Sparring Partners

by Leigh Morgan

  She was tired and it showed. In his excitement to spend the morning doing nothing particularly productive, other than casting a line with a friend and listening to the crickets, he'd misjudged the toll a day out in the sun and the air placed on her.

  "I think we should pack it in for the day, old girl. What do you think?"

  Irma looked toward the house and the brace of rapidly approaching deerhounds. Her expression lightened to the point of almost glee, but Jordon couldn't figure out what would cause that reaction. Some of the tiredness seemed to escape her as Irma visibly lifted her shoulders and handed Jordon her pole.

  "I think the chickens have come home to roost and the hounds are calling."

  "Next time we come out here, you're wearing a hat. And sun screen."

  "You're obtuse, not stupid, boy. Pay attention."

  "I am paying attention. You're not making any sense." Jordon said winding up the excess line on both poles so he could get them and Irma back to the house without sticking either of them with fish hooks. He was looking down so he didn't see Reed chasing after her dogs, who stopped at the edge of the bank, right next to the pier, and waited for her.

  "You've spent the past few days running from your wife and the hash you've made of your life. Buried in those facts and figures, making phone calls all day, sending e-mails...running...running...running, that's all you know how to do. Don't you think it's time to stop playing Monopoly and grow up?"

  Jordon jerked his head up and jammed the pole he'd been working on into the holder next to the wooden bench with enough force to break it, but it remained intact.

  "Monopoly? Is that how you see what I do all day? Do you think brokering billions, securing the best corporate assets, and selling those that are no longer cost effective to hold is a game?"

  "It is for you." Irma said, with a calm tone that made Jordon want to choke her.

  He closed his eyes and counted to ten, in Japanese. Then in Burmese. And once in French because he liked the way it sounded in his head. When he opened his eyes Irma was still sitting there, calmly assessing him as if she knew all the secrets of the universe and he was the universe's biggest dumb-ass.

  "What makes you think that?" Because you're an old fart with dementia creeping in and a mean streak a mile wide.

  She cocked her head at him. "Last month you worked all day, every day making something you can't touch, see, or feel so you could feel important and powerful. You saw your mother twice a year. Once at Christmas. Once at Mother's Day. You had sex, but no love, and even that didn't excite you like banking another million." Irma shook her head at him.

  "Last month you were bored, jaded, tired and boring. Playing with other people's money, and your own, like it was one sided and printed by Milton-Bradley. If your life wasn't a giant Monopoly game, then what was it?"

  Irma took a breath, but she wasn't done. Jordon glanced toward Curly, Mo and Larry who seemed to stare back disapprovingly. That irked him. They always looked like they were smiling when they looked at Reed. Maybe it was an elven-witch-familiar-thing. He shook his head, trying to remember he was one of the men who kept the flow of commerce around the world moving, and not some dolt off the turnip truck. The women of Potters Woods played hell with a man's sense of pride. He couldn't wait to get back to work.

  "A parody. That's what your life was before Reed brought you here. Now wake up and do something meaningful before your entire life is measured solely by how much gold you hoarded."

  Jordon opened his mouth to respond and shut it again. He did lots of meaningful things. He gave millions to charities every year. He started a fund to rebuild homes, schools, and hospitals for the victims of Hurricane Katrina. He was a good man, damn it. He did meaningful stuff all the time. The companies he bought for B.H. employed tens of thousands of people. That was damn meaningful work. What did Irma want from him? What more could any one man do?

  Jordon caught sight of Reed jogging toward him. She was wearing shorts and a faded tye-dyed t-shirt sporting a giant frog flashing a peace sign. He smiled, in spite of his Irma-induced-foul-mood. Reed had no sense of fashion, but she managed to look beautiful no matter how absurdly she dressed. The afternoon sun hit her hair, turning the lighter shades of red to warm gold. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, bury himself inside her and forget he ever knew how to play Monopoly.

  Then he caught sight of her scowl and thought better of it.

  "Like I said, the chickens are coming home to roost."

