Jordan hesitated, then nodded, aware that for whatever his reasons, Cavanaugh was set on his course. But he wanted to make a final plea anyway. “Katia’s a good person. I mean really good. She’s alone in so many ways. She’s like a member of the family, but not like a member of the family. She’s one of us, but not. Deborah’s death hit her especially hard, and I don’t want her to have to relive it any more than necessary. It seems unfair.” His gaze met Cavanaugh’s. “If she can’t reap the benefits of being a Whyte or a Warren, should she have to be saddled with our pain?”
Cavanaugh considered the varied emotions behind Jordan’s words. He was protective, willing to fight for Katia’s defense, even angry about her lot in life. He could either be hiding something powerful or simply be head over heels in love with the woman. Cavanaugh wondered which it was.
“I’ll keep that in mind when I talk with her.”
Jordan nodded again, then, as though dismissing that thought, cleared his throat and spoke with greater force. “We do want to help, Detective. My father and Gil have been badgering Police Commissioner Holstrom, but I think they’re turning him off more than anything. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to see you today. I realize you’re busy and that this is only one of many cases you’ve got to be working on. For that matter, I’m busy too. I should be in New York and not here. But I felt it important that we meet. It would make things easier all around if you and I could keep in touch—”
“As in telling you what I did yesterday, and today, and tomorrow?” Cavanaugh asked.
Jordan paused for a minute, knowing that he had antagonized the man with that particular comment. “Nah. I was frustrated before, and when I get frustrated I tend to operate on a short fuse.” He swung at the fly, which had suddenly chosen to hover by his head. “Goddamned fly! Hell, we don’t even have donuts!”
“Maybe if we did it would leave us alone.”
Jordan grunted, but calmed quickly. “We’re not asking for every little detail, just a general idea of what’s going on.” His mouth twitched up at one corner in a hint of the same self-derision Cavanaugh had sensed earlier. “We like to feel we’re on top of things even when we’re not.”
Reaching back, he drew his wallet from the pocket of his jeans. “Here’s my card. I’ll instruct my secretary to make sure you get through.” He started to hand the card across the table, then took it back and turned it over. He patted one side of his shirt, then the other. “No pocket, much less a pen. Can I use yours?” He jotted down his home phone number on the card and handed it and the pen to Cavanaugh. “And I know where to find you.”
Cavanaugh nestled the card in his own wallet in exchange for money to pay for the coffee.
“Hey, I’ll take care of it—” Jordan began, only to be interrupted by Cavanaugh’s drawl.
“And let someone think that I’m being bribed? No way, Whyte. I think I can spring for two cups of coffee.” He slid out of the booth. “I’ll be in touch,” was all he said before he left Jordan sitting alone with cold coffee and his thoughts.
Chapter 6
Jordan returned to New York for a quick and hectic twenty-four hours of nonstop business before flying on to Baltimore to watch the Blades drop two home games in a row. While he was there, in addition to brainstorming sessions with the general manager of the team, he spent time with Cheryl Drew, whom he had been seeing on and off for a year. He felt as letdown by her company as he had by the losses of his team.
Something had happened to him with the death of his brother: Mortality had hit him in the face. Suddenly he seemed to be seeing his life through different eyes, and he wasn’t sure he liked the view. In the professional sphere he had few complaints; teams were bound to lose just as business deals were bound to have setbacks, and those didn’t bother him because he knew that there would be wins as well. In the personal sphere, however, he found his life lacking. The role of playboy wasn’t all it was made out to be, particularly when one was thirty-nine and suddenly found the thought of a woman in every port tiresome.
It didn’t help when, two days after he returned to New York, he took one of those women to the theater and during intermission caught sight of Katia across the crowded lobby. She was with a distinguished looking man who had to be too old for her, Jordan decided—quite irrationally, since he himself was nine years her senior and not that much younger than the man at her side—but she looked as though she were having a grand time, and that upset him.
The following morning he showed up bright and early at Katia’s office. She was busy working at her drawing board and looked up, first in surprise, then pleasure, when he turned in at her door.
“Jordan!” Rising quickly, she gave him a hug. “You should have come an hour ago and shared my breakfast.”
Leaving his hands lightly clasped at the small of her back, he smiled at her upturned face. “Tell me you’re taking a gourmet breakfast course now.”
“Actually, I was referring to coffee and croissants from the shop downstairs.”
His smile faded. “You eat breakfast at work? What time do you get here, anyway?”
“Seven. Seven-thirty.”
It was barely nine. Jordan thought he had been early himself. “After a night at the theater!”
Katia frowned. “How did you—you were there? Jordan, why didn’t you come over and say hello?”
“It was during intermission and the place was packed. Besides, you looked like you were having too good a time to be disturbed.”
Katia heard the faint accusation in his tone and felt an inkling of smug satisfaction. Jordan hadn’t said much when she had been going with Sean. She had been free now for a year, yet he hadn’t made a move. If he didn’t want her there were other men who did. “It was nice. The play was good, didn’t you think?”
