Anything For You

“Okay,” she said.

It was freezing now, and already the late October wind had gone from damp and raw to razor. She was only wearing a denim jacket. He should’ve noticed that before. He slipped off his peacoat and gave it to her.

“I’m fine.”

“Take it, Jess.”

She did. “You’re not cold?” she asked.

Not as long as he was looking at her. “Not at all.” He took her hand, which was cold and small in his, and rubbed it with both of his. Though it was hard to tell in the dim light, she might’ve blushed.

No one else was out on the hotel grounds, probably because their survival instincts had kicked in and they didn’t want to freeze to death.

But Jessica sure looked cute in his coat, which came down to her knees and past her hands. Her hand slipped out of his as she leaned her arms on the railing and gazed out at the mighty river. Lights winked from the opposite shore, and the wind gusted.

Say something, idiot, his brain instructed. He had nothing.

A barge passed beneath them, almost silent, the motor just a low growl.

“You ever wonder where they’re going?” Jessica asked. “What it’d be like to crew on one of those, where you’d sleep, the places you could see?”

“All the lives you could live,” he said.

She looked at him sharply then returned her gaze to the river. The barge kept going, downriver toward Manhattan, and from there, anyone’s guess.

“I’m sorry if I was rude before, when I first saw you,” she said, not looking at him. “I didn’t expect to see someone I knew.”

“You weren’t rude,” he said.

“It’s just... No one in the wine class knew my reputation, or that I’m just a waitress, or that I still live in a trailer park. For a second, I just got to be some good-looking chick from upstate, maybe a restaurant manager or sommelier or something.” She pushed some hair behind her ear. “When I saw you, I was Jessica Does again.”

There was a whole lot of history in that statement, and Connor was wise enough not to answer right away.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “you were always Jessica Doesn’t where I was concerned.”

She laughed, surprised, and looked at him. He smiled.

She shifted her gaze back to the river. “Do you remember the time you said I could punch you? After Chico bit you?”

He blinked. “Yes.”

“That...” She straightened up and looked at him. “That meant a lot to me.”

Hell’s bells. The wind howled down the river, gusting into the bridge.

She looked away. “I’m freezing.”

“Let me walk you back to the hotel,” he said. Nice going, he told himself. She gave you an opening and you stood there like a tree.

They didn’t hold hands on the way back, and though the wind was bitter and the smell of creosote from the railroad tracks was sharp, Connor was awfully sorry when they got to the lobby.

“I hope you have a good time tonight,” he said as she took off his coat and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” she said. She just looked at him for a long minute, her clear green eyes as mysterious as the dark side of the moon. For a second, he thought she might just turn and walk away.

But then she said, “Yes, by the way.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

God was smiling on him, that was for sure. He grinned and let her lead the way to the dining room.

“Connor O’Rourke,” said Francine, the restaurant hostess, a fiftysomething-year-old woman who had flirted with him all last summer, “what are you doing back here?”

“Francine, this is my friend Jessica. She’s a guest at the hotel.”

“Very nice to meet you, Jessica. I hope everything is to your liking.”

“Everything is wonderful,” she said.

“Table for two?” she asked.

And here was the thing about being a good-looking, amiable guy who always had time to flirt with the restaurant hostess. It got you the best table in the house, in front of the fireplace. And being a hard-working sous-chef who’d tolerated the rages and hissy fits of his stereotypical French boss got them a visit from the self-same diva, who came out to their table to greet them and sent over a bottle of wine and a lobster-and-avocado appetizer that wasn’t on the menu.

“Mademoiselle, a pleasure to have you dine at my humble establishment,” Raoul said, bending over her hand, and Jess smiled at him then raised an eyebrow at Connor.

“You always get treated like this?” she asked him. Raoul still held on to her hand.

“I think you’re the one who’s getting treated like this. Watch out for Raoul,” he said, separating the chef’s hand from hers. “He loves beautiful women.”

“Ah, it’s true, it’s true,” Raoul said, completely charming. “My wife, she suffers, but what can she do? She throws things and screams, then I cook for her, she is helpless in the face of my great talent, and everything is happy again. Mademoiselle—Jessica, if I may? Jessica, I would love to cook for you, just the two of us—”

“The kitchen needs you, Raoul.” Connor smiled at his old boss. “Go. I smell a filet being cooked well-done.”

