Her silence was infused with a confident certainty, a firm belief in her God and Church. He’d never personally known a nun before. Did all of them have an unshakable knowledge of who they were and where they belonged, like Sister Margaret Mary? He wished he could say the same of himself.
Then he’d returned to get his briefcase. When he found Tipton attempting to seduce Margaret Mary, Jordan snapped. He wanted to kill something. Or someone. She was so obviously out of her league with a jerk like Tipton, he had to step in.
Yet, when he held her in his arms for comfort, when he knew her true vulnerability and naiveté, feelings had stirred deep within him. He wanted to protect her, wanted to be there for her. Wanted to kiss her. That was why he’d returned to spend the night on her front porch and why he could barely keep his eyes open now. Tipton would not try to do to the daughter what he had so freely done with the mother. Margaret Mary might be an adult in years, but someone as sheltered as she had no means of handling the outside world. He would be her self-appointed knight.
“Jordan?”
He snapped out of his reverie and looked down into her face. “Just set it aside and I’ll take care of it. I know a good appraiser in Portland.”
“Thank you so much.” She turned and took down another serving dish.
They continued like that the rest of the morning, Margaret Mary removing dishes and washing them to be packed, Jordan recording the items, picking pieces to take to the appraisers and setting them aside, drying dishes, and trying to keep fantasies of the nun from his mind.
“I’m ready to stop and have lunch,” he said around noon.
She dropped her head, giving a small nod. Slipping past him, she headed for the stairwell.
“Wait a minute,” he said, “I brought enough for both of us.”
She turned slowly and raised her head to meet his gaze. “What?”
“I saw how little you ate yesterday. Today I brought lunch for two.” He moved toward the front door. “I thought we could have a picnic.” In reality he hadn’t planned to share his lunch, but after the morning, he thought maybe she might reward him with another of her smiles.
“That’s not necessary,” she said, tucking her hands under her apron and casting her gaze down again. Then, as though remembering his admonition in the car about submissiveness, she looked up again. Good. That pleased him.
“You won’t make me eat alone, will you?” He glanced through the window over the sink. “It’s a glorious day. Let’s sit on the porch steps.”
She said nothing. He opened the refrigerator and removed a large brown bag. Holding it up, he said, “Look at this. Far too much for one.” He walked to where she stood. “I’m going into the laundry room to wash up. Why don’t you do the same upstairs and meet me out front?” He waited until he saw her nod, barely perceptible but there all the same, then he turned on his heel and left before she could voice a rejection. He heard her footfalls on the stairs and the water go on in the bathroom before he washed his hands and splashed water on his face. Then he faced his reflection.
Damn fool, getting all twittery over a nun. Why can’t you get excited making a normal woman smile for a change?”
He shook his head and headed out to the porch to wait for the only woman who’d captured his interest for a good long while.
* * * *
Margaret Mary had no idea why she’d let Jordan talk her into lunching with him, but dutifully she joined him on the steps after washing her hands and face. The wind off the sea blew fresh and clean, and she raised her face to the sun. I’ll need to wash clothes later today. They’ll smell so clean in this air.
“This would be a good day to hang out wash,” Jordan said, mirroring her own thoughts.
Shyly, she cast him a glance.
“I loved laundry days when I was a boy,” he continued as he unpacked the big brown bag.
To her, the food he unpacked seemed never to end.
“Behind every pair of jeans was a cowboy, and Indians waited under every flapping sheet. It was great fun.” He held out two wax-paper-wrapped parcels. “One is ham and the other is egg salad. Would you like to have half of one and half the other or a whole?”
She couldn’t remember a time when she had such a choice. In school food was doled out, measured for each student to provide only the proper portions. In the convent food was even more stringently monitored, as a blessing from God and so not to be wasted.
Through the paper she saw thick slices of homemade bread piled high with fillings.
“I couldn’t possibly eat a whole sandwich,” she said. Her stomach clenched. Should she ask for what she wanted? She was used to being told what to do, what to accept, what was right and wrong. “It’s Friday, and I can’t eat ham,” she finally managed, asking without really asking.
“Then you take the egg salad. If you can’t eat it all, save half for later.” She began to protest, but he held up his hand for silence. She took the package he held out. “Now, he said, “we also have cold cucumber soup, left over from a dinner my mother gave the other night, and a salad with oil-and-vinegar dressing.”
She stared at him in amazement. “Were you going to eat all of this yourself?”
“Lord, no.” He frowned. “Sorry. I hope I didn’t offend you. No, I would have put most of this away in the fridge when I got home. Mandy thinks I lost too much weight while I was overseas. Mandy is our cook and my friend. This is her way of fattening me up.”
She regarded his face. “You are maybe a little thin.”
He laughed. “Don’t you start, too. Now, keep the soup for tonight, too. We can set this bowl of salad between us and eat with our fingers, just like on a real picnic. And then we have the grand finale” —he held up a plate covered with waxed paper— “chocolate cake.”
“Oh my.”
“And there’s plenty here for two.” He leaned back against the railing post and took a bite of the ham sandwich, effectively ending all protests.
