MisTaken (Miss Match #1.5) (12 page)

Wait, no, that was actual knocking. On his door. He glanced at the time before shutting his laptop. It was nearly ten. Jaylene was the only woman who would think of disturbing him so late at night, not that he considered it late. At least, he hoped it was Jaylene. His deadline was fast approaching, and he should be focused on the words. But Jay was a very happy distraction.

He was grinning as he opened the door, still grinning as he took in her appearance. She wore a short denim skirt and cami—God, how his fashion vocabulary had increased since writing women’s fiction—that hugged her tits and dipped at her neckline. He could probably get a sneak peek at her breasts if she weren’t holding something in front of her cleavage. A book. She was holding a book.

Fuck. She was holding
his
book.

Did she know? She couldn’t know. It was impossible. He’d been so careful. Maybe she’d just bought a copy because the discussion over it had led to the most incredible sex—of
his
life, anyway. Except she was holding the mass market edition, which wasn’t available for purchase yet, which meant … well, he wasn’t sure what it meant. Had she received an early autographed copy in one of his giveaways? He’d mailed some out a couple of weeks before and though he hadn’t known her yet, he was certain he would have noted the address since he was about to move into the same area.

And however she’d gotten it, that didn’t mean that she knew he’d written it. Or did it? Dammit, he should have come clean and told her before. Now he’d stalled long enough to make it a
thing
and in his experience,
things
were never good in the early days of a relationship.

All these thoughts raced through his mind in a matter of seconds, so he couldn’t be sure that she read his panic, but if he didn’t say something soon, it would be obvious. He broke in with the good old standby, “Hey!”

Should he pull her in for a kiss? He wanted to. It would be natural, but had he waited too long?

Jaylene helped by taking over the situation. “Can I come in?” Forward women were totally awesome. God bless the feminists.

“Of course. Come in.” As he shut the door behind her, he took a deep breath and gathered himself. If she did know, at least she’d come by to discuss it with him. If she didn’t know, then it was probably time she did. When he turned back to her, he was ready.

So was she. “It seems we need to talk,” she said at the same time he said, “We should talk.”

They did the obligatory awkward laugh and all he wanted to do was draw her into his arms and carry her into his bed. But there was this. Book. God.

He scratched the back of his neck and decided to let her go first. “So. What’s with the book?” He nodded at
A Woman’s Education
that Jay still clutched in her hands like a shield.

“I, uh…” She swung her hands—and the book—behind her back. “First, I need to say something. Last night, and the night before, and this morning … all of it has been amazing. Eye-opening and, uh, freeing, I suppose. I had no idea that it could be like that. That
I
could be like that. Thank you.”

Was this the beginning of a breakup speech? Because it sure sounded like a breakup speech. That’s totally what it was—she was breaking up with him and bringing him his own damn novel as a consolation prize. God, did he never get away from the stigmas of his job?

Well, if it was a breakup, he might as well get his two cents in while he had the chance. “I should be thanking you. You trusted me, and that means a lot.” Now he’d made their incredible sex sound like a standard transaction between a therapist and patient. So he added, “And it’s been hot. Way hot.”

“Way hot.” She blushed and his pants tightened.

Then he was examining the meaning of those two words. Would she have said that if she were breaking up? Was there a “but” to follow? And if there was, why hadn’t she said it yet?

After what seemed like an eternity, she cleared her throat. “Which brings us to this.” Out came the paperback again.

He stared at the familiar cover, remembering how much pride he’d had when his publisher had first unveiled it. It had been his break into the literary world—a world he loved more than anything. He’d toyed with several different genres while pursuing his English major and in the years that had followed. He hadn’t even been certain writing was his future—there was editing, and being an agent as well. The erotic romance experiment happened to be the one that struck gold. He’d gotten an agent of his own, and a major book deal. Then, the public loved it. The first novel soared to the top of the charts. He’d been blown away to see his dream come true.

