The Best Laid Plans (10 page)

“I don’t know, you were mumbling. Nothing coherent.” She stretched back out and flipped her pillow over.

***

He looked so relieved when she told him he’d said nothing that she wondered what secrets lived inside him. She’d never dated anyone who talked in their sleep before. Well, still wasn’t, really, it was way too early for any of that, but it was interesting. Too bad he’d only mumbled and not said something juicy, or hilarious. Her roommate in college had been full of delightful little stories when she slept. It had been handy for finding out where her favorite top had disappeared to.

Malcolm flipped over and settled with his back to her, the blanket gapped open between them.

“Hey. Where’d you get that scar?” She trailed a finger down the seven-inch long silvery-white line running down his back.

His skin shuddered under her finger, and he twitched away from her touch. “Hockey accident.”

Maybe it was still sensitive, but it looked like an old scar. “You play?”

“Not anymore.”

“Do you play any sports?”

“Not really. Why? You into jocks?”

“Not particularly. You’ve just got an incredible body.”

He laughed huskily. “Thank you.” He rolled over and ran a warm hand up her back. Face to face they laid on their sides. “You’re pretty outstanding as well.”

“Yoga.”

“I wasn’t talking about your body.” He kissed the tip of her nose, and the sensitive skin of her jaw.

“Oh.” His words filled her with pride, and happiness, and fear. She hoped he wasn’t one of those guys who fell in love with her way too soon. Some men were serial monogamists, turning from sexy to clingy in just a few romps in bed. She’d had two marriage proposals from guys like that, and she half suspected that they were offered because the men could sense the fact that she didn’t want a commitment.

If Malcolm turned into another one of those guys, then amazing lover or not, she’d have to walk away.

He pulled back and looked at her. “Do you want me to call you a cab, or would you like to stay over?”

Relief filled her. “Cab, please. I prefer my own bed.”

“Done.” He sat up and pulled on a pair of jeans before walking to the living room. She grabbed her clothes and ducked into the bathroom. When she finished, she made her way to his kitchen where she’d left her purse on the counter. Her shoes were there too, laying on their sides after she’d kicked them off in her haste to get to him. They hadn’t marked the wall.

She slipped them on and started back in his direction. Sliding a thumb to unlock the phone as she walked into the living room, she noted no missed calls. Good. No fires to put out with any clients. Whoa. It was eleven p.m. They’d been playing and dozing for some time.

Her body felt deliciously tired. She’d sleep well tonight.

“Cab should be here in about five minutes.” He’d grabbed his guitar and strummed something soft and beautiful.

 She was glad he hadn’t turned into a clinger, but couldn’t leave without his number. She handed him her phone. “Put your number in here.”

He arched an eyebrow, but did as she said.

She wondered if he’d ask for her number, or let her run the show. “Well, I should get going.”

He set the guitar down and stood up when she did. “I’m glad you came over.”

That grin gave her tingles.
Geez, I thought I’d be all sexed out. This man is trouble
. She was too heated up. Time to play it cool. “It was fun. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

He got to the door before her, pulling it open and placing a firm hand on her lower back to guide her out.

She felt a small pulse of disappointment that he was just ushering her out without asking for her number or email. Or anything. Maybe she’d played it too cool and he thought she wasn’t interested. Maybe he wasn’t interested. Then he tugged her hand and spun her back around, pulling her close. A slow smile curled her lips. He just did all the right things, didn’t he?

“You going to call me?”

“Maybe.”

“I can work with maybe,” he breathed and brought his lips to hers. He kept it soft and slow, and hot desire licked her insides like the flames of a large, low fire. His tongue stroked hers and he kneaded her lower back in that spot that made the bones in her legs disappear. Her ears began ringing. He pulled away and she realized it wasn’t her ears that were ringing – it was the phone.

“Cab’s here.” He nuzzled her neck and she debated staying over after all. But that would be giving him the upper hand. She couldn’t just give in and buckle under the skill of his kisses.

So she took a step backwards toward the elevator. And then another. He held her hand, not releasing it until the last possible second.

“You’d better use my number, Miss Jayne.”

She bit the smile from her lip and hit the button for the elevator, incredibly relieved that it had been there.

If she’d had to wait, she’d have caved, and jumped him in the hallway.

Jayne hadn’t called him. It had been eight days since he’d seen her. Eight agonizingly long days. He’d done everything he could think of for a distraction, but nothing worked. He turned down a few more offers from women, casual sex he had no interest in now that he’d been with Her. He’d even gone and gotten tested for STD’s in case he and Jayne … He was clean.

He couldn’t get the sight of her, the smell of her, the feel of her out of his head. He drowned in the sensate memories of their sex.

How would his plan work if she didn’t call him back? He supposed the fact that they’d been so intimate could be counted as a small victory.

But it wasn’t enough. It solved nothing and she’d sunk further under his skin, driving him madder. He’d given her all the power, and she sat pretty while he was wrecked by insecurity. Would she call? Had something happened to her phone? Maybe she’d lost his number. Had he programmed it in wrong? Was she genuinely not interested? Had she met someone else?

He slammed his fist into the heavy bag, followed it by a series of long and short-range jabs, adjusting for the swinging of the bag. When they didn’t improve his mood, he kicked, slamming his shins into the bag. When he’d first gotten into kickboxing seven years ago, his shins had been painfully sensitive, but he’d become used to it, nerves having been deadened enough in training that he hadn’t required pads for years.

Kickboxing wasn’t the only martial art he’d learned, but it was his go-to for relieving stress.

“Malcolm!”

He pulled his punch and turned to look at the other man.

“Hey, Lee.”

The instructor shook his hand. “You up for some sparring?”