Margaret Mary removed half the sandwich and started to eat. The food, the wind, the relentless sound of surf relaxed her. She forgot she was sitting next to a man, alone, enjoying a meal. The whole experience was bizarre, yet it felt very comfortable. Maybe because Jordan didn’t demand anything of her.
“How old were you when you went away?” he asked when he’d finished his sandwich. He picked at the salad, but Margaret Mary had the feeling he left most of it for her.
She nibbled on a carrot stick. “Six. First grade.”
“And you haven’t been back since?”
She shook her head, avoiding his questioning look.
“What was it like, being away from home so young? Did you make friends right away? Did you miss your mom? Was it—” He stopped. “Damn, I’m sorry. A lawyer’s failing is to ask too many questions. I don’t mean to be intrusive.”
“It’s all right,” she said and then sat thinking. “I didn’t make friends very well, I’m afraid. And yes, I was very lonely.” How many thousands of nights had she cried herself to sleep? Nuns who were superb teachers and disciplinarians didn’t excel as comforters. “The sisters did the best they could, but they weren’t used to having a student as young as I. And I was different.”
“How so?”
“Everyone else had families. They had visitors and went home for the holidays.”
He shifted on the porch step, angling toward her. “You don’t mean you were the only child left there during the holidays?” Instead of answering, she ate quietly and stared over the water. “All those years?” She heard incredulity in his question. Then he cursed under his breath, and she revised her opinion. He was angry, not surprised.
“It’s okay, Jordan. That was all long ago.”
“It’s not okay. I can’t believe they—” He halted and looked away after casting a glance her way.
“God works in His own way.”
“Well, God had a little help in this case. I can’t believe your mother knew how it was for you.”
/> Margaret Mary shrugged. “I don’t know. I never heard from her.”
“What?” Jordan sat up sharply. “You’re kidding. That doesn’t sound like the kind woman I met as a kid.”
She studied his eyes. How much did he know about her mother? How much could she say? Nothing, she decided.
She wrapped the rest of her sandwich. “Are you sure you don’t want this half?”
He blew out a breath and immediately drew another. “No, keep it for later. The salad, too.”
She laughed. The sound surprised her and seemed to please him. His eyes sparkled. Fine lines radiated from the edges when he smiled in return. “Do I appear to be starving?”
“Really, you see how Mandy feeds me. You’ll be doing me a favor by taking some of this.”
“That’s very kind, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Pensively he regarded her. “You know, I wish you could meet my friend, a buddy from the Corps. He could always make me laugh. He’d be good company.”
“What’s his name?”
“Mark Collins. He’s my best friend.”
“Is he home, too? Is he from here?”
Jordan frowned. “No, he’s not from here. I got a letter from him the other day. He was badly wounded. I don’t know the details, but what little he told me doesn’t sound good.”
She smiled and touched his hand lightly. “Maybe we’d be good company for him.” Where had she found the courage to say that? But he seemed pleased. When he looked into her eyes, she saw a sparkle there that she hadn’t seen before.
He glanced down where her fingers still rested on the back of his hand. She jerked her hand back. When he looked up and smiled, she felt funny inside. Warm and strange. In the next second, she forgot about the feelings stirring deep in her belly.
“Ready for cake?”
“I’ll just have tea. But it will give me pleasure to sit here while you enjoy eating it.”
His smile softened though his eyes sparked. “You’re on.”
Margaret Mary carried the sandwich and other food into the house to refrigerate and to make tea. Outside, Jordan whistled. Inside, Margaret Mary smiled. The same feeling permeated her that she’d known since meeting Jordan. Blessed peace.
Chapter Ten
Her peace lasted until after dinner. As she washed dishes and the evening wind tossed the window curtains about, she reviewed the day.
Nine pieces of china and crockery were set aside for Jordan to investigate further. His kindness touched her. Not just that he was willing to take the extra step and help her realize the most from her mother’s estate but that he had been angry when he heard about her time in school. She’d never even been angry about the situation herself. Confused, certainly, hurt even, but not angry. At whom could she have addressed anger? Her mother? She was ill—or so she’d thought then. At the sisters? They gave her shelter and a home when she most needed it. At God?
“Don’t be silly,” she said out loud.
“But I like it when you’re silly,” a voice said behind her.
She tensed immediately. Spinning around, she threw specs of suds across the floor.
“I…I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight, Mr. Tipton.”
He leaned against the doorjamb and raked a lazy, appraising gaze from her head to her foot, making her wish she had unpinned her habit and removed her apron. Even in casual dress of sports coat, open-necked shirt, and creased trousers, he seemed more in command.
“I told you I’d be by with strawberries.” He dangled a handled basket from his finger. “And here they are.”
She stuck her hands behind her and backed up until she hit the counter. “I don’t care for any, thank you.”
He came into the room, moving like a sleek tiger with its prey sighted. “Of course you do.”
She dropped her gaze rather than acknowledge the searing looks directed at her. Breaking the connection didn’t end the intensity, however. “I was wrong when I said yesterday that I liked berries.” Her hands clasped at her lower back.