“Who was he?” Jordan asked quietly.
“Who?”
“The guy you were with.”
Moving out of the circle of his arms, she propped her hip against the stool she had been on before. “His name is Alan Montgomery. He’s one of a group of doctors who run a private medical center. We’ve done work for them.”
Jordan nodded. He put his hands in his trousers pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Montgomery. Is he here in the city?”
She shook her head. “Long Island.”
He nodded again. And rocked again. “A general practitioner?”
Again, she shook her head. “Gynecologist.”
It was all she could do not to laugh when Jordan let out a quiet, “Geez.” He didn’t nod this time or rock back on his heels. “Have you been seeing him long?”
Actually, Alan had been asking her out for months. She had always found him a little too sure of himself and had turned him down with some pleasure. She had agreed to see him only after she had returned from Maine and realized that Jordan was as out of reach as ever.
That, in fact, described her social life to a tee. She had lived the last ten years on the rebound.
“It’s the first time we’ve been out.”
“Do you like him?”
She made a pretense of debating the question in her mind. Her mouth turned down in a shrug and she gave a noncommittal nod.
“If he can afford to hire your firm he must be doing well,” Jordan reflected.
“He is.”
“I bet the women love him.” All too well he remembered the man’s dashing good looks.
“Jordan.…”
“He’s probably got an ex-wife or two.”
“One.”
“And kids?”
“Two. Is that relevant?”
“It is if you plan to marry him.”
“Last night was our first date! Aren’t you rushing things a little?”
“Just want you to know what you’re getting into. He’s probably got hefty alimony payments, not to mention child support. And if you did marry him and had kids, he’d be torn between loyalties to his first children and yours.” He paused. “Is he your gynecologis
t?”
She did laugh then. “No.”
“Thank goodness for that,” he mumbled and went on more firmly. “You know, a guy like that probably has the hots for half of his patients. It’s a big thing today, doctors taking advantage of vulnerable female patients. I can imagine what he pays in malpractice premiums, which is another thing you’d better consider—”
“This is absurd, Jordan! I simply went to the theater with the man. I don’t have plans to marry him, and if I did, my major consideration would be love, not how much money he has left after his alimony and child support payments, or whether he has adequate malpractice insurance.” She eyed him suspiciously. “What’s on your mind?”
“You. I worry about you.”
Like a big brother. She hated it. “You didn’t seem to worry when I was with Sean.”
“Sean was harmless.”
“You approved of my relationship with him?”
“I knew it wouldn’t last.”
“Oh?”
“He wasn’t strong enough for you.”
“Maybe Alan is,” Katia suggested, then thought better of pursuing the matter. “But that’s beside the point. The point is that I’ve been on my own for a long time now. Isn’t it a little late to start worrying?”
“I’ve always worried. Maybe I’m getting worse with old age.”
Then do something about it, you ass! she wanted to yell, but she simply offered a sad smile. “I’m okay, Jordan. Really I am. And don’t worry; I’m not about to jump into something—”
“Katia!” Roger Boland was leaning in at her door, scowling. “I need that storyboard by eleven.”
“You’ll have it,” she answered, knowing full well that Roger hadn’t intended on stopping in until he had spotted Jordan through the glass wall of her office. Over the years Jordan had been by enough times for the two men to be acquainted.
Jordan nodded his head in greeting. “Roger.”
“How’s it going, Jordan?”
“Not bad.”
“You’re keeping Katia from business.”
“I am business.”
Roger straightened and posted himself more fully on Katia’s threshold. “Oh? You’re bringing us business?”
“Possibly. That’s what I have to talk with Katia about.”
“I was wondering when you’d get around to it.” For every bit as much as Roger disliked Jordan and what he represented, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “You’ve been using Klein and Wood, haven’t you?”
“He’s still using Klein and Wood,” Katia asserted staunchly.
Jordan looked at her. “Not if you’ll agree to do the work.”
“Jordan,” she warned, “we’ve discussed this before—”
“That would be great, Katia!” Roger interrupted, but his attention was on Jordan. “What did you have in mind?”
“I’ll have to discuss it with Katia.”
“And she’ll have to discuss it with me, since I’m her superior.”
“She may have nothing to discuss with you if I don’t get a chance to talk alone with her first,” Jordan said with a pleasant smile.
Roger knew precisely why he disliked the man. He was smooth and arrogant and stubborn and his smile was about as legitimate as a three-dollar bill. If it hadn’t been for the fact that having Jordan Whyte as a client would be a feather in the agency’s cap he would have come back with a properly scathing comment. Instead, he held up both hands and backed away from the door. “You’ve got her,” was all he said before he left with an ingenuous smile of his own.
Katia promptly rose from her perch and closed the door. Turning, she leaned back against it and crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay, Jordan. Let’s have it.”
“I’ve just bought the old Marshall Arms Hotel and a large parcel of land surrounding it on Martha’s Vineyard. I’m going to build a resort and condominium complex there. I want you to handle the ad campaign for me.”
