“I’m not sure this is a better idea,” Jenny said to Richard, pausing outside the main entrance of the hotel.
“Don’t you like the food here?”
“I don’t like thinking that my father will probably know I’m here with you before we find a table in the restaurant.”
“The staff here are very discreet,” he told her.
“Of course they are,” she agreed. “I’m just not sure the usual policy of nondisclosure applies to the owners’ daughter.”
“Then it’s a good thing we’re not going to one of the restaurants.” He took her hand to guide her toward the bank of elevators.
“I’m not going to your room.”
“It’s a suite,” he said, as if that made a difference. “And I have no evil intentions. I only brought you here so we could share a meal and conversation without interruption.”
She eyed him warily. “This from the man who said what he liked most about my dress was the idea of taking it off me.”
He grinned. “It’s still true. It’s also true that I won’t make love with you until you want it as much as I do.”
“It isn’t going to happen.”
“Not tonight,” he agreed easily.
Not ever. She wanted to speak those words; she wanted to mean them. But she was no longer certain about anything where Richard Warren was concerned.
The elevator dinged to announce its arrival.
“Are you coming?” he asked.
“Only because I’m hungry,” she told him.
He smiled. “I didn’t expect anything else.”
But Jenny was still wary when she stepped into the car. Not because she didn’t trust Richard. He’d been honest about what he wanted from the very beginning, and she believed that he didn’t have any ulterior motives for inviting her to his room. She was more worried about her weakening resolve where he was concerned.
“Tell me more about your family,” Richard suggested after their meals had been delivered.
“You’ve met them all except Suki,” Jenny said. “What do you want to know?”
“Is your father as protective of you as your brother?”
“He can be even more so,” she admitted. “But he and Mom traveled a lot, so John took on a lot of parental responsibility where I was concerned. I think he actually enjoyed intimidating the guys I dated in high school.”
“Did he ever beat anyone up for you?”
“Worried?” she teased.
“Maybe.”
Jenny laughed softly. “No. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever thrown a punch. Even when we were kids, John always made smart choices. He never gave our parents a moment’s worry, while I tested them constantly. Breaking curfew, sneaking out of the house, smoking, drinking—”
“Why?”
Her smile faded; her eyes clouded. “To prove what I thought I already knew—that I was unlovable. To see if they would give me away, too.”
“Give you away?” he echoed, genuinely baffled by her statement. “Why would you ever think they’d do that?”
“Because my mother did.” She set her chopsticks down and pushed her plate away.
Suddenly the pieces clicked into place. “You were adopted?”
She nodded. “I always knew it, but I didn’t really understand what it meant until I was in sixth grade and a new girl joined our class. Wendy was in foster care because her mother wasn’t capable of raising her. She’d been in and out of several different homes over the years. At one time, she’d had foster parents who’d wanted to adopt her. But her mother refused to sign the papers, claiming she loved her too much to ever let her go.”
The hurt and confusion were evident in her tone. “And you assumed, because your mother had put you up for adoption, it meant she didn’t love you.”
“It seems the obvious explanation,” she said.
He shook his head, unable to believe that this incredible woman could harbor such deep-rooted doubts about herself. “I don’t think it’s obvious at all. Maybe she loved you too much to ruin your life by letting you be shuffled in and out of other people’s homes.”
“Maybe.” But she clearly didn’t believe it. “In any case, I figured if my own mother could turn her back on me, my adoptive parents would, too. So I started acting out, pushing them to the point where I was sure they would throw their hands into the air and me into the streets.”
“But they didn’t.”
“No. They threw me into counseling instead.” She shook her head. “Even then, they didn’t abandon me. They sat by my side through each of the sessions, wanting only to help. I yelled at them and swore at them, and they never wavered.”
“They love you.”
She smiled. “I finally got that. And with the realization came the guilt and a determination to make amends, to make them proud of me so they’d never regret everything they’d given me.”
“Was your brother adopted, too?”
“Yeah. He was four years old when his biological parents were killed in a car accident. Two years later, the Andersons decided he should have a sibling.”
“And that’s when they adopted you?”
She nodded. “I don’t know whether it’s that he got there first, or maybe it’s because he actually looks a little bit like our mom, but he just always seemed to fit into the family while I never quite felt like I did.”