  Jordon glanced down at Irma. "Yeah, and the sky is falling."

  Irma nodded sagely in agreement. "Let's hope you can catch it before it crashes and burns."

  Somehow Jordon didn't think Irma was referring to the sky.

  ...

  "We need to talk."

  His elf looked like she'd rather kill something than talk, but he was learning 'talk' was elvish for sit-down-and-shut-up-while-I-tell-you-in-mind-numbing-detail-everything-wrong-with-you. Apparently, all the women of Potters Woods are fluent in elvish.

  Jordon didn't feel like playing. He'd had quite enough insight into his psyche for one day from Irma. He wasn't about to take any more from his wife, whom he hadn't touched, until she fell asleep, in days. He was grouchy, needy, and ready to explode if she didn't stop tapping her foot at him. She was shaking the whole pier with her foolishness. Fishing was supposed to be fun.

  "Later."

  "Now."

  "No."

  Irma pulled a small blue walkie-talkie from her pouch and flipped it on. The static jolted Jordon, seeming to harness the charge dancing between he and Reed, and magnifying it enough to make his skin itch. Hell, this whole place was beginning to make him itch.

  "Jesse, come get me. Yes, Jordon's here, but he's preoccupied rearranging spinners into rainbows in the tackle box. And, your mother's acting like a petulant twelve year old."

  Jordon stabbed himself with one of the spinners. He scowled at Irma as he pulled the damned thing out. When he put it back, he stared at the mess he'd made of the lures. Sure enough, they were arranged according to hue, not size or purpose.

  He glanced up at Reed. She was acting like a brat and he wanted to spank her. He also wanted to kiss her until all her energy focused on making both of them burn.

  He had to get out of here.

  Before William kicked him out, he'd started to set up a deal with Takahara Enterprises, to purchase the alternative health care division of their business. No one knew he was talking to Takahara, not even William. What he needed now was to get back to work. What he didn't need was another dose of elfland's poison apples. He was already tripping his way down the rabbit hole.

  "Hurry up Jesse before your mother does something stupid. She looks like she's about to push Jordon off the pier."

  Jesse appeared, out of breath, long brown-black hair damp with perspiration. He took one look at Reed and moved into the space between her and Jordon. His gaze shot to Jordon and, once again, Jordon saw the man inside the boy. This kid matured well past his chronological age. Hopefully some day body, mind and spirit would be reconciled. That would almost be worth hanging around to see.

  "She's used to getting her way."

  "So am I."

  "She doesn't stop if she thinks she's right. Even if it hurts her."

  "Got a few scars myself."

  "She doesn't know how to give up."

  "She is right here gentlemen, and she is fully capable of speaking and acting for herself."

  Jesse held Jordon's gaze, willing him to understand who he was dealing with. Jordon was beginning to grasp the enormity of the situation he'd found himself in, and wondered, not for the first time, why his spirit chose such a stubborn, opinionated, pain-in-the-ass to bond with. Those bonds were still tenuous. They could be severed with a minimum of pain if he decided to sever them now, and get on with the reason they were established in the first place.

  Work.

  Security and respect, that comes with influence at the highest levels of s
ociety.

  A safe, untouchable, existence.

  The kind of life he strived for since he gave his name to a baby, who wasn't his, one day, only to bury her, and divorce her mother the next. No one needed that kind of pain. That kind of potential for ripping life, heart, and breath from a man, leaving only a kernel of pride and self-preservation to spark the cold flame of determination that made him an untouchable success.

  This woman, and her band of merry men and women, could send him right back to that dark scary place, where afternoons spent fishing and making love under willow trees mattered.

  Jordon shuddered as a chill ran down his spine. He wiped away the sweat at his temples before it made its way into his eyes. Jordon blinked, nodded to Jesse his agreement, although for the life of him he wasn't quite sure what he'd silently agreed to, and gathered the tackle for Jesse to take with him.