Katia studied him for a moment. He stood straight and tall and looked almost irresistible in a tan suit that perfectly offset his dark coloring. She could have melted on the spot if she had let herself, but she didn’t. Dropping her chin to her chest, she slowly shook her head. “Other days … other projects … we’ve been through this before.”
“True.”
“You know how I feel.”
“I know how you’ve felt in the past.”
She met his gaze. “What makes you think my feelings have changed?”
“You’ve proven yourself. You’re secure now.”
“Jordan,” she sighed, “that may or may not be the case, but I don’t want your help.”
“Uh-uh, sweetheart. You have it backwards. My offer has nothing to do with me helping you. I want you to help me.”
“You’ve got Klein and Woods.”
“For other projects, and they’re getting stale if you ask me. I want a fresh outlook for this project. I’ve seen what you’ve been doing and I think you can give me what I want.”
Pushing off from the door, she paced to the window. “I don’t want to do this, Jordan.”
“Why not?”
She turned. “For one thing, we’re too close. It’s a lousy practice to do business with friends or relatives.”
“You’d be part of a team. It’s not like we’d be the only ones involved. I’m impressed with you and your agency.”
“If you weren’t pleased with the final results it would be awkward.”
“But I’d have a say in those final results. There are various rounds of presentations with give and take on both sides. It’s not a matter of all or nothing.”
“And in the end if you weren’t thrilled with what we had done you would get angry—either that or you’d hold it in for my sake and then you’d resent me for it.”
He paused, and his voice lowered. “I’d never resent you.”
She sucked in a breath, desperately wishing he wouldn’t use that soulful tone with her. It was cruel when it could have stood for so much. As though to rid herself of the sound, she shook her head sharply. “It would never work.”
“I think it would.”
“Of course you do. Whenever you set your mind to something you think it will work.”
“Have I been wrong all that often?”
She sent a beseechful glance toward the ceiling. “No, Jordan. You’re usually right. But then I’ve always been looking at what you do from a distance. I’ve never been on the inside of a working relationship with you before.”
“Don’t you think it’s time you tried?”
“No!” she cried. The thought of working with Jordan and seeing him often was both heaven and hell; she found herself being pulled by both sides, trying simply to survive.
Jordan’s expression grew tight. “What is it, Katia? Don’t you think you can make it?”
“If you’re talking about doing the work, of course I can.”
“Then what are you afraid of? Is it me? Are you afraid of having an official connection to me?”
Her mouth dropped open, and she stared at him in disbelief. “Are you kidding?”
“Not at all.” He slowly began to advance on her. “It may be me or my family, or the Warrens. It’s just possible that you don’t want any association with us to sully that reputation for independence you’ve fought so long and hard for. Do you think we’ll swallow you up? Is that it?”
“No—”
“Or that we’ll try to rule your life?”
“No—”
“Or that we’ll demand some kind of kickback or special favor?”
“Jordan, you’re not making sense!”
He stood directly before her, staring down from his formidable height. “Well, neither are you, Katia. You’d bite off your nose to spite your face. I want you to do this project for me because I think you’d do a super job. And if you were honest with yourself you’d agree that the project would be good for your agency. And don’t you dare accuse me of offering c
harity, because I’m too much of a businessman for that. Where business is concerned I shoot for the best, and if that happens to be you, I don’t give a flying damn who you are or where you come from!”
Katia mutely took in his speech, then, unable to help herself, she broke into a smile. “I love it when you get all riled up,” she growled and playfully punched the air with a fist. “Give ’em hell, Jordan.”
Jordan stuck his hands on his hips, gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten. When he opened his eyes again, he grinned. “Liked that, did ya?”
“Very impressive. I can see why you’re a success.”
“Does that mean you’ll work on my project?”
She shook her head, only to find it suddenly stilled against Jordan’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her. She was his prisoner.
“You’ll work on my project,” he ordered, his mouth close by her ear.
“No, I won’t.” She had her eyes closed and was breathing in the scent so unique to Jordan.
“I’ll hold you like this forever.”
“Your legs would give out long before forever came. Remember those weak knees of yours?”
“I’ll lay you down on the floor and ravish you here and now.”
“With the whole office looking in?”
“Uh-huh.”
She pretended to be considering that, when, in truth, she was simply enjoying the closeness of the moment. Jordan’s body was long and firm; her own fit with his perfectly. Couldn’t he feel it?
Tipping her head back, she grinned at him. “I dare you.” Her hand slid over his chest to his shoulders, then higher. She threaded her fingers through his hair. “Come on, Jordan. Do it,” she coaxed in a teasing whisper.
Only he wasn’t smiling. He was looking down at her with a suddenly intense expression, and while his eyes held hers captive, he moved his hand along her sides until his palms contoured the swells of her breasts.
Suddenly she wasn’t smiling either. Her insides had begun a whispering tremor and she felt a tingling in her breasts that couldn’t have been greater had her bare flesh been in his hand. More than that, she felt the awakening of Jordan’s body, felt it growing against her as it had once, years before.
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