What A Girl Wants (Harlequin Blaze) Read online

  Luke pinned Jane against the kitchen counter with his hips

  “I’ll prove all men aren’t just sex-obsessed morons,” he whispered as he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her deeply.

  “I fail to see how this will cast mankind in a more positive light,” Jane said breathlessly.

  He slid his thigh between her legs until he knew he was putting pressure where it mattered most. “I don’t expect to change your mind in one night.”

  Jane let her gaze fall to his jeans. “How many nights will it take?”

  “It depends on how stubborn you are about changing your mind,” Luke said as he trailed his hand down her hip and over her thigh, up her skirt.

  Her eyelids fluttered shut as he explored her flesh. “That’s not fair.”

  Luke dipped his fingers along the edge of her panties, teasing her. “I never said I’d keep it above the belt….”

  Dear Reader,

  Aren’t we all looking for answers? We turn to self-help books to find out how to be happier, thinner, prettier, smarter, more spiritually centered…. The list goes on. Jane Langston, the heroine of this story, thinks she has all the answers when it comes to sex and relationships, and she’s written a bestselling self-help book to prove it. But then she encounters Luke Nicoletti, the one man who turns her sexual-relationship theories upside down. Suddenly the expert who has advised women across America to say no to sex finds herself unable to say anything but yes to her outrageously gorgeous bodyguard’s advances.

  I had a great time exploring how easy it is to lose self-control when presented with our greatest temptation—be it chocolate, a great pair of shoes or a hot guy. Luke and Jane are two of my favorite characters and I hope you enjoy their steamy tale as much as I have.

  I love to hear from readers, so please write and tell me what you think of What a Girl Wants. You can reach me via my Web site, www.jamiesobrato.com, or drop me an e-mail at [email protected].

  Sincerely,

  Jamie Sobrato

  Books by Jamie Sobrato

  HARLEQUIN BLAZE

  84—PLEASURE FOR PLEASURE

  HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

  911—SOME LIKE IT SIZZLING

  WHAT A GIRL WANTS

  Jamie Sobrato

  To my editor, Wanda Ottewell, for her talent, enthusiasm and amazingly tactful revision letters

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  1

  A girl has to put her own emotional needs above the urges of the guy trying to get in her pants.

  —Jane Langston, in the January issue of Excess, magazine

  JANE LANGSTON WAS eight years old when she first understood the biological advantages of being skinny and blond. Neither particularly thin nor fair-headed, she saw her place in the world that day, upon observing the astounding differences between herself and her Barbie doll. She’d been enacting a romantic tryst between Barbie and Ken when the realization struck that she and her long-legged plastic companion could hardly be the same species of female, and that Jane, with her tomboy figure and wiry brown hair, was the less desirable of the two.

  Even now, at the supposedly enlightened age of thirty, sitting in a room next to two outrageously proportioned blond porn stars didn’t exactly soothe Jane’s ego. It was only a slight comfort that both women claimed to be lesbians.

  How she’d found herself here in the waiting room of The Jax Reed Show was a longer story than Jane cared to recall. Jax Reed was Dallas’s crude, loudmouthed, lesbian-loving shock jock, and Jane was about to be interviewed to promote her book, The Sex Factor. Her publicist claimed she was the one woman who could put Jax Reed in his place, but Jane, sitting near four of the largest breasts she’d ever seen, had her doubts.

  A producer wearing headphones appeared in the doorway, pointed to Jane, and said, “You’re up in three minutes. Come on into the studio.”

  With her stomach clenched into a tennis ball, Jane rose and followed. Gina Lynn and Mona Rivers wished her luck as she left the waiting room.

  The radio show was playing live over speakers throughout the building, and Jane listened to Jax introduce her as his next guest after the commercial break.

  “She’s the author of that crazy book chicks everywhere are reading, The Sex Factor. So listen up, guys, if you’ve got a bone to pick—no pun intended—with the woman who’s single-handedly ruined the sex lives of men across America, here’s your chance to call in.”

  Oh, joy. As if she hadn’t taken enough criticism, now she’d get to do it on live radio.

  Jane had never intended to become the guru of born-again virginity. Until a few months ago, she’d simply been a normal writer with a largely anonymous existence. Sure, some people knew her as the infamous tell-it-like-it-is advice columnist for Excess magazine. But her infamy had been limited mostly to readers of her column, and the occasional angry letters she received had always been good for a laugh.

  The readership of Excess—a magazine devoted to pressing men’s issues like who the hottest starlets are, which cars are the fastest and how to improve sexual performance—was made up of enough boneheads to inspire any woman to write The Sex Factor. She’d simply written a book that told women exactly how they were screwing up their lives through sexual relationships, and how to remedy the problem.

  The Sex Factor had touched a nerve among twenty- and thirty-something women, and it had encountered dizzying success, spawning a nationwide movement of women saying no to sex with their boyfriends. That might not have been so disturbing if it weren’t for the legion of angry boyfriends left alone in their beds.