  "Irma needs to rest. We were out here longer than is good for her. Make sure she drinks something with glucose," Jordon looked down at Irma and smirked, "Some of that bitter lemonade would be good, before she rests for a bit."

  Jesse packed up the protesting Irma and headed toward the house. Jordon waited until they were out of earshot before he turned to Reed. He drained his face of expression out of a long habit of negotiating with worthy adversaries.

  "If you want to talk, you'll have to do it under the willow tree."

  "Fine." Came her clipped reply.

  Well that was easier than he expected.

  "Naked."

  Jordon waited for her to explode. He really had no desire to talk or be lectured to. He relished the ability to storm away and leave her to her elf-stomping until she fell in. But she'd stopped stomping. He watched as she lifted her shirt and pulled it over her head without pretense, or any attempt at manipulating him with her feminine wiles, such as they were. Under her peace frog shirt she had on a bright yellow skintight tank. The kind he knew she favored wearing instead of a bra. It wasn't all that sexy, he thought, his mouth suddenly dry.

  "Let's go." She said, as she spun and headed toward the other end of the pond.

  She was halfway to the willow tree before Jordon started after her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Our nakedness together changes me completely

  Rumi~ 13th Century

  Reed didn't stop at the willow tree. Instead, she crossed the small bridge that covered the creek behind the pond and made her way to the small clearing, completely isolated by trees and brush for three-hundred-sixty degrees around. No one could see them there. She didn't think anyone would be interested in watching them, but she didn't know Irma and Jesse had walkie-talkies either, and some modicum of parental restraint should be exercised in front of her adopted son.

  Truthfully, Reed acknowledged she wasn't sure she could keep her volume down, and she didn't want an audience for what would undoubtedly be juvenile behavior on her part. Jordon, of course, wouldn't let his iron will crack enough to do more than narrow those all-seeing green-gold eyes while she screamed, screeched, pounded, and pawed at the farce her life had become since she met him.

  Why did she agree to out to dinner with a total stranger?

  Why did she hop on a jet with him and fly to Vegas?

  Why did she marry him?

  And why in the name of the God and Goddess did she allow herself to love him?

  "Ahhrrr..." The sound hurt her throat but she made it again. Apparently loudly enough that Jordon was able to find her. "Ahhrr..."

  Reed pulled off the remainder of her clothing, except for her hiking sandals, and turned to face Jordon. He stood a good three feet away, out of striking distance for both arms and legs. She'd have to charge him to hit him, and with his reflexes, Reed knew she'd be flat on her back before she connected. She didn't mind being naked all that much, but she sure as hell minded giving him the advantage of being on top.

  Jordon gave her a quick once over, crossed his arms over his chest, and spread his feet so he was firmly anchored to the ground. Nothing in his stance, or his countenance, suggested he was moved one way or the other by her nudity.

  Maybe it was the shoes.

  "You wanted to talk. So talk."

  His coldness chafed her, and Reed suddenly felt more exposed than she'd felt when her father disowned her after finding out she was pregnant. Her world imploded when her mother died. It fell to ash when her father called her a whore.

  Reed moved to her pile of clothing, and was about to throw her t-shirt back on when Jordon's hand manacled her bicep with enough force to bruise. She jerked her head around, willed the stinging in her eyes away, and was mesmerized by the heat in his eyes, more gold now than green, sparkling with fire not completely banked.

  "Don't."

  Relief spread momentarily through her. Jordon wasn't quite as unaffected as he wanted her to believe. Reed let the shirt fall. Jordon's grip eased but he still held her.

  "You brought me out here for something. Spit it out."

  He loomed over her as she squatted next to her pile of clothing. It was times like these that she remembered, too late, just how big and powerful he was, like a giant cat all lumbering grace until he pounced, bringing the full force of every pound. She should have felt intimidated. She didn't. Whether that was stupidity, or something deeper and more trusting, Reed couldn't tell. Her I.Q. had taken a holiday the day she met Jordon. Something more elemental, and arguably more knowing, had taken its place.

  "Back off."

  "Step away from the clothes."

  "Is everything a negotiation with you?"