“Mon Dieu,” Raoul said. He bowed again to Jess, then winked at Connor, and then they were alone again.

Jess gave him a small smile then took a tiny sip of wine.

“You don’t drink much,” Connor said.

“I have two alcoholic parents,” she answered mildly. “I’d be stupid to start.”

He nodded.

“So what kind of classes do you take?” she asked, and he told her about the CIA, and what he was good at and where he wasn’t so hot.

“What’s your dream job?” she asked as their dinners were served.

He hesitated. “I’d like to own my own place,” he said.

“Something fancy, like this?”

“No, no. Something small and humble but with great food. Really thoughtful food, you know? Not just burgers and nachos, but with the best burger you’ve ever eaten, nachos with three kinds of cheddar and fresh tomatoes and jalapeños. A place with a really good wine list, and specials based on what was in season and what looked good at the market that day. Nothing frozen or premade, nothing that came shipped in a plastic bag and was offloaded from a trailer, you know?”

Shit. Hugo’s had food that came off a trailer.

But she didn’t take offense. “It sounds good. Where would you do it? Manningsport?”

“Maybe.” He hadn’t really thought about it too much; if he followed the course of most CIA chefs, he’d sous-chef somewhere terribly impressive and uptight for a couple of years, probably in Manhattan or Europe. He was one of the best students in the class. He could go to Paris or Milan or Sydney, easily.

“What about you, Jess? What’s your dream job?”

She took a deep breath. “Oh, I don’t know. Not a waitress. Something where I could make enough to take care of Davey.”

His Catholic guilt shot up into the red zone. “Will he ever be able to...uh...live on his own?” he asked.

“No,” she answered. “He’ll always be with me.” She didn’t seem bothered by that in the least.

Connor never did know what caused Davey’s handicap. It seemed too personal to ask.

“He has fetal alcohol syndrome,” Jessica said, pronouncing the words carefully, as if she wasn’t used to saying them.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “He’s the best thing in my entire life.”

“Sorry,” Connor said again then winced. Jess gave him a wry look and then smiled.

Dessert was brought out without their ordering it, as well as two cappuccinos. “Raoul made this special for the two of you,” said their server, a girl Connor didn’t recognize. “It’s a tartin des pommes de terre with caramelized ginger, served with clotted cream, and he said if that doesn’t make you believe in God, he doesn’t know what will.”

“Please thank him for us,” Jessica said.

Happiness was watching her take a bite, close her eyes and lick her lips. “Oh, God, that’s incredible,” she said.

If he could make her look like that—and not because of dessert—

Better cut that thought off right there. Jess had more than enough men lusting after her.

But come on. Jessica eating that dessert was complete and utter food porn. And he was a chef. It’d be wrong not to enjoy the way her eyes fluttered closed, the little smile, the quiet moan of pleasure.

When the bill came, he grabbed it.

“No, no,” Jessica said. “Let me.”

“Not on your life,” he said.

“At least let me pay my half.”

“Nope.”

“But Hugo—”

“I’m buying you dinner, Jessica. Live with it. And thanks for tolerating me.”

“It was very tough.” She smiled. “It was nice to see you, Connor. I didn’t think it would be, but it was.”

Huh. Mixed praise.

He followed her through the restaurant, noticing the looks she got from men and women both, and wondered if she knew how beautiful she was. He didn’t think so. Or if she did, it didn’t make a lot of difference to her.

At the elevators, she turned to him and thanked him once again.

“Maybe I’ll see you at home,” he said.

“Probably,” she said. “Small town and all that.”

He looked at her another minute. “Take care of yourself. And Davey.” Then he hugged her for the second time in his life, and this time, her arms went around his waist.

Her hair was as silky as he thought.

He turned his head just a little, to breathe in the smell of her lemony shampoo, and then he felt her cheek against his, and he wished he’d shaved today, because her skin was so soft.

Then their lips were touching, just brushing, not really a kiss at all, and that wouldn’t do, not when he was so close to finally, finally kissing Jessica Dunn.

