has his priorities in life kind of screwed up, but he’s decent at heart.”

“I’m glad. Heather needs a decent man. She’s dated a lot of jerks.”

“What about you? Have you dated a lot of jerks that led you to write The Sex Factor?” His eyes sparkled with amusement or interest—Jane couldn’t tell which.

Jane shrugged. She got that question a lot. “Maybe a few, but my serious boyfriends have been nice guys.”

Luke narrowed his eyes at her as if reading her thoughts. “I’ll bet you go for sensitive new-age types. Guys that do yoga and talk about French philosophers.”

That he’d just described her last boyfriend annoyed the hell out of Jane for reasons she didn’t want to analyze. “I don’t go for a certain type,” she lied.

“Right, you look for a guy’s inner beauty, regardless of the outer package.”

Jane squirmed in her seat. Had he read that in her book somewhere? “Something like that.”

“So if I were a hundred-pound geek with bad teeth and a raging acne problem, you still would have kissed me in your parents’ bathroom?”

He was looking far too amused with himself. Jane’s insides fluttered at another reminder of the bathroom incident. She was all too aware of the fact that Luke seemed perfectly willing to go at it for another round, if given the chance.

“Whatever happened earlier tonight—it was a mistake.” Brought on by raging hormones, she resisted adding, since it would prove how bad she really was at taking her own relationship advice.

“Does that mean I won’t be getting a good-night kiss?”

Jane smiled, a sudden image of her dragging Luke in her front door and stripping him naked clear in her mind. And then she blurted, “I never said I’m not prone to making the same mistake twice.”

5

Your girlfriend doesn’t need you to get a penis implant. If you want to impress her, try listening to her when she talks.

—Jane Langston, in the December issue of Excess magazine

LUKE WATCHED the color rise from Jane’s neck to her cheeks. Her entire face turned a rosy shade that suggested she was far less confident than she pretended to be. He had to admire the good front she put up though, even when her own jokes came back to bite her in the ass.

He had every intention of getting his good-night kiss. Ever since they’d left her parents’ bathroom, he’d been plagued by memories of those few brief moments—the taste and scent of Jane, the feel of her skin, the heat of her body, the eagerness of her kiss. It had taken all his willpower to put the brakes on, to pretend it didn’t drive him crazy that he hadn’t gotten to bury his tongue inside her.

His attraction to her had a force behind it that he was helpless to control. He wanted her more than he could remember having wanted anything for a very long time. And what Luke wanted, he usually found a way to have.

“Gotta admire your honesty,” he finally said, breaking the silence he’d allowed to settle between them. “Since you’re being honest, how about admitting that what took place in the bathroom was all about a release of pent-up sexual desire?”

The waitress arrived with their dinners, and after offering fresh-ground pepper and parmesan, she departed.

Jane stared at her manicotti and said, “Okay, if you want me to admit that I’m a bit weak, I will. Maybe I’m not as self-controlled as I advise women to be in my book. Maybe, in that one little area, I’m a little unforgiving and harsh in my advice. Okay? Are you satisfied?”

Luke tried not to look surprised. He’d just gotten a glimpse of what he suspected was the real Jane, the one behind the attitude. “Not quite, but it’s a start.”