“I’m not sure I ever fit into my family, either,” he told her.
“But at least you know them. I have no clue about mine.”
“Yes, you do,” he insisted. “Even though you’re not related by blood, you’re still a family. That was obvious in the few minutes I saw you together.”
She was silent, considering.
“But if you really want to know your biological family,” he continued, “it seems that would be easy enough to arrange through the agency that adopted you out or—”
She shook her head, cutting him off. “I used to think about it,” she admitted. “But then I’d feel guilty for even considering it. I know I’m lucky to have two parents who love me—why would I risk screwing that up by searching for a mother who already rejected me?”
“It seems to me that your doubts and insecurities are screwing up your relationship with your family anyway.”
She sighed. “I just wish I was more like Jonathon, more like our parents—quiet and serious. As a child, I had a tendency to do everything at full volume.”
He smiled. “You still do.”
She frowned.
“You carry yourself with poise and elegance, but there’s an energy around you—a constancy of motion even when you’re standing still.”
“And I thought I’d outgrown that.”
He brushed his fingers over the back of her hand. “I don’t think passion is a character flaw.”
“Passion?” Jenny asked the question skeptically as she pulled her hand away. But even then, she could still feel the warmth of his touch on her skin, and she yearned to feel his touch on every part of her body.
“It’s there,” he told her. “Tightly controlled and all the more intriguing because of that control. It makes a man wonder what might happen if he ever managed to unleash it.”
She pushed her chair away from the table. “I have to go. I have an early meeting with my editor tomorrow.”
He stood up with her. “What are you doing Friday night?”
“I’m busy.”
“Are you? Or are you trying to put some distance between us?”
“I’m going out with Samara,” she said, which they both knew only answered the first part of his question. But she breathed a sigh of relief that she had legitimate plans, because she knew that she was in danger of getting in too deep with Richard and she desperately needed some of that distance he’d mentioned. Better yet, she needed him to finish up the negotiations and go back to Chicago—that would establish a lot of distance.
“Okay,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up.”
“I’m not trying to challenge you.”
“I know.” He smiled and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. She felt it tremble, ever so slightly, and could only hope that he didn’t notice the instinctive response.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll walk you home.”
Jenny shook her head. She needed that distance now, before she did something crazy. “I’ll take a taxi.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’ll be quicker,” she said. “It’s already late and I really want to get to bed. Home to bed. To sleep.”
He smiled at the hasty amendments. “Okay.”
She exhaled, silently relieved by his agreement. “Good night, Richard.”
He caught her hand as she reached for the handle of the door. “Do you really think I’m going to let you go without kissing you tonight?”
“We agreed—”
“The rules are changing,” he said.
She didn’t have a chance to brace herself before his lips brushed against hers. But even as she yielded to the kiss, she knew nothing could have prepared her for the feel of his mouth on hers, the confident mastery of his lips, the heat of her own desire.
Her lips parted and his tongue skimmed over hers with slow teasing strokes. She couldn’t think or reason, only respond. And the immediacy and intensity of her response stunned her. It was more than want—it was an aching need, a desperate yearning.
His hands moved up her back, sliding over the bare expanse of skin from her waist to her neck and back again. She felt her skin heat, her blood pulse, her bones melt.
He pressed her against the door, his body hard against hers, and incredibly arousing. She shivered, suddenly afraid of the growing need she felt inside, and of wanting more than he could give her.
When he finally eased away, she drew in a long, shaky breath and waited for the world to steady beneath her feet.
“What was that?” she asked, sounding breathless and dazed.
The way he looked at her was just as arousing as a touch, unrestrained desire blazing from the depths of his blue eyes. “That,” he said, rubbing his thumb over her bottom lip, “was the proper way to end a date.”
She swallowed. “I told you it wasn’t a date.”
His smile was slow and sexy and just a little bit smug. “You were wrong.”
Jenny was glad she had plans with Samara and some other friends for Friday night. She’d been spending far too much time with Richard Warren lately, and when she wasn’t with him, she was thinking about him. Even more than usual after their evening at the art gallery and the late dinner they’d shared in his suite. Or maybe it was the kiss that was to blame.
