by Reina Torres
He thought he heard a little relieved sigh escape from her lips. “Of course.”
“And I appreciate it. This book has been giving me nightmares.”
The bison hit the pan with a sizzle. She turned around and moved toward him only to walk right past him to the refrigerator and pull out a container of something that looked like soup. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”
He heard the concern in her voice and he smiled. There was just something amazing about talking to Jordan. She could change his mood in a heartbeat with just a smile or a soft word. Eager to latch onto whatever it took to keep her talking, he answered her question. “It would be easier if it was another John Calloway novel.”
“Are you done with that series?” Setting a pot on a separate burner she turned on the heat. “You didn't mention that.”
He smiled at her. “No, I'm still going to write John. He's like an old friend of mine now. We don't see eye to eye on everything, but we're a part of each other. He's still got a few stories in him.” He smoothed his hand over the table top, letting his fingertips trail along the edge of one of her linen napkins. “But this is the start of something new. And while I'm excited about it, it's been a hard sell for pretty much everyone else.” A slow exhale pushed him into the rest of his explanation. “And probably why I'm having such a hard time with writing it.”
Jordan nodded, her eyes full of concern. “Expectations. It can't be easy thinking that the people who’ve supported you through your career are doubting you.”
His laugh was a rough cough of sound. “Exactly.”
Leaving the soup to simmer on its own, Jordan moved to the table and stopped just shy of his knee, setting her hand and hip down against the edge, just an inch from his fingers. “But what's really holding you back?” She waited for him to speak and when he didn't answer her she covered his hand with her own. “You can talk to me.”
And he knew he could. He could easily tell her so many things because he had over the last nine months that they’d known each other.
But with the warmth of her skin against his, the butter-soft caress of her palm on the back of his hand, what he wanted to do had very little to do with talking.
Vance looked up and caught the look in her eyes. A little too wide to be her normal expression, her lips held gently together as her shoulders rose and fell in a building rhythm.
He knew she felt something for him, beneath the smart assed comments they threw so easily at each other. He just didn't know how deep they went, and that included himself. “Jordan,” he lifted his free hand from his knee and reached for her, “I know that we’ve-”
He froze when the doorbell chimed, echoing through the house and his skull.
Vance looked up at her and smiled, knowing it was probably more of a grimace. “You expecting someone?”
“Me?” She seemed just as shaken as he felt. “N-no. I,” she looked across the room as the doorbell sounded again, “I should probably go see-”
“Sure,” he sat back in his chair, lowering his hands into his lap. “Or I could go.”
“I’ve got it.” She left him at the table and crossed toward the door.
By the time Jordan reached the door she was firmly riding the fence between wanting to kiss the person at the door and kicking them in the backside for interrupting. Every time she thought she was getting close to understanding what was going on inside of her, she was knocked off base yet again.
Looking through the peep hole she groaned softly before opening the door. She couldn't possibly leave her boss standing out in the cold. Tempting, but impossible.
“Hey, Gabe.”
Gabriel DeLuca stepped inside and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “Jordan, sorry to drop in.”
She shook her head and gestured for him to enter. “You're always welcome, you know that. But I don't think you're here to see me.”
Gabe winked at her. “Jealous?”
She rolled her eyes as she closed the door behind him. “Please, I see you enough. It's good to share the wealth.” She watched Vance cross the room and meet Gabe in the center, giving him a warm hug, and a back-slapping greeting.
“You're not taking advantage of my assistant, are you?”
Jordan sucked in a breath and stared at the back of Gabe’s head.
Vance seemed to take the question in stride, laughing it off. “Are you afraid I’ll steal her away from you?”
She met his eyes over Gabe’s shoulder, shaking her head, mouthing, ‘What are you doing?’
Gabe told him in no uncertain terms what he could do with that idea. “I'd be lost without her,” he laughed, “but if you want to test the theory, I’ll tell my grandmother that you're planning to try it and she’ll take care of the problem.”
Vance gave Jordan a look, his eyebrow raised in a curious arc. “What am I missing?”
Jordan relaxed as the conversation moved farther away from its earlier path and joined in the fun. “Chiara Ryo is about as close to the Queen of St. Helena as you’re going to get. She knows all, sees all-”
“Oh, I know Chichi,” setting his arm over Gabe’s broader shoulders, Vance gestured at Jordan, “but you’re saying that if I tried to hire Jordan as my assistant-”
Gabe answered with more than a hint of perverse pleasure in his tone. “Chichi’s liable to gut you from your neck to your ba-”
“Point taken.” Vance didn’t need any more details. “I’ve written some pretty twisted villains in my books, but I never knew Chiara to be so devious. All these years I could have gone to her for ideas!”
Jordan laughed. “She can be devious. I bet she’d come up with a lot of great ideas.” A hiss of sound from the kitchen turned her head. “Oh, you guys talk, I need to finish cooking,” and with that she left the two old friends to talk and made her way back to the stove to take a long deep breath and pull herself together. It was going to be a long night if she didn’t.