He hadn’t realized there’d be so much criticism. Not just bad reviews, but criticism of him as a person. How could a man write about such scandalous acts? Was he some sort of sex-obsessed weirdo? Honestly, he was just really good at telling a story. And this one happened to be dirty.

But because of the judgment he received on a daily basis, he’d learned to keep a low profile. Sometimes he wished he’d kept his pen name secret altogether. His family was mortified. He rarely did public appearances, and he even more rarely told non-industry people what he did for a living. Especially people like Jay. Based on how strongly she’d reacted to the subject of the book, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t like that he wrote it. He should have told her anyway.

Something told him she already knew.

Nothing to do but find out. He nodded to the book in Jay’s hand. “Do you mind telling me where you got that?”

“Um. Your closet?” She said it like a question and then corrected herself. “I mean, I got it from your closet.”

Of all the answers he’d expected to hear, that wasn’t one of them. “My closet?”

“I’m sorry. I snooped.” Her gaze was downcast, seemingly studying his bare feet.

“You went through my closet? Through my personal things?” All the worry he had about her reaction to his occupation dissipated as something else took over—fury. Maybe it was simply a defense mechanism acting so that he didn’t have to deal with the guilt of hiding the truth from her, but he was outraged. His privacy was important. It was crucial. It was all he had. “You had no right to do that.”

“I know.” At least she looked anguished about it. “I know! I said I was sorry. I didn’t even mean to.”

Sorry? He’d been betrayed and all she had was
sorry?
She didn’t fucking
mean to?
It felt like a knife had been jabbed in his gut. It was cliché, but now he understood the reason the saying existed. Because that’s what this pain felt like.

“You can’t imagine how much this hurts, Jay.”

She met his accusation with blazing eyes. “Probably as much as it hurts that you didn’t think you could share this with me.”

Well, she had a point there.

They stood in a silent stare-off as Jay ran a hand through her short hair. A million things came to his head to say—apologies, explanations, retractions. Nothing seemed right.

It was Jay who spoke first. “Look, I know it was wrong, Noah. I do. I didn’t really mean to be snooping. I was looking for a shirt and the books were underneath and I thought they were drugs and you never told me what you do for a living, so I figured that this must be it so I sorta swiped one so I could investigate it further, and, well, yay, it’s not drugs.”

He remembered the shirt she’d been wearing that morning. It
had
been in the closet before that. Directly on top of the box. The box that was open for anyone looking to see into. It would have been hard for her to miss it.

Wait. Did she say…? “You thought I was a drug dealer?”

She let out a strangled sort of croak. “Yeah. Funny, right?”

“Because you thought my books looked like drugs?”

“Bricks of cocaine. Yeah.”

He burst into laughter. It was too ridiculous not to. “Why on earth would you assume that?”

“Because there’s a rash of drug crime here. And why else would someone have packages wrapped up in brown paper?”

His anger had faded in the exchange. How could it not? He shook his head and tried to explain. “I send those for giveaways. People don’t always want other people—”

“—to know what they’re reading,” she finished with him. “Got it. Now. This also makes more sense when I think about that cougar you were talking to. She wanted you to sign her book, not refill her coke stash.”

“Yeah, I don’t get recognized on the street very often, but my fans are very sweet. I always take a moment for them when they do notice me. No cocaine involved.”

She bit her lip. “So I did something shitty, and you can punish me for it later if you want to, but can we talk about the more important issue here?”

There was a more important issue than a possibly trafficking charge? Good grief. But. Her suggestion of punishment had his thoughts drifting naughtily. Probably not the right time, but he was a guy, after all.

Jay held up the book, flashing it in his face as if he’d never seen it. “You wrote this, Noah. You wrote this and you didn’t tell me.”

She already knew, so why was it still so hard to admit?

And why was it hard to admit at all? This was his work. He wasn’t ashamed. In fact, he loved his fucking book. And so did half the women in Boston. Like that blond lady, like a million more like her. He threw his shoulders back. “Yeah, I wrote it. I write sexy books. And I read them, too. And I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get all narrow-minded again, and I’m tired of it, Jaylene. Not just from you, but from everyone. It’s why I don’t tell people. I don’t tell anyone.” He exhaled heavily, as if the weight of his sigh could somehow convey all his feelings to her. She made a face.