It would be easy to explain away her fascination as lust. There was no denying that at least part of the attraction she felt was physical. And maybe, if she’d taken Samara’s advice and slept with him a week ago, it might have ended there. It wasn’t that simple anymore.
Her feelings for Richard already went deeper than desire. She enjoyed being with him and talking to him, and she found herself missing him when he wasn’t around. When he’d asked her about her plans for tonight, she’d been tempted to invite him to join her friends—to show him a karaoke bar as yet another aspect of Japanese culture. She knew no one would have objected to his presence. But she also knew she was just looking for an excuse to see him again. And after the kiss they’d shared in his hotel room—
Well, she’d already spent far too much time thinking about that kiss. What she needed was a night out with friends to forget about Richard Warren.
And it was working, too. Her thoughts strayed to him only once every few minutes instead of a few times every minute. She concentrated instead on the group of people around her. There were about a dozen of them—friends and coworkers and significant others—in the private room they rented once a month to indulge in silly fun without making fools of themselves in front of strangers.
Malcolm had the microphone now and was squinting at the lyrics on the screen and struggling more than a little with the tune of an old Beatles song. Jenny tapped her foot to the beat of the music.
Yes, this was exactly what she needed—time and distance from Richard. Because staying away from the sexy lawyer was the only way to guarantee she would stay out of his bed.
Richard made his way up the stairs and down the hall to find the correct room number. When he’d called Samara to ask about her plans with Jenny, she’d promised they would be here tonight. He hadn’t realized it was a karaoke bar, and he hadn’t expected to find Jenny on stage.
He stood at the back of the room for a moment, captivated by her. He recognized the song, vaguely. A pop tune from several years back about believing in life after love. She was belting out the lyrics with obvious enthusiasm, singing as she did everything else—with intensity and passion.
He felt the stir of desire. In the past couple of weeks, he’d grown accustomed to the basic physical reaction of his body to her presence. It was the less familiar and distinctly uncomfortable yearning for something more that bothered him.
It had been a mistake to kiss her again. He’d had a taste, a glimpse—it wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted more. He wanted everything.
It was only his promise to her, his reassurance that he would wait until she was ready, that had made him pull away while he was still thinking clearly enough to do so.
She affected him on a level he didn’t think he’d ever experienced before and wasn’t sure he was ready for. If he was smart, he would turn around now and walk back out the door before she ever knew he was here.
It was further proof of the power she held over him that he didn’t turn around. Instead, he made his way across the room, toward a vacant chair in front of the stage where Samara and some others were watching.
He slipped into the empty chair beside Jenny’s roommate.
Samara smiled at him. “You made it.”
“And I only got lost once.”
She laughed and poured him a glass of beer from the pitcher on the table. “That’s impressive.”
Richard accepted the drink, his eyes on the stage as Jenny finished her song to a smattering of applause.
She bowed, then set the microphone back in the stand and gestured for Samara to take the stage. As her friend did so, Jenny took her now vacated seat.
“You were fabulous,” Richard told her.
“Thank you.” She accepted the compliment as warily as his presence. “What are you doing here?”
“Samara invited me.”
Jenny sipped again. “When?”
“When I called her last night to find out what you were doing tonight.” He picked up the pitcher to pour Jenny a drink.
“Thanks.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice so only he would hear. “But I’m not going to get drunk and let you seduce me.”
“I don’t want you drunk,” he told her. “I want you coherent and willing.”
She sat back again. “You’d have better luck if you tried for drunk.”
He smiled and let his gaze drop to her mouth, remembering how soft it had been under his, how incredibly responsive. “I don’t think so.” He twined an errant strand of hair around his finger and tugged gently. “I do want you, Jenny.”
He saw the quick flash of heat in her eyes, but she responded coolly. “Yes, we’ve already established that.”
“I think you want me, too.”
“I’m not going to deny there’s a basic physical attraction. But I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t do casual relationships.”
“My feelings for you are anything but casual,” he told her. “They’re powerful and intense and lately they’ve been driving me to distraction.”
The words caused a quick thrill of pleasure to course through her, an instinctive reaction which fueled her annoyance. He was a lawyer—it was his job to find the right words to get what he wanted. She refused to let his words sway her.
“You’re just not used to having any woman turn you down.”
