Plain Jane and the Playboy / Valentine's Fortune. Marie Ferrarella

God, Jane thought. She didn’t care who it was as long as it gave her an excuse to get away from this impromptu Spanish Inquisition before the thumbscrews came out.

      Jane glanced at her watch, trying to remember her schedule for the day. It was a little early for her first student, Melinda Perez, to be coming in. She wasn’t due for at least another hour. But that was all right.

      “Bring Mrs. Perez and her daughter to the classroom,” she told April.

      April shook her head, her straight dark hair bobbing from side to side like black windshield wipers. “It’s not Mrs. Perez.”

      That caught her off guard. Mothers usually brought their children, not fathers. Maybe Mrs. Perez wasn’t feeling well.

      “Okay, show Mr. Perez and his daughter to the classroom. Better yet,” she decided, moving toward the doorway, “I’ll do it.”

      April stayed where she was, a ninety-eight-pound roadblock. She looked unsettled, Jane thought, and rather dazed, wearing what could only be termed a silly grin on her face.

      “April, is something the matter?” Jane asked.

      “It’s not Mr. Perez either,” the young girl said breathlessly.

      Confused, Jane walked out into the hallway and saw why April was acting so flustered.

      Jorge Mendoza stood just inside the doorway, with her winter coat draped over one arm and what looked like a picnic basket suspended from the other.

      The grin on his lips was guaranteed to raise body temperatures by at least five degrees as far away as the next county.

      “Hi, Jane. You forgot something at the restaurant the other night,” he told her, his voice low and melodic as he held her coat slightly aloft.

      By now, all of Jane’s coworkers had poured out into the hallway. She could feel them standing behind her, a hyperventilating Greek chorus.

      Just what she needed, an audience.

      How much worse was this going to get? And why, knowing what she did, did her kneecaps feel as if they were dissolving right out from under her?

      “Thank you,” she murmured, accepting the coat he held out to her.

      God, but he was even better looking in the light of day than he had been at the restaurant. But what was he doing here?

      Maybe he’d made another bet, she said to herself.

      Jorge drew a little closer to her, aware that they were both under intense scrutiny. “Could I see you in private?”

      Her uneasiness heightened. What was he up to? “I’ve got students coming in.”

      “Not for another hour,” Jorge countered. He saw the surprise in her eyes and smiled. Nodding toward April, he said, “I checked.”

      “I can cover for you,” Harriet volunteered. “I don’t have anyone coming in until this afternoon.”

      “I can cover for you, too,” Sally chimed in eagerly, her eyes never leaving Jorge.

      His smile widening, Jorge gave a slight bow of his head. “Thank you, ladies. I promise I won’t keep her too long.”

      Jane wanted to say something about the bet. Right here, right now, she wanted to give this too-handsome-for-his-own-good-or-anyone-else’s a dressing down. Wanted to tell him that if he’d discovered a conscience and was here to make amends, she didn’t want any part of that. She just wanted to be left alone.

      She wanted to say all that. But the desire to get all of that off her chest was outweighed by the fact that she’d always hated making a scene. Jane absolutely despised displays of temper, maybe because she’d been the target of her mother’s so often when she was growing up.

      Whatever the reason, she swallowed her retort and kept it to herself, refusing to vent in front of her coworkers.

      “All right, we can go to my classroom,” she told him, resigned.

      He laughed softly under his breath as he threaded his arm through hers. “First time I’ve ever looked forward to going to a classroom.”

      Several members of her Greek chorus giggled. Doing her best to ignore them—and the heat traveling up her body where Jorge was holding her—Jane led the way to the room where she did her tutoring. Jorge dropped his hand, allowing her to cross the threshold first.

      Shutting the door behind her, Jane turned to look at him.

      Charade over, she thought. Time to dig up that backbone of yours, Janie.

      “Why did you come here?” she asked him.

      He nodded toward the coat she was still holding. “I thought you might need your coat.” He also wanted to know what had caused her to run off the other night, but for the moment, that could wait.

      Jane had to admit that she was grateful to be reunited with her coat, but that still didn’t explain the other thing he’d brought with him. “And you decided to pack it in a picnic basket?”

      He set the basket down on the desk. “No, I packed some of my father’s famous enchiladas and nachos in the basket, along with—” He rattled off several Mexican delicacies that he’d brought, ending with chocolate chip sweet bread.

      The latter had always been her weakness and guilty pleasure. Had he known that?

      No, of course not. How could he? Not even the people she worked with knew that about her. For the most part, she was a very private person. It had been a lucky guess on his part, nothing more.

      “Why would you do that?” she wanted to know. She wasn’t ordinarily suspicious, but after the other night, she’d decided that being cautious was a much wiser path for her to take.

      Jorge opened the basket and took out a checkered tablecloth, which he proceeded to spread on the floor right behind her desk and chair. She watched him in surprised silence. Was he actually planning on pretending they were having a picnic?

      “Because it might help make you forgive me,” Jorge told her and then added an extremely soulful, “I’m sorry.”

       I’m sorry.

      Her heart twisted in her chest. What was it about those words that could always make her forgive a myriad of transgressions and make her want everything to be right again? Was she just terminally kind-hearted—or a pushover?

      Jane was tempted to say something about overhearing the two teens talking about the bet he’d made, but she hesitated too long and Jorge was talking again. Talking and burrowing his way into a heart that should have, by all rights, been hardened against him.

      But wasn’t.

      “I don’t know what would have made you run off like that, especially without your coat, but if it had to do with me,” Jorge continued as he placed two plates and two sets of cutlery down on the tablecloth, “I really am sorry.”

      His wording made her realize that he had no idea that she’d overheard the two teens talking. And he probably had no remorse for making that kind of bet. This was a matter of ego. He was voicing a blanket apology because he just didn’t like having a woman walk out on him.

      She had to keep reminding herself of that, but being so close to him was having a definite effect on her thought process. As well as on her whole body.

      What was the point of telling him that she’d overheard? That she knew she was nothing more than a bet to him? Saying it wouldn’t change anything. So she looked away and said, “I had an emergency.”

      Two glasses joined the plates, cutlery and napkins. “What kind of an emergency?” he asked mildly.

      She hadn’t expected him to probe. Resorting to fabrications wasn’t something that came easily to her, not even to save face. “The kind that made me hurry away,” Jane responded vaguely.