  Jane had heard from more than her share of them. In fact, her hate mail rarely caused her to laugh these days.

  She entered the studio and sat down in a chair across from Jax Reed. Twenty pounds overweight, with long, greasy blond hair and perpetual sunglasses, he was the epitome of a guy with thwarted rock-star dreams.

  He nodded a greeting while an assistant talked to him about upcoming segments, and Jane adjusted the headphones the producer had given her until they were comfortable.

  “Today we’re talking to Jane Langston, columnist for Excess magazine and author of the controversial book, The Sex Factor. Hey, Jane.”

  “Hi, Jax.” Jane tucked her hands between her knees to keep from fidgeting, and reminded herself to breathe.

  She could handle this guy. Although she didn’t admit it often, Jane listened to The Jax Reed Show while she was reading her e-mail in the morning. And she’d imagined a thousand times how she’d respond to him if she were ever on the show herself. He loved to turn everything into a conversation about sex, the raunchier, the better. Jane knew the trick to handling Jax was never to let him shock her, and to play along with his game.

  In his usual fashion, he skipped over the pleasantries. “Okay, given the message of your book, I gotta ask—are you a lesbian?”

  “Not last time I checked.”

  “Hmm, too bad.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  He looked her up and down. “You’re pretty cute, you know. Ever thought about having sex on the radio?”

  “What makes you think I haven’t already?” Jane said, hoping she sounded braver than she felt.

  Jax snickered. “Touché, but anyway, go ahead and give us a summary of your book, just in case there’s some h
ermit out there listening to the show who hasn’t yet developed a case of blue balls thanks to you.”

  “If any guy has blue balls, he has himself to thank. The Sex Factor is simply a realistic look at sexual roles. I think I’m just the first person in a long time to be honest about how sex can ruin a relationship.”

  Jax wiggled his eyebrows. “Baby, I can show you how sex will make a relationship.”

  “I’ll bet you could.” She laughed. “But seriously, since the sexual revolution, women have learned to believe that we should behave like men with regard to sex, that we should want no-strings-attached sex, that we shouldn’t use sex to gain power in relationships, and I argue that the opposite is true.

  “Given that men are led around by their penises, a woman’s number-one strength in any romantic relationship is her ability to give or withhold sex, and if we give sex freely, we essentially give away our greatest power.”

  Jax burped into the microphone. “Okay, I’m not disagreeing with you there. Problem is, my listeners aren’t getting laid. What’re they supposed to do about that?”

  “Um, get over it?”

  “Ooh, harsh. I’d like to hear what some of my listeners have to say to that. We have a caller on line one. It’s Carl from Fort Worth. What do you say, Carl?”

  “Yeah, Jax. I love your show, man! And I just gotta tell this Jane chick, what’re you thinking? My girl says she can’t have sex with me any more until I start meeting her emotional needs or some garbage.”

  Guys like Carl were what had led Jane to decide celibacy wasn’t such a bad idea.

  “So find out what her emotional needs are and meet them. How hard is that?”

  “Damn hard when I’m not getting any action in bed.”

  Jax cut in. “Carl, you’re boring me. Next caller is Tom in Dallas. How’s it going, Tom?”

  “Yeah, Jax. I just want to say to all the guys listening today, if your woman brings home that sex factor book, burn it! Use it for toilet paper! Whatever you do, don’t let her read it!”

  “Okay, that was Tom, and he needs to make a trip to the convenience store for some TP,” Jax said as he hung up on him.

  Aside from one woman who called to thank Jane for writing The Sex Factor, the calls went downhill fast. By caller number eight, Jane was starting to feel a little unnerved.

  “Bryan, you got anything new to say to Jane here?” Jax said by way of introduction, skipping pleasantries at that point.

  “I just want to tell Ms. Jane Langston that I’ve read her book, and I think she’s very, very wrong,” a disconcertingly calm voice said.

  Jane shifted in her seat, unable to formulate a response before the caller continued.

  “And I’m watching you, you bitch. I know where you live—”

  Jax cut off the call. “Okay, that was Bryan, escapee from the psycho ward. I think we’ve heard from enough nutcases for one show.”

  Jane sat silent, blinking dumbly, unable to believe what she’d just heard. She was grateful when Jax continued.

  “You know, I read The Sex Factor last night, and I think, frankly, that you’ve never had good sex.”

  “Why do you say that?” Jane said evenly, careful to keep her voice light, unshaken, though the tone of the last call had left her trembling.

  “Any woman who’s been properly laid would never give the advice you give.”

  Jane forced aside her fear, for the sake of surviving the interview. “Hmm, interesting theory. Actually, I have experienced great sex, so I know just how distracting it can be. Women and men both tend to substitute it for other more complicated, but ultimately more important, aspects of a relationship.”

  “What’s more important than sex?”

  Jane smiled. “It’s precisely that type of question, posed by men, that prompted me to write the book.”