He cupped the back of her head and went for it. Her lips were full and soft under his, a perfect fit, and it was so, so good.

And she kissed him back. Her mouth was lush, but the kiss was innocent and gentle and a little shy, and Connor didn’t want anything more than that—such a lie—but it was enough, it was so much... Jessica Dunn against him, her lips on his.

Then she stepped back.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat.

“I should... I...” She ran a hand through her hair, not looking at him. “Sorry about that. A guy buys me dinner, I guess it’s a reflex.”

He wasn’t sure she was insulting him or herself. Her hand was shaking, he noticed.

“It was good seeing you,” he said.

“You, too.” She pushed the button for the elevator. “Take care.”

He nodded once then turned and walked away.

Shit, shit, shit. Whatever he’d just done had been all wrong. She probably hated him more than ever now. She told him she’d wanted a night alone, but he’d gone ahead and accepted what had probably been an obligatory offer, and then he’d kissed her as if he deserved something, and seriously, he would never get it right where she was.

“Connor?”

He turned so suddenly he almost fell. She was still there, looking at him, not smiling. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to come up?”

She was very still. Frozen, really. Then she bit her lip.

She was nervous.

“Yes,” he said, very, very quietly. “If you’re sure.”

The elevator doors opened behind her. She glanced back, then looked at him again. “I am.”

And much to his surprise, she smiled, and it caught him right in the gut, as strong as a punch and almost painful.

Almost not trusting her words, he walked back to her, and she grabbed the pocket of his coat and pulled him into the elevator, pushed 11, and they were kissing again before the doors even closed, and she tasted so good, like apples and lemon and that hint of wine, and he was already drunk with wanting her before they hit the eleventh floor. When the doors opened again, he just picked her up and carried her out into the hall, smiling as she laughed against his mouth.

She fumbled for her room key, inserted it upside down, then got it right, and they were inside. She stopped for a second. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said then kissed him again, shoving his coat off his shoulders, and Connor had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her. She was lean and strong and soft in all the right places, and she smelled so good and clean, like lemons and cilantro. He kissed her neck, tasting her skin, and she yanked his shirt out of his jeans.

“Wait,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“There are condoms in the drawer,” she said. “Full-service hotel.”

“Just...wait.”

He was already breathing hard, his heart crashing against his ribs. His body was telling him to just tumble her back on the bed and get her naked and into her as fast as possible.

“Change your mind?” she said, and there was an edge in her voice.

“God, no.”

“Then what?” The three feet away face was already in place.

“I want to look at you,” he said.

Something in her eyes flickered.

He stepped forward again. His shirt was open, thanks to her quick fingers, but she was completely dressed. Her sea-glass eyes slid away from his, then back, and he cupped her face in his hands, smoothing his thumbs across her high cheekbones. Her lashes were soft and feathery. He touched her lips with one finger, then bent to kiss her, softly, softly, then the corner of her mouth, her cheeks, her nose, and back to her soft, pink mouth.

When Connor was a kid, he’d seen a coyote take a rabbit from the woods near their house. He ran after it, even knowing the rabbit was already dead, only to find a baby rabbit there in the leaves, its sides heaving with terror. Connor picked it up and felt its heart flying under his fingers, the animal terrified, but safe. He took it home and fed it from an eyedropper. It had taken a week before the animal trusted him.

It was kind of the same feeling now.

Jessica, for all her bravado and impenetrability, seemed to be a little...scared.

He kissed her neck, gently, slowly, and slid his hands under her sweater. Unhooked her bra and skimmed her skin, then slowly pulled the sweater over her head. Looked at her.

She was perfect. The pulse in her throat was visible, and fast.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, and then he sat on the bed and tugged her down with him. He held her hands over her head, and kissed her for a long, long time, tasting her, learning her mouth. Then he let her hands go, smiling as they buried into his hair. Bit by bit, he undressed the rest of her, taking his time, tracing every bit of skin he saw, tasting it.

“You’re killing me here,” she whispered, her breath ragged, and he lifted his head and smiled, and after a second, she smiled back. It wrapped around his heart, that smile, hot and tugging. “Hurry up, Connor O’Rourke.”