He shifted his chair closer, his thigh brushing against hers beneath the table. “Could we forget about everyone else and just focus on us for a minute?”
“I’d rather focus on the music,” she said. “This is one of my favorite songs.”
“Okay.” His leg rubbed against hers again. “But we’ll get back to this.”
It was a promise that made her heartbeat quicken.
Samara finished her song and came back to the table. “Gabe’s up next.”
“I hope it’s a short one this time,” Jenny said, then grimaced as the first notes of Don McLean’s “American Pie” filled the room.
“We’re going to need another pitcher of beer, Kazuo.” Samara spoke to the man beside her. Then to Richard she said, “Do you sing?”
He shook his head. “Not in public.”
“Everyone has to sing,” Jenny said. “It’s a commitment you make when you walk through the door.”
“It’s not exactly a rule,” Samara said. “It’s more an expectation.”
“Of course, if you’re uncomfortable with the thought of getting up on stage, you can sneak out now,” Jenny told him.
Richard winced as the singer hit a note he’d never heard before. He had some concerns about making a fool of himself, but he was confident he could at least perform better than what they were hearing at present. “I don’t think my Japanese experience would be complete without at least a little karaoke.”
“I told her you wouldn’t buck at a challenge,” Samara said.
“Balk,” Jenny told her, scanning the list of song choices. “A buck is a male deer or slang for a dollar.”
Samara sighed. “Five years of college in America, and I still have trouble with the language.”
“Your English is a lot better than my Japanese will ever be,” Richard told her.
She smiled her gratitude as the man who’d gone to get more beer returned with two pitchers. He set them on the table, then sat down beside Samara and laid his arm across her shoulders. It might have been a casual display of affection, but Richard recognized the warning in his eyes and knew it was a blatant display of territoriality.
Samara rolled her eyes, obviously interpreting the gesture the same way. “This is Richard Warren,” she said. “He’s the lawyer from Chicago that I was telling you about. Richard, this is Kazuo.”
“You’re Jenny’s friend?” Kazuo asked.
He wasn’t so sure Jenny would consider him a friend or that he wanted to be classified as such, but he guessed it was a suitable title at present. He nodded and offered his hand.
Kazuo shook it, his grip more firm than friendly.
“Richard’s a karaoke virgin,” Jenny leaned over to inform the other man.
He smirked.
“I don’t think anyone should have to go it alone their first time,” Samara said, coming to his defense.
Kazuo stroked his fingers down her arm. “Maybe Jenny could help ease him into it.”
Jenny was shaking her head before Kazuo finished speaking. “I’m sure Richard can handle it on his own.”
He set down his empty glass and leaned closer to her. “I can,” he agreed. “But I think I would enjoy being initiated by someone with so much more experience.”
She glared at him. “You’re falling right into her trap.”
“I don’t mind being trapped with you.”
It wasn’t the words so much as the tenor of his voice that made her realize there was a lot more going on beneath the surface of their conversation.
“I’ve got it,” Samara announced triumphantly, already punching buttons into the machine to program her selection.
Gabe had finally finished his song and handed the microphone to Kazuo, who passed it to Richard. “You’re on.”
Richard stood up and took Jenny’s hand.
“I’m going to kill Samara,” she muttered.
“I like her,” he said.
“Then why don’t you sing with her?”
“Because I also like all my body parts in the right places, and her boyfriend seemed a little too eager to rearrange them.”
She smiled at that. “Kazuo’s like a big dog—all bark and no bite.”
“Good to know.”
“The rest of this crowd is a different story,” she warned. “Do you think you can handle it?”
“I’m sure I can stumble along if you lead the way.”
Jenny recognized the opening notes of the song and decided that she might forgive Samara for this—someday. At least it wasn’t a sentimental ballad about endless love or something equally nauseating. She glanced over at Richard. “You could probably still make a break for the door.”
“Not a chance.”
There was something in his smile, a distinctly sensual heat underlying the casual curve of his lips. It threw her off balance and made her miss her cue. Then she had to rush the first line to catch up.
Richard’s smile widened, as if he sensed her discomfiture and knew he was the cause of it. His gaze lingered on hers for a moment before it shifted to the monitor.
His singing unnerved her as much as the smile. She should have guessed he wouldn’t have risked getting up on stage unless he could carry a tune, but she hadn’t been prepared for how good he was. He had an incredible voice—strong and sure, even singing the sappy lyrics of an old Sonny and Cher tune.
This time when he smiled, she smiled back.
He was being a really good sport despite having been coerced to participate and it was, after all, harmless fun.
And then he touched her.
In the middle of the stage, under the lights, he’d reached out and stroked his hand down her arm to link with hers as he sang. It was as if the words were intended only for her, and everyone else seemed to fade away.
Suddenly it wasn’t just fun anymore. It was fun and dangerous, and the emotions swirling inside her were intense and chaotic—fear and need, wariness and wanting.
She saw the reflection of her own desire in his eyes, but his eyes were unclouded by other emotions. It was simple for him—he wanted her and he intended to have her. He’d already stated that intention clearly and unequivocally.
It wasn’t that easy for Jenny. She knew if she allowed herself to engage in a physical relationship with him, her heart would inevitably become involved. She wasn’t capable of separating her body from her emotions.
She sang her lines automatically, as her mind scrambled.
How had this happened to her? How was it possible to feel so much so soon? How had she let herself become involved when she knew he would only be in Tokyo a few weeks? What happened to the distance she’d vowed to establish? The only distance between them now was a few inches, and that space was filled with simmering heat that was already melting the last of her resolve.
It wasn’t until the sound of clapping penetrated the heavy throb of blood in her ears that she realized the song was over.
She tore her gaze from his and forced a smile as she bowed to her friends. She heard someone—Samara, she would bet—calling for an encore. But Jenny was already off the stage, dropping her microphone on the table.
She made her way down the stairs, pushed through the door and onto the sidewalk. She started to walk with no destination in mind, propelled by a desperate need to breathe, to think.
But all she could think was that she wanted him. There was no point in trying to deny it any longer. From the moment he’d walked into the bar, she’d known it was too late to hold back any longer.
She wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t eager to jump into another dead-end relationship.
Richard was only going to be in Tokyo a few more weeks—a month at the most. But right now she couldn’t think of a single reason not to take advantage of every minute they might have together over the next month.
No reason except that her heart had been broken too many times already. She simply didn’t have the experience or sophistication to indulge in a casual affair and her heart was too fragile for anything more.
“Jenny.”
She wasn’t surprised to hear him call her name. She’d left the bar in a last ditch effort for sanity, knowing that if he followed, there would be no turning away. Not this time.
She stopped, turned to face him. “I just needed some air.”
Richard took her hands; her heart stuttered.
In that moment, she knew everything was about to change. She was done fighting with herself. She’d made a list as long as her arm of all the reasons he was completely wrong for her. Okay, it was really one reason that she’d written over and over again—because he would be going back to Chicago soon.
She refused to get involved with someone who would soon be more than six thousand miles away.
But while the rational part of her brain understood that a relationship with Richard was doomed to failure, that part was no match for her need. For days they’d been building toward this moment. The moment when she forgot all the reasons they were completely wrong for each other and let herself get lost in the passion she knew they would discover together.
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head again, one last ditch effort to regain her sanity. “Nothing. Really. It’s crazy. I’m crazy.” She laughed. “It must have been the lights.”
“What must have been the lights?” He asked the question patiently, as if he already knew the answer.
Of course, he did. He’d been taking it slow to give her a chance to accept what he’d said almost from the beginning was inevitable.
“Short-circuiting my brain,” she answered.
He brushed his thumbs over her knuckles—a casual yet somehow sensual gesture that made her ache to feel his touch all over her body.
She swallowed before admitting, “I was actually thinking of asking you to come home with me.”
He drew her closer, one corner of his mouth tilting up in a half smile. “Thinking about it?”
She tipped her head back to look at him and said again. “It was a crazy thought.”
After a long moment, he finally nodded. “You’re right. And if you’d asked, I would have had to say no.”
Emotions swirled again. Surprise and regret. Relief and disappointment. Hurt that she could have misread him and the situation. Except that when she lifted her gaze to his again, the stark desire in his eyes conflicted with his response.
She could feel the heat emanating from his body, feel the sizzle of passion that matched her own.
“Because it’s crazy?” she asked.
He smiled. “Because my hotel is closer.”