Sensual Secrets

The man sauntered in, and the wet dog smell was complicated by camphor and Old Spice. “As my father used to say, I’m as right as could be expected for a man destined to become dust.”

“Not today, old man. Today, you’re up and about and causing trouble.”

Shawn nodded. “That’s right. I’m here to comfort the tormented and torment the comforted.”

The elevator resumed its creaky ascent, and Jay silently urged it along. If Shawn started talking, there was no escaping for a good ten minutes. But Jay liked the man, and his partner, Bill. They’d been together for almost fifty years. It hadn’t been easy, but they’d stuck it out.

“You know,” Shawn said, leaning back on his slightly humped shoulder. “I miss your granddad something fierce.”

Jay nodded. “Me, too.”

“He was a good fellow. A mighty good fellow.”

“That he was,” Jay said, the familiar sadness blossoming inside. His grandfather had passed away four months ago, and had been sick for a couple of years before that. Jay had taken care of him, and they’d grown close. So close, Jay had decided to stay on living in the apartment, even though he was the only one below retirement age in the whole damn place. It was cool. He helped out the old guys now and again. They were his grandfather’s friends. Hell, his friends. Not to mention the fact the apartment was rent controlled. For three hundred a month he had a two-bedroom place that most people he knew would kill for.

The elevator stopped on five, and Jay let the older man out first. “Take care of yourself, Shawn.”

“The same to you, young man.”

Jay headed down the dimly lit hallway. He opened his door, still expecting the scent of his grandfather’s pipe smoke to waft over him. It didn’t, of course. The pipe had been buried right alongside the man, per his request.

Jay took off his jacket and tossed it and his helmet on the couch. He grabbed a beer from the kitchen, took a swig, then went straight to the computer. A few moments later he was at TrueConfessions.com, reading the journal entries of one Good Girl, and the rest of the world faded to black.

2

The way he walks is sex itself. Not self-conscious, but sure. Arrogant. As if he knows. When he looks at me, my body aches with wanting him. But I’m not the woman he wants. I can’t even smile at him, talk to him. I burn with desire, but I burn hotter from my cowardice.

JAY TOOK A PULL from his beer, only to realize the bottle was empty. As if coming out of a trance, he focused on the room, on the shadows playing against the wall. He stretched as he stood, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders. One more beer and then he’d stop. He had things to do. Nothing that was more interesting than Good Girl’s confessions, but he still had to do them.

He opened the fridge, and the jar of Jiffy made his stomach rumble. Damn, it was after ten. How in hell had that happened? Skipping the beer, he grabbed the strawberry jam, bread and peanut butter. It wasn’t fancy but it would do. And he could eat at the computer.

He put one sandwich on a paper plate and took a bite out of the other. As he stashed the food, he snagged the milk carton, then headed back to the living room.

Through the course of the night, he’d built a picture of Good Girl. Incomplete, of course, but still, she was clear to him. Bright, articulate, passionate and crippled by shyness. She wanted to break out of her shell, but she didn’t know how. All she could do was write about her fantasies. Poor kid. She deserved more.

If only she could see how attractive she was. Stop trying to disappear into the woodwork. She even had a good sense of humor. A wry appreciation for life’s ironies.

He clicked to the next entry and read as he ate.

So sex has a name. J.W.

Jay choked on his sandwich and spent the next few minutes coughing. J.W. had to be him, right? She’d been talking about him? Holy… He was the guy in her fantasies? He walked like sex itself?

Jeez. He’d figured she was talking about Brad Pitt. She’d mentioned the actor’s name a couple of times, and it had never occurred to Jay…

This changed everything. Man. He shoved his remaining sandwich to the side of his desk and hunkered down. His gaze shot down the screen until he found her next entry.

I’m walking under the Washington Square arch. It’s late. I should have been home hours ago. I hear footsteps behind me, and my stomach tightens, but come on, it’s New York. When wouldn’t I hear footsteps? I keep walking, not looking left or right. Suddenly, I’m slammed from the back and I cry out as I fall to my knees. A hand grabs my purse, and before I can see who he is, or even what he’s wearing, he’s off like a shot. But then, there’s someone else, a man, chasing him. I watch, stunned, as the second man tackles the thief from behind. They’re on the ground now, fighting, and I struggle to my feet. Before I take a step, it’s all over, and the thief is running away, limping. The man who tackled him gets up, brushes off his trouser legs then looks at me.

He walks toward me, my purse in his hand.

It’s him.

He holds out my bag. “I didn’t know if you were hurt, or I would have gone after him.”

“It’s all right. In fact, it’s extraordinary. You could have been killed, and you don’t even know me.”

He grins at me. “Oh, but I do know you, Amelia.”

My heart pounds. Is this some trick? Some con?

“I’ve seen you in the café. And I know what you do on that computer.”

“You do?”

He nods as he takes a step toward me. “I know all about you. What you like, what you want. What you need.”

I can barely breathe. How is it possible? “What I write is private. Anonymous.”

“I don’t need to read anything,” he says, as he reaches his hand to cup my cheek. “I read you, Amelia. I see past all your defenses. I know how remarkable you are. I know how hard you’ve worked for your education. How much you care about your aunt. I know everything, Amelia. But mostly I know that you’re the most incredibly sensual woman I’ve ever met. Every other man on earth is a fool, because they don’t see it. They don’t see you like I do.”

I can’t speak. How can he talk to me like this? We don’t know each other at all…or do we?

He touches my cheek. Holds me captive with his gaze. Then his lips touch mine, and the rest of the world disappears. I’m drowning in his kiss as he folds me into the safety of his arms. His hands run down my back. He touches my waist. Then below my waist. He cups my behind and pulls me tight against his body. I feel his erection. It’s huge!

Jay coughed, nearly choking on his beer. She thought he was huge? He looked down at his jean-covered half-hard cock. He’d never been ashamed to walk around in the locker room, but huge? Damn.

He went back to the story.

His kiss deepens, and then he pulls back. “Come with me,” he whispers.

“Where?”

“To my bed.”

“But—”

He puts his hand gently over my lips. “Don’t be afraid. You know you want this. Almost as much as I do.”

I nod slowly, knowing it’s foolish to fight the truth. He—

It ended. Boom. Just like that. Jay scanned the next several pages, but the rest of the fantasy wasn’t written down. What the hell? Why’d she stop just when she was going to come to his apartment? When she knew it was foolish to fight the truth—

He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head at his own stupidity. It was a fantasy. Not a promise.

Yet.

AMELIA PUNCHED the time clock on her way out of the library. Almost four, and she was done for the day. She worked in the stacks, shelving and dusting. It was a quiet world, perfect for her, even though the pay was dreadful. She should go work on her term paper, but all that was left to do there was a proofread, and it might be wiser to wait for a day before she did that.