Normally he’d have been all over the offer. He was too advanced to spar with most people and it frustrated him always holding back. Today wasn’t great for a match. A fight would definitely not improve his mood; he needed to release his frustrations, not take them out on someone.

He shook his head. “Maybe another time, man.”

“You sure?” He didn’t often get to spar with people he didn’t have to hold back with either.

“Yeah, I just need to kill the bag for a while.”

“I hear that. Rain check, but I’ll hold you to it!”

Malcolm smiled at his excitement, and Lee walked over to correct another fighter’s stance.

Malcolm had to accept the fact that he’d somehow misread the situation. Jayne hadn’t been interested and if she had been, she’d changed her mind. He’d failed. And he’d never get to be with her again.

He kicked the bag as hard as he could, relishing the slight sting that spread over his shin.

Make that, he’d never get to complete his plan for her. Best sex of his life or not, she was Just Jane. Just the woman who had almost destroyed him a decade ago. Jane with a ‘y.’ Why indeed? Why had she shown up now of all times, when things were going perfectly in his world?

He pushed her from his mind and squared his hips.

“Hey. I’ve seen you around.” A friendly female voice came from his left flank. He turned to look at the speaker. Five-ten and built like an Amazon. Jayne was petite with curves for days. The Amazon was wrapped in a tiny pair of green shorts and a grey tank top, and had brunette hair and light blue eyes. Jayne’s eyes were the deepest royal blue. Annoyance surged in him.
Stop thinking about her!

“Yeah?”

Her eyes crawled from his abs to his feet to his face. “You’re amazing.”

“Thanks.”

She held out a wrapped hand. “Angie.”

He shook it with his own stiffly wrapped hand. “Malcolm.”

“Do you ever compete in tournaments, Malcolm?”

“I did a few years ago for a while, but got out of it.”

“Why? I’ve seen your technique, you’re so precise with the power to back it up.”

“I’m a musician and couldn’t afford a hand injury.” One wrong punch, one hand wrapped just slightly incorrectly and his session days would be over. He’d loved competing and was great at it, but it wasn’t worth his livelihood.

“Ah,” her eyes lit up. “Where do you play?”

“I gig here and there, but it’s mostly session work.” He smiled, really only going through the motions. He felt no tug of chemistry making him want to pursue the conversation further. He couldn’t summon any attraction for her. It was a testament to how badly this whole Jayne thing had messed with his head. And his dick. He may as well have had a Ken Doll torso for the lack of stirrings he felt below the belt looking at this gorgeous, athletic woman.

“Do you want to spar for a bit?”

He shook his head. “I just wanted to smack the bag for a while.”

“Ah. Maybe a drink afterwards? I’m all finished, but I can wait until you’re done.”

“I’m sort of seeing someone … ” Sort of the truth, and the nicest way to say no.

“So am I.”

He wasn’t that into being in a committed relationship, but the few times he had been, he was completely loyal and monogamous. “I’m not like that.”

“My loss,” she said, looking at him from head to toe again. “See you around.” She sashayed out of the gym, and he promptly forgot about her. Eight days. Jayne was probably being hit on by half the city. Where was she? Why hadn’t she called him back?

For the umpteenth time, he pushed her from his thoughts, checked his stance and squared off.

And then he whaled on the bag for the next forty-five minutes until he dripped with sweat and felt too tired to worry about Jayne.

But he’d probably be back tomorrow.

Eight days since Jayne had left his apartment. This was the fifth day in a row that he’d come to relieve stress.

Nothing helped.

***

Eight days. She’d almost broken down and called him on day two, but decided against it. He hadn’t asked for her number. What if that had been deliberate because he didn’t want to see her again? But maybe he thought since she had his number, that it was up to her to call. Was he letting her make the next move? God, she was overthinking it. If men were supposed to wait three days, she would almost double it, and call him in five. No sense cutting off her nose to spite her face. Unfortunately, work got hella busy right then and she was only now able to come up for air. Maybe a little cooler than she’d wanted to play it, but it was what it was.

She definitely had withdrawals, pathetically enough. They’d been together exactly twice; it wasn’t as if he was a regular thing. But she wanted him to be.
I’m definitely calling him.

She unlocked her cell. Her office phone buzzed.
Damn it! Work, you are seriously cock blocking me right now!
Was there a female equivalent to that? She answered the call. “Jayne speaking.”

“Your three-thirty is here to see you.” Jenny the receptionist sounded bored.

“Thanks. What’s the name?”

“Sarah Bray.”

Sarah Bray?
Jayne’s heart beat a little faster and her face flushed. Beads of sweat formed on her upper lip and under her arms. Surely it wasn’t the same woman.
Please don’t let it be her.

“Jayne?”

“Yeah, send her up.” She weakly set the receiver back in the cradle and shook out her hands. Of all the people to see … She quickly scanned her office, reassuring herself it was immaculate. Good. She blotted her hands on her skirt, smoothed her shirt, and dabbed a tissue over her face, removing shine and sweat. She had to look killer. It had never been more important than in this moment. Ten years in the making. Well, not quite in the making, but this would be a great moment in Jayne’s personal history if all went well.

She sat down, crossed her legs, and fluffed her hair. Then uncrossed her legs and grabbed a pen. A knock at the door. She dropped the pen, re-crossed her legs, and glued her eyes to the computer screen. “Come in.”

“Sarah Bray?” Jayne’s voice barely shook.

“Braid, actually. You’re Jayne?”

“I am.” She stood and shook her hand. It wasn’t her. Relief punched through her knees.
This
Sarah was a gorgeous African-American woman with sparkling brown eyes and a friendly smile. “What can I do for you?”

“I recently came into some money and would like to make more.”