  “I think I owe it to my loyal listeners to do something to counteract all the damage you’ve done to their sex lives…”

  Not again.

  “I’ll give you one last chance—sleep with me, and I’ll show you what you’ve been missing out on all these years.” Jax wiggled his eyebrows at her, and Jane tried not to gag.

  “I appreciate your generosity, but I’ll have to pass.”

  “Come on, baby. We could do it real quick, right here in the studio during a commercial break. I’m not that gross, am I?”

  This was Jax’s standard shtick, an offer he made to just about every woman who appeared on the show.

  “I wouldn’t be much of an authority on relationships if I didn’t follow my own advice.”

  “Babe, I guarantee if you found a guy you were really hot for, you wouldn’t have a chance of following that advice of yours. In fact, I challenge you to go out and find your dream guy, and if you’re able to withhold sex from him like you say in your book, come back and tell me, and I’ll eat my lunch from a pair of my producer Bob’s dirty, stained underwear.”

  Eew.

  Jane made a face and shrugged. “I don’t want to know how you’re familiar with the state of your producer’s underwear, but you’ve got a deal.”

  “You sure I’m not your dream guy?”

  “Sorry, Jax.”

  He exhaled noisily into the microphone. “You don’t sound like you’re gonna budge, so I’m ready to bring in the lesbian porn stars. Thanks for coming on the show, Jane.”

  After he cut to a commercial segment, Jax removed his sunglasses, came out from behind the table and shook Jane’s hand.

  “Hey, you were a good sport. Hope I didn’t embarrass you too badly.”

  “Not at all. This was fun. Sort of.” They both smiled then.

  She’d always heard Jax was secretly a nice guy off the air, but she’d never quite believed it.

  He sobered and said, “Listen, that last caller sounded pretty freaky. Do you have any kind of personal security arrangement?”

  “You mean like a bodyguard? No.”

  “As much negative attention as I know you’re getting, you ought to consider it. Trust me, I’ve been in your shoes.” He flashed a look of concern.

  Jane shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to travel everywhere with some brawny knucklehead looking over her shoulder, someone who probably wouldn’t be very motivated to protect her anyway, given how most guys felt about her book.

  “I appreciate your concern,” she said, “but—”

  “Listen, I don’t normally do this, but that last caller gave me the willies. I know a top-notch security specialist who handles security for high-profile people in Dallas. You should give him a call.”

  Before Jane could refuse, he tucked a business card in her hand, and she slipped it into her pocket to be polite. Maybe Jax Reed really was a nice guy.

  “You’re back on in ten!” a producer called into the studio.

  “Take care,” Jax said, and Jane waved to him and walked out into the hallway.

  She passed the lesbian porn stars in a daze. How had her quiet, boring life gotten turned upside down so quickly? She wasn’t the type of person who needed to hire a personal security specialist.

  Jane was not going to let horny men ruin her life. She refused to become a paranoid shut-in, and she wasn’t going to put bars on her windows and travel around looking over her shoulder constantly.

  She just needed to get past her fear, put the crazies out of her head and get on with her life. But the words of that last caller chilled her. Had the creep been lying, or was he really watching her? She’d always used a post-office box for her mail, but she supposed it wouldn’t be very difficult for someone to find out where she lived.

  Jane tried to focus on more pressing worries as she traveled down the elevator and out of the building. She was supposed to meet with her sister in fifteen minutes, a few blocks away. She’d purposely arranged the meeting today right after The Jax Reed Show since the bridal shop where they were meeting was downtown, close to the radio station.

  Jane steeled herself for the torture to come. She co
uld think of few things she’d rather do less than try on bridesmaid dresses in front of her sister. But Heather was getting married in two months and, in what she probably considered an act of great benevolence, she’d asked Jane to be one of the bridesmaids.

  Heather was one of a set of triplets, two years younger than Jane. The triplets were her opposite in just about every conceivable way. From their Nordic blond beauty to their shared pride in never having read a book since graduating from college, there was almost nothing Jane had in common with her sisters besides blood.

  Jane hurried down the busy street, dodging business people as she went, trying not to think about the psycho caller. At least by comparison to taking callers on The Jax Reed Show, she decided, trying on bridesmaid dresses sounded almost fun.

  She stepped inside the cool silence of Here Comes The Bride, Dallas’s premier retailer of tacky satin dresses, and found herself in a wonderland of pastel colors. The entire store was decorated in shades of pink, from the pink striped walls to the thickly padded pink carpet, and a saleslady in a lavender suit hovered nearby.

  Jane spotted her sister and mother sitting together on a sofa, thumbing through a catalog of fabric swatches.

  Her mother. Wonderful—just freaking wonderful. Perhaps the only person who understood Jane less than her triplet sisters was their mother, Olivia Langston—known to the world as Livvy—former Miss Southeastern Texas. She was endlessly puzzled about how one of her daughters could waste away her life in front of a computer writing boring old books, when she could be out trying to bag a husband.