Chapter 3
Waking up the next morning, Jordan felt like she was trapped in a strange version of the movie Groundhog Day. Her mind, obsessed with playing over all of her record-breakingly stupid moments from the night before over and over in her mind, put them on a continuous loop of film instead of forcing her to live it again. She’d planned on being calm and cool and something akin to sophisticated, but what she’d ended up being was shaky and a bit silly at times. Jordan felt like she’d tried too hard, laughed too much, and she found that her plan of action for his visit was full of crap.
She was a planner, pure and simple. Ever since her husband left her for Mrs. Shultz 2.0, she'd had no choice but to plan. Raising her daughter meant that cool, fun Jordan became mom with a plan for every meal, bath, and laundromat visit. Doctor appointments and Lady Bug meetings had to be fit in between business and work. And she was happy to do it.
It kept her sane.
Okay, relatively sane.
At least until her daughter had hit puberty and boys decided she was the equivalent of catnip. Then Jordan became the horrible mom with a degree in worrying and over-reacting. Or that's how Ava had seen it. To Jordan it was just another list of things to do.
But Ava had survived Jordan impounding her life, and had earned a college scholarship to several schools. It shocked them both when she voluntarily decided to go to Stanford instead of somewhere in New York or Florida, which had been her threat for months on end.
Jordan had survived Ava moving away by devoting more time to her work, and because of her dedication, more work followed, including the now infamous business conference in San Francisco.
Standing before the mirror on her closet door she looked at herself from head to toe and winced a little. The same outfit a week ago would have made her smile. But a week ago she didn’t have Vance Donovan in her house.
Wow, she wondered, was that all it took to rob me of my brain cells?
Smoothing her hands over her hair, Jordan turned around one last time to see how her clothes fit. Her blouse was loose enough to acce
nt the girls but not tight enough that he’d see the lacy outline of her bra, and her skirt clung to her hips before flaring out just around her knees. Slipping on her comfortable coffee brown kitten heels, Jordan gave herself a nod and headed out into the kitchen.
And stopped just shy of the counter.
Sitting at her kitchen table, wearing a fine cotton shirt and impeccable slacks that she was sure were tailored to fit the same to-die-for backside that had featured in countless late night fantasies, was the very reason she’d spent an extra half hour on her make-up that morning.
And she hoped he appreciated the effort, because she certainly appreciated the way he looked. Sitting comfortably at the table, old fashioned black-rimmed reading glasses on his nose, Vance was focused on the newspaper in his hand and blowing a steady stream of air across his steaming coffee.
She saw his eyes slide off the paper and toward her little corner of the world.
Taking a breath, she walked up beside him. “Good morning.”
Vance set his cup down and leaned on the table to get a good look at her, lifting his gaze over the top edge of his glasses. “Good morning, Jordan.”
She sucked in a reflexive breath. She had told herself to be calm and cool, but hearing her name on his lips was… sexy. She’d tried to ignore the feeling but it was useless. The living breathing Vance Donovan was a temptation that she just wasn’t sure she could ignore. Especially when he’d cut his hair recently, choosing to mimic Mark Harmon’s haircut on NCIS. And Vance had that same rough and tumble look with clean cut lines that made Gibbs so tempting. What woman didn’t want to try and mess up that hair with her fingers?
Tearing her gaze away, she tried to look as calm and cool as he did. “I should have expected you to be up early.” She drummed her fingers on the table top, trying to keep her hands to herself. “I planned on making breakfast unless you need to head off somewhere.”
“Breakfast with you?” Vance’s lips curled up in a sly smile. “I like the sound of that.”
Jordan started to walk to the refrigerator but she felt his hand close around her wrist, anchoring her at his side.
“Are you going to let me help this time?”
The tender skin under his hand heated, threatening to leave her breathless. “You’re a guest-”
“We’re back to this again?” Pushing his chair back from the table, Vance stood, and Jordan couldn’t help but notice he’d kept his hand on her wrist. “I’m a guest, yes. And that’s because you’re an amazing woman that doesn’t want to subject me to two small children with the collective energy level of a small planetary sun. And I’m grateful that I get to spend some time with you.” She felt his thumb sweep over the pulse point in her wrist. “But what I’m not going to expect you to do is wait on me hand and foot.”
She nodded, taking in his words and letting the sound rush over her like the waves at the beach, tugging at her under the surface, ready to pull her under if she didn’t keep her feet securely planted. But if someone had told her to move away, to sever the contact of his skin on hers, there was no way she was going to do it. Not when it felt like heaven.
“I’m not planning on waiting on you ‘hand and foot,’” she clarified, “but with the exception of the wine that we sent you after the San Francisco trip, I haven’t had the chance to do anything for you, yet.” She looked over at the stove. “Cooking for you would be a pleasure.”
She felt a current arc through her body at the look he gave her, his smile was electric.
But the words that came out of his mouth dazzled her. “I would never deny you something that brought you pleasure.”
She knew she was already on unsteady ground with Vance. She wanted to slip into the easy banter that they’d always had on the phone, but here, having him touch her while they talked, even something so simple as his fingers around her wrist, she felt like she was about to burst into flames. “Good,” she lifted her hand and pulled at his fingers, giving a half-hearted attempt at getting him to let go, “then you sit down and I’ll get things started.”