This was one of those moments of honest-to-God perfection, and he wasn’t going to rush through it. No.

He took his time instead.

There were no complaints.

* * *

JESS WOKE UP on her stomach, her head under a pillow. The sun was bright behind the curtains, which they’d thought to draw around 2:00 a.m. after the third round of sex—against the wall, good God.

Very slowly, she turned to see if Connor was still there.

He was.

So that was a first.

In fact, it had been a night of firsts. First night in a hotel, for one. But it was hard to think about the hotel with a rather large, beautiful male in her bed.

He was lying on his back, one arm over his head, looking ridiculously perfect, like an ad for Alpha Male Cologne. His lashes were long and curly, and his jaw was dark with razor stubble. Full lips, and a slight dimple in his chin. Just under his jaw was a divot from where Chico had bitten him, with a faint, corresponding scar curving from his eye to the top of his cheekbone. For a guy who spent all his time eating and cooking, he was pretty damn chiseled, with long muscled arms and a broad, lightly furred chest. Beautiful flat stomach thick with muscle. Those magical V-lines above his hip bones that led to Happy Land.

She knew he was gorgeous. She’d known that all her life, in fact.

It was his smile that was his secret weapon.

And his words.

I want to look at you, he’d said last night, and Jessica had gone from feeling rather lusty and a little irritable when he stopped kissing her to something completely different.

Exposed.

Because when Connor O’Rourke looked at her, she felt...different. She wasn’t the type to stop and feel the feelings all the time, because that was dangerous. In that moment she’d felt something she wasn’t used to feeling.

Scared. Just a little bit.

A lot, really.

And then he’d kissed her as if she’d never been kissed before. As if he’d been waiting his whole life to kiss her, as if she was the most precious thing in the world.

Another first.

There was no screwing, as she used to call it back in high school when she was a slut. It wasn’t just a guy looking to get laid and making use of her reputation, a guy she’d be using just as much as he’d be using her. It was something else entirely with Connor O’Rourke, giving and hot and sweet and just dirty enough and then sweet again, and he’d smile at her, and that smile slid like a hot knife right through to her unprotected heart.

This was not screwing as Jessica knew it. The feelings were not feelings she’d had before. Oh, sure, she’d...well, she’d done plenty back in the day. But it had always been hard to turn off her brain. Sex was never just sex, of course. She’d always had an agenda before, with the possible exception of Levi Cooper, who had always been a friend with benefits and nothing more—or less.

So this was another first. Inviting Connor up...just because... She’d never done anything like that before.

Even last night, it hadn’t been easy. There was no reason to sleep with Connor other than the fact that, as he’d walked away from her last night, she hadn’t wanted him to go.

I want to look at you.

Just the memory of those words made her chest feel tight. Because when he looked at her, she didn’t feel like Jessica Does at all.

She felt new.

It was scary, and it was exhilarating, and Connor knew what he was doing, and he could kiss, and he knew where to touch, and he wouldn’t hurry, but when he was finally on top of her, and they were finally together, she came to the edge...and stopped, hanging there, stuck.

And then he used his words again. “Trust me,” he’d whispered against her mouth, and she was gone, lifted on a wave of purple and red with flashes of white, a feeling of her body not being her own, and being held safe at the same time.

Another first. The trust part. The safe feeling.

What to do now was a complete and utter mystery. Should she get up? Should she move closer to him? This bed was enormous. Brush her teeth? Call for coffee? Hide?

Connor took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Turned his head to look at her.

“Hey,” she said.

He didn’t speak. Just gave her a sleepy smile that made her girl parts tighten and thrum. He reached out and took a piece of her hair between his fingers. “Hey, Jessica Does,” he said.

Her heart stopped. She felt it crack the second before it was abruptly encased in ice.

“Oh, shit,” he said, bolting upright. “I did not mean that.”

“Time for you to go,” she said, and her voice was calm.

“Jess, I’m sorry. I didn’t— I’m just— I really shouldn’t be allowed to speak without coffee—”

She got out of bed, consciously not taking the comforter with her. So she was naked. So what. He’d seen everything last night. Walking into the bathroom, she kept her breathing calm. No big deal. No big deal. She pulled on the hotel bathrobe and cinched it too tightly around her waist.