  "It is. I told you that the first day we met. I'm the same man today, sweetheart."

  Something flashed in Jordon's eyes that looked like uncertainty but it was gone before Reed could be sure, replaced with the scathing offhandedness he reverted to whenever she challenged him.

  Reed reached for her shorts and his grip tightened again. She ignored it and him and fumbled around for the invitation. She stood up as soon as she had it in her hands, hitting his jaw with the top of her head in the process. He let go.

  "Ouch, woman. I'm going to have to have my teeth capped the way you're going at me."

  "If you weren't bruising my arm you wouldn't have had to worry about it." Reed shot back, glaring up at him as he rubbed his jaw.

  His hand stopped. His eyebrows lowered and he managed to look stern and sorry at the same time. He reached for her arm, but she blocked him and took a step back at the same time.

  "I didn't intend to hurt you."

  His expression told her that was true.

  "I'm not some candy-ass you can hurt by squeezing." Reed said, unconsciously rubbing her upper arm. She was a candy-ass, but he didn't need to know it. Besides, he hurt her pride more than her arm. She didn't expect him to fall to the ground worshiping at the altar of her nudity, but a cat call or whistle would have been nice.

  "I can see that." He said, staring at her hand where she was rubbing her bruised skin.

  Reed dropped her hand, gritted her teeth and thrust the envelope at him, waiting for him to take it. He took his sweet time reading the damn thing, and Reed glanced at her clothes.

  "Don't even think about it." He didn't look up.

  "I can hear you. Save it for later."

  Reed didn't realize she was growling at him, low in her throat. The way you're going there won't be any later big guy. Reed wasn't sure she was soothed by that thought or disappointed. She opted instead for neutrality. She could always get mad later.

  Jordon kept his head down but shifted his gaze to her. "So."

  Later was now. "So? So when did dinner become a weekend with the high and mighty, not to mention a weekend with your ex-fiancé?"

  Jordon cocked his head at her and narrowed his eyes. "My what?"

  "You heard me. The woman you were supposed to marry, remember? Tall. Skeletal. Blond. Dripping diamonds you bought her."

  Jordon smiled and Reed wanted to explode.

  "What bothers you most little elf
?" He took a step closer. Reed took two steps back.

  "That Giselle's tall?" He took another step.

  "Blond?" Another step.

  "Or dripping diamonds?"

  Reed stumbled, trying to keep a safe distance between them. Jordon caught her and brought her to him with ease. She could feel his heat through his damp shirt and shorts. His hand moved to her buttocks and he held her to him. He was hard but in no hurry to satisfy that particular need, although he wasn't above stoking it in her. His hand radiated heat as he rubbed, squeezed, and caressed the fullness of her.

  "Does it matter?" She was hoping for defiant. What came out was too breathless for that.

  "It does to me. Two of those I can fix." His hand ran the length of her back, skimming the crease of her buttocks. Reed shivered. Jordon chuckled and bent to whisper in her ear.

  "I can't make you taller. It would be a shame of monumental proportions to change all this fire to straw, but it could be done if you want." He said, running one hand through her curly red hair that wouldn't stay blond no matter how strong the dye.

  "I can have you dripping diamonds from here..." His finger traced the sensitive shell of her ear, "to here..." he said trailing that finger to her belly-button, "to here." The back of his hand grazed her hooded clitoris as he captured her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed the tender skin above the plain rose gold band he placed on her finger in Vegas.

  She was about to rip her hand away and ream him up one side and down the other for making her feel this way when he picked her up in his arms, walked back to her pile of clothing, and sat with her cradled in his lap.

  He cupped her face gently in both of his hands, green-gold eyes searching hers without pretense. "God, I've missed you. These past few days have been hell."

  He kissed her tenderly, barely touching her lips. His tongue darted out seeking entrance, and his kiss deepened. It wasn't carnal. Not yet. It was giving and loving and real. Jordon pulled away and buried his face in her neck. Reed wrapped her arms around him and held him there.