Foul Play - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,29

wasn’t panic-stricken. She supposed washing men’s underwear made one much more worldly.

Jake crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb. Engaged. A mysterious emotion shot through him. Jealousy? It was ridiculous, but it rankled him. He made an effort to keep his voice steady and light. “What happened?”

Amy smiled. “I used to find this story very embarrassing. Now I find it kind of funny. As you already know, I’ve never actually … um, you know.”

“I know.”

“It isn’t as if it was planned. I didn’t set out to remain a virgin all my life. I didn’t even have any grandiose romantic or moral ideas about saving myself for marriage. It just never seemed right. For a while there I was afraid I had some physical defect or maybe a hormone deficiency. I mean, you’d think that by the time you were twenty-six years old you’d have gotten the urge to make mad, passionate love to some man.

“Anyway, the year J got out of college, when I was teaching first grade, I decided it was time for me to fall in love and get married. Looking back on it, I guess Jeff was smarter than I was, because after we’d been engaged for two months he gave me an ultimatum. Something to the effect that he had no intention of ever buying a suit without first trying it on.”

Amy laughed at the expression on Jake’s face. “Don’t look so horrified. Jeff might have put it a little crudely, but he did me a favor. A marriage ceremony wouldn’t have made any difference in the way I felt about Jeff. I wasn’t in love with him, and I didn’t want to share my body with him.”

Amy made an expansive gesture with her arms. “Well, how about some lemonade?”

Jake followed her into the kitchen, enormously pleased that she’d never wanted another man, positively gloating over the fact that she wanted him. She did want him, didn’t she? “So, why did this change from embarrassing to funny?”

“Because …” Amy paused with her hand on the refrigerator door. “Because …” She stuck her head in the refrigerator to hide the blush staining her cheeks.

Because she’d finally found the right man. Because suddenly her hormones were working overtime, and she had demanding sensations in body parts she’d previously suspected might be missing nerve endings. Because not only was she attracted to Jake, but she liked him, she enjoyed being with him, she respected him … she loved him. She retreated from the refrigerator with a handful of lemons.

“Just because,” she said. End of discussion.

She caught a glimpse of tantalizing blue towel and busied herself with the lemons, paying strict attention to squeezing, measuring, and mixing her ingredients. She was afraid if she didn’t keep her hands busy squeezing lemons, she might squeeze something else. At the very least, she was tempted to rip his towel off. Lord, she was bad. All those years of dormant, suppressed desire were catching up with her.

“I have some gym clothes in the middle drawer of my dresser,” she said breathlessly, attributing it to the exertion of making lemonade. “Maybe you can find something more comfortable to wear. I have a pair of black sweats that have always been too big for me.”

Jake almost ran to the bedroom. Wearing nothing but a skimpy towel was putting a strain on his self-control. And the way she’d looked at him! He was afraid his towel would catch fire. But then she’d backed off. She’d squeezed those lemons until there was nothing left but pulp. Damned if it wasn’t confusing.

He found the sweats and tugged them on, for the first time noticing the details of her bedroom. It had the same airy serenity of the living room, but there was a difference in the atmosphere.

It was warmer, more sensual. Her table lamp was reflected in the rich patina of her brass bedstead. The bed linens and quilt were peach, trimmed in satin. The room was sparsely decorated. Just the bed and a low oak dresser with a white marble top, above which a wood-trimmed oval mirror was centered on the wall. A small television sat on the dresser.

Jake stretched out on the bed and thought of the cache of undies and nighties he’d found that first night … satin and lace and raw silk. He was beginning to understand Amy. She kept the sensuous part of her private, wearing it under her clothes, confining it to the bedroom. She was a lady-in-waiting.