You Don't Know Jack. Erin McCarthy

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СКАЧАТЬ it, but he shook his head. “It’s without hope. Don’t bother.”

      “Aaaah. I’m such a klutz. I’ll pay you for the shirt.”

      The train came to a stop, and Jamie was pushed and jostled as four or five people moved around her to get off. She was pressed up against him, a blush starting to creep up her face.

      They were close enough that if she were to tilt her head up, they could kiss.

      He had a strong jaw and smelled like soap and tomatoes.

      The need to fan herself was overwhelming. Either the air-conditioning was on the fritz, or she was experiencing an explosive burst of lustful heat. Chances were it was the latter.

      He shrugged, the movement drawing her attention to his broad shoulder. She fought the urge to squeeze his biceps. Beckwith hadn’t warned her about the sexy factor. This guy was built like a race horse. No, that didn’t sound right. He was…was…lickable.

      Before Beckwith had spouted off about marriage, her original thought had been that she was destined for a rather fun affair, her first strictly steamy relationship. Looking at super sexy in front of her, she thought he was probably capable of fun with a capital F.

      Hopefully unaware of her lecherous thoughts, he said, “Don’t worry about it. I mourn my ruined dinner more than my ruined shirt.”

      “Italian?” she guessed, thinking of the tomato scent.

      A stale, hot pocket of air fluttered over her as he nodded. “Spaghetti and meatballs. With garlic bread.”

      Of course. A traditionalist. No trendy pesto for this guy. He probably didn’t even own a suit, given how comfortable he looked in his jeans. And his eyes were blue, swimming with amusement and perhaps hunger. For his pasta.

      “I’m so sorry about your dinner. I’d offer to take you out to replace it, but you could be weird or something.” Weird? Oh, geez, why had she said that? Jamie wanted to groan. Followed by a mental kick in her sundress-covered behind. It was intelligent and important for a single woman to be cautious, but heck, she could have phrased that differently.

      But he only grinned. “No weirder than anyone else in New York.”

      Staring up at that cute grin, Jamie knew she couldn’t let this moment pass. He had to be the man in Beckwith’s prediction, and she couldn’t let him get off this subway without making plans to see him again, in a safe, public place. Even if she had to drag one of her roommates with her for security, she was not going to let this guy get off this train and turn her life into a romantic tragedy.

      This wasn’t about marriage. Beckwith had said soul mate, and that phrase had the word mate in it, which was really a polite way to say sex. Maybe that’s what this really was. They would date. Sleep together. Then he would move on like all the other guys, and she would whistle as she walked away, heart intact and body happy for a while.

      Not that she’d ever engaged in a wild, steamy affair before. Men didn’t see her that way, and she was more inclined to pack a man’s lunch than to grope him. She was modest to a fault when it came to her body, and maybe this was what fate had in mind for her. Sensual liberation. Just looking at him made her feel pretty darn liberated.

      Dang, that sounded like a good plan. For once, to just let it all go, to be the sexy one, to have a man look at her and want, want, want.

      “That’s true, there are plenty of weirdos running around. And I do feel just terrible.” Then she added in a breathless rush before she lost her nerve, “So how about dinner, then?”

      He studied her for a second, his blue eyes darting down to her chest and back up again. She wished she had worn one of those body-clinging dresses that Allison favored, but instead she was covered in one of her standard loose-fitting, draping, no-waist dresses.

      When the silence drew out, a sudden horrifying thought popped into her head. “Unless you’re married, or dating someone or something. That’s fine. I just thought that I could, you know, make it up to you, because of what happened when I tripped. I wasn’t implying anything…”

      Shut up, shut up, shut up, she told herself. Babbling was never a good thing.

      “What’s your name?” His hand was still gripping her arm, only it loosened and relaxed, until he was stroking her skin.

      A shiver ran through her. “Jamie. Jamie The Klutz.”

      He grinned again, little lines forming in the corners of his very close, very moist, very kissable lips. “Well, Jamie The Klutz, I’m Jack. Jack the unmarried and unattached.”

      Stroke, stroke on her arm.

      She struggled to control herself.

      It would be very embarrassing if she fainted on the subway. Her dress would probably slide up, and everyone would see her underwear, which was unbleached cotton. Environmentally responsible, but majorly unsexy.

      “And I would like to go out to dinner with you, Jamie The Klutz. Tomorrow? Neutral territory?”

      “Sure. But what’s neutral?”

      “Times Square. If I’m weirder than you thought, then you can ditch me in the crowd of tourists.”

      She laughed. As if. He would probably need a fire hose to get her off of him. “That sounds good.”

      “Seven? Mama Luigi’s on Forty-fourth? They have a patio, so if you need to escape you can leap over the fence to get away from me.”

      “Okay.”

      He looked around her. “This is my stop.”

      “Okay.” Nothing brilliant, witty, or original came to mind to say, so she smiled again as he let go of her and stepped off the train.

      “See you tomorrow.” He waved, clutching his leaky pasta bag and grinning at her.

      Jamie gulped as the doors closed, then turned in search of a seat to sink into. She needed it before she collapsed in a heap of tangled legs to rival Jack’s spaghetti.

      She had met him.

      The One.

      Chapter 2

      Jack watched the door close in fascinated silence.

      What the hell had just happened?

      He sucked at this spy thing. The point of following someone was to stay incognito, which he hadn’t exactly done. Garlic was more subtle than he was.

      But he hadn’t wanted her to crash into Free Love, the aging hippie.

      He had thought to save her discomfort and embarrassment. Now he was standing on the platform with a giant red stain on his shirt, staring at Jamie The Klutz as she smiled shyly at him.

      It was a smile that went straight to his groin.

      Damn, she was hot.

      She glowed.

      It was СКАЧАТЬ