“I doubt it,” he whispered, so close she felt his breath on her cheek.
“She said she didn’t want any, Tipton.”
Jordan! She thought he’d left for home.
“I should beat the crap out of you,” Jordan said. “I told you last night not to come back here.”
“And I told you not to interfere in my business,” Tipton replied. The smile he directed at Margaret Mary held no warmth or humor. Skittles of fear ran down her back. Lord only knew what would happen to her if Tipton came back and Jordan wasn’t there.
From the corner of her eye she saw Tipton drop the basket on the counter. He picked up a piece of fruit and held it to her mouth.
Suddenly, he was gone. Jordan had pulled him away and was propelling him to the front door. She followed, unable to do otherwise. To her absolute amazement, Jordan dragged Tipton by the neck of his jacket and by his belt, and tossed him toward the car. “Don’t come back. She owns this house and the land, not you. I’ll file for a restraining order if I see you here again.”
“You fool!” Tipton yelled as he pushed off the sleek black hood. He opened the car door and faced Jordan again. Using his finger to punctuate his words, he said, “You don’t know the trouble you’re stirring up. I chose you for this job because you were such a disappointment to your father. And you’re screwing up even this simple assignment.”
“Get out of here, Tipton. Leave her alone.”
“This isn’t over.” Tipton raised dust when he spun the car in the yard and sped up the lane.
Breathing heavily, Jordan climbed the porch steps to her. As though pulled by a tether, she stepped into his arms.
“If he comes by here again, even if he just drives down the lane, promise you’ll tell me.”
She nodded against his chest. “I will.”
“If he tries to touch you again, I’ll kill him, I swear I will.”
She stepped back and cupped his cheeks. “No, Jordan, please. I don’t want your soul to be in danger because of me. I don’t think he will attempt to see me again.”
“He’d better not.” Then to her surprise, he turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. Her brain ceased to function, but not her nerves. Fire seemed to surge through her. How could she feel tingling between her legs from a kiss to her hand?
“We’d better go inside,” he said finally. “It’s getting dark.”
He followed her to the kitchen, where she continued to clean up. From their lack of conversation, an observer might think the world still spun on its axis, but she knew otherwise. Jordan watched from where he leaned against the counter.
“I’m sure Mr. Tipton was wrong, Jordan.”
He grunted. “About what?”
“He said you were a disappointment to your father. I’m sure that can’t be true.” She looked at him as she wiped her hands on a cotton dishtowel printed with a farm scene. “You could never be a disappointment to anyone.”
The heated look he gave her warmed her through. His expression was so like Mr. Tipton’s, and yet it inspired an entirely different feeling. With Tipton, fear built the heat, fear derived from a knowledge of powerlessness. With Jordan, the heat came from need—a need to touch him, to see his smile, to watch as his eyes darkened from soft blue to midnight blue, as they were now. She shouldn’t have those feelings for him, nor for any man, but the decision had been taken from her hands. In this short time, she welcomed the new day not so she could pray but because she would see Jordan. She dreaded the nights not because she would be alone but because he wouldn’t be with her. At that moment, had she been surrounded by her community of sisters, she would still be alone, because Jordan wouldn’t be with her.
What was she to do? She disobeyed God’s will with every longing thought, yet she might as well try to touch the stars as to give up her desires. How could she go to communion with the sin of lust on her soul, yet how coul
d she not? As the only nun in the parish, everyone would notice if she didn’t go up to the railing and receive the host. Surely God sent her here to meet Jordan. There must be a reason. It’s a test. One you’re failing badly.
Jordan reached over and picked a strawberry from the basket. “They’re sweet. Would you like one?”
The earthy, heady scent of fresh strawberries filled her nostrils. Her mouth watered.
“All right,” she said.
Instead of handing her a berry, he held one to her mouth. Unable to resist, Margaret Mary parted her lips. Jordan placed the berry on her tongue and pinched off the stem and leaves. She bit down. Honeyed juice filled her mouth and trickled over her lips. Jordan swiped his thumb over them, pressing the seam. Her heart hammered, and she blinked against the wild ideas running through her head, like separating her lips and taking his thumb into her mouth, mixing the flavor of the strawberry with Jordan. She nearly fainted with the boldness of the thought.
“Is it good?”
The berry or the coarse texture of his thumb against the tender flesh of her lips? Yes! Unable to speak, she nodded.
“Let me see for myself,” he murmured and dipped his head.
Not even a hair could have separated them when he stopped. “Push me away if you don’t want me to kiss you. I’ll go if you push me away.”
Her breath came so hard and fast she was sure she would faint. She couldn’t move. Or did she not want to move? Either way, Jordan took her inaction as permission. The next moment, their lips met, his soft and compliant, hers shaky and unsure.
Seconds later, he stepped back. Her lids fluttered up. He watched her. She wanted to sink into the floor.
“I’d better leave,” he said.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I’ll pick you up after church.”
She nodded. “All right.”
He touched her lips with his fingers. “Don’t fear me. I’m not like him.”
Seducing Their Nun [Unlikely Bedfellows 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 6