“I wish I could say that I didn’t deserve that, but I can’t. I’ve been wrong about things. I see that now. But I’ve tried to change. I’ve trusted you, and you didn’t trust me. Were you going to keep this from me forever?” Her own sigh was just as weighty as his, reminding him that he wasn’t the only one feeling betrayed.

“Maybe.” No, he would have told her. Eventually. Probably. But he was still feeling a tad bit contrary.

“That’s no way to have a relationship. Keeping secrets from each other? I thought you wanted to have something real. Or was I mistaken about that, too?” Her arms crossed, as if to protect her heart. It broke his.

“No. No, you weren’t mistaken. I
do
want to have something real with you.” His hands moved futilely, wanting to hold her, to reassure her, but knowing it wasn’t going to be okay.

“Good. Because I want to have something real with you, too.”

“You do?” He froze, certain he’d misheard that. Judgey Jay still wanted him, even after this?

“Yes. I do. Which is why I spent all evening reading your book. It’s good, Noah. It’s really good.” Her arms fell to her sides, the book no longer a barrier between them.

“You liked it?” He still couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I loved it.” She smiled, for the first time, and his heart started to put itself back together.

“Even though you think it’s demeaning to women?” he clarified.

“It’s not demeaning to women. I made some incorrect assumptions.” Her grin spread, those cherry-red lips exposing her white teeth. Maybe instead of a barrier, his book could be a bridge.

“You know what they say about assumptions.…” He grinned back, already planning their makeup sex. Maybe it was too soon, but his relief was so palpable.

She laughed. “It’s assume, you dope. It doesn’t work with the word assumption. Some writer.”

“You got my reference, though. And am I right that you’re now thinking about my ass?”

“I’m thinking you
are
an ass.” She crossed to him and threw her arms around his neck.

Without hesitation, he pulled her closer, wrapping her into his embrace. Finally, he could show her how sorry he was. Yeah, he should have done this awhile ago. Forward women were definitely awesome.

“Is this okay?” she asked, her face so near he could feel her breath on his skin.

“Well, you went through my stuff and I kept secrets from you but we’ve both apologized now so I’d say we’re okay.” More than okay, judging from the arousal he could feel moving between them in waves.

“Except, I don’t think you actually apologized.” She tipped her head back to fake-glare.

“Oh, right. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Jaylene. There are a great many people who
assume
”—he stressed the word on purpose—“that if you write erotic romance that you’re a pervert or less intelligent or—”

“—an oppressor of women?” It was cute how she poked at herself. Much as he was—okay, finish the conversation first, he reminded himself.

“Actually, you were the first who assumed that.” He rubbed his nose along the length of hers. “I don’t usually tell people because I don’t care what they think of me. I like what I do. I’m good at it. But, the reason I didn’t tell you was for just the opposite reason—I
do
care what you think about me. I like you.”

She drew in a soft breath.

“I mean, I
really
like you, Jaylene. And I knew how you felt about erotic romance books. And I was afraid that if you knew that I wrote them, then that would be the end of us.” Fuck too soon. He was going to lay all his cards on the table. It was time to be real.

“So you
assumed?
Is that okay?” She teased gently, nipping him on the neck. She was apparently going to take advantage of this brief respite in power play. He wasn’t at all upset.

“You got me,” he murmured. “Not okay, I know that now.”

“It’s understandable.” She pulled back to meet his eyes. “But actually I meant, is this okay that I’m touching you? Because you didn’t give me permission.” As if he hadn’t noticed.

“We aren’t in the bedroom.” As if he hadn’t noticed that either.

She fluttered her lids a couple of times and peered up at him.

Oh. He was sure slow sometimes. Maybe he
hadn’t
noticed. “Did you want to be in the bedroom?”

Her shrug was meant to be nonchalant, but he could read her like the blurb on the back of his bestselling novel.