He let her go and she almost wished he hadn’t, but to cover the way it shook her, she moved away to the refrigerator, grabbing a hold of the handle and pulling it open. “Still like a big breakfast?” She pulled out the fixings for a full breakfast, down to the bacon and fresh fruit.
When she turned away from the counter she saw Vance sitting at the table, his newspaper set aside, his eyes focused on her.
“Nothing interesting in the paper?” She turned back to the counter, reaching for the cutting board. “Want me to get you the remote?”
“No, I’m good.” She heard the dull thud of a mug on the table and looked over her shoulder in time to see Vance walking toward her.
And heaven help her, if he looked good sitting at her table, the way he looked walking up behind her was hot enough to cook the bacon without a pan.
“I don’t think I could pay attention to the TV with you around.” He leaned on the counter and she saw his eyes roam over her face. “I just want to enjoy these moments.”
“Goodness, such pretty words,” she felt the rise of color in her cheeks, but she also felt a little bit of sass return as well, “do you always chat up the women that make you breakfast?”
Vance picked up a kiwi fruit and twisted it around in his fingers. “First of all, I don’t have women making me breakfast,” he set the fruit down with a wink, “it’s usually Ben or Jack down at the corner diner. And they,” he slid his gaze down toward her hips, “don’t look nearly this good in a skirt.”
Jordan held her knife still as she laughed, her shoulders and middle quaking with laughter. “I can’t decide if I need to ask you why you know that they don’t look good in a skirt, or why you don’t have women cooking you breakfast on a regular basis.” She took the kiwi from his fingers and put it on the cutting board. “I thought with your status as a bestselling author you’d have women lining up to cook for you and… other things.”
“If I didn’t know better,” he smiled at her, “I’d say you were jealous of women that don’t even exist.”
“Jealous?” She sank the knife into the fruit with a satisfying thump. “I’m not jealous, just curious. You don’t talk about women when we call.”
“I don’t,” he turned, leaning his back against the counter, folding his arms over his chest, “because there aren’t any. I’m not a ladies’ man by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m almost afraid to answer your question.”
She continued to cut. The repetitive motions kept her hands from shaking. “I thought you already did.”
She heard his laughter and felt a muscle tick in her jaw.
“Then I’ll have to answer the question you wanted to ask, but didn’t.” He waited until she looked up at him. “After I met you in San Francisco, the only woman I was interested in is standing right here in front of me.”
The knife grew heavy in her hand and she shook her head, turning just enough to see him. “There go those pretty words again.”
His smile was killer. “I thought you liked my pretty words.”
“They’re okay.”
“Okay?” There was a little scratch in his throat. “What are we up to? Five calls a week, sometimes six,” he reminded her, “thank heaven for unlimited hours on my cell phone plan-”
“Facetime is free,” she reminded him right back.
“Well, yeah, but-”
“Okay, so we’ve talked a little more than most people.” She knew she was flushed. The heat she felt on her cheeks wasn’t from the stove. “But do you really expect me to believe that your ‘one woman’ is me?”
“Do I have to call Gabe?”
Jordan swallowed hard and turned to look at Vance. “What would Gabe have to say about it?”
Vance shrugged. “A personal reference? If he thought I was some kind of a hound dog, he’d have warned me off you by now, or he’d have told you-”
“To stay away from you.” She nodded. “He would ha
ve. Gabe’s a good guy.”
“The best,” Vance agreed. “But I’m not joking about this, Jordan. Since we met in San Francisco,” he reached out and laid his hand on her arm, “the only woman that I’ve been interested in, is you.”
And just like that the air was knocked out of her. “Vance, I,” she let go of the knife and moved away from him, taking a pan down from the cupboard, “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything, Jordan.” He didn’t move, just stood there looking at her, his eyes meeting hers in earnest. “I’m here, because I want to be here. I want to spend some time with you face to face. Nothing has to happen between us while I’m here. I don’t,” he gave her a smile, “expect anything from you.”
“So, you’re not just here for a ‘fling’?”
Vance shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong, Jordan. If you want to fling yourself at me, I’m all for it. But I want to take this time to get to know you even more. And hopefully you can get to know me.”
“I thought you were going to be writing.” She felt a spark flare inside of her, hope or something else she couldn’t name. “Isn’t spending all this time with me going to put a crimp in your schedule?”
“What’s going to put a ‘crimp’ in my schedule is thinking up ways to prove that I’m serious. You should just put me out of my misery. Have dinner with me tonight, Jordan.” She wavered, leaning physically in his direction.
She saw the glint in his eye and knew he was going in for the kill. “I’ll cook.”
Jordan blew out a breath. “The real question is… are you any good?”
“Good?” Vance took a few steps toward her, stopping just shy of brushing up against her. “I’m a great cook, Jordan. And I think I can keep up with you, but you’ll have to give me a chance to prove it.”
She bit down on her bottom lip, worrying the flesh as she mulled over her decision. “Okay, I’ll have dinner with you,” she shook her head, “not that we weren’t already going to have dinner together.”