No big deal.

“Jessica,” Connor said, standing in the doorway, boxers on. “Please forgive me for that stupid-ass mistake.”

“It’s not really a mistake, though, is it?” she said, picking up her toothbrush. “I put out, as you know. Welcome to the club. Go home and tell the gang another one bites the dust. But at this moment, you need to leave.” She started brushing her teeth, not looking at him.

He came to stand behind her. She stared at her own reflection, not looking at his. “Look, that just...came out,” he said. “I’m not exactly a virgin, either, you know.”

“And now you’ve slept with me, like half our graduating class. You should’ve just asked. The whole dinner thing was unnecessary.”

“Jessica.” There was a reprimand in his voice that infuriated her.

“I have other things to do, Connor. Can you get dressed, please?”

“Okay, since you brought it up, why did you sleep with all those other guys?”

“None of your business. Excuse me.” She pushed him out of the bathroom and closed and locked the door. Checked her reflection again. Normal enough, she thought, though it was sort of like looking at a stranger. Her throat was killing her, clamped tight, impossible to swallow.

Jessica Does.

That fucking name would follow her the rest of her life.

“Jess,” Connor said through the door, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it. It just kind of... It was just a reflex. But last night was—”

She opened the door. “Save it for the next girl, okay? I have to get going. I’m working tonight.”

“I don’t want there to be a next girl. I just want to erase the last five minutes.”

“Too bad you can’t. Take care. Thanks for dinner.”

Then she closed the door again, locked it and turned on the shower.

* * *

WHEN SHE GOT home that day, her brother was sitting on the steps, waiting for her. “Was it fun?” he asked as she stopped to hug him and pet Chico Two. “Did you eat room service?”

“I did,” she lied. The truth was, she’d fled right after her shower, as soon as she was sure Connor had left. “I brought you the little shampoos and bath stuff. They smell really good. Wait till you take your shower tonight.” Davey hated showers; maybe the new stuff would entice him into cleanliness.

See? She was back to normal, thinking about her brother. She went into her bedroom.

There was a bouquet of flowers on her bed.

“The truck man said these were for you,” Davey said. “They smell nice.”

Irises and roses and a fat lily and a bunch of other flowers she didn’t recognize. They were just about the prettiest things she’d ever seen, a riot of purple and pink and red.

The card said, Please forgive me. No signature.

“Why don’t you give them to Mom?” she asked her brother, ruffling his soft hair. “I have to run.”

* * *

AT LEAST HE couldn’t call her. Jess was so, so glad Connor didn’t have her phone number. He sent a note, but she tossed it. And for the next couple of months, she did what she did best—she didn’t think about something that was too painful to think about. She just worked. At Christmastime, his entire family came into Hugo’s, which opened for the holidays. And yes, her stomach flipped when she saw them. But hey. She was a waitress; they were her customers. Nothing else. “Hello, Clan O’Rourke,” she said amiably. “How’s everyone tonight?”

“Pull up a chair and chat with us, Jess,” Colleen said.

“We’re really busy, but thanks,” Jessica said. It wasn’t a lie. She passed out the menus, took drink orders and checked on her other patrons.

About halfway through their dinners, Abby Vanderbeek spilled her root beer for the second time that night, and Jess mopped up the table, had Felicia get the kid another pop, then went to the bathroom to wash her hands. When she came out, Connor was standing there.

“Jess, I’d really like to explain my idiot comment,” he said.

“No explanation necessary,” she said. Gave him a noncommittal smile, the one that she’d been using since forever, the don’t worry, I’ve got this, everything’s fine, no hard feelings smile that made her face ache.

“So a one-word mistake has ruined any chance I might’ve had with you forever.”

It wasn’t a one-word mistake, she wanted to say. It was my reputation, it was “Jessica Does Anyone,” it was “That white-trash Jessica,” it was my entire past when I’d already told you that this was my chance, my one chance, to be someone other than that stupid, slutty Jessica Does. “Don’t be melodramatic, okay? It was a fun night, and it’s over.”