than he did her clients.
“You’re right. I’m just disappointed.” Jamie shivered a little in the air-conditioning, wishing she’d brought a sweater. “But the weird thing that happened today was that I met a guy on the subway. The guy from Beckwith’s prediction.”
That thought caused more than a shiver. Her whole body underwent an earthquake shake. Jack had been so…delicious.
Allison didn’t look impressed. “Beckwith couldn’t predict his way out of a paper bag. You shouldn’t be talking to strange men with that crap in your head.”
“It was too freaky to be nonsense. The height, the hair color, the moving accident, the food, it was all accurate.” And then there was the look in his eyes. Admiration. As though he thought she was attractive, despite no make-up, frizzy hair, and lack of Manhattan polish.
Jamie would reserve judgment on what kind of man Jack was until after they’d had some time to talk, but right now she was feeling strangely optimistic. So maybe Beck might have exaggerated the longevity of this relationship and was clearly wrong about the whole dishonesty thing—after all, what was dishonest about colliding on the subway? But Jamie still thought she and Jack might have a good old time, even without the whole happily ever after thing.
Beckwith did have the gift, she was sure of it.
“Just look at Beckwith’s prediction for Mandy, Allison. Back five months ago, he said she was going to find a man who made her melt, and that there were buns in her future. Now she’s married to Damien and having a baby. He was completely right.”
“What do melting buns have to do with marrying your boss and getting pregnant?”
It did seem like kind of a stretch when Allison put it like that. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.
“Jamie, please tell me you’re not meeting this guy.”
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
Jamie sipped her drink and tried to look innocent. “I won’t tell you that I’m meeting this guy.”
Allison made a sound of total exasperation. “Would you be going out with this guy if Beckwith hadn’t told you about meeting a man while moving? Don’t let that sway you to do something you wouldn’t normally do. Something stupid.”
But Jamie knew what she was doing.
She had a date with her sexual destiny.
Jack might turn out to be a total jerk-off, but she’d never know unless she met him. And if she had an orgasm or two along the way, she wasn’t going to complain.
Chapter 3
Jamie stood outside Mama Luigi’s and rubbed the crystal in her hand. “Okay, this is it. I hope he showed up.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, which wasn’t a good idea in her clinging tank top.
In a moment of impulse she had put on a melon-colored sleeveless shell, which strained to contain her healthy chest. To make it even worse, there was a flower in the middle of the shirt, and Jamie felt like the petals were serving as directionals to her nipples. She couldn’t begin to imagine why she had thought wearing it was a good idea.
But she had been motivated by the need to feel attractive, to gain Jack’s attention. Allison, resigned to the date, had wanted her to wear an elegant skirt and one-shoulder blouse, but she knew she needed to meet Jack wearing her own clothes, so he would fall in lust with the real her.
She suspected the only thing falling tonight would be her breasts, right out of this shirt. Of course, that would serve her purpose of securing Jack’s attention, though it wasn’t a sure bet that he’d enjoy the view.
Slipping her crystal into her tiny handbag shaped like an alligator, she fluffed her hair and licked her lips. Jeans had seemed appropriate since Allison had told her the restaurant was casual, but now she wondered if it was too late to go home and change.
It was. It would take her an hour to go home and change and come back.
“Don’t let me regret this,” she whispered, and pulled open the door.
He was the first person she saw.
Jack was standing in the waiting area, staring right at the door. Jamie thanked her crystal from the bottom of her melting heart. He was hot, hot, hot.
His short hair was clean cut, not so short as to look military, but not long enough to be trendy. It was the kind of brown that started to lighten and streak in the summer, and now that it was July it looked like caramel. He smiled and started toward her.
Which was a good thing since her legs were incapable of carrying her anymore. She might always have to be sitting down when she saw Jack since she felt in danger of collapsing whenever he was around her.
He was wearing jeans. That hugged in the right places.
And one of those nondescript guy shirts that buttoned up the front, was machine washable, and cost one-fifth what a woman’s shirt did, but still managed to convey style. The navy color caused the blue of his eyes to deepen until they were the shade of a stormy summer sky.
He was just as gorgeous as she remembered. It hadn’t been a trick of the fluorescent subway lighting or the power of suggestion.
“Hi, Jamie. I’m glad you came.” He touched her hand briefly.
“Hi, Jack.” She felt herself grinning like the Greenwich Village idiot.
“They have a table ready for us.” He gestured to the dining room.
“Great.” Concentrating on moving forward in a normal person fashion, Jamie wasn’t ready for Jack’s hand to slide across the small of her back as he guided her.
Only a swift lockdown on her jaw kept her from yelping out loud like a nipped puppy.
The table was in the corner of the semidarkened dining room. It was a casual atmosphere, with stucco walls and rich vibrant paintings in red and mustard yellow. A large planter hid the view of the table next to theirs.
Jack held out her chair, and Jamie sat down in confusion. Men she dated didn’t pull back chairs. Of course, her dates usually had no money to take her out to dinner either.
“Would you like some wine?” Jack leaned against the back of his wrought-iron chair, looking relaxed and comfortable.
In stark contrast, Jamie was thankful she’d worn the sleeveless shirt since anything else would now be sporting massive pit stains, due to the copious sweating she was doing. Maybe Jack was out of her league. He looked a little too…normal. Conservative. Nary a tattoo anywhere that she could see.
“Sure, I’ll have a glass.”
“Red or white?”
She cared not one bit, since she had every intention of guzzling it down in three seconds to steady her nerves. “Red.”
Jack fingered the menu, but didn’t open it. “So, tell me, Jamie The Klutz, where are you from? I can’t place your accent.”
Setting her alligator handbag—shaped like a grinning alligator, not actually made from alligator, because that would be cruel—down on the floor, she smiled at her napkin in relief. She could do small talk. It was just looking at him that was a problem.
“I’m from La Grange, Kentucky. I’ve been in New York eight years. And I thought my accent was gone.”
“It comes and goes. It increases when you’re nervous.”
That got her attention. How could he have noticed that already? How embarrassing. She looked at him, but he was just sitting there, with a casual half smile on his face. “What makes you say that?”
“I noticed it right away yesterday afternoon. You started out with more Kentucky in your voice, then it just